#especially since for one reason or another he's always dragged back to fix it

[son1c]

i wonder if silver ever feels resentment towards any of the main cast. it could be interesting to explore him grappling with more negative emotions like that. cuz, i mean, who's responsible for the future always being in jeopardy? not anyone from the future. it's always these fucking guys in the present somehow. ofc he'd know that sonic and his friends aren't dooming the future on purpose. but just how many times do you think he can experience a hellfire future knowing it was caused in part by the actions of sonic and his friends before he starts getting a little cagey.

[earthtooz]

x : AUGUST 12TH :*+ﾟ

in which: reo sees his birthday marked down on your calender, and it fills him with the courage to win you back. or, he's hiding from the paparazzi... in your apartment, for whatever reason.

warnings: 2k wc, gn!reader, exes to lovers but they're very much in love, they kiss (eww), minor angst and minor embarrassment for reader but it's very cute, very much fluff and happy endings, professional soccer player reo, characters aged to be around 21+

a/n: I LOVE REO. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!

August 12th used to be one of the most important dates on your calender. Now it is one that brings forth bittersweet thoughts and memories whenever you think too hard on it, reminiscing a love that you had to let go long ago, despite how badly you wanted to keep him.

Mikage Reo’s name used to be stamped loud and proud beneath the date, with a heart that you hastily scribbled on due to the awkward angle of the page. His name is still on there, just without the heart, and merely in capitalised letters of your handwriting. 

You don’t know why you need to record it down because you remember it regardless, the set of numbers etched in the crevices of your mind. In fact, when August first hit and you were planning the month ahead, the act of recording down Reo’s birthday was a second-hand instinct, and when you did so without realising, a little pool of embarrassment and hurt developed in your chest. You didn’t even have the guts to cross it out either, despite it being almost seven months since you split.

Not a day has passed without you thinking about him, clearly.

But it was nothing to be embarrassed about because no one will ever think too much about it, especially not Reo, because he has no reason to ever step foot in your apartment ever again. If he ever saw it, you might just wither away.

So why on earth was he here now, sitting on one of your kitchen stools? The one that he used to always sit on when he came to see you when you were still dating with the reasoning that it ‘gave him a better view of you whilst you were scurrying around’.

Now you are ever aware of his gaze on you, entranced whilst fixing him a mere glass of water. 

Sliding it over to him on the marble countertop, he takes it with a grateful smile. “Thank you for allowing me to hide here, and I'm sorry about bringing you into all of this.”

“No problem, you got lucky that i have nothing better to do today,” you sigh, trying to tune out the clamours of the paparazzi that were residing outside of your apartment complex. Wandering over to the balcony window, you see that the swarm hasn’t decreased from when you last checked. 

Your poor, clueless neighbours. None of them deserved to be dragged into this. You wonder when it can all settle down.

“Reo?” You murmur. He glances over at you immediately, attentive purple eyes bright and wide in their curiosity. “Why did you come here out of all places?”

“You’re…” he falters. “You’re the first person I thought of, and I just so happened to be nearby.”

“Nearby? There’s nothing to do around my neighbourhood. What could you possibly have to do here?”

He looks away, shamefully staring down at his glass of water. “Errands. Stuff.” 

“Okay,” you trail off, not wanting to prod further. “So how are you thinking of getting out of this situation?”

“Does your apartment have another way out?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Well unless you want me to jump from your window, then my only way out is to wait,” he says with a shrug and you pinch the bridge of your nose. The clamours of the crowd below can be heard even on your second-level home, and no matter how badly you wanted to return to your work, a certain ex of yours is only another reason for your headache. 

Since the breakup, you never thought Reo would ever be here again, however, fate seems to have pulled peculiar strings to bring him back to you- on his birthday too.

You won’t admit that this all feels a little set up. Perhaps it was the universe mocking you for not being able to stop loving him, despite it being you who forcibly let him go so he could fulfil his soccer ambitions in England.

The last time you saw him, he was crying at your doorstep, reluctant to go and to let you go. It is a sight that will always haunt you, especially when you then shut the door in his face and ultimately, ending your relationship.

Would you let him go again if you had the chance? No. Reo won’t ever know that, though.

You doubt he wants you back.

“Maybe you needed a better disguise if you wanted to escape the paparazzi,” you mutter.

Reo fiddles with his sunglasses. “Don’t scorn a man who just wanted to go out. I can’t even do anything normally nowadays anymore, not even in Japan.”

“Well, yeah, you’re kind of a big shot, Mr-Signed-With-Manshine-City,” you huff. "It's like high school and your fangirls all over again."

“You remember my team?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It's all anyone talks about, especially after the World Cup.” 

“And you listened?” 

“Of course I did,” you confess, no louder than a whisper. “I’m happy for you, Reo. You're really amazing.”

Something about your sentimental statement makes the purple-haired frown, looking away as an obligatory ‘thank you’ slips from his lips.

There’s a quip resting on the tip of your tongue about it being his birthday, but it slides back down your throat with the ease of paper, cutting you in the process. 

“Can I request something from you?” You question.

“Anything," the athlete looks over at you with hopeful eyes.

“Since you’re using my house to hide in, can I have your Netflix password so we can watch a movie or something?” You murmur, “something’s telling me that you’ll be here for a while.”

He laughs, bright and exuberant and boyish that it makes your yearning expand tenfold. “Sure, as long as I get to pick what we watch.”

Your heartstrings soften a little, “fine. I have popcorn somewhere so let me get that out.”

It only takes one movie for the clamour outside to disappear. You’re sure that your neighbours called the police at some point too given then flash of red and blue that illuminated onto your walls, but there was little conflict, and eventually, the quiet returned. You should be grateful for it, really, because your headache can calm and you can get back to doing your work, but it also means that this is the end of yours and Reo's paths. He’ll leave your apartment, and then Japan, and then your life will return to the seven month-long limbo that it was without him, with possibly no due date this time.

He stays around until the end of the movie, however, and when it’s over, he stands with a huff, hands on his knees to help push him up. If you weren't too focused on your dread, you'd have noticed the subtle reluctance clinging to him.

“I ‘ought to be going now, I’ve been in your hair long enough,” sighs the soccer player. “Thank you for allowing me over.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” you mutter. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“Likewise. you lo-” Reo’s eyes widen before he shuts his mouth, visibly shaking the sentence away as you’re filled with an invasive sense of curiosity. You want to pry his words out of his mouth, but you don’t think that’s appropriate for your current relationship. “I’ll see you sometime.” 

“Yeah. I’ll be here.”

He nods. During the time of your conversation, the two of you had made it to your kitchen and to your horror, Reo stops right before your calender. He glances at it and has to do a double-take, making sure that his eyes hadn’t failed him.

How will you recover from this one?

Reo turns to you, eyes and smile soft and so so warm. “You still have my birthday marked down.”

“Oh. You’re right!” You laugh awkwardly. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you. I’m honoured you remember.”

“Oh my goodness, please shut up,” you hide your face with one hand and Reo laughs harder.

“Do you remember how old I’m turning as well?”

“We’re the same age! Of course I'd remember-”

“-do you have a present for me? You know I love presents.”

“Go buy your own damn presents, you multimillionaire.”

He laughs harder and you almost want to chase him out of your house. “But I like it when they’re from other people!” 

“I don’t have a gift for you, Reo, now can you please shut up?”

“If you don’t have a present then can I ask you for one thing?”

“What is it?”

“A date. Tomorrow, at your favourite place downtown.”

The light, cheery environment dims and you find your breath getting lodged in your throat. “Reo… I- we, we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” He asks, “do you still love me?”

“I have your stupid birthday on my calender and no one else’s, not even mine, so yes I do still love you.” 

He grabs your hands and you feel weak in the knees, clasping onto the warmth you had grown so familiar with. “Then another chance, please, that’s all I ask for.” 

“I let you go for your sake, you shouldn’t have someone like me dragging you back whilst you’re in England. Didn't you see how successful you were without me?” You mutter, thinking back to the night that you let him go, recalling all the pain you felt. 

And how you might relive it again tonight.

“Dragging me back?” he parrots, voice slightly strained. “I thought about you the entire time I was abroad, every training session, every time I scored a goal, I thought about doing it all for you. It might have hurt me to not have you there with me, but it killed me to know that I didn’t have you at all.” 

Reo rests his forehead against yours and you close your eyes, basking in the intimacy that you never thought you could ever experience again with him. “And it killed me even more to know that you wouldn’t be waiting there for me when I came home. You know who was there instead? Stupid Zantetsu, and a few high school friends, but not you.”

“I love Zantetsu though, we get coffee together all the time,” you comment quietly. “He told me that he was going to pick you up.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t even think of going with him.”

“Exes don’t go to the airport to pick each other up.”

“So be my lover again,” pleads Reo. “Be mine again, be here for me every time I return to Japan.”

“Is it what you want?"

“A thousand times yes.”

You sigh through your nose, memorising the feeling of his forehead against yours one last time before parting from him. “Then pick me up tomorrow, at half past six, and we can go downtown.” 

His smile could rival that of a thousand suns, and just seeing it is enough to cure your heart.

“Okay,” he nods, a dreamy sort of look settling in the purple hues of Reo’s gaze. “Okay! I'll be here, without paparazzi this time, and no one will disrupt our date, I'll make sure of it.”

“One more thing before you leave. Stay here!” You command before scurrying through your house and into the study to retrieve a pen. Uncapping it, you then scribble a little heart on the calender, right next to Mikage Reo’s name.

You don’t miss the look of pure elation on his face.

“Call me. My number hasn’t changed.”

“Okay, I will, I will. Watch out for it.”

“Then I look forward to it.”

“Now I really don’t want to leave,” he whines, gently pressing you against the wall with his hands holding onto your shoulders. “It wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to ask to stay the night, would it?”

“No, but, I think we’re beyond your awkward gentleman-liness.”

“Then, I have permission to do this, right?”

He presses his mouth to yours, hot and needy, you wonder if he’s trying to swallow you whole so you really can’t ever leave again. 

“Happy Birthday, Reo,” you murmur against him.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[chrrychills]

i love your writing its so yummy i was wondering if you could maybe wirte school bus graveyard main cast with a reader who forgets to eat and spends alot of time sleeping

have a good day/night

in my head i do everything right .

main six « forgetful, sleepy so!

ashlyn banner:

•she's not amused. at all. at first, it starts off as annoyance because she thinks you're lazy/ don't take care of yourself. once you explain that you can't help how tired you are, she eases up.

•she'll 100% scold you every time you tell her you forgot to eat. without fail. it's out of love, though.

•ashlyn doesn't have a huge appetite, but she'll keep snacks like granola/ protein bars in her locker in case you need them during the school day.

•she can't cook at all, but she'll invite you over for dinner with her parents. they love having you over and will make your favorite food every time you wind up at their house, wether it's for dinner or to spend the night.

•since she's not a fan on pda, she probably won't let you sleep on her shoulder or anything like that in public, but it's fine in private.

•she'll also let you fall asleep in class and make sure the teacher doesn't catch you.

•will never understand how you're always so tired, because she's witnessed you sleep for a good 10 hours.

aiden clark:

•in contrast to ashlyn, he is highly amused whenever you fall asleep near him and uses the opportunity to mess with you.

•he's (horribly) braiding your hair, drawing on your arms, the whole nine yards. the only reason he's not drawing on your face is because he knows you'd get mad when you woke up.

•certified big back. he 100% has snacks on him at all times and won't hesitate to share when you tell him you're hungry/ you forgot to eat.

•his pantry is stacked with snacks, so best believe he's dragging you off the bus with him almost everyday to hang out/ raid his pantry. his parents are so tired of having to restock it. save them.

•he knocks out when he gets sleepy, so if y'all are having a sleepover it's the best sleep of your life. you two have slept through the day on multiple occasions.

•will let you sleep on him anytime, anywhere. he'll mess with you, but he'll still offer a shoulder if you're tired.

•menace. if you fall asleep in class/ are eating in class, he keeps threatening to snitch and get you in trouble. he never does, though.

ben clark:

•another snack carrier, but he has all of your favorites and probably keeps one or two drinks in his locker.

•we've established that ben's a giant teddy bear, and you 100% use that to your advantage. whenever you're tired, you can tuck yourself against his shoulder and conk out. he never minds.

•huge worrier, especially when you first started dating. he still does worry when you don't eat for hours on end/ sleep for an entire 12 hours, but he's gotten better at managing it.

•loves naps. it's routine for you two to end up at his house and nap until dinner time. aiden's tried to wake you guys up multiple times but it never works, so he doesn't do it anymore.

•he loves to bake, so it's not uncommon for him to send you home with something sweet to snack on whenever you feel like it. he loves having you cling to him and gush about how good the food was, so he keeps doing it. plus, it keeps you fed.

•tries his hardest to help fix your sleep schedule, but it never works. you either fall asleep at 4 pm or 4 am and he has no idea why.

tyler hernandez:

•tyler's big on taking care of people he loves, you know that. so it's no surprise when he's scolding you for forgetting to eat but pulling your favorite snack out of his bag, or forcing your head on his shoulder and telling you to sleep because you keep yawning.

•another big napper. when he doesn't have practice– and even when he does, he'll somehow end up in your bed, cuddled up next to you and fast asleep.

•he can COOK. tyler is master chef. whatever you want, he can most likely make. and if he can't, he'll look it up online and it always turns out amazing.

•you honestly get a lot better with remembering to eat after being with him for a while because he's always on your ass about it. you can't even be mad because you know he does it out of love.

•he'll keep food with him in case you need it, but he'll steal bites of it while you're trying to eat. he's so amused and finds himself hilarious. you don't agree.

•he's either scolding you for not eating, not sleeping, or sleeping too much. you can't win.

taylor hernandez:

•she's a sweetheart, so not only will she have your favorite food at all times, but she'll recruit (force) tyler to make/buy it whenever she's running low.

•she's more concerned than anything. first of all, how do you sleep so much and still manage to be tired? second, do you just not have an appetite? she doesn't understand.

•taylor invites you over for dinner at least five nights a week and tyler does not appreciate it, because that means he has to make more food.

•she'll let you fall asleep on her in public, private, wherever. she doesn't care as long as you're getting the rest you need.

•biggest cuddle bug ever. as soon as you tell her you're tired, she's dragging you to bed to cuddle.

•if she misses you, she's not above coming over uninvited and waking you up from a nap so you guys can hang out. she'll deal with the half asleep grumbling if it means she can see you.

•taylor banned you from her bed because it's so soft and comfortable that you literally fall asleep immediately.

lacey's notes:

honey im home.

send requests or just talk to me i missed my bestest friends

title:

[gorgeys]

hi! big fan of ur maeve works omgg.. wld u consider writing a piece where maeve takes homelander’s wife? i can so see him bringing in his wife, supe or not, to fancy events as a trophy wife. maybe maeve steals her away at some point & realizes she’s 1) a lot smarter & capable than homelander plays her off as and 2) just as eager to get her hands on maeve as maeve is to have her.

just think of the messiest trio shit you’ve ever witnessed. homelander probably knows, too. I don’t even think he’d be mad. two of the hottest women in the world are linking.. he’d prob ask to watch <\3 but erm yeah also don’t feel like u have to write major homelander bits like this is maeve content I just think it’s funny he’s like “damn…. can I join u lovely ladies 🥺” - 🐠

queen maeve x homelander's wife!reader

I LOVE THIS IDEA! THANK U SM FOR THIS REQ!!

this is also over 3k words so brace yourself

warnings: smut - oral, fingering, strap-on, homelander being a dick

the seven is dumbfounded that anyone's agreed to marry homelander, let alone stay married to him, especially maeve who knows first hand how difficult he is.  and they're absolutely astounded that he's landed a baddie like you, but there you are, his hot trophy wife, hanging off his arm at every vought function.

every person in america knows homelander and yours' love story (thanks to vought's relentless marketing team): homelander saved you from a bombing and as soon as he landed safely on the ground with you in his arms, it was love at first sight and the rest was history and blah blah blah.

the part maeve can't believe is that you--gorgeous, angelic you--would ever fall for that monster.

you were called a trophy wife for a reason; just looking at you would make most men cream their pants, maeve included.  when you spoke, she just stared at your lips.  when you walked away, her eyes shamelessly followed you.  when you looked at homelander with all that adoration behind your eyes, she wished she had the power to pop his head like neuman.  but of course, you were a distant, unattainable fantasy.

homelander had you on a tight leash, always keeping a hand on you at all times and jokingly threatening the life of any executive that even looked at you with a sign of lust.  of course, he wasn't joking.  he had killed men for simply touching your shoulder.

he also did the usual homelander things: talking over you, sometimes groping you in public, and constantly repeating the story of how the two of you met to anyone who would listen, especially stressing the part where you were a damsel in distress whose life he graciously saved.

because of homelander, maeve decided to admire you from afar.  that was until one fateful night.

she was smoking alone in the bathroom after escaping another routine vought event where she was forced to keep up appearances.  she had intentionally gone up to the 99th floor, knowing the bathroom would be empty since the event was taking place on a lower floor.  that's why she was surprised when she heard another set of heels on the tiles behind her.

"can i get a drag?" you ask as she turns to face you.  you're already smiling at her, but not that big, toothy smile you give to all the businessmen.  it's a natural one.

she extends her arm to offer you the cigarette, so you walk up to her and accept it.  she watches as you bring it to your red lips with ease that only a routine smoker could possess.

"i didn't know you smoked," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.  it seems oddly out of character for homelander's perfect housewife.

"i shouldn't.  and i didn't used to," you say, the smoke leaving your lips in a short puff.  "not before i met homelander.  i mean, i of all people should know how bad it is," you say, handing back the cigarette and turning toward the mirror to inspect your appearance.

"what's that supposed to mean?" she asks, her eyes never leaving your face.

"oh, i was a doctor.  you know, before all this," you say nonchalantly, fixing your hair. maeve's eyes widen in surprise.

"wait, really?"

"yup," you say, as if you expected her surprise.  it makes sense since most people assume homelander's wife is just a pretty face, not someone who once possessed one of the most difficult and esteemed careers.  "four years of undergrad, four years of med school, four years of residency, only to practice for one year.  what a fucking waste."

well that's why homelander never let you speak—he didn't want everyone to realize you were smarter than him.

"fuck," she says, still a little shocked as she diverts her gaze to look at you through the mirror. "what kind of doctor?"

"ER.  shit was crazy but i loved it.  and i was good at it.  i was always good with the people," you say with a sad smile.

looking back, it makes sense to maeve.  you knew how to talk to, but more importantly, listen to, any person that approached you and homelander.  you were extremely emotionally intelligent.  and obviously book smart as well, considering your profession.  you really were everything homelander wasn't.

 "because i really cared, y'know?  i really wanted to make a difference," you say with the shake of your head.  that thought seemed so trivial now.

"it's like looking in a mirror," maeve says, literally looking into the mirror at your reflection.  she had never realized how similar the two of you were.

"but then he saved me and suddenly it was all gone."

"they made you stop when you got married?"

"well, he made me stop," you say.  she can see the hurt in your eyes.  "because you can't be a doctor and homelander's wife.  no, that wouldn't be fair to him," you say, a hint of contempt evident in your usually sweet tone.

"asshole," maeve says, the hate far more obvious in her voice.  "i never understood why you were with him.  i don't think any of us did.  and now i'm just more confused."

"well, i could say the same about you," you say, suddenly turning your head to look right at her.  "why were you ever with him?"

"because i polled higher when we were together," she answers honestly, getting an endearing smile out of you.

"yeah, i assumed," you say.  "although he's still adamant that you were once hopelessly in love with him.  i don't wanna burst his bubble, but i always knew you were too good for him."

"we say the same thing about you," maeve says, the beginnings of a smile on her face.

"don't flatter me," you say, pulling your lip gloss out of your bag.  "i'll get a big head."

"can't be bigger than his," she quips, relishing in the way she makes you grin.

"true." she watches the applicator glide across your plump lips and then watches you shove it back in the tube.  "did i ever tell you you were my favorite?"

"what?"

"in the seven.  you were always my favorite.  i never paid too much attention to you guys but i was always watching when you were on the tv," you say.  "i don't know, maybe it was the armor or something.  or maybe the way you always stood like that with your hands on your hips.  i don't know.  you always did it for me though."

were you saying what she thought you were saying?

"wait," she pauses, turning her body toward you and resting her hip against the counter.  "so you had a crush on me?"

"mmm...something like that," you say with a shrug, though the troublesome smile on your face answers her question.

"wow." she crosses her arms over her chest and smirks at you.  "does homelander know about this?"

"does he need to know about this?" you ask, turning to face her.

"guess not."  there's a beat of silence.  "how long ago was this?  that you were pining over me," she asks as smugly as ever.

"so i don't think there was any pining involved, actually, but i remember the news would always play at the hospital and...well, yeah, there you were, always distracting me from my work."

"and now here you are," she says, gesturing to your figure while her eyes not so subtly checked you out. "distracting me from my work now."

"oh, am i?" you say, feigning innocence as you take a step closer to her.  she was left to wonder, was this your plan all along?

"yeah.  now i'm just thinking about you staring up at the screen," she says, entertaining you.  her fingers graze your chin. "drooling all over your scrubs.  fuck, you'd look so cute in scrubs."  you bite your lip, staring up at her with those devilish eyes.

"if only you were there that day instead of him.  things would be so different."

"do you wish things were different?" she asks, dropping her hand from your face.

"sometimes," you admit.  "little, naive me couldn't see him for what he truly was.  but i think i can see you now," you say, your finger poking the skin of her chest as you move impossibly closer.

"yeah?" she mumbles, her eyes obviously flickering between your eyes and your lips as she leans in toward you.

she can't believe she's really doing this.  she knows it's a stupid move.  homelander's literally downstairs.  but you're magnetic.

you abruptly grab her by the back of the neck with both hands and press her lips onto yours.  her lips move hungrily against yours, sucking and biting your bottom lip so hard that you're moaning into her mouth.  she attaches herself to you, her strong hands grabbing at the back of your dress and pulling your body into her cold armor.

in a second, she's lifting you up and onto the counter.  she knows it won't be long before homelander's looking for you, so she needs to make the most out of your fleeting time together.  you're well aware of this as you hike your dress up your thighs to save her a few seconds.

she kisses you so hard and feverishly that you're dazed and pulling her further into you by the back of her head.  you barely register her hands sliding your now slick panties down your legs.

she pulls away for a moment and stuffs your panties into the breastplate of her suit.  it's annoying how put together she looks, meanwhile you're out of breath with your legs spread embarrassingly wide for her.

she gives you a look, as if to verify that you still want this. your slight nod cues her to duck down and face your bare pussy.  instantly, she's eating you out like a woman starved.  she rapidly tongues your clit, only stopping every once in a while to suck on it harshly.  your quiet whimpers are music to her ears, only motivating her to throw your legs over her shoulders and bury her face deeper into your cunt. but then she starts to push a finger into your wet hole.

fuck, you're tight, she thinks. his dick really must be as small as she remembered.

your noises grow louder, prompting her to lift her face from your pussy and shush you like a child.  with homelander's super hearing, she can't take any chances, especially when his ears are specifically trained to listen for your honey-sweet voice. you accordingly lift your hand from where it was gripping the edge of the counter and firmly clasp it over your lips, muffling your sounds.  just to be safe, you bite down hard on your bottom lip as you lean your head back against the mirror.

maeve leaves a few kisses on your inner thigh as you get used to the intrusion of her long fingers before her lips enclose your clit once more.  soon your thighs are spasming around her head and you're crying into your hand as you cum with two of her fingers pumping inside of you and her tongue running circles on your clit.

she should stop your quickie there.  she should let you run back to the party and into homelander's arms.  but if this was the last time she was gonna fuck you, she was going to make the most of it.

"we got time for another, right?" she asks, though it isn't a question as she adds another finger to your throbbing hole and you release a choked up whine.

maeve really did think that would be the last of it.  this was a dangerous game after all, why would you run the risk of playing it twice?

but suddenly you're prancing around the tower more often, whether it's to hand deliver homelander his lunch or attend a fitting for your next red carpet appearance.  whatever the cause is, you always bump into maeve, and before you know it, she's guiding you by the waist into to her room to fuck you better than your husband ever could.

"he can't make you cum, can he?" she whispers into your ear, fucking you dumb in missionary.  all you can do is shake your head with your eyes squeezed shut, her panties stuffed in your mouth as a gag.  "yeah, that's why you keep running back to me, begging me to make you feel good.  he can't fuck you like i can."

it carries on like that for a while, you sneaking in and out of maeve's room a few times a week.  homelander's oblivious at first, mainly because he ignores your existence most days. but you make a deadly mistake when he rolls over one night, groping your tits in an effort to coerce you into fucking him, and you immediately push him off of you without thinking.  that really shocks him, so much so that he just lies there motionless, staring at the ceiling as you drift off.

you never deny him of sex.  even when you're not in the mood, you usually just let him use your body or at least rub one out for him.  so he really knows something's up when you push him away not just once, but multiple nights, claiming that you're "too tired."

"too tired?" he asks one night, outraged.  "you don't fucking do anything!  i'm out there saving lives so you can buy all your designer clothes and shoes and jewelry and you can't even fucking thank me by taking my dick down your throat?  i fucking made you!"  you simply roll your eyes and reach under the covers to grab his cock through his sweatpants. your annoyance makes you grip him hard, just how he likes it.

one odd time, after maeve's just finished fucking the life out of you, you open the door to leave her room, your hair still a little disheveled and your panties missing, only to see homelander leaning against the wall, waiting patiently for you.

"well, she really did a number on you, didn't she?" he asks with an amused smile.  you're stood in the doorway frozen and speechless.  he looks over your shoulder and makes eye contact with a tense maeve who's standing a few paces behind you.

deep down, you knew you'd get caught eventually.  that didn't mean you were prepared for it.  "john," you say in an overly soothing tone, reaching out for him as if you're about to start talking him down from one of his tantrums.  would this be his breaking point?

"that's why you won't let me touch you, huh?  getting fucked too good by queen maeve over here," he says, that terrifying smile never leaving his face.

"i mean, maeve," he says, slow clapping while making direct eye contact with her.  he knows she's pissed from the way her jaw locks and her teeth grind together.  "just wow.  i didn't know she could cum that many times in a row without passing out.  you know, you're going to have to teach me that little trick you do with your tongue," he says, pointing at her as if she's just said something witty.  "it just drives her crazy.  i mean, i could hear her all the way from the first floor. maybe we can...practice on her together next time?" he says as if you're not standing right in front of him.  he doesn't miss the way maeve's upper lip twitches in disgust.  "what?  i can't let my two favorite girls have fun without me," he says, suddenly looking back down at you and petting your cheek with his hand.

maeve wants to say something, anything to put him in his place, but she can't find the words.  you're his wife after all, not hers.  she doesn't lay any claim to you.  but, for some reason, she feels like she should.  especially when you belong to someone so disgusting and vile.

things get a little weird once homelander knows.  you can tell it irks maeve.  the thought of him touching you or even watching her touch you makes her skin crawl.  she tries to stay away from you for a little while, but it doesn't last long.  whenever she sees you around the tower, she can't help but remember how pretty you looked spread out on her bed, showing off your glistening pussy.

plus it's a bit of a power trip, knowing that she held this one little thing over homelander's head, that little thing being you.  so at some point, her desire for you trumps all else.

you're on your knees on the floor, your chin resting on the edge of the bed as you push your face further into maeve's cunt.  you can only moan into her, letting your tears mix with her juices as you're being overstimulated by the vibrator that's buried deep inside your pussy.  "god, you're useless," she says, grabbing the back of your head and grinding herself on your face.  she moans as your nose rubs against her clit and your cries cause vibrations to course through her.

"just want you to come all over my face," you whine, maeve looking down to see your lips and chin coated in her slick.  she cums almost immediately, deliciously arching into you with a deep groan.

the mixture of yours and maeve's noises makes homelander cum in his own room with his dick in his hand, so horny from watching and hearing the two of you go at for so long through the walls.

he only settles for watching because you and maeve refuse to let him in on the fun.  and he would try to force himself in between you two, but he knows maeve would hit him so hard she'd knock him into next week.  so he's content on just observing for now.

that is until he notices something.  once the two of you have finished, you're no longer leaving her room, with your heels in your hands, to return to his room.  instead, you're lying on your side, your hand dancing up and down maeve's bare arm, with your body tangled in her silky bed sheets.  you whisper to each other, noses practically touching, about nothing important in particular.

homelander watches you smile at something she's said and he recognizes it.  it's one reminiscent of the smile you had when he held you in his arms for the very first time, landing you safely on the ground so far from the hospital that you couldn't think about the smoke that swallowed the sky and the wreckage littered with bodies.  he remembers how in love with you he felt in that moment, the first moment he truly looked at you and knew he must have you.  your smile is aged and a little sad now, but he can't imagine that it doesn't reflect the same love and adoration it did all those years ago.  and he can't imagine that maeve feels any different than he did at the time.

he sits stoically on the edge of his bed after pulling his sweatpants back up, clenching his fists.  he can't let you fall for each other.  he may have let maeve have your body, but you are still completely his.  and now he must prove it.

this is so juicy i might have to write a part 2...

[the-midnight-blooms]

sincerely, yours | jyh

pairing: husband!jeong yunho x wife!reader AU: hanahaki au word count: 2.4k ATEEZ as angst tropes series: Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

masterlist

Trope: Unrequited Love 

Dear Yunho,

I hope this letter find you well, whether you open it now or decades later when you sit at my grave. Perhaps you’ve married again, and another child sits in your arms- I'll never truly know how much I mean to you.

Whoever had said falling in love was a blessing had clearly never fallen in love with the wrong person in their life. Such an astute claim that was. Falling in love was one the worst things that could have ever happened to me, especially since the deadly case of Hanahaki was up for grabs.

I will not sugar-coat it, I love you as dearly as if you are mine. I love you as if I can have you. I love you as if I am entitled to you. I always have, and will until I am torn apart by this wretched illness.

Perhaps she had acted too resistant in the face of love. Acting like it was a sin for women on a dark path, yet at night she dreamed that in the dead of a void her lover would crawl to her and ensnare her in his arms. Pepper her with gentle kisses and unbroken stares. Perhaps that was the reason why Yunho had first been warded away from her, taking on many lovers. Always rushing back to her to tell her how perfect each woman was, how he cherished them, fixing onto their smile, their eyes, their beauty unparalleled. There was something about them that made his heart swoon and something about her that rebuked him.

“Then who will hold you at night, when you are so lonely that you cannot even comfort yourself?” He asked her one evening, sat under a great oak tree heads on each other shoulders; the action itself burning her heart- how she wished he wanted her the same way she wanted him. You. Will you not hold me? Will you not shield from the terrors of this world that I am so frightened against?

He had come to her in the torpidity of the night, finally, heart yearning as he realised that where he should have spoken aloud his lovers name, he said hers. Where his lover should have been soaring through his dreams, carrying his child, plastering kisses all over his face, running down the sand on the crust of the roaring sea; it was her.

"Yunho? What's wrong?" With watery eyes he stared down at her, body wracking with sobs.

"It's you. You're all I have ever wanted."

Who should I blame for being so devoted to you? I can’t blame myself, I’m sorry. It hurts too much and already the bronchi of my lungs have been replaced with the sturdy branches of a willow tree. Flowers now bloom on the membrane of cells, tissues all compressed between saccharine petals. You may laugh at my poetry but you adored it once. After all, once our souls were bound in holy matrimony, did I not gift you a poem every anniversary? Did you not read those words aloud me under the cover of the night, as if it was your soul speaking to me and not I?

An ecru, vintage radio sat perched upon the wooden worktop, in an equally old kitchen on the outskirts of the country. Just two miles below, down the grassy hilltop lead to the sea-the rush of the tides blanketing the sand, drawing it towards the deep. Delicate waves enveloped each other, producing a cacophony of sounds that drowned out the hum of the radio. The humidity of the kitchen suffocated her, as the flames of the oven whispered to the baked good blemishing it with a golden-brown that would soon prompt her to pull it from the rack. Wandering to the front porch, she followed her lover's figure saunter up the hill-his pace increasing as she opened her arms out for him. Swooping her up from the ground, he spun her around in the air-his tight grip central around her waist. A shriek escaped from her lips as he did so. Gently, he put her down, the couple laughing synchronously as she dragged him into the kitchen. Flopping down onto the chair, Yunho went straight to the radio-sitting on top of the worktop, fiddling with its button an array of tunes inbounding the pale kitchen walls. Settling upon a popular Latin song, he got off the countertop- beginning to sway his hips to the music. When his movements became much more faster and fluid, she could not help but erupt in a fit of laughter. He reached out for her hands, enamouring her hands within his.

"You know I can't dance." He laughed, recalling the memory where she almost tripped on her wedding dress in front of a crowd of people gawking at them during the first dance. Turning the dial, he rested his hands on her waist gazing down at her. Resting her chin on his chest she peered up at him with her own doe eyes. Remaining in each other arms as the world swept by, wind rushing in from the window lace curtain fluttering in the breeze. A sweet smell drove out from the oven, she hastily pried herself from his embrace grabbing the tea towel.

"What have you got in the oven?" he pondered, as she went to her knees opening the oven door. A small smirk formed on her lips. He looked over her shoulder. "Buns?" Holding back giggles, she composed herself before looking up at him with a deadpan face nodding dubiously.

"Interesting choice. I thought you were baking a cake. Never mind, these are nice." He rambled as she flipped over the buns onto the wire rack, leaving them to cool. "How long were they in the oven for?" He winced slightly as he tried to reach for one, sharply retracting his hand away as the hot surface lacerated his finger.

"About four-five weeks." He gave her a confused look, as she turned around meandering to the living room. Five weeks? He looked back at the buns. He knew croissants often took three days to make, but five weeks for buns? As if a switch had flicked in his head, he stuck his head in the living room doorway.

"We have a bun in the oven?" Nodding, he swept her off the floor like a bride, spinning her around in his arms as if she weighed nothing to him. "WE HAVE A BUN IN THE OVEN!"

You may have once told me you adored me, but you no longer do now.

She recalled staring down at the loose petal of a bright pink dicentra flower in her fingers, blood splattered across the crystal white sink in her bathroom. A strangling sensation fulfilled her throat, slumping onto the lid of the toilet seat. Beads of sweat formed across her forehead, the cogs in her brain stopping for a split second as fatigue gnawed at her. The pounding on the bathroom door startled her, shoving the pink petal in her pocket- she opened the tap using her fingers to scrub away the splatter of her blood that remained on the sink. Looking down she found her niece peering up at her with her wide eyes and an innocent face, her little lips lightly gaped as she took in her auntie's dishevelled state. Lifting up her niece in her arms, she pecked her chubby cheeks a giggle eructed from her as she walked into her bedroom. Yunho sat on the edge of the bed, taking off his work tie a sheepish smile of his face. Nari's short arms held out for her uncle, in a disinterested manner Yunho took her from his wife's hold, lazily entertaining his niece.

"You could at least pretend to be happy when you play with Nari." His wife taunted, late at night in a hushed tone as her niece fell into a deep slumber.

"She's not my child, I don't see why." A loud thud echoed in the room as he dropped his phone onto the night stand.

"Yunho." she snapped, eyebrows furrowed in anger. He never was like this, something had happened after her miscarriage. Like a lever had been pulled, refiguring his kind-hearted nature into a malicious monster. It struck her heart with fear, that now that she could not give him a child-he longer wanted her. "She is still a baby, how would you like it if someone did that to your child?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't have one, do I?" As if a blow had been struck against her, she rolled her body in the opposite direction, in the bed, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. Why are you holding it against me? She wanted to say. A deep sigh escaped from his lips, he indolently patted his wife's shoulder as if it would compensate for the damage ensued by his apathy. Erupting in a harsh fit of coughs, a current of petals flew from her mouth blessing the earth beneath.

To ask me stop loving you is like asking for the earth to stop orbiting the sun. To ask me is to tell me to stop breathing. Oh my darling, my lover divine, I wish I could. No matter what I do, you won’t love me back. So I plead of you to acknowledge my suffering. To know that others may blame you for the way you taunted me. Because I never meant anything more to you than someone to fill your lonely nights when nobody else wanted you.

Over the subsequent months, her health had deteriorated significantly which had not gone unnoticed by her husband. Her eyes had sunken into its pockets, painted by dark circles highlighting the restless nights where the pain denied her sleep.

"You never told me what the doctor said." Nailing her eyes to the chopping board, the knife cut fluently down at the fruit sweeping it up in a plastic container. She hadn't told Yunho, it was Hanahaki. Neither could she forget the pitying look in the doctor's eyes when she revealed it to her. A married woman suffering from Hanahaki? Just how cruel could the world get?

"They're just running some blood tests. They haven't got back to me on the results, it's probably nothing. If it was important they would have called me." Yunho frowned, as he put his lunchbox in his bag. Walking with him to the foyer, he kissed her forehead before leaving to walk to his car parked on the drive way. The pain in her chest alleviated but not so much that she did not sink to knees when the car pulled out from the driveway heaving for air as she felt her lungs being pierced by the abrasive bark of a tree.

Where petals had drifted out of her mouth, flowers now bloomed. For one evening, Yunho came back home from work finding his wife draped over their shared bed- lips shrouded with petals. flowers at her neck. Concerned he shook her awake, with bleary eyes she sat up fingers pressing into her temples. Lifting up the petals with his slender fingers, he stared at her with a questioning look he only hoped she'd catch. Though no words had left her, she did not know what to say. He was not supposed to find out like this.

"I have Hanahaki disease, Yunho." she breathed out, her coarse voice prescient. An spectral silence befell amongst the couple, what else was there to say? The situation spoke for itself. "I just want to know, at what point in our lives did you stop loving me?"

“I didn’t know that I had fallen out of in love with you, because I still feel comfort when you’re there." He spoke slowly, a desperate attempt at piecing together the right words as he tried to come to terms with the fact he was the one who had caused her poor condition. "Sometimes I only feel myself entitled to breath when I look at you.” As if that was the cure, a declaration of love-those menial words that had put her in this position in the first place.

“Then why am I dying? Why is this disease tearing me apart? You’re killing me, Yunho.”

“Don’t say that.” He shook his head profusely, tears brimming at the front of his perfect eyes. "Don't say that, please." Her husband begged, pressing his palm to his lips to prevent the grievous dissonance of his sobbing.

“What else would you like me to say? That I am the disloyal one? And I am in love with another who cannot love me back? Be fucking realistic, I have been in love with you a lot longer than you have been in love with me.” Her body trembled with the cold, her own tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't try to hold back the distressing sound as he had. Leaning her head back on the headboard. "What about me disgusted you? What about me made me so unworthy of your love?"

"I wanted a child." Grabbing the pillow, she plundered it against his head as hard as she could. Lunging at him, the collar of his shirt balled up into fists, his slender body oscillating back and forth as she screamed out her soul.

"It's not my fault I cannot conceive! If you had known that before marriage would you have never married me? Would you have never loved me? Is that all a woman means to you? A machine to give birth, or an object to satisfy your desires?" Letting go off his shirt, she subsided into the silk pillows bawling to her heart's content. "Leave Yunho." His breath hitched in his throat. Soundlessly, he got up from the bed trudging towards the doorway, glistening pearls dropping from his porcelain face. He stopped, turning around with a pleading look.

"Leave and if you come back to me- tell me it is because you love me. So much so that it is the ailment to this disease.”

When you did not come back to tell me you loved me, it almost certified the fact that you really had fallen out of in love with me. Perhaps it is better to die than to live a life of solitude, for every day I live I can feel my heart rupturing at the mere sight of you. I wish you find someone to love as much as I love you.

So, one last time before the Angel of Death takes my breath away and draws my soul out of my body: I love you, Jeong Yunho. I love you so much that I have died in your name. I love you so much that if I was given a choice to relive this life again, I would. No matter the pain, no matter the heartache, I would live this life again. All for you.

Sincerely, Yours.

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: i feel like yunho + unrequited love is such a fitting trope for him? Yunho doing the salsa literally came from me and @n0v4t33z talking about how his hips don't lie. ALSO AS A BRIT BUNS ARE CUPCAKES!! when i first heard about 'bun in the oven' i didn't know it was a teacake (burger bun), but i made it one for this fic.

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 3 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, morning sickness/vomiting, food aversions, fatigue, some angst sprinkled in for ~flavor~

WC: 1.2k

Divider credit to @saradika

March 1999

Oatmeal: a delicious, nutritious breakfast food that has been a staple in your diet since you were a child. It hasn’t done anything wrong. 

Until now. 

The scents of brown sugar and cinnamon always perk you up in the morning; at least, as much as anything can without containing copious amounts of caffeine. Today; however, they waft past your nose and have you hurtling towards the bathroom. 

Eddie runs in from the bedroom, his jeans button still unfastened where he’d abandoned getting dressed for work. “S’okay,” he murmurs, rubbing your back as you empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet. Your cheeks blaze with the rush of blood to your face and the shame from being in such a vulnerable position. 

You spit the last of it into the bowl and grab a handful of toilet paper to wipe your lips, taking a moment to collect yourself before slowly standing up. Eddie places a warm washcloth in your palm; you hadn’t even heard the faucet running over the pounding in your ears.

“Thanks,” you mumble, pressing the damp cloth to your forehead and taking a deep, shaky breath. This isn’t your first bout of morning sickness–that happened about a week after you received your positive test result–and it likely won’t be the last. Still, you’re surprised at how quickly your husband has adapted to this relatively new routine. 

He kisses your scalp, nimble fingers fixing his pants button and buckling his belt. “Are you sure you wanna go to work today?” he asks, concern pinching his brows as he takes in your exhausted form.

You nod slowly, determined to stop the room from spinning. “I already took off twice last week.” 

“So?”

“So,” you explain with a sigh, “I don’t want to use up all of my sick days in the first trimester. Not when I’ll have more doctor appointments as I get farther along.” Not to mention the fact that people have started questioning your absences, and you’re not ready to tell anyone the reason just yet. “Besides, I woke up feeling okay; I didn’t throw up until I smelled the oatmeal.” Your insides lurch at the mere mention of the food, and you find yourself hovering over the bowl once more.

Eddie hums knowingly as he runs the washcloth under the water again and wrings it out with a twist of his hands. “Uh-huh. And what if one of your students happens to talk about oat–”

“Don’t say it!” you cut him off as forcefully as you can, fighting your buckling knees as you steady yourself. 

He relents, exasperatedly pivoting back to the bedroom to finish getting dressed. There’s little sense in arguing with you, especially with a nosy little boy eating breakfast in the kitchen not even twenty feet away. As far as Harris knew, you’d just been battling a stomach bug, and you and Eddie were both grateful that he hadn’t questioned it further. His response was telling you a…charming story about how his friend Charlie ate three bags of Hot Cheetos before promptly vomiting all over the cafeteria table; an anecdote that did nothing to quell your nausea.

You pull yourself together enough to make it to work. The queasiness subsides as the minutes tick on, though you take your lunch break in your car to avoid any smells in the faculty lounge that could inadvertently trigger another bout of sickness. You half-heartedly go through the motions of story time and arts and crafts, silently promising your students that you’ll have more enthusiasm once your second trimester begins.

By the time you arrive back home and trudge through the door, you may as well be dragging sandbags from your ankles. Exhaustion hits you without warning, your eyelids heavier with each passing second. You drop your keys on the side table and glance over at the clock hanging on the wall. The larger hand has barely ticked past the “6,” which means you have just under a half hour until you have to leave and pick up Harris from his after-school art program.

You don’t even make it to your bedroom, heaving your body onto the couch with a grunt; the stiff pillows have never been more comfortable. The last thought that crosses your fatigued mind is that you can’t sleep for long. If you lay down for a moment…set an alarm for fifteen minutes…

You’re awoken not of your own accord, but by the sound of the apartment door squeaking, the knob thwacking against the wall as though it’s being flung open.

“Thank God you’re okay.” It comes out in one breath, Eddie’s relief palpable as soon as he sees that you’re alive and breathing. 

Still groggy with sleep, you push yourself onto your elbows, squinting at the influx of light from the hallway. Why wouldn’t you be okay? You were just taking a nap; it’s only been…an hour and a half?

“Shit, shit, shit!” You scramble to your feet, not even cognizant of the fact that you’re swearing in front of Harris. You take in his tear-stained face, comprehending his thought process before he can even say it aloud. “Har, I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t forget about you. I’ve just been really sleepy–”

“Har, can you go to your room for a sec?” Eddie keeps his voice even and controlled, but you can still sense the frustration simmering beneath. He puts his hands on his son’s shoulders and gives a tense squeeze, and Harris nods and somberly obeys. 

Your misty eyes meet your husband’s gaze, his jaw steeled as you fumble to explain yourself. “Eddie, it was a total accident! I…I needed to rest…I didn’t think I’d sleep this long…” 

He shakes his head, arms dejectedly hanging by his sides. “I asked you not to go to work,” he says softly, teeth digging into his lower lip. “It’s not because I think you’re weak or incapable or anything like that. You just need to take care of yourself.” His voice drops to an even quieter whisper as he walks closer to you, caressing your cheek. “You’re growing our baby, Sweetheart. That’s a pretty big deal.”

“I know,” you murmur, tears leaking from your eyes. “I’m not good at slowing down.” You can usually push yourself to your limits with minimal consequences, but it seems like those days are behind you. 

Eddie tilts your chin so you’re looking directly at him. His expression isn’t as hard; a faint smirk of understanding graces his lips. “And I love how driven you are. But your mission for the next nine months—should you choose to accept it—is to incubate Baby Munson.”

“Incubate?” You wrinkle your nose as his phrasing. 

“Incubate,” he affirms with a kiss to your nose. “Now, why don’t you go check on Harris, and I’ll start dinner.” His hand rests on the small of your back. “I was just gonna roast some chicken breasts, if that works for you?” It’s a quick and easy dinner that you have once a week. 

But it looks like it might be off the menu for a bit; your eyes bulge and your palm flies to your mouth as soon as you imagine the varying textures of meat and skin. 

“On second thought,” Eddie mutters, plucking a Surfer Boy pamphlet from the kitchen drawer, “maybe we’ll do pizza tonight.”

--

[hinatashiftz]

Out Of My Head

1st BOYNEXTDOOR DR

WC 2.1k | WARNINGS/ GENRE: Reality Shifting Storytime, Angst w/ fluff at the end, Lots of mentions of self doubt, mentions of crying, mentions of arguing and pushing, mentions of sadness and overwhelming thoughts, lots and lots of overthinking, self-isolation, drawing & listening to music as an escape, lovey dovey at the end, falling in love, mentions of Taesan’s real name ( Dongmin )

Weirdly enough, Taesan always seems to know me. Everything and anything that revolves around me, he knows and as someone who feels as though nobody understands them; it’s weirdly comforting

but also a bit scary.

I’ve noticed in my other K-Pop realities, promotion time and in between filming content and preparing for a new album is always a bit more rough on me mentally and emotionally than any other time. This time was no different, I could NOT slack or fall behind at any cost. At Least that's what my head was telling me.

Not only was this our debut but I'm the oldest member, I have to prove to everyone who had their eye on us that we were worth sticking around for and definitely worth the watch. Feeling as though I'm being held to a higher standard than everyone else, it’s kinda hard to try and stay optimistic when you watch everyone else around you on the screen. My members put their absolute everything into every single stage, as good and confident that made me feel to have such a team like this, it dragged me a little wondering if i’m putting enough for them as well.

Taesan never fails to tell me behind closed doors how he felt about my performance. Him and I have been together for a month and a half at this point ever since June 15, we talk to each other about everything and ANYTHING, sometimes too much information..

However, This wasn’t just promotion time anymore, Things have been different lately, more for me than him. Recording for the new album had me stumped, I was getting the praise for my work but I wasn’t feeling confident in myself like I should. Why is everyone telling me these amazing things and I’m not feeling it? I should believe them but I don’t. I listen to myself and see myself and I’m not seeing or hearing what they are.

After a rather upsetting recording session for our song “ Crying “, I left the studio and sat in the hallway in silence, placing the headphones onto my head and playing music as I took out my bag and began to draw nonsense. I could not pay attention to my thoughts or I would burst into tears and I can’t. Especially not at the workplace, that’s unprofessional, I can’t have staff, one of my members, or a member of another group see me in the halls of the workplace crying like a baby.

It’s been weeks since I've felt this burden on my shoulders of not doing enough, it always seems to be the same. I have people telling me about my “ amazing work in the studio “ so I have no reason to feel the way I do. I kept quiet about it all hoping that the feeling and the thoughts would drown itself out and I would just feel better one day, it’s almost never like that though. I tell people communication is important and I should take my own advice but I don’t. It’s not that big of a deal anyways, my thoughts say.

“ babe-“

I heard his voice over the music in my headphones, his voice snapped me out of the downward spiral my head was going into at that moment. I looked up to see Taesan looking at me, head tilted to the side with a look of worry and confusion. I take off my headphones to listen to him properly.

“ are you okay? I was talking to you- I asked how your recording went today, I just got done with mine”

My eyes wandered as I shrugged my shoulders “ there’s not enough time today to be in there for hours so i’m coming back tomorrow to fix it “

The room was filled with silence before Taesan took a seat next to me.

“ They said you did good though, I don’t see why you need to go in tomorrow-“ He spoke as if he was walking around eggshells, slowly over each word.

“ Well I told them I didn’t like how I sounded today so I’m going back tomorrow.” I replied as I got up to head towards the bathroom before I could even have my head start thinking again

“ What’s going on with you?” I heard from behind me and I shook my head, looking down at my feet as I walked

“ hey-“ I felt a hand on my shoulder, grab me and turn me around. Face to face with Taesan again.

“ Seriously, Tell me “

I stood there for a minute wondering if I should, but i felt the tears start to form in my eyes and I walked away again

“ It’s nothing.. I have to pee..” I mumbled trying to force the tears to go away and disappear.

Once again, I was turned to face him, this time he looked at me with frustration.

“ stop walking away-“ He paused and looked at me

“ are you okay-?” he asked

For some reason that question always pushes me off the end, Tears rolled down my cheeks and down my chin. I laughed to try and feel better or look as though nothing was wrong, which was not working at all. I backed away from him and as an immediate response he grabbed my hand

“ Asuma.. tell me what happened..” He spoke to me in a softer tone, a soft look in his eyes as he was worried

I then began to spill out every single thought that’s been on my mind for the last couple of weeks as if he was about to set off to war and leave me, I spoke every single word in one breath as tears were non stop running and my breath catching in my throat at times.

“ I just didn’t tell you because It’s such a little thing honestly and I didn’t think you’d care-“

Taesan’s grip on my shoulders suddenly dropped as he looked at me with a blank face. I looked up at him, rubbing the tears away from my eyes and off my face

“ You didn’t think I would care?.. Are you serious?”

I sat there for a moment wondering what about that line made him so upset. I didn’t respond

“ Asuma are you-? Why would I not care? I always care? all the time, every hour, every minute, every second I care- Do I not show that?”

My eyes widened as he began to ramble in a furious rage, why was he so upset about that comment I don’t understand?

“ No you do show that but-“

“ I don’t understand why you think I wouldn’t care- I don’t think there’s ever been a moment where I didn’t care about you-“

I stood there in utter shock, not a single word could come to mind .

“ Hey”

“ What’s going on? Guys stop arguing in the halls”

I looked back to find the voices to see Leehan and Jaehyun walking towards us confused, Jaehyun being more upset than confused.

“ We cannot argue in the halls at the workplace like this, anyone could walk by- with a camera too by the way, you guys need to take this to a private room “

Jaehyun said as he began to lead us to one of the vocal practice rooms

“ What’s going on..? “ Jaehyun asked worriedly, looking between us. I stared blankly at Jaehyun and looked over at Taesan who didn’t look too happy.

“ You can talk to us, you know? The both of you, I hate to see you guys argue-“ Leehan spoke before Taesan pushed himself away

“ We aren’t arguing. I’m done talking right now- I don’t want to talk right now.” He said as he walked away from us.

I leaned against the wall and sighed.

————

It’s been a couple days since the argument, we talk only when it’s necessary such as conversations about the album or work related things. It kinda had me worried with where we were currently at, it was tearing me apart with each day with the lingering thought in my head.

Are we over?

I couldn’t think about that today though; Jaehyun, Taesan, Woonhak, and I were scheduled to film a show where we took care and hung out with 3 kids. I’ve never been a person to take care of kids, but I didn’t hate them either, I was kinda excited honestly though.

On the way to the filming site and setting up our mics, getting into position, I could feel stares from Taesan. I looked over at him once in awhile but would look away again when we made eye contact as if we were back in high school all over again.

“ You two need to interact and talk while we are filming, please try ?” Jaehyun leaned in and whispered to Taesan and I.

I looked up at Taesan and felt a bit of myself breaking even more. I let us come to this where we have to force to interact with each other for the sake of our fans and filming. I nodded my head and Taesan nodded along as well.

Filming went along quite swimmingly actually, hanging out with the kids and playing/joking with them kinda took the edge off from the thoughts in my mind and the feelings I had prior to this.

I looked over at Taesan after being with Jaehyun and the older kids, I watched as Taesan held the infant in his arms. Watching as he held her carefully and delicately, tending to her and making her feel comforted in his arms. I watched as a smile grew on his face as he lifted the baby up towards his face, listening to the small laughs escaping from his lips. I watched as he carried the baby around the room and spoke to her softly, I watched as he put the baby back in her rocking carrier and watched over her, sticking by her side like it was his own.

I felt my world come together, I felt my heart light up and my stomach being swarmed with butterflies. I felt my face heat up and my lips curl into a big smile. I felt my future in front of my eyes and suddenly everything that had been happening between us lately disappeared.

Taesan looked up at me, smiling softly and his face grew into a light shade of pink before looking back at the baby again. The shoot went on wonderfully, it was exactly the glue that stuck me and taesan back together like nothing happened.

We said our byes to the camera, getting up and taking the mics off and thanking the staff for their time etc. We went back into the car, headed towards the company building for practice and I felt Taesan’s hand pat my leg.

“ I'm still upset about what you said, but I’m worse when we don’t talk to each other. I need to be with you, I need to be talking to you, I need you.”

As he spoke to me about how he had been feeling lately, I stared in admiration, I don’t think i’ve ever felt this way before and suddenly the movies made sense.

“ Dongmin.. I.. I love you..” I stated in a soft tone

That was the first time I have ever told him. He stared at me with wide eyes, he looked around at woonhak and jaehyun. Woonhak laughed in shock and blinked, watching the scene unfold as Jaehyun smiled, shaking his head and also watching everything unfold.

“ fuck.. you make it impossible to be mad at you, asuma.”

Taesan stated as he rolled his eyes playfully then leaned in, he took my hand into his and smiled, looking away from my eyes and looked down.

“ I could never stay mad at you, it sucks doing that anyways.. “

He stayed silent for a moment

“ I love you too.. “

I smiled and looked away out of pure shyness

“ hey but look at me-“

Taesan spoke as he grabbed my chin softly and made me look at him

“ I care. I always care. I will always care. Talk to me even if you think it’s dumb. You’ve been doing pretty good lately with.. everything carrying everything and everyone and recording. Stop thinking so much, leave that to me”

Woonhak gagged in the backseat along with Jaehyun, Taesan groaned and smacked the air in front of them playfully before rubbing the back of his neck

“ Just trust me? I would never lie to you”

I nodded my head and hugged him, leaning my head on his chest, leaning myself against his body as he wrapped his warm arms around me, welcoming me into his space again as he rested his head onto mine.

“ I do trust you.

[bee-saucee]

Birthday Cake | ShigaDabi Ficlet

Warnings for cursing and little smooches🫶

“Don’t be a dipshit, we can’t save it,” Shigaraki says, disgust and disappointment lining every word.

Dabi groans and drags his hands down his face. They’ve been working on this since 5AM and it was already approaching lunch. Dabi was ready to burn down headquarters if he had to attempt a crumb coat one more time.

“Don’t be a little bitch about it. If we just mash it together we can save it. We can make it an oversized cake ball,” Dabi reasons.

They attempted to make Toga a cake with all of her favorite celebrities on it from scratch. However, icing cakes was a lot harder than it seemed. Especially for two people who spent their days stealing and killing in less than delicate ways.

Shigaraki crosses his arms and squints at Dabi “I’m playing both my boss and boyfriend cards. Fuck this shit. I’m going to the store and buying a sheet cake because the birthday girl deserves a pretty cake on her fucking birthday. Not a Frankenstein cake from hell.”

“Oh come on. You always play the boss and boyfriend cards. Get some fucking new ones.”

Dabi is just met with two middle fingers slowly creeping into his vision before Shigaraki turns on his heel and grabs his jacket.

“You’re coming with me.”

“Hell no. I’m going to try and fix the homemade cake we made with love ‘for the birthday girl on her birthday,’” Dabi leers. “I’m not some cheap ass sellout.”

Shigaraki stands tapping his foot for a moment as he looks up at the ceiling trying to collect himself. Dabi completely ignores the guttural groans and whines spilling from his boyfriend. After at least 30 seconds of Shigaraki sounding like he was being exorcised, he strides back over and pokes Dabi’s shoulder multiple times. While Dabi was upset with his boyfriend, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore him when he was specifically asking for his attention.

“You know I can’t drive,” Shigaraki mumbles.

“I know, love.”

“So drive me.”

Dabi stands up straight from his cake evaluation and turns to his boyfriend. He cups his cheek and runs his thumb over his cheekbones.

“Hell fucking no,” Dabi murmurs tenderly.

Shiggy tugs Dabi in closer and plays with the bottom of his shirt. “Mm, yeah but I’m not eating a cake you’ve squished together with your hands. There’d be skin flakes in it and I’m still not convinced you always wash your hands, so fuck off and drive me,” He says just above a whisper.

“You say that as if you've bathed recently you dirty ass fucker," Dabi says and leans down to press a kiss to Shiggy's cheek.

“But I’m your dirty ass fucker,” Shigaraki smiles, reaching up to brush his lips over Dabi’s.

“All mine,” Dabi mutters against his boyfriend’s lips before closing the fraction of space between them.

This is what they always did. Stubbornly fight and insult one another until they fell into a heated kiss. Yet Dabi found himself falling deeper in love with each argument. After years of submission and being the perfect pawn, his boyfriend had grown into himself and his own opinions and so had Dabi. So yeah, there was a side of him that kind of loved it when they fought.

“Oh ew! Over my cake?! Have some decency you horny bastards,” Toga hisses from the entryway to the kitchen.

“Happy birthday, you rat,” Dabi beams, moving over to crush Toga in a hug.

Shigaraki tugs Toga into a hug of her own and slips a card into her pocket. “Happy birthday, Toga. That cake is probably carrying 10 different infectious diseases, so let us take you out for donuts?”

“I’d love that boss! Better bring your boyf too, but no making out over my donuts.”

“No promises. I’m feeling very in love with him today. Let’s go,” Dabi says, pushing the two forward.

Shigaraki turns and slaps Dabi on the ass before sweetly pecking him on the lips. “I’m feeling very in love with you today too.”

Thanks for reading! ( ͡ಥ‿ ಥ)━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

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[pigtailedgirl]

Balance Beam

Jack Huey angry character piece. Late season 2.

Being a good detective requires understanding balance. The edge of your skills to push a confession or wait to pull it out. The quiet to study your perspective case or perp, or the voice to strike. Balancing not only what you see but trusting when you know and when you are choosing to act upon it. That's how you close, how you really solve and then can go home to sleep at night.

He can't find a partner who gets this, and his third scotch bottle means no sleep. He doesn't want another one of either anyways but now he's off balance and it's not just the liqour.

Vecchio keeps trying to be there, and it's only vaguely enough. It's not Louis. Louis was his balance. Louis was a damn fool and all mouth and emotion. Never walked into a case with reason. See, that was Huey's place in this partnership. That's how they worked. Louis it was always a hair-brained feeling and instinct or gut.

It was his gut that murdered him. Had to knock it to Vecchio and feed. “Let's get em back for taking our bust with a free meal on mister new first grade dick and no tip Jack.” Or honestly, it was because Louis liked Vecchio. Louis liked the two of them, the mountie and Vecchio, as much as he was jealous of the solve rate comparison. Louis' heart meant he cared when someone else was happy or hurt and he showed it.

It's why Jack tolerates Vecchio now. Didn't blame him for any of this. For Louis. For the similarities of the soul they were or are. Vecchio may be dulled in his emotional grief, but he's still like Louis with temper and passion, he at least cared and showed he feels it, even if it was maybe part selfish, and it tempers the dull ache left in Jack's heart that at least Vecchio tries to balance Jack, or himself. Jack doesn't pin this on Vecchio.

But Jack's happy to stick it to the mountie. Because he's the one Jack blames.

Oh he knows it too. Jack sees it in his quiet eyes. In the way he avoids the conflict and Jack now like the coward. Avoids Vecchio's fixes too, while now, *scoffs* now, turning to softness with Vecchio. No longer pushing there, like he's afraid to tip the scales and break it. So too when Vecchio is with Jack, he trails like a third wheel or keeps a wide berth, watching and desperate on the outside, and Jack likes it. And as Vecchio tries and trips and unbalances juggling the two of them, watches between them with sad distance thinking it's his fault, trying to fix and mend in guilt...well Jack gets his only emotional rise in his jealous pleasure of how it makes the mountie unhappy but the bastard can't stop it.

Cause damnnit if he's superman, if he's so right and just, why couldn't he stop Louis too!

So...it's cruel, but maybe Jack gets his reason or unreason to keep going in the unbalance he's caused them. In can't just mend with him in the middle. His loss is still theirs.

The mountie, Fraser, skirts the lines like he's done since he showed up in the bull and dragged Vecchio to his bosom and madness, but he can't drag them out of grief that easy. Especially if he won't own feeling it.

See, secretly that's why Jack hates him most. Will keep right on doing so, don't give me those sad eyes Louis! No, not for Vecchio either. Maybe one day the 27th will forgive and welcome the canadian back but not him.

Cause there is no reasoning loss. Jack knows it. Feels it for Louis now. And he can forgive Vecchios' feud, or Zuko's criminality, or even god help him Sorrento's planting the bomb, but there's no way it's reasonable or there's a way to justify the why and how Fraser. There was no justice the minute Louis died.

He didn't want it either. He wanted the entire gamed system to pay. Vecchio got that feeling right away. Vecchio shared it. Owned it too. Yet the mountie wouldn't let them... and he's still trying to reason out. Reason Vecchio back, even after when he came to willingly, and reason Jack. The stupid bastard!

Jack's not stupid. Like he said, good detective. Balanced or no, drunk or grief ridden. He wasn't... Louis wasn't dead when the mountie broke at the seems the first time, then pretended he didn't feel, that reason hadn't deserted him. But they let it slide then. For Vecchio's sake. They gave them the support, and held with and against. Yet now he can't give it to them back. Give it to his partner. Not even to Vecchio now.

Jack watches the mountie. He knows lying to yourself. No wanting to balance yourself, pretending with reason or booze when you can't take the hurt.

But to do it at the expense of your partner? No see, that was the unforgivable moment. Or all the moments he held Jack and Vecchio back in the aftermath but had reasons too good to hold on. It makes Jack wanna be sick. Or is that the scotch again? Mountie sandbagging indeed.

[mintyjae]

no like i can't let it go, i'm still so upset :( long rant about sungtaro/nct/sm ahead

i mean we always knew that sm is terrible at managing their groups but experiencing it in real time as a (relatively) new kpop fan is infuriating... i only got into kpop/nct in mid 2021 so i didn't experience the peak of 3rd gen but from what i hear exo was dominating back then, like especially watching the pre-covid mama clips it's kinda crazy! obviously they're still crazy popular now but if you look at the impact on the current kpop scene they're not really there anymore and i get that has to do with the members enlisting too but i've seen plenty of exols (and fans of any other sm group) talk about how sm will abandon older groups in favour of the shiny new thing. for exo it was nct but now it seems they're doing it to nct in favour of the new non nct boy group that sungtaro + the rookies are supposed to be a part of. i get that they're trying to keep up with current kpop trends and probably want to compete with all the other new bgs but i really feel like they're cutting the nct concept short for no reason. if nct isn't as big as they had hoped it's bc they're mismanaging them!! if they spaced them out correctly i really feel like they could have easily debuted the japanese nct unit plus another korean nct unit, since that's what they seem to be going for with the new one, and i really think they could hold their own within the current 4th gen/upcoming 5th gen climate. obviously i'm gonna be biased as an nctzen but it really doesn't take much thinking to see they're underutilising the fuck out of the nct concept and now they're punishing the members and the fans as a result...

and ig they're hoping to have a good chunk of nctzens follow sungtaro to the new group but it's really not fair to us or them. if they're going out of their way to separate the new group from nct so much doesn't it defeat the purpose to drag nctzens with them into the new group?? like i'll definitely support them bc i've grown attached to them now but it feels like it's gonna be infintely harder now to establish them as their own separate group with their own disdinct voice as they will always have nct's shadow looming over them now, so i feel like a lot of us will just see them as an unofficial nct unit regardless...

this whole thing is fucked but i think what's especially cruel is shotaro got into sm FOR nct and they made his dream come true only to let him waste away for a few years and then rip it away from him again? like that's fucked... also sungchan gets on so well with all of them, i always look forward to him and jungwoo interacting!! like he trained with so many of them, the rookies too, it just feels so cruel for no reason. but ig now we can only hope for the yearly sm town interactions... :(

another thing i've noticed is the fandom's unanimous reaction to this news being very negative. i feel like with the lucas situation the fandom kind of split in half but it seems everyone is unhappy with this. the only remotely positive reaction i've seen is ppl saying they're happy sungtaro will actually finally have a fixed group and will actually get to be proper idols. i really wonder what k- and j-fans reaction to this is but i can't imagine they're very happy either

considering that sm was actively making merch with sungtaro's likness for nct home, ccomaz and the sanrio collab up until recently this definitely feels like a rushed decision. or maybe not rushed but this didn't seem to be a part of their long term plans until very recently, like welcome to nct universe just happened!! ig most likely shohei's injury unexpectedly set their plans back and i'm guessing sungtaro and the rookies were given the choice of delaying their debut within nct or this. and obviously we can't know but if that is what they chose i can't fault them for it. as much as we like to make the unemployment jokes, i'm sure it hasn't been fun for them, like universe was the last nct album and that was in 2021! and sungchan didn't even appear in a music video for it!! considering maw and 90s love are 2 of nct's best performing songs ever, it seems stupid even just on a purely monetary level to not do anything with them. so as much as this sucks i am really happy for them that they'll get to have a proper group now.

i really wonder about the rest of nct too, like seeing yuta's reaction today i can't imagine they got much of a heads up about this or that they wanted this either. first off, i want to sit down with yuta and shit talk sm so bad asdfshjfsdjds like you can tell that man is fed up! and rightfully so!!! considering we're coming up to contract renewal season it makes me wonder who in nct will leave... i feel like i can't see anyone in dream leaving (for now) but in 127 yuta has been pretty vocal about his discontent. and i rly feel like yuta could probably write a book on the ways sm constantly mistreats him, so it wouldn't shock me if he were to leave at some point. winwin is another candidate imo, he's so distant and elusive lol like he's building a pretty solid career for himself in china but he keeps making appearances with wayv every now and again so i really can't tell. nct def seems to be his sidegig tho and not the other way around, so i also wouldn't be shocked if he eventually dips. sm is rly fumbling the bag, like how is the supposedly limitless group losing members at such a high rate... sigh

ALSO apparently the new nct japan unit will be formed through a survival show... yuck 😬 sm has always historically stayed away from that, so i wonder if the new management changes and sm 3.0 have anything to do with that. regardless, i won't watch it ESPECIALLY if there are minors involved. i thought they learned their lesson after all the nct dream shit when aespa debuted with all of them being 18 and over and the rookies too. i'm really hoping they're not gonna regress into old habits... also from what i’ve seen from any other survival show, it never feels very fun or fair to the participating trainees, like i never watched stray kids’ survival show bc my heart hurt for them. i also really don't think that a survival show fits into nct's concept like AT ALL, especially at this stage of their career with 3 established units that all came together without a survival show. i feel like if they really wanted to go down that path they should've made that the concept for the non nct bg, that way they would also feel distinctly different from nct, but ig not 🙄

ofc i'll support sungtaro wherever they go but i wonder if we can bully sm into putting them back like dreamzens did for dream's graduation system, like just make the new bg be another nct unit and literally everyone will be happier for it!! ig it will probably have to come from k-czennies since they never care what us i-fans have to say lol but if there is a boycott i'll do it!!

[hot-hellboy]

An Omega's Heat - A Percico Fanfic (Part 3)

Part 1

Part 2

3rd Person POV 

 Nico woke up with the worst cramps ever. His head was pounding, his stomach was aching and all he wanted to do was curl up into a tighter ball than he already was in and maybe try to go back to sleep.  He and Percy had fallen asleep in his nest after Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales finished and now he was awake but his boyfriend was still asleep. Usually Nico was the last one to get up but every time his heat came around he always woke up earlier for some reason.

  Nico glared at Percy while he was fast asleep. How come alphas didn't have to suffer like this? How come he got to sleep in while Nico was wide awake, in pain, and exhausted? He didn't think anything about the situation was fair. Not fair at all.   Nico knew there was no use giving Percy the death stare, especially since he wasn't even awake yet, but he couldn't help the fact that he was annoyed. It felt like someone was poking his insides with a dozen sharp knives and that was surely bound to make someone a little prickly.   It didn't help the fact that Percy was snoring quietly, obviously showing he was in a deep sleep while Nico was trying to hold it together for the time being.    Every time he closed his eyes it felt like the cramps got worse, so he just decided to stay awake until Percy got up. Luckily, Nico didn't have to wait very long before the alpha next to him rubbed his eyes and opened them. 

  "Good morning, baby."

  Percy said and he was about to reach over to give Nico his morning cuddle, but the small omega hissed and turned the other way.

  "Nico? Did I do something wrong?"

  He asked, concerned. 

  "No. Why don't you just go back to your peaceful little sleep while I'm busy dying over here."

  It didn't matter how dramatic Nico sounded. He was in pain and Percy couldn't do anything about it, so of course he was going to be snappish. 

  "Uh...I wasn't really planning on going back to sleep now that I'm kind of up already. But is there something I can do to help?"

  He asked, clearly confused as to why Nico was giving him the cold shoulder. Literally. 

  "There's...Not really anything...You can do."

  Nico was barely able to get the words out as another agonizing wave of pain washed over him.    Percy didn't say anything else but instead got out of the nest and got a hot shower going for Nico when he was ready to come out. He really couldn't be annoyed with the omega, no matter how frustrated he was with him. Nico wasn't happy at the moment so Percy wanted to fix it.  Nico's sensitive ears heard the shower running and he had to admit, it was hard to stay mad at Percy when he was clearly trying to make it up to him. After contemplating for a moment, Nico dragged himself out of his nest and half crawled-half hobbled his way over to the bathroom and got in the shower with Percy.

  The alpha gave him a nice massage once they were both inside the shower, and Nico couldn't stop the little purr that escaped him. He knew Percy felt some satisfaction just hearing that from him but he wisely stayed quiet and instead focused on washing him and Nico's hair and bodies.     He moaned as Percy made him spread his thighs and he rubbed his pink hole and worked the soap into it. 

  "I know how much you like that."

  He growled with one hand wrapped around the base of Nico's throat while the omega supported himself against the wall. Damn, Percy really knew how to fix his attitude when he was being bitchy.   He slipped a little bit of his thumb inside Nico and moved it around a little before pulling out and rinsing him off. Nico reciprocated by in turn washing Percy's muscular body, and running his small hands all over his ripped arms and chest. 

  Once they were done, the two of them got out of the shower and Nico slipped on Percy's warm oversized knit sweater paired with some lounge pants and his boyfriend was dressed rather similarly in comfort wear.   For breakfast, it was pretty much the same as yesterday with Percy going to the pavilion to pick something up for both of them and they ate at Nico's cabin.   Breakfast was a short affair and Nico couldn't wait to climb back inside his nest and stay there for a couple hours. He helped clean up and afterwards got into his nest and laid down inside of it.

  "Do you want me to join you or do you need some alone time? I totally understand if you need some space, Nico."

  Percy said and Nico made a small sound that hopefully let Percy know that it was okay to join him. Talking at the moment was a little difficult, especially with how bad his cramps were getting again. But Nico could ignore them for a while now that Percy was with him and allowed him to rest his head on his lap.     He started purring again as his alpha whispered soothing things to him and told him how pretty he was and how much he loved him. Although he was in a great deal of pain, he still found happiness in having Percy close to him and he enjoyed his boyfriend's warmth. 

  "Percy?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I love you."

  He heard a deep loving rumble low in Percy's throat as he played with Nico's hair.

  "I love you too. So very much. Do you need anything, by the way?"

  The alpha asked him. Nico was about to say 'no' until he remember how nice it felt to be held and massaged back in the shower.

  "Touch me and keep telling me I'm beautiful."

  He said and Percy chuckled a little.

  "As you wish."

  He stopped playing with Nico's hair momentarily and rested his hand on Nico's tummy.

  "Show me where it hurts the most."

  He said and Nico squirmed under his touch but moved his hand upwards on his belly and slightly to the right.

  "Ugh, there."

  He grunted and Percy gently pressed his hand down on that same spot Nico showed him. It hurt a lot at first, but Nico eventually relaxed as Percy persistently massaged all the places where he was hurting while simultaneously telling him sweet things.    His cramps eventually died down after a while and Nico felt himself drifting off to sleep as he listened to Percy's steady breathing. 

  "Get some rest, omega. You need it."

  He said and nuzzled Nico's cheek. Percy was getting kind of tired as well and he just decided to curl up beside the boy and go to sleep.

The

   End.

[book-lover85]

Future/adult sokeefe headcanons

↑ tags from og post

I think Ro becomes queen like maybe 100-200 years after they beat the Neverseen, Sophie and Keefe visit Ro in ravagog at least once a month

people are absolutely shocked that the queen of the ogres came to the Sokeefe wedding - not only that she was a member of the wedding party (whether that's as Keefe's only family member or one of Sophie's bridesmaids is up for debate) or maybe another elven wedding role the Sokeefe wedding is absolute chaos Keefe follows through and has spiders come out from the seats like he said in book 2 but it's only his dad's chair Sophie was in on it the Dizznee triplets are like 100 and still causing chaos Sophie dips Keefe and calls him Foster (I've made a post about this)

Keefe designs a crest for the Fosters since they're essentially starting a whole new family line it might be a moonlark or something else symbolic

Sophie goes by Foster-Ruewen to make it clear who her parents are she also alternates between wearing her Foster and Ruewen crest (I could also see all of them being Foster-Ruewen)

They have their first kid like 10-20 years after being married she has brown eyes a lot of elves are judgy about it but Keefe glares all of them down (all of their children are probably blonde, the blonde genes run deep, honestly tho 3/4 grandparents being blonde is insane?? <- related why are there so many blondes in the Lost Cities)

Sophie becomes the leader of the Black Swan somewhere in between there (the Black Swan essentially exists as a precaution for the council/elvin government so there's never a purely trusting relationship between them) and also a high ranking member of the nobility (both as the leader of Black Swan and in general) so she's constantly overworking herself

Keefe basically has to drag her to bed when she's channeling her inner Grady with a million scrolls on the dinner table he can, will, and has picked her up and brought her to bed to sleep (she falls asleep in his arms before they reach their bedroom)

One of Sophie's first acts after beating the Neverseen was to fix the matchmaking system so that it doesn't matter what talent someone has or if they have one, completely abolished bad matches the matchmaking system is essentially a list of relatives you shouldn't date and you have to request to get a traditional list (which will now include talentless, you can't change this) so while many prejudiced elves will still judge what would have been or was a bad match, Sophie and Keefe were never officially ruled a bad match (or maybe they go out of their way make it clear they are/would be specifically to make a point about how flawed the matchmaking system is)

(the actual first thing Sophie did was definitely petition for talentless to be allowed in the elite levels ive also made a post about this)

the reason their little boy (no im not naming them) manifested as a teleporter so young is because since it's not a normal ability it doesn't tend to rely on puberty and instead is first triggered when the person is in a high adrenaline situation that feels like falling

Keefe and Sophie visit the Grove at Havenfield on their wedding anniversary

this is a super popular headcanon but the Fosters all celebrate each other's birthdays and on Keefe's Sophie always gets super heartfelt gifts and Keefe starts crying (it happens every year, their daughter has started rolling her eyes when it happens) Keefe makes Sophie a new art piece every year and she gives him a strangle hug just like she did when he gave her paintings for midterms

Silveny gives Sophie and Keefe rides on her back a lot especially when she looks into Sophie's mind and sees she's stressed (Keefe starts to notice this pattern and after it happens a couple times he makes her tea or hot chocolate that night and makes her take a break and do a movie night or something) their kids come sometimes especially and when they're older they start to ride Wynn and Luna on their own

Stay at home dad and artist on commission Keefe

[icallhimjoey]

A Whisper Away

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: A continuation of Like A Poem and A Lot Like Love where we dip into your November for a couple consecutive years and see how you’re getting on with the bookstore, Joe’s career and… other changes.

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, angsty, I strongly advise you to read the previous bookstore fics before diving into this one!

Author’s note: an amazing request from @darthvontrapp​ inspired this “third season” in the bookstore - im LOVING your feedback on it so far, keep it coming! 

Wordcount: 3.5K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“You can never let him know that I’m letting you listen to this,” you said to your mother. You were both sat on your sofa, and she just smiled at you as she sipped her tea.

“No, mum. I’m serious. He’ll actually murder me.” you were serious, but your eyes were comically big and the sight of you gave your mum a hard time not cracking up.

You pressed play on the voicemail Joe had left you about 18 hours earlier, in the middle of the previous night. 

“Hey, it’s me... Joe,” 

It had been 17 hours and 50 minutes since you’d first listened to it. Three o’clock in the morning. For some reason, the ringing of your phone hadn’t awoken you, but the text message you received straight after, alerting you of a new voicemail message, had shocked you from your sleep. 

You saw Joe’d called you, and it took you a second to fully understand the situation. Panic took over; maybe something was wrong with Alfie. 

But, would he not just have called a couple of times if that had been the case? You eyed the time and the date on your phone, and groaned a little. 

Then you received another text. From Joe this time.

“please delete that, sorry x” 

Still in bed, half asleep, head pressed firmly into your pillow, you decided you would listen to the message straight away, ignoring Joe’s request entirely. You loved being pocket-dialed and eavesdropping in on conversations. Receiving a voicemail you were then asked not to listen to? An impossible task.

“Hey, it’s me... Joe,”

The fact that Joe thought he needed to clarify that it was him by mentioning his name felt so stupid, it was almost insulting. 

“I know I’m calling at an awful hour, I thought maybe you’d be awake anyway, but I guess not,” 

Joe’s voice was deep and sleepy, and you could hear that he was trying to stay as quiet as he could. He left long pauses in his speech and dragged out words like he wasn’t really sure of what he was going to say next, and you wondered what had prompted him to call you at three o’clock in the morning. You hadn’t spoken about anything other than the necessary information about Alfie whenever he’d pick him up, or you’d drop him off. You hadn’t talked to each other in ages, especially not since deciding that perhaps, taking a break from each other would be the best thing for you. 

“That’s good,” 

You’d tried. For months, you had really tried. You’d gone to view some houses with Joe, because he really wanted you to move out of the apartment. You’d visited Joe three times on set in the United States, opting not to join him for the full duration of it, but be there at the start, somewhere in the middle, and near the end of filming. In between you had FaceTimed lots, but you’d felt Joe slip away from you. All you’d talk about was Alfie, and your chats became more formal, just exchanging what needed exchanging. You’d decided Mondays the bookstore wouldn’t open, and Sundays, you’d close early. Sometimes you’d even open late on Tuesdays. 

You had tried. You’d really, really tried. 

But you'd been raised on books. Books that always had the time for you. Books that never made you wait for them. Books that would give you quiet time and space away from them for hours if you needed them to, only to be right there, ready and willing when you wanted to pick them up again. Books that wouldn't assume. Books that didn't fill blanks themselves, that didn't go behind your back to fix things, to make things worse in the process. 

Books that you loved so dearly, that had seemingly been the solid foundation of your relationship, but now seemed to have its pages torn - it's last few chapters ripped out and missing.

“I mean, it’s good that you’re not awake. Dad said that you’d been having trouble sleeping- not that we, we don’t... he doesn’t tell me the things you two talk about. I ask, but... you know what he’s like,” 

There were days where Joe wouldn’t be able to pick Alfie up, and Joe’s dad would stop by to take him off your hands. He’d always make time to ask you how you were; how you were feeling, how you were coping. At first, you’d never reveal much, but as time passed, he’d know how to get small bits of information out of you. He’d commented on how you looked tired the other day, and you’d said you hadn’t been sleeping very well. You knew it was mostly the time of year that got under your skin, and Joe’s dad had suggested for you to maybe talk to Joe about Alfie’s days. Maybe you could arrange for Alfie to be at Joe’s a bit more in these months. “Yea, maybe,” you’d just nodded and smiled, knowing that you couldn’t, but that his dad was only trying to help. You missed Alfie enough as it was when he’d have his days at Joe’s.    

“Today Alfie had a rough day. He kept wanting things and even if I gave them, it just, wouldn’t be right... at one point he just sat in the corner beside the sofa, hidden in the curtains for a while and when I went to check on him after a bit, he was reading! Can you believe that? He had his book, the one with all the animals in, and had it open in his lap like he was actually reading it!” 

Joe just... talked. He talked. You had a hard time coming around to the fact that he had called you, just to talk. On this day. At this time. You imagined him in bed, phone pressed to his ear in the dark, with the urge to just... talk to you, and then just taking the plunge, picking up the phone before he could’ve changed his mind. You felt emotion shoot up your throat as Joe recounted his day with Alfie. 

“Of course, I didn’t disturb him... I know the rules,” 

You could hear Joe’s smile through the phone and you chuckled through a loud sob that surprised you, hot tears sinking into your pillow. Joe was silent for a bit, and you wished you could’ve seen his face to guess his train of thought. 

“I just... God, I was really hoping to catch you. I don’t know what it is... maybe it's the time of year? But I can’t seem to get you out of my mind, none of it is getting any easier... I miss you. My friends said it would get easier, but I still miss you,” 

Joe missed you. You knew in that moment that you’d be listening to this message again a million more times, just to hear him say that over and over again. He missed you. And you missed Joe too, but you couldn't help but only miss a very specific version of him. One that he didn't seem to have any of left within him now.

“Remember when we found out we were having Alfie? I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life, I just... I couldn’t stop thinking of all the things that could go wrong, you know? But the way you... you just...” 

You allowed yourself to reminisce along with him. Joe had made offhand comments about having children someday a couple of times, so you knew that he’d definitely wanted them at some point. You just hadn’t expected for it to happen so soon. You’d been on antibiotics for a bladder infection and had forgotten that sometimes, antibiotics render contraception useless. At least, that’s what you heard could happen, so that’s what you thought must have happened. The two of you’d had to make quick decisions. Were you going to do this? Yes, you both wanted to. Even with Joe’s career? Yes, you’d figure it out, you’d been so sure of it. Would Joe move into the apartment above the store with you? Yes, he already practically lived there anyway. Joe’s flatmate could easily rack up the rent for the flat himself and was happy he’d get more space in return. Joe’s old bedroom had been converted into an office, and the small office they’d shared before, had become storage. 

Joe’d been lucky that his flatmate had immediately opened his doors for him when he asked if he could move back in. Joe’d said it would probably be temporary, but now, the office had become his full bedroom again, and the storage room was now Alfie’s. 

“You’re one of the strongest people I know. I don’t think I realised it then... witnessing you giving birth, however, Jesus... I don’t- have I ever told you this? It took so long, but the way you powered through the whole thing, one of the nurses afterwards told me how impressed she was because she’d seen other ladies give up having not gone through half of what you had to deal with, and you looked like you could’ve easily gone eight more hours if you had to. You were... I don’t know, chipper? Just, so animated, they all loved you. You were cracking jokes all the way up until you fell asleep afterwards... I couldn’t laugh at a single one of them, I was so sick with nerves...” 

You honestly didn’t remember much from your labour, just that it took ages. You didn’t remember the things your mother kept telling you for encouragement. You didn’t remember Joe’s terrified, worried, ashen complexion. Apparently he’d been clammy the whole time, wiping sweat from your face just as much as from his own. You didn’t remember the nurses laughing at jokes you were making, and you didn’t remember much of the pain either.

You did remember the first sounds Alfie made. And you did remember Joe’s proud tears as he looked at you with Alfie pressed against your chest. You also remembered how you had felt after giving birth - the euphoria of that moment was something you wish you could’ve bottled up for future use, because oh my God, that had been different from anything else you’d ever experienced before. You honestly thought another pregnancy would be worth considering just for that feeling.  

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where this is coming from... I should probably hang up, I’ll see you tomorrow when I drop off Alfie after nursery,” 

Joe seemed suddenly embarrassed. Like he all of the sudden had realised what he was doing. You wondered if maybe he’d been drinking and was now slowly sobering up. But he didn’t hang up the phone. He let another silence linger and you wondered how much longer until voicemail would cut him off. 

“Do you know how much I love you? I know I’m probably not meant to say, but I... I love you. A lot. I just need you to know that.”  

Hearing Joe say those words made you think back to the last time he’d said them to you. It was during the saddest fight you’d ever had with him. It’s when ultimately you’d said that you thought maybe you couldn’t do this with Joe. That maybe being with Joe Quinn wasn’t written in the stars for you, because you found it more and more difficult as Joe’s fame grew. Joe’d sarcastically agreed, furiously so, shouting things like, “Of course you can’t fucking do this with me, what, with all the trouble it’s giving you,”, insinuating that whatever issues you were having with it weren't real. Like the thing you'd been scared of from the start wasn't still looming over you so threateningly. Joe had tried to make being with him sound all sorts of simple, and you knew even then that it wouldn't be, so you'd pretend. You'd pretend it was simple, until you couldn't anymore. When you had proposed to take an actual break from each other for a little while, Joe had broken down completely. His anger had immediately shifted into sad desperation, and you didn’t remember how long you’d held Joe as he’d violently sobbed and kept repeating that he loved you. 

“I miss you... I can’t look at Alfie without missing you. He gave me a look today that was just- it was exactly your face. The nose scrunch you do, the eye roll. He rolled his eyes at me! This kid, I swear to God... Although, he might’ve gotten the eye roll from Anne, I’m not sure...”

You laughed through your tears as you listened.

“I hope you have an alright day, don’t let this message ruin it. I’m sorry if it does.” 

It sounded like Joe was rounding of his phone call for the second time, but once again, he let a silence fall before carrying on.

“Can I... just, I need to... do you miss me? I’m never sure if... like, do I move on now? I’m not sure how I could, but is that... is that what’s happening right now? Are we just postponing breaking up for real? Because I don’t know how much longer I can be on this break,” 

You swung legs over the edge of your bed, and looked around the dark room, focussing on what you thought might be clothing items you could quickly grab to put on. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that... shit, what am I doing? Sorry, you’re better off deleting this message all together. I... I’ll text you to delete it, sorry, I’ll see you tomorrow,”  

You didn’t waste any time. You hadn’t even fully registered the last couple of things Joe’d said because you were busy, jumping into a pair of jeans and scanning the room to see if you left your shoes in there somewhere. With your shoelaces still undone, you grabbed your coat from its hook, found your keys on the side and scurried your way down the stairs.

You didn’t want to ring Joe’s doorbell, knowing the godawful sound it would echo throughout the apartment. You didn’t need to wake up Alfie, you just needed to see Joe. But it was raining, and you were cold, and Joe wasn’t answering his phone, so you had no other choice. When the door buzzed open, you raced inside, giving for the stairs, taking two at a time, leaving a wet trail from the front door of the building all the way to the front door of Joe's flat. 

When you rounded the corner, you could see Joe waiting for you in his doorway, squinty eyes, confused and frowning as you pulled into his focus. You were rushing, and when you opened your arms in your last few steps, Joe braced for impact and caught you. You lips crashed onto his as you legs curled around his back. Joe had no other choice but to kiss you back. You hadn't kissed each other in weeks and you were desperate for his mouth. And from the way Joe so readily accepted all of your bodyweight as you'd practically jumped him, drenched from the rain, you knew he must have felt the same.

"Do I miss you?" your tone was accusing as you spoke into his mouth, grasping onto his shoulders tighter. "Are you fucking serious?" the cold rain had left you freezing. You really felt how cold you were when held up and pressed tightly against Joe's warm body, and you shivered into your kiss. 

"You listened to the voicemail," Joe took a few steps into the flat with you in his arms and turned to use his hip to shut the door behind you, lips only leaving yours to whisper.

"Of course I did, you idiot," you whisper yelled at him, very aware that you were in a flat with two sleeping people and you leant back from your kiss to look at his face. 

"You're soaked," Joe whispered, scanning you over like he hadn't seen or felt it yet. Joe looked like the Joe you'd fallen in love with years ago. Hair fluffy, face scruffy, his T-shirt loosely hung on his frame. You, on the other hand, looked like you'd taken a cold shower with your clothes on. 

"It's raining," you let your feet find the floor, but Joe was quick to pull you back into another kiss, his hands on your cheeks, nose nudging around yours slowly and you couldn't help but melt into it. 

"I shouldn't have called," Joe started slowly pushing you backwards, manouvering you to his bedroom, his tongue finding yours to play with.

"You shouldn't have called," you lied, and let Joe guide you down the hallway until he closed his bedroom door behind the two of you. 

"And then what?" your mother asked, and if she hadn't been holding a hot mug of tea, you'd have smacked her with one of your sofa cushions. Like you were going to go into detail with her - absolutely not.

"What do you mean, and then what?" your reddened cheeks surely gave away what had happened next, and your mother knew, but that didn't mean she didn't get to make fun of it a little. 

"Well, why isn't he here?" your mother gestured around the apartment.

"Because... I don't know, we're still on a break?" you shrugged. It didn't make sense, but you guessed that you kind of were, still. One night together hadn't effectively fixed anything, but it had opened a door you thought maybe you wouldn't be able to open anymore. 

The next morning you'd showered at Joe's flat, had a very awkward interaction with Joe's flatmate before taking a very surprised Alfie over to nursery with Joe. You'd strolled hand in hand for a minute, the sleeves of your coat still wet and cold to the touch, but Joe hadn't let go until he had to because you'd arrived. You'd then parted ways, and as you'd turned around, Joe'd squeezed your bum and he'd given you a naughty smile when you'd silently scolded him for doing so in public. Then, you'd walked back to the store, and found Anne there, getting the store ready to open at 10. 

At 11, the door to the store had opened and to your surprise, Joe had wandered in. You'd been up high on a ladder when you saw him enter, and your heart stopped for a second when you saw Anne look at him from behind the counter. You half expected him to be there to talk. But then, Joe had politely said hi to Anne and had given her a tight lipped smile, like he wasn't Joe, but instead a regular, old, bookstore customer. You watched him from above as he let his eyes wander some shelves before picking up a book, taking off his coat and sitting down in an armchair. His armchair.

Anne had looked up at you and frowned as if to say, what the fuck is he doing. You frowned back, just as confused as she was, shaking your head a little as if to say, I don't fucking know, but you couldn't help having to hide a smile, pursing your lips in a poor attempt.

"He came into the store to read," you said to your mother, as if that explained anything at all. "Spent over two hours sat in one of the armchairs, like he used to. When I made him a cup of coffee, he said thank you like we were strangers flirting with each other, it was so stupid," you grinned.

Your mother eyed you for a second before inhaling sharply. "Sometimes I forget how much you resemble him," she smiled as she leant forward to place her mug on your coffee table. You knew who she was talking about. You grandfather was the reason she'd come over in the first place, because she thought you'd probably have had a rough day. Instead, you'd surprised her with bright eyes and with elated body language when you had let her in. 

"I do?" you were instantly curious.

"Oh God, are you joking? All of the issues you and Joe seem to be having, it's like I'm 6 and listening to my own parents bicker over the dinner table," your mother shook her head as she laughed, and you could see her eyes gloss over slightly as she seemed to sink into her memories.

"Did they... were they okay? In the end?" you asked carefully after a short silence, watching your mother's face as she nodded whilst staring into space. "Oh yea, they figured it out - it was easy, once they did," 

"How did they do it?" 

Your mother then turned to look at you and was met by her daughter, staring at her with big eyes, filled with big emotions. She gave you a reassuring smile. 

"The books. It was always the books." 

-----

The Taglisted: @ghostinthebackofyourhead @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @munsonmunster​ @kellysimagines​ @dirtyeddietini​ @mybffjoe​ @harrys-tittie​ @chaoticgood-munson​ @harringtonfan4​ @sherrylyn628​ @bdpst-massacre​ @xeddiesbattattsx​ @05secondsofsexgods​ @lovelyblueness​ @adoreyouusugar​ @nadixq​ @prozacandnicotine​ @munsonswhore86​ @alwayslindie​ @thefemininemystiquee​ @hauntingbastille​ @eddie-joe-munson​ @ali-in-w0nderland​ - add yourself

[fatecantstopme]

Why Wait?

Pairing: DBF!Bucky Barnes x plus size!reader

Summary: You've known Bucky for years, but the dynamic between you had begun to shift since you'd graduated college. He suddenly found himself struggling to act normal around you and you decided to make it your mission to find out why.

Warnings: Age gap (legal), reader is approximately 25, Bucky is approximately 39. Cursing. SMUT. Unprotected sex (P in V), oral (M receiving, F receiving), praise kink. Use of pet names (doll, sweets, baby). A little Dom/Sub vibes.

"Oh for goodness sake, Peggy. It's a two week vacation, not a six month excursion," your dad exclaimed in mock exasperation as your mom dragged two giant suitcases to the top of the stairs.

"You could at least help me, Steven," she grumbled in return.

"You know I will," he said with a laugh as he climbed the stairs and took both suitcases from her.

Your mother looked pointedly at you. "Marry a man who takes care of you without complaining."

You laughed. "Thanks for the advice mom. I'll be sure to let all the 25 year old dudes know that chivalry is important."

She rolled her eyes and descended the stairs quickly. She shot your dad an award-winning smile, which he returned with equal warmth.

"You sure you'll be okay by yourself, kiddo?" your dad asked.

"As you just reminded mom, it's only two weeks. I think I can handle that. I am, after all, a full-grown adult...mostly."

Your dad chuckled and shook his head. "I know you are. I just worry sometimes." He wrapped you in a big hug. "If you need anything, anything at all, Bucky's right next door."

"Yes, dad, I know. He's only lived there for like 10 years."

"Come on, sweetie, we're going to miss our flight if we don't get moving," your mom said gently.

You helped your parents get their luggage out to the car and packed in. You waved to them as they pulled out of the driveway, more than a little excited to have the house to yourself for a couple weeks.

It hadn't been your plan to move back home after college, but you didn't have much of a choice. You couldn't afford to live on your own right now, especially since your writing career hadn't exactly taken off yet. It did at least give you more time to dedicate to perfecting your craft.

You knew yourself though, so you knew there was no way you were going to spend the next two weeks holed up in your room, working on yet another chapter of a book you weren't sure you were going to finish. You had much more important things on your mind, like what the hell was going on with your neighbor, Bucky.

Your dad and Bucky became instant friends when Bucky had moved to the neighborhood when you were a freshman in high school. You would have to have been an idiot (or blind) to not think the man was deliciously sexy, but you also knew that he was way out of your reach, for so many different reasons.

Bucky and you also hit it off. He liked your humor and you pretty much thought he walked on water, although you hid it well. Bucky had taught you how to drive a manual, he'd taught you how to ride a motorcycle (which your mother hated), and he was always there when you needed him for anything. He'd been by your college apartment several times over the past 4 years to fix various things that the landlord just never got around to.

But things have been weird between the two of you ever since you'd graduated a few months ago. A lot had changed for you in the last couple years, but one constant had always been Bucky. For the first time since you'd known him, he seemed almost uncomfortable in your presence, and he actually seemed to be avoiding you as best as he could. You had to admit that you hated it, especially because you truly did count Bucky as a friend, despite the age difference.

Your parents being gone for the next two weeks gave you time to figure out what was going on with him. Had you done something to upset him? Did he finally decide that being friends with someone almost 15 years his junior was weird? Or were you just imagining the whole thing and over-thinking? If you asked your last three boyfriends, then yeah, option three was a real possibility.

You sighed and went back inside the house, mulling over exactly how you were going to dig into the mind of the most elusive man you'd ever met. He always seemed to be in a great mood, but then you'd walk in the room and he would shut down. You were used to his stunted ability to express his emotions, but this was a whole new level of emotionless.

The only thing working in your favor was that you knew him really well. It was a Saturday, and Bucky only did one of two things on Saturdays: hang out with your dad at your house, or hang out with your dad at his house. Which meant Bucky's evening was definitely completely free. Conveniently, yours was also completely free. So you concocted a plan to get Bucky to open up to you.

**********

At 5:30pm, you stood on Bucky's doorstep waiting for him to answer the door. When the door swung open, he looked genuinely surprised to see you on the other side of it.

You held up the items in your hands. "I brought pizza and beer." You walked past Bucky without another word.

"Um, (Y/N), whatcha doing?"

"It's Saturday night and I'm bored, so," you gestured to the pizza you'd just sat on his kitchen island. "I came bearing gifts."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. "Why would you want to spend your Saturday night at home with your old-ass neighbor?"

"First of all, I happen to like spending time with my old-ass neighbor, and secondly, have you met people my age? I have zero desire to go to a club and flirt with guys I have zero interest in taking home."

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle at your candidness. It was something he had always loved about you. "Fair enough. Although, I do feel some sort of away about you not correcting me when I said 'old'."

You grinned and handed him a beer, which he took gratefully. Lord knew he was gonna need a beer or two to make it through tonight. "For the record, you're not old, you just like to act like you are," you teased.

"Insulting me in my own home. Who on earth raised you?" he teased back.

"Wolves," you answered cheekily as you turned away from him in search of a glass.

Bucky inhaled sharply as he got a better look at your backside. You'd thrown on an over-sized t-shirt and leggings for comfort. You knew the leggings made your ass look amazing and the shirt hid all the little bumps and rolls you wanted to hide. You weren't ashamed of your body or your weight, but that didn't mean you wanted to dress up 24/7.

You were stretching up to reach a glass, which for some reason Bucky put on the freaking top shelf, when you heard his sharp inhale. You realized your shirt had lifted up when you'd reached, and exposed quite a bit of your legging-clad ass. You reached just a little farther, in part because you wanted to give him a little bit of a show, but also because you seriously could not reach this damn glass.

"Can I help you with something, doll?" Bucky asked from directly behind you.

You almost jumped out of your skin at his proximity. You tried to play it off so you didn't look like a weirdo. "I know you're tall, but do you really have to put your glasses on the top shelf? What if you have short guests?"

He chuckled. "I don't usually have guests. At least not ones who stay long enough to need a glass."

"Well, I hate drinking beer from a can," you pointed above your head, "so you think you can hand me a glass?"

Bucky reached up above you and pulled a glass out of the cabinet with ease, eyes never leaving yours. It felt strangely intimate, this moment, but as soon as the glass was in your hand, he was on the other side of the island, moving so quickly it was like he couldn't get away from you fast enough.

You poured your beer into the glass and reached for a slice of pizza. "Wanna watch a movie?" you asked casually.

"Yeah, that'd be good. As long as you don't pick something awful."

You laughed as you followed him to the living room, pizza box in hand. "If you promise not to pick a cheesy 1950s movie, then I'll let you choose."

"The 1950s movies are the best!" he insisted.

"Okay, old man," you teased.

"Hey," he said as he tossed a blanket at you. "I thought I told you not to call me old."

"When the shoe fits..."

He groaned and plopped down on the couch next to you, leaving a good foot of space between the two of you. He grabbed the remote, flipped on the TV, and started scrolling through different movies to stream.

"Anything look interesting, doll?"

Bucky had called you 'doll' for as long as you could remember, but it hadn't felt so...intimate...until recently. You couldn't deny that you loved the sound of it on his lips. "Hmm...just pick something funny."

"So you want a rom-com?" he teased lightly.

"I did not say that, Barnes. I said funny. Like comedy."

"Well too bad," he said as he selected what definitely looked like a rom-com, "I'm all about the romantic comedies."

You groaned.

"What? It's literally got the word 'comedy' in it."

You laughed. "Alright, alright. I'll watch it without complaining, but if it sucks, I'm absolutely gonna judge you."

"Rightfully so."

The two of you settled in, blanket covering you both, enjoying the relaxation of the moment, as well as the pizza and alcohol that was now flowing through your system.

As the movie played, you found yourself not paying much attention, focusing instead on the man next to you. His body language, his posture, the way his hair had little flecks of gray near his temples. He clearly hadn't shaved in a couple days and he was sporting a very sexy beard that you couldn't help but appreciate.

It wasn't until you'd reached adulthood that you actually began to truly fantasize about your dad's best friend. You were legal, which meant a relationship with him was legal, or at the very least a sexual one would be permissible. You'd never said anything, never tried to pursue it, and only flirted jokingly with him like you did with most people you met.

You'd seen the kind of women that Bucky would date over the years, so you were very familiar with his type. You swore they were models, every single one of them, but none of them lasted for more than a month or two. You and your parents were the most consistent thing in his life and you'd often wondered why that was. He was such a good person, but he was so entirely alone. It almost broke your heart.

"I can feel you staring at me," he said lightly.

"Shit, sorry!" you blushed as you looked away.

"It's okay. I got something on my face or what?"

You laughed. "No, I was just lost in thought. Your face happened to be in the way of my gaze."

He chuckled. "How rude of my face."

You elbowed him lightly. "You're a dork."

"Hi pot, this is kettle," he said with a raised eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up and watch the movie," you said in a teasing tone.

Bucky grinned and turned his attention back to the movie. You forced your eyes to look back at the screen, but by this point you had no idea what was happening in this movie. Hell, you weren't even sure who the main characters were.

About 10 minutes passed before your attention was once again broken by the sound of Bucky's voice. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." You turned your body towards him slightly so he knew you were paying attention.

"Why aren't you seeing anybody?" he asked softly, eyes still glued to the screen.

"You mean, like dating?"

He nodded.

"Well, um...I guess I haven't met anyone worth being with yet."

He nodded again. "But you had several boyfriends in college, as I recall."

"Yeah, but none of them would have ever amounted to anything long term."

"Hmm," he hummed. "It just seems like you deserve better."

"What do you mean? I don't mind being alone."

"A girl like you deserves to be loved, really truly loved. Adored. Worshiped." His voice sounded distant, as if he wasn't even fully aware of what he was saying.

You were surprised by his words, unsure how to respond. A mere 'thank you' didn't really seem right, but it was all you could muster.

The conversation ended again, and you could have left it there...but you'd come here with a purpose, so you just couldn't stop yourself from asking, "Why aren't you seeing anybody?"

Bucky looked at you in surprise, as if he had no idea why you would ask him such a question.

"You asked me, so it's only fair..." you began.

"Right, yeah." He paused. "Um...I met someone who never fails to make me smile, make me laugh, make me feel like I'm a freaking teenager again. But I can't be with her, so I choose to be alone instead."

"Why? That sounds terrible."

He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. "It's not great, honestly, but it's better for her, and that's what matters."

"But if you want to be with her, why aren't you?"

"We can't, okay?" his tone was firm, final.

You slid to a different, but related, subject, "So what's with the parade of women then?"

"Parade of women?" he asked in surprise, eyebrows lifting as he regarded you.

"Come on, Barnes. You've got random hotties popping into your house regularly and you're always bringing some new model to parties and family gatherings."

He groaned, unsure if he actually wanted to answer your question. "You're one of the smartest people I've ever met, (Y/N/N), so why do you think I have them around?"

You shrugged. "Gotta get laid somehow."

He cracked up laughing at that. "Jesus, sometimes I forget how blunt you can be."

You grinned. "Never ask me a question you don't want the answer to."

"Shit. Apparently." He shook his head, eyes going back to the movie.

You watched the movie in silence for a few minutes before Bucky asked you another question. "So what do you do?"

His voice was so low, you weren't even sure you'd heard him correctly. "What do you mean?" you asked.

"You know...to satisfy your...needs."

"Oh," you said in a voice that was definitely a solid octave above normal. You cleared your throat before continuing your response. "Clubs and bars are the best places to pick up semi-drunk men with low standards," you said casually.

His head whipped around to you so fast you thought for sure he'd have whiplash. "I'm sorry, what?"

You shrugged. "Look, guys my age are assholes. It's a known fact. They're often worse when they're drunk, but they're horny as hell, so sometimes they're willing to compromise on their regular standards just so they can get laid. Mind you, it's never good sex, but every once in a while you get at least one orgasm."

Bucky's jaw dropped slightly. "I'm going to circle back to the bad sex, no orgasm part, but I need you to clarify this shit about 'low standards'. Are you saying guys have to lower their standards for you?"

You blushed, eyes not quite meeting his. "I mean, yeah. Sometimes. Most guys aren't exactly into 'big girls', ya know?"

"Hold up right there," he snapped. "Don't give me that shit. There's not a damn thing wrong with you or your body. You're fucking perfect and anyone who doesn't see that is fucking garbage."

Your eyes widened at the intensity of his tone. "I--"

"Those guys are boys, (Y/N), not men. They'll never treat you the way you should be treated," he said, cutting you off. "Don't even realize they've got a damn goddess in their midst," he mumbled, almost as an afterthought.

Your brain was operating at about 10,000 miles an hour. Bucky had just said a whole bunch of shit that you needed a moment to process. All of it was complimentary of you, some of it intensely so. Your only question was, what the hell did it mean?

You both went back to "watching" the movie as if that conversation hadn't just happened. You were still processing what he'd said, and Bucky was kicking himself for opening up his damn mouth.

The current scene transitioned to a very romantic moment, which quickly turned into a literal sex scene. You suddenly felt acutely aware of your proximity to Bucky, and you focused all your energy on breathing like a normal person.

Bucky's fist clenched under the blanket and his breathing sped up slightly. He wasn't at all turned on by the actual movie, but rather by his own imagination. He was imagining that the girl on the screen was you...and the man was him.

You felt the change in Bucky's body almost immediately. His shoulders tensed, his breathing changed, and he didn't move a single muscle. If it weren't for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, you'd think he was a statue.

You swallowed thickly, eyes now glued to Bucky's profile. You couldn't tear your eyes away, no matter how badly you wanted to.

Bucky could feel your gaze burning into him and it only made him want you more. He could feel his resolve slipping, and he knew if he looked at you, it would be game over.

"Why have you been distant lately, Bucky?" you asked quietly.

Your question surprised him. "What?"

"You've been acting strangely ever since I moved back home. I wanna know why."

You could practically hear the gears turning in his brain as he struggled to come up with a lie, some good reason for his behavior. "I've just been busy, doll. That's all."

You scoffed. "That's bullshit, James Barnes, and you know it."

An odd sound left his throat at your words. A sound you could only describe as a deep, low growl. "Don't say my name like that," he hissed.

"What, James?"

His eyes locked on you and if you didn't know him, you'd be terrified. He looked menacing, predatory. "Don't."

"Why not, James?" you murmured.

He gripped the blanket in both of his fists and you heard the gears of his metal hand whirring faster than normal. "You're treading in dangerous waters, (Y/N)."

His voice was lower than normal, deeper. You'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on. "Then tell me the truth. Why have you been acting weird, James?"

The moment his name left your lips, he practically pounced on you, pushing you flat against the sofa, his large body caging yours in place. "Because I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop myself from doing this," he whispered before attaching his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

You were surprised by the kiss, but that quickly faded into desire. You kissed him back with equal passion and slid your hands up to grip the hair at the base of his neck.

He moaned against your lips when you gave the hair a little tug. You gasped slightly when his metal hand gripped your hip tightly, holding you against him. The parting of your lips gave him just enough space to slide his tongue into your mouth, immediately asserting his dominance over you.

It wasn't until he felt a burning sensation in his lungs that he pulled away from you. You both gulped down deep breaths of oxygen, grateful lungs filling up to capacity.

Bucky looked down at you, pretty (y/e/c) eyes wide, lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. It was an exceptionally sexy image, one he wanted to commit to memory.

Suddenly, your phone rang, breaking the spell that hung in the room. You recognized the ringtone immediately; it was the one you had set for your dad. Unfortunately, Bucky recognized it too, eyes going wide with the realization of what had just happened. He jumped off of you as if you were literally on fire and he stood at the far side of the room, as far away as he could get from you without leaving the room completely.

You reached over to the coffee table and grabbed your phone, sitting up slowly as you answered it. "Hey, dad."

"Hey, kiddo! Just wanted to let you know that your mom and I made it to the hotel safely!"

"That's good. Did you guys have a good flight?"

"Yeah, no issues at all. Peggy--I--I'm sure she can hear you," your dad pulled the phone away from his head and you heard your mom's voice in the background.

"Hi, mom," you said with a chuckle.

"Hi, baby! We miss you already."

"No you don't," you teased. "You're at a resort in the Keys. I'm sure you're just fine without me."

"She's totally right," you heard your dad say in the background.

You heard what sounded like a smack and your mom grumbled something at your dad that you didn't catch.

They both yelled "I love you!" before ending the call.

You sat your phone down, and continued to stare at the wall, afraid to look in Bucky's direction. You could see him pacing out of the corner of your eye, and you slowly built up the courage to raise your gaze to him. "Buck--"

"Don't," he snapped, hand coming up to silence you. "We shouldn't--I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

You stood up and started to move towards him. "You didn't do anything that I didn't want you to."

He moved farther away from you, his back touching the wall. "It's wrong, (Y/N)."

"Why? Because society frowns upon age gaps? Or because of your relationship with my dad?"

"Both," he said softly, "But mostly the latter."

"I don't care about either one, for what it's worth," you whispered.

Bucky finally met your eyes. "Doll, we can't. Your dad will kill me."

You shrugged. "He'll have to go through me."

His eyes widened. "You don't mean that."

"The hell I don't. I happen to like you, Bucky, a lot more than I should. I'll be damned if I let anyone tell me that I can't."

You could see the war waging inside of him. The do or do not...walk away or give in. You couldn't tell what he was going to choose, but you needed to know more than anything.

"Why me?" he whispered.

"What?"

"Why me? Why would you want me?"

You scoffed lightly. "I could ask you the same question."

He leveled a hard gaze at you. "Did you forget what I said earlier? You're perfection, a freaking goddess. Why wouldn't I want you?"

You bit your lip, his response sending a wave of desire straight to your core. "I don't actually have a smart ass response to that," you said lightly.

"Good, because I meant it. Every word." He took a step towards you. "Now, answer my question, (Y/N). Why me?"

You took a deep breath. "Because you're...well you're you. You're funny, sweet, annoying as hell. You're there for me when I need you, like a shelter in a storm. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep. So...yeah," you finished lamely, having realized you may have said too much.

Bucky stared at you in silence for a few moments, words completely failing him. He had no idea that you felt that way about him, and fuck if it didn't change things for him. "You remember that girl I mentioned earlier? The one that I can't be with?"

You nodded, not entirely sure where he was going with this.

"I didn't realize it until a couple months ago; I suddenly found myself unable to be in her presence without feeling like I was drowning. Like my emotions were going to overtake me and I'd have no control over my actions. I was terrified of hurting her, of making the wrong move, of ruining the only good things I have going in my life...so, I pulled away. I distanced myself as much as humanly possible. I couldn't be near her without wanting her, but avoiding her only made it worse."

You knew he was talking about you, you could feel it in your bones, but you couldn't get your mouth to say the words. Thankfully, he did it for you.

"It's you, (Y/N/N). You're the one I can't get out of my head."

"Then how could I walk away?"

He looked at you in confusion.

"Knowing all of that, knowing exactly how you feel...how could I walk away from you? From this?" you asked quietly.

"Doll..."

You took a step towards him, then another, then another, until you could place your hand against his chest. "Please don't make me walk away," you whispered.

He looked down at you and he realized he couldn't let you go now. It was too late. Any semblance of control left him as he gazed into your eyes. After all, if you felt the same way, then why shouldn't you be together?

He pulled you against him, lips pressing down on yours softer than before. He placed his right hand against your cheek as he deepened the kiss. He wanted to take his time with you, to treat you the way you deserved to be treated, but he was 100% certain that he wouldn't have enough self-control for that.

You pulled away from him. "As much as I would love to make out with you in your living room for three hours, I don't think I have the patience to wait. I want you now."

He groaned. "I wanna worship you, doll," he whispered.

"We'll have time for that later." You palmed the bulge in his jeans and he hissed sharply. "I don't think you have the patience to wait either, James."

"Fuck," he groaned. He grabbed your thighs, pulling you up so your legs were wrapped around him. The ease with which he carried you to his room would have shocked you if you weren't so turned on by it. It was the first time in your adult life that your partner was able to manhandle you and you loved it.

He tossed you onto his bed and quickly began to remove his clothes. You followed suit, eyes never leaving his insanely sculpted body. You felt the insecurity about your own soft curves start to creep in, but the hungry way he looked at you was enough to dispel those instantly.

"Wait," he said as he climbed onto the bed, wearing nothing but his boxers. "I wanna take those off."

You gave him a smile and simply nodded, allowing Bucky to remove your bra and underwear with a slow sensuality that almost had you begging for more.

He moaned sinfully as he took in your entirely naked form. "Shit, doll. How the hell did you get to be so perfect?" His tone was reverent and it had you dripping.

"Bucky," you moaned softly. "Touch me. Please."

He licked his lips. "Patience, doll. You've gotta learn your place." He stood back up. "You see, when we're in the bedroom, I'm in charge. Anywhere else, I'll be your servant, but here? Here, you're mine."

You moaned and arched your back at his words. You had no idea that you'd be so turned on by the idea of being so completely dominated.

"You like that, don't you?"

You bit your lip and nodded.

"I wanna hear you say it, pretty girl."

"I like it," you murmured.

He groaned as he palmed himself through his boxers. "You gonna be a good girl for me, baby?"

You whined loudly, clearly wanting to please him in any way you could. "Please, Bucky."

He grinned at you, eyes sparkling with need. He slipped his boxers off and you gasped as his cock sprung free.

"Holy shit," you said in awe.

He laughed lightly as he crawled back onto the bed, lips melting against yours. When he pulled back he whispered for you to move over.

You moved over and he collapsed beside you, laying on his back. You licked your lips as you eyed his cock, simultaneously wanting to feel it inside you and worrying about whether or not it would even fit.

As if Bucky could sense your trepidation, he touched your face and turned your gaze to his. "Don't worry, doll, I promise you'll be ready for me when the time comes."

You nodded, not entirely sure if you believed him.

He chuckled. "Trust me, baby, I've got you." He settled into place, pushing some of the pillows out of the way so his head laid flat against the bed. "Come on up, sweets. Wanna taste you."

"Huh?"

"Sit on my face."

"I'm sorry, you want me to what?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I want you to smother me with those thick thighs as I eat that pretty pussy until you can't stand it anymore."

You gasped loudly, his words sending an electric shockwave of need directly to your already dripping pussy. "I--I've never done that before," you whispered.

"First time for everything, sweets. Come here, I've got you."

You let him guide you as you climbed onto him, thighs on either side of his head. You hovered over him, unsure of how low you should go or how much pressure you should put on him.

He gave your butt a light swat. "Sit, doll."

"I am," you insisted.

"No," he dug his hands into your hips and pulled you down on top of him. "Fuck yes," he groaned as he licked into your pussy.

You gasped at the feeling of instant pleasure. You had never had a man eat you out the way Bucky Barnes was currently feasting on you. The sounds he made were sinful, but neither of you cared. Your moans were loud and your pleas did not fall on deaf ears. Every time you begged him for something, he provided it immediately. It didn't take him long to figure out exactly what you liked, something most of your previous partners never discovered.

"Bucky," you gasped, fingers digging into his hair as he pressed his face as far into you as he could. His lips and tongue were everything you never knew you needed. It was heaven, it was bliss, it was earth-shattering pleasure. It took him less than five minutes to have you coming apart on his mouth, body spasming as you orgasmed, soft whimpers of pleasure coming from your throat.

To your surprise, Bucky didn't stop when your orgasm subsided. He kept going, his grip on you tightening when you tried to escape. "Bucky, what--"

The pleasure began to build back up and you felt your body give into him completely. Bucky's moans reverberated deep inside you, letting you know exactly how much he was enjoying this.

You'd never felt anything like this before. The tightening in your abdomen, the shaking of your legs, the incredible pleasure you were feeling...it all culminated in another intense orgasm, only mere minutes after the first.

When you struggled against his grip this time, Bucky released you, allowing you to essentially fall onto the bed beside him. Your legs were weak and you were completely out of breath, despite the fact that he was the one who had done all the work.

Bucky licked his lips and shot you a heavy glance. "Anyone ever tell you that you taste incredible?"

You laughed lightly. "Can't say that anyone has."

He grinned and flipped himself so he was on top of you. "Well I'm more than happy to be the ultimate authority on that because no one but me is ever gonna be tasting this sweet pussy again, got it?"

Your eyes widened and you nodded.

"Come on, doll, I know you're still learning the rules, but I need to hear you say it."

"No one else, Bucky."

He groaned and rutted his hips down against yours. "You wanna know why, baby? Because you're mine," he growled.

"Yours, Buck. Only yours," you murmured.

He kissed you, your taste still lingering on his lips and tongue. You couldn't care less as you slid your tongue into his mouth and grabbed onto his shoulders to pull him down to you.

You both moaned as his cock brushed against your still soaking pussy. You realized that he would probably want you to return the favor, so you reached down to stroke his cock, surprised by the girth and length.

"Roll over, Bucky. Let me taste you."

He groaned into your neck before pulling away from you. "As much as I would love that, I don't think I can wait, doll. I need to feel that sweet little pussy wrapped around me."

Your eyes widened and concern covered his face.

"Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "If you don't want to, we can wait. It's okay."

"No, it's not that...It’s just--I've never," you paused to take a deep breath. "I've never had anyone that big before."

He chuckled. "You worried about it fitting?"

You nodded.

"It'll fit, baby, trust me. I'll go slow, okay? I don't wanna hurt you."

You trusted him completely, so you nodded your head. "I want you, Bucky," you whispered.

He groaned and gripped his cock in his right hand. He gave it a couple strokes before lining it up with your entrance. Almost belatedly, he realized something important. "Shit! Condom."

"IUD," you countered quickly.

"Oh thank god," he groaned as he started to push into you.

You gasped, mouth in the shape of an 'O' as he slid more and more of his cock inside of you, stretching you in a way that you'd never been stretched before.

"Shit, doll. You're so tight," he mumbled.

You clung to his arms, the only part of him you could reach. You couldn't say anything, the mix of the pain and the pleasure almost unbearable.

"You okay, sweets?" he whispered.

You nodded. "Keep going."

He leaned down to kiss you softly before pushing the rest of the way in. When he bottomed out, you both moaned, the feeling so incredible you needed a moment to just breathe.

Bucky gave you several moments to adjust before he began to move. The moment he did, your body arched up to meet his, gasps of pleasure leaving your mouth.

"You feel so good, doll. So warm and tight," he groaned.

"Faster, Buck--please," you gasped.

"You got it, doll." He sped up his thrusts, letting your moans guide his speed. The louder you moaned, the faster he thrust.

Each thrust was incredibly pleasurable, but what drove you wild was the way he spoke to you. He whispered soft words of praise against your skin, telling you how incredible you felt, how beautiful you were, how fucking perfect you were for him.

"You like it when I tell you how good you feel, huh, doll? You want me to tell you how sexy I think you are?"

You moaned, too far gone for any words.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. This pussy was fucking made for me. Takin' me so good. You're my good girl, aren't you?"

You nodded, gasping when he changed his angle.

He moaned loudly, feeling your pussy flutter around him. "There it is, sweets. Fuck--squeezing me so tight. Can feel how close you are."

Every single thrust hit your g-spot, a spot you hadn’t been sure actually existed before this. You could barely breathe, let alone think; the pleasure was simply too great. You dug your nails into his back as you cried out, orgasm tearing through you like wildfire.

"That's it, baby. Cover my cock. Feels so good."

Bucky's movements didn't falter, he kept thrusting into you, desperate to feel you release again before he let himself cum.

When you finally regained the ability to speak, your words were barely coherent. "Buck--too much."

"Just one more, doll. Give me one more."

"I--I can't--Oh, fuck--" you moaned loudly when his gentle fingers found your clit.

"You sure about that, doll?"

You continued to moan, but you didn't answer his question. He felt a little bolder now, a little more comfortable with you, so he slowed his motion. "Want me to stop, sweets?"

"Don't stop!" you cried out.

He grinned and quickly sped back up. "That's what I thought."

It took less than a minute for your fourth orgasm of the night to come crashing down on you. Wave after wave of pleasure ripped through your body, each spasm squeezing his cock so tightly he almost came undone.

He started to chase his own release, wanting to make sure you were thoroughly satiated first. "Fuck, baby--so good for me. Gonna fill you up, get you nice and full."

"Please, Bucky," you whimpered. "Wanna feel you."

"Yeah? You want me to cum inside that pretty pussy, huh?"

You nodded rapidly. "Please--I need it."

There was something about the needy tone of your voice that sent him over the edge. He came with a cry of your name, thrusts faltering as he spilled inside you, only pulling out when he was completely empty.

Bucky collapsed beside you, trying to catch his breath as he watched you come down from your own bliss.

After a few minutes of laying there, you were able to find words. "That was--fuck," you murmured.

He laughed and you joined in. "My sentiments exactly," he whispered, rolling towards you to plant a kiss to your temple.

"Am I supposed to be able to move?"

He grinned ear to ear. "Not if it was good."

"Think I'll be able to feel my legs by tomorrow?"

He laughed again. "You'll feel 'em, doll...but you might be walking funny."

"That's a new one," you said softly.

"I promise it won't be the last time," he said gently.

You turned your head to face him with a smile. "I sincerely hope not. I don't think I can live without your cock now. Or your mouth for that matter."

He laughed. "What about me?"

"Well...I suppose you're okay too," you teased.

He rolled over and tugged you into his chest. "Just okay? I'll show you just okay," he said lightly as he peppered kisses all over you.

"Bucky!" you laughed as you squirmed. "Stop--stop--I take it back!"

He grinned and kissed your lips softly. When he pulled back, his eyes were filled with an emotion you couldn't quite place. "I adore you, (Y/N). Just thought you should know."

You smiled at him and touched his face gently. "Me too, Buck."

He turned his head to kiss your palm before falling against the pillows again. "So I think we take a nice hot shower before crashing. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

"This would be a great time to make a joke about you being old, but I'm too tired for that," you joked lightly.

He grinned. "I just fucked you senseless, doll. You really wanna be cracking jokes about my age?"

"Touché."

He kissed the top of your head before pulling himself out of the bed. "Gonna start the shower. Make sure it's nice and hot."

When he came back, you looked up at him sheepishly. "I, umm--I don't think I can stand."

He grinned ear to ear. "You have no idea how much pride that makes me feel."

You laughed. "Maybe if you just help me up--"

Bucky cut you off by scooping you out of the bed and carrying you to the shower. You should have known he wouldn't let you try to walk.

He stepped into the shower and gently set you down on the bench at the edge of his massive shower. Thank god for the damn bench, you thought to yourself.

Bucky quickly washed himself before coming over to you and beginning to wash you. He moved slowly, gently, almost reverently, making sure every single inch of your skin was clean. When he decided you were thoroughly bathed, he turned off the water and carried you out of the shower, setting you on the marble countertop to dry you off.

When you were dry, he carried you back to his bed and gently laid you down beneath the covers. "Do you want pajamas? Mine will be too big for you, but I'm happy to give you some."

"Maybe just a shirt?"

"You go it, doll." He walked to the dresser, pulled out a t-shirt, and brought it over to you.

You threw it on quickly, surprised at how big it was on you. The guy was literally over 6 feet tall and nothing but muscle, but still. When you looked up at him, you were surprised to find him staring at you. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

"Sorry, sweets. You just look so hot in my shirt."

You laughed. "Thanks, Buck." You patted the bed beside you. "Come to bed."

Bucky quickly turned off all the lights and slipped into the bed with you. "I, umm--I sleep naked. Is that okay?"

You turned to look at him, mock disgust on your face. "So gross. I'm horrified," you teased.

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. "I just wanted to make sure."

"I had your dick inside me like 30 minutes ago, Bucky. I think I can handle sleeping beside your naked body."

He felt his dick twitch slightly at your words, but he did his best to ignore it. Plenty of time for that later. He rolled towards you and kissed you softly. "Goodnight, beautiful."

You smiled warmly. "Goodnight, Bucky."

**********

You stirred when a ray of sunlight slipped through the curtains and into your eyes. You could tell by the shade of the ray that it was still early in the morning. You rolled over and were surprised to find Bucky still sound asleep beside you. You knew he was an early riser, so he was very likely to wake up soon.

As you laid there watching him, an idea popped into your head. You weren't sure if it was something you should do, but the more you thought about it, the more irresistible the thought became.

Lucky for you, Bucky was a hot sleeper. He'd thrown off all but a sheet sometime during the night. He was laying on his back, breathing even, eyes shut tightly.

You moved slowly, careful not to disturb him. You sat up and slowly peeled back the sheet. Much to your surprise, his cock was already half hard. You smirked, feeling like the gods had smiled down on you.

You were very gentle as you took his cock into your hands and slowly began to stroke it. He stirred slightly, clearly feeling something even if his brain couldn't place it.

As his cock began to harden more, you slipped it into your mouth, sucking slowly, letting soft moans of pleasure slip from your lips.

Bucky really began to wake up then, but he was still in a daze. He wasn't sure what was happening, but he knew it felt good.

You continued sucking as his cock grew to its full size. In moments he was rock hard and his hips were moving against your mouth of their own accord.

Bucky's eyes fluttered open and he slowly looked around the room. When he looked down, his breath caught in his chest at what he saw: your pretty little mouth wrapped around his cock, bright (y/e/c) eyes locked onto his face.

You moaned softly, as if to acknowledge the fact that he was now fully awake. Your moan pulled one from deep in his own throat.

"Fuck, doll--feels so good," he moaned. "I'm so close, baby. Keep going."

You were surprised by his words, thinking it would take longer to work him to orgasm. But you didn't stop, in fact, you sped up slightly.

"Oh, god--" his hands tangled in your hair and his hips bucked up slightly. "Just like that."

You focused more of your efforts on the tip, using your hands to stroke the rest.

"That's it, baby--oh, fuck--" Bucky's body tensed and he came with a loud groan, filling up your mouth with his seed.

You swallowed every drop, mouth not leaving his cock until he pulled you gently up towards him. He kissed you softly before rolling you over so you were under him.

"Good morning," he whispered.

You grinned. "Good morning."

"You're gonna have to sleep over every night if that's how you're gonna wake me up."

You licked your lips. "I wouldn't complain."

He groaned. "You're gonna be the death of me, doll."

"Is that cuz you're old?" you teased.

He looked at you in surprise, but his eyes started to darken. "You sure you wanna go there, sweets?"

You stood your ground, knowing you were going to be rewarded for it. "It must be because you're old, or you wouldn't--"

Your words were cut off by his fiery kiss. He barely gave you time to register what was happening before his head was in between your legs and you were crying out in pleasure.

You knew you were in for one hell of a morning...but you wouldn't have it any other way.

[gukyi]

love me or we both go down | kth

summary: after going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.

{enemies to lovers!au, arranged marriage!au, rich kids!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, smut (i know, crazy right?) word count: 32k warnings: oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, multiple unprotected sex scenes (they’re married y’all), fat cock tae, tae has a wife kink, lots of praise, alcohol consumption (but they’re safe), minor character death (not explicit), mentions of heart attack, slow burn like there is no tomorrow a/n: hello and welcome to the fic everyone, literally everyone, has been waiting for! i am so, so, so excited to share this with you all, especially because none other than rose @kinktae​ helped me write the smut, and i am literally forever indebted to her. you all better go spam rose with all the love and support you can because this fic would not be here without her and i love her so much. 

also, to all my readers who aren’t comfortable reading smut, please know that the smut in this fic is not imperative to the storyline, and you skipping past it will not affect your reading experience., enjoy!

Never in your life have wedding bells felt so ominous.

The sound of them is akin to the sound of strings, of a single piano note in a horror movie, right when the film opens and someone random is about to die on screen for the sake of proving to the audience that this is, in fact, a horror movie. Make no mistake about it; these wedding bells spell doom for you, too. And the most horrific part about them is that just like that poor, helpless soul in the movie, there is no way for you to escape your fate either. 

With only seconds left to go before you have no choice but to promise yourself to the man waiting at the other end of the aisle, you desperately try to think of any last-ditch efforts to get out of this. Many, if not all of them, are utterly useless. 

Feigning sudden illness won’t work, because then your parents will just reschedule the wedding to a later date. Running away is fruitless. Where will you go? The parking lot?

If only you had a lover out there in the audience somewhere that could object to the marriage when the officiant says, “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” A knight in shining armor that could whisk you out of the venue and off to a new life, far away from here. Too bad all of the people you’ve dated before hate you now. 

Maybe getting married isn’t such a bad thing after all. Instead of having relationships with multiple people who will eventually despise your existence, you only have to have a relationship with one. And the feeling, as has always been, is mutual. 

You bristle as your assistants do some last-minute prepping, fixing your sleeve and adjusting your necklace and making sure you don’t trip on your enormous train. They flutter around you like a swarm of well-meaning but ignorant butterflies complicit in the agenda of your family. None of them have said a word to you about the wedding ever since you arrived at the venue, choosing to talk more about things like the weather. Not that you were ever under the impression they had been hired to entertain you. Maybe they were told to not engage you, just in case you try to conspire with them.

As if they could be of any use in your wildly unrealistic escape plans. 

The truth is that, unless you were to drop dead on this marble flooring right now, you’re getting married. Whether you like it or not.

The doors open. 

You’ve attended red carpets, galas, award shows, and balls. You’ve had hundreds of cameras flashing in your face, the bright light capturing each and every centimeter of you. You’ve had paparazzi waiting outside the restaurants you eat at, the stores you shop at, desperate to catch a picture of you in sweatpants without a drop of makeup on. You’ve been on dates with ex-lovers that looked at you like you were a piece of meat with a credit card. And yet, for some goddamn reason, walking down the aisle in a white dress the size of Pluto, with the rest of your life waiting for you at the other end, makes you feel fucking transparent. 

Face resolute, you clutch onto your bouquet so tightly the flowers feel like they’re about to pop right out of your grasp. Determined not to look at anybody in the audience, you stare straight ahead, right into the eyes of your future husband.

Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen multiple times drunk off his ass with hickies dotting his neck and jawline, cleans up pretty well. For someone getting married, at least. He dons a simple black tuxedo that still probably costs more than the average car, his caramel brown hair is pushed back off his forehead, and his expression is firm and still. He most certainly has had an equally expensive team prepping him, but they haven’t done too bad a job. The silver lining is that he doesn’t look any more thrilled than you are to be doing this, right here, right now. But to his credit, this is definitely the best he’s ever looked, as far as you’re concerned. 

When you reach him, he offers his hand out to you, a hand that you only accept for the sake of professionalism. The bouquet in your hands is handed off to one of your bridesmaids, and the two of you take your position at the front. Your train drags along the aisle, draping over the few stairs you had to climb to reach the altar, this satin trail behind you that cements you to the floor. It may as well be a ball-and-chain. It’s about as heavy as one, anyway. 

This is the longest you and Taehyung have ever held eye contact. Not that you’re really keeping track of how long the two of you have met each other’s gazes, but if you had to make an educated guess, this would definitely be the victor. Most of the time you end up sneering at each other ten seconds in, but to be fair, those other times you were also not getting married. To one another. In a ceremony attended by hundreds of people. And cameras.

There can be no sneering here. 

“Don’t you look nice?” Taehyung whispers, loud enough so only the two of you can hear. He has that drawling, sickly sweet tone to his voice, the one that you hate because it makes him sound like he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else. “Surprised they were able to makeup that scowl off your face.”

This, of course, brings on a hearty scowl only he can see, your backs both facing the rows of attendees. “How much concealer are you wearing to cover up all of the hickies on your neck?” You quip back easily. It’s not like the two of you are going to pretend he doesn’t waltz around at every club or bar or private venue he can find, looking for his next treat. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Taehyung grins, and if you weren’t standing in front of hundreds of people about to get married, there’s no telling what next you would do.

The two of you would probably go on like that for another ten minutes if it’s not for the officiant, who coughs once he’s ready and opens the book in his hands. Next to you, Taehyung straightens, hands clasped together at his front, and lips pressed into a neat line. You do the same. There will be no giggles, no laughter nor smiles, nor any genuine emotion at this wedding. This is a wedding for the sake of politics, for economics, for security, and anyone in attendance would be a fool to think otherwise. Especially you. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, loved ones, and esteemed guests,” the officiant bellows, listing off as many groups of people as he possibly can in an effort to both include and compliment every person in the audience, “We are gathered here to celebrate the wedding, and future life, of Taehyung and Y/N…”

Taehyung turns to you, grinning in that god-awful way, the way he does when he feels like he’s got something over you. And sure, you can’t think of any punishment quite as bad as this, but what’s Taehyung got to smile about? He’s marrying himself off to a woman he hates, kissing goodbye his days as a free-spirited, heartbreaking bachelor, and promising what may very well be the rest of his life to loving you. That is not cause for celebration. 

But perhaps, to him, your suffering is enough to bring a smile to his face. 

Your vows are, to put it simply, total bullshit. Your family hired someone to write yours and there’s not a doubt in your mind that his family did the same thing. This nonsense talk, this complete and utter garbage that spews from your perfectly-glossed lips, shit about how you promise to love each other until the end of your days, how you promise to take care of each other when you’re sick and accompany each other at every event, every gala, every ball. Shit about how you promise to look only at each other, promise to uphold your family traditions and become a dependable spouse. 

The words don’t belong to you. But the thing is that this marriage was never yours anyway. 

When the kiss comes, there’s a part of you that thinks maybe you should have psyched yourself up a little more for this. When Taehyung pulls you in, placing a stiff hand on your lower back as he brings you towards his chest, your stomach turns and shivers run down your spine. The feeling of his hand on your body, the breath from his lips brushing against your own, are enough to keep you frozen in place. 

He smiles at you, almost as if to ask, “Are you ready?”

And you squeeze your eyes shut, almost as if to respond, “Let’s do this.”

When his lips meet yours, there is almost nothing. Nothing runs through you, nothing explodes, nothing strikes. But when he pulls away and cheers and applause rings out throughout the room, there is something. A little heat, a remnant of a flame, left on your lips. A little sting, just to remind you it happened. 

The entire hall is cheering but nothing about this is worth celebrating. The fact of the matter is that you and Taehyung will never love each other the way that you are supposed to. 

“Ugh, finally.”

The elevator doors haven’t even properly opened by the time Taehyung is loosening his tie, tugging it off over his head as he stretches his head back and runs a hand through his perfectly-styled hair. As he rakes his fingers through his caramel locks, the hairspray and gel loosens, strands falling down by the side of his face, framing his temple.

“Don’t sound so relieved,” you huff out, deciding now is as good a time as any to start getting undressed yourself. Reaching down to lift up the hem of your reception dress, you tug off your heels, already feeling lighter on your feet. Who cares if Taehyung is watching you pull off your stilettos like a defeated movie heroine? You don’t think you can walk another step in those shoes. “We still have to live together, you know.”

“Don’t remind me,” Taehyung says gruffly, brushing by you roughly as he stomps out of the elevator. “I’m just glad the fucking night is over. I swear, seeing that fake-ass smile on your face made me want to gouge my eyes out.”

You storm after him, refusing to be the helpless damsel in this situation. “Oh, like you didn’t also have that exact same fake-ass smile on your face. It almost made me think you were actually enjoying yourself tonight.”

“I was only enjoying the fact that I know you hate this just as much as I do.” It’s perhaps the only thing you will ever be able to empathize with him on. Mutually relishing in the other’s destruction. Taehyung fumbles with the keypad to the door to the penthouse for a moment before you hear the lock click, the door sliding open as the entrance lights flicker on. 

The reason Taehyung’s penthouse is so clean is because he’s never lived here before. Neither of you have—Taehyung’s parents bought it just for the two of you. And as much as you absolutely despise the idea of having to live with him, at least it was not you who paid for your place of residence. 

You can tell Taehyung’s never lived here before because it’s actually quite nicely decorated inside. The ceilings are high and the sleek velvet curtains are pulled open, revealing a shimmering skyline. The furniture is modern and functional, and the whole damn place smells brand new. You’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of entering the place Taehyung lived in before now, and it looked nothing like this. The furniture was worn and stained despite the live-in maid, the house reeked of five hundred different spices that wafted from the kitchen to the living room, and the bookshelves were covered with comics, graphic novels, and old textbooks. 

If it weren’t for the fact that you and Taehyung are rich kids in their twenties that hate each other, you might have actually thought the place looked… homey. 

You don’t have time to be impressed by the interior design and architecture skills of whoever designed this place. Right now, all you can think about is tugging yourself out of your airtight reception dress and passing out on the nearest bed. Which, hopefully, will be as far away as possible from Taehyung’s bed of choice. 

“How many bedrooms does this place have?” You ask, shimmying along the floor so you don’t trip over the hem of your dress. From the looks of it, you can see one giant hallway to your right and a massive, double-sided staircase leading up. 

“Enough,” Taehyung grumbles in response. The hazy stupor from all of the fancy champagne is starting to wear off for the both of you, leaving behind two grouchy, begrudgingly-married individuals who want absolutely nothing to do with each other and have no problems making that known. Whatever golden light of the evening that was making Taehyung at least a little bit more attractive than usual has faded, and now you see him for what he really is: an unceremoniously tired man in a suit. “You want upstairs or down?”

You gaze up at the marble staircase in front of you, then back down at your too-long dress. “Down.” The last thing you want is to trip in front of the man you have to see, every day, for the rest of your life. 

“Fine by me.” Taehyung’s halfway up the stairs by the time he turns back around to say something else. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess?”

“Yeah.” There’s no point in being hostile now. The both of you are too exhausted to mean anything by it. Besides, what else can you say? Everything to complain about has already been complained about. At least the two of you managed to wrestle out from your parents the stipulation that you would not be going on a honeymoon together. Now that would have been your worst nightmare. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It’s as good of a goodnight either of you are going to get. Taehyung heads up the stairs and disappears around a corner, and you start wandering down the hallway. All the bedrooms look the exact same other than different colors on the walls and bedsheets, but they all look serviceable to you. Clean. Empty. Far away from wherever Taehyung is. 

You pick the one at the very end of the hall just to be as much of a diva as possible, and don’t even bother drawing the curtains before tugging off your dress. It’s past one in the morning, and you’re so high up you don’t think anyone will be able to see you anyway. By the time you’ve stripped naked and are tugging up the too-tight sheets tucked into the mattress, your legs are about to give out beneath you. The bed could be made of rocks for all you care. Anything to lie down on is fine by you. 

Sleep comes fairly easily to you tonight. Once your head hits the pillow you can already feel yourself drifting off, eyelids fluttering shut, but you don’t sleep quite yet. Not before you can think about how this is your life now, sleeping in a foreign bed in a foreign place with a foreign husband upstairs. This is what you will be living in now. Now and forever. 

Living with Taehyung is, in both the best and worst ways possible, like living with a roommate that doesn’t give a shit about the fact that they live with another person. It’s good, because you and Taehyung hardly see each other and speak even less, which was pretty much the only thing you were asking for when it came to living with him. But it also sucks, because whenever you do happen to cross paths, Taehyung acts like you don’t exist, barely sparing you a hello or even that tight-lipped smile you send to drivers on the road when they let you cross the street. 

Not that the two of you ever engaged in energetic conversation before you got married. But at least the two of you would acknowledge each other, even if only to shoot a glare and a scowl the other’s way from opposite sides of a hotel ballroom. Maybe it’s just because it’s him, but you did always find yourself actually relishing in those little interactions with Taehyung. In this strange, twisted way, it seemed to provide some sort of continuity to your ever-changing life. Like no matter what happened, at least you would know that the two of you would always despise each other. 

To be frank, right now you’re not sure if Taehyung even remembers he got married at all.

Nights have been a lot more sleepless since your wedding day. After two weeks, the reality of it has finally started to settle in. This is your life now. And ever since you realized that, your bed has felt much less comfortable. 

“But the place is nice, right?”

You look around the living room from where you’re sat on the sleek, white suede leather couch, eyes glossing over the bookshelves, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the draping velvet curtains. From here, you can see the entire city skyline, flecks of gold from the windows of skyscrapers against a navy blue background. Slowly, as the moon creeps over the sky and the clock gets later and later, those lights will soon begin to flicker off, one by one. 

“Yeah, it’s not bad.” Nothing to write home about. That is, if home were a place other than here. 

“That’s good. At least you don’t live in, like, a total dump or anything,” Victoria says on the other end of the line. “How’s Taehyung?”

His name alone elicits this deeply-exhausted sigh from your lips, like it’s been ten years since you married and every day has felt worse than the last. “Fine.” You can’t really complain about anything yet, considering that you hardly ever see the man. 

“Just ‘fine’?” Victoria sounds skeptical. 

“Yeah,” you draw out the word, as if trying to convince yourself of its truth. “I mean, it’s like he doesn’t even live here. I barely see him. And when I do, we don’t even speak to each other.”

“That’s good though, isn’t it? You hate him.” Victoria says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And in a sense, it kind of is. 

“I mean…”

“I know that your life hasn’t exactly… gone the way you had planned, but isn’t this your best case scenario when considering everything?” She asks. “If Taehyung is as distant as you say he is, isn’t it almost like you never married him in the first place?”

As if on cue, you hear footsteps coming down the stairs, heels clicking on the marble as they make their way to the entrance. You whip your head around to find Taehyung, all dressed up in loose, flowy slacks and a flowery silk button-down, strolling down the staircase as he scrolls through his phone, paying you zero attention whatsoever. 

He notices you briefly when he reaches the bottom, meeting your eyes with his own. He offers this measly, unenthused half-smile your way before he grabs his wallet and some house keys from the table by the entrance, opens the door, and vanishes off into the night. 

If you hadn’t been in the living room, you probably wouldn’t have even realized he left. Not that you being present as he’s planning on leaving would have stopped him anyway. This is the sixth night he’s done this in the past two weeks. You could stand by the door and stare him down as he emerges from his bedroom, all dressed up for something you’re definitely not invited to, and he would offer you that same goddamn smile and walk out the door without even blinking. Who he was before you got married and who he is now are no different. Not even a ring could change that. 

“I guess,” you tell Victoria. At least Taehyung hasn’t turned into a helicopter husband. “I don’t know. Maybe I just wish that I didn’t have to deal with him at all.”

Wish you could turn back time. Wish you could worm your way out of an arranged marriage before it was too late. Wish you could go back to the way things used to be. 

You and Victoria talk for another couple of minutes before she regretfully has to end the call, citing both her beauty sleep and an 8AM meeting tomorrow morning as her reasons for hanging up. The moment you put the phone down, you sink back into the couch cushions, staring out the windows at the world below you.

Here’s the deal. What Taehyung does in his free time is none of your business. But also, it’s totally your business, because you are his spouse. A spouse who is an equal amount in the public eye as he is. What he does and does not do has a direct impact on what you do and do not do. 

It’s no secret that when you catch Taehyung sauntering down the stairs looking like a Gucci runway model, it’s not because he’s planning on catching a movie with a college friend and then playing video games for four hours on a couch in a basement. He is going out. To clubs, to parties, to exclusive events that he’s been invited to by his equally-rich friends, all of whom are acting like he’s the same bachelor he’s always been. 

And maybe that’s the real problem with your whole marriage—other than the glaringly obvious issue that it’s a marriage wholly unwanted by the two parties involved in it. Despite the ring on his finger, Taehyung is going out and pretending that nothing in his life has changed while you’re trapped at home, desperate to save you and your family’s reputation by keeping as low a profile as possible. You would give anything to march around the city all day, flashing middle fingers at paparazzi as you shop at your favorite high-end stores and frequent your favorite clubs. But you can’t, because your family’s fortune and influence is on the line. 

And apparently, Taehyung’s isn’t. 

It sort of makes you wonder why it was even Taehyung you ended up marrying anyway. His family isn’t any richer or more powerful than yours. Your spheres have always been sufficiently separate. What was it about him, and perhaps more importantly, his family that drew your parent’s eye? And what was it about marrying you that prevented him from saying no? Money? Prestige? Influence?

You suppose you’ll never know. But whatever mystical force that convinced Taehyung to agree to this must not be as important to him as your reasoning is to you, because it’s become exceedingly apparent that Taehyung does not care that he’s married. He doesn’t care about the ring on his finger, he doesn’t care about his public image, and he most certainly doesn’t care about you.

Perhaps you were naive for thinking this, but you actually believed marriage might tone him down a little. Might age him into a real adult with real world obligations. Instead, it’s only given you a firsthand look into who Kim Taehyung has been and always will be: a selfish rich kid.

You don’t bother waiting around in the living room until he gets back, but you are still awake by the time you hear the door creak open. Taehyung makes no efforts to hide his return. You can hear him chattering loudly on the phone as he stumbles up the stairs, can tell from his gait alone that he is most certainly wasted. You don’t want to know what he did tonight. You’ll probably be able to figure it out anyway when you wake up tomorrow morning and check your social media. 

What were you thinking, marrying him? That he would change? That he would suddenly become someone that you could rely on? You had no choice when you said, “I do,” but you were at least hoping that maybe one day, one day in a long, long time, the two of you would finally see eye to eye. Maybe there would even come a time when you would genuinely love him. How foolish. 

You close your eyes and try to imagine a world where you have married someone you love, someone who loves you back.

Not unlike the many nights preceding it, tonight is sleepless. 

Unlike your marital status and general disposition, one thing that hasn’t changed about you is your love for extravagant events. Call you conceited, but there is something so much fun about putting on a fancy, expensive dress that you love and getting your hair and makeup done before going to an exclusive gala and posing in front of five hundred cameras. 

Actually, now that you think about it, maybe your wedding could have actually been pretty good, considering it let you do all those things. It’s a real shame there happened to be a storm cloud in the form of Kim Taehyung there to ruin it. Otherwise, you think you would have rather enjoyed that day. 

Tonight is the first event since your marriage where you and Taehyung are both required to show up and act like a happy married couple. Which would probably be a lot easier if you and Taehyung had exchanged more than ten words over the past two weeks. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but there was a part of you that thought you could use your arranged marriage to actually cultivate some sort of meaningful relationship between the two of you. So events like these wouldn’t be such a drain on both of you. 

When Kim Taehyung comes down the stairs, he actually doesn’t look too bad. You don’t know why this sort of thing keeps catching you off guard—like you don’t expect him to look that good whenever you see him. The problem is that you can’t even chalk up the surprise to him wearing tailored clothes or having his hair done. He just looks… good. 

Well, you suppose you do have to look at him every day for the rest of your life. It’s a good thing he’s attractive. At least he’s not sore on the eyes. 

Taehyung and his unfortunate attractiveness aside, the two of you don’t say a word to each other as you join up at the entrance, grabbing any last-minute items like house keys, chapstick, and whatever dignity you have left to spare. You send forced smiles and tight nods each other’s way in the elevator, staring straight ahead in the lobby of your building as the car pulls up to the front door.

By the time the two of you sit down in the back of the limousine, the built-up tension between the two of you is so thick you’re almost positive that even the chauffeur can feel it through the closed partition. 

If you were any more idyllic, you’d probably spend the drive over to the gala staring out the window and imagining yourself in a different life, on a train to nowhere, flowers in your hair and a journal in your hands. Or perhaps you’d be the CEO of your family’s company instead of having that responsibility passed down to a husband you don’t even want, sitting in an office at the top of a skyscraper overlooking the city. Anything. Anything but this.

But the idyllic part of you died when you realized that fantasies like that are nothing but distractions and that daydreams are for romantics and optimists and losers. 

“What’s our plan for tonight?”

Taehyung scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘what’s our plan’?”

You frown. “Well, we’re married, so we at least have to act like it, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t standing there and smiling enough?” Taehyung asks, an unimpressed eyebrow raised. 

You bristle. Maybe that sufficed for your wedding, but there was so much going on it was easy to distract yourself from the gravity of it all. But this event is not about you. It’s not even about either of your families. It’s about someone the two of you are, at best, distantly connected to, through work, through fame, through power. Which means that though the focus will not be on you, there will still be eyes looking your way. Eyes watching your every move. 

“Do you think it will be?” You challenge. Doesn’t Taehyung realize that things are different now?

Taehyung’s lips curl downwards. “What do you expect us to do, shower each other in kisses? We don’t even sleep on the same fucking floor.”

“Maybe I just expected you to act less like a stranger and more like a husband!”

Taehyung sighs. “Don’t.” The word is clipped, short. “Don’t tell me you actually want to be married.”

“I don’t.” It’s a response that you hardly have to think twice about. “But we are, and nothing can change that.” Unfortunately. But it’s a fact that you and Taehyung have both had to grapple with over the past few weeks, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you are more aware of it than he is. If Taehyung could have his way, he would ignore you for the rest of his life and keep partying with the rest of his bachelor friends until he keeled over and died. 

He huffs next to you, eyes staring straight ahead. You don’t think the two of you have met each other’s eyes in a week. Maybe more. They’re starting to feel as soulless as your marriage itself. “Whatever. What do you want me to do?”

“What do you think?” You cross your arms over your chest. “Just act like you don’t hate me. Can you do that?” The way Taehyung’s behaving right now, you expect that will be a challenge for the both of you.

“Only if you can. I’ll even hold your hand to prove that we love each other.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The idea of holding Taehyung’s hand makes you want to implode. The mere thought sends shivers down your spine. But it’s better than nothing, and that’s good enough for you. At least you won’t have to kiss. 

The rest of the ride there is silent. You drive to this gorgeous mansion just outside the city, bathed in lights hidden amongst the bushes, illuminating both the architecture and the enormous fountain that sits in front of it. In a house this size, you imagine you could probably go your whole life without ever having to come across Taehyung. It actually makes you consider investing in a home that big. 

Taehyung helps you out of the back of the limousine, a cold hand clasping your own as you rest your palm against his. You can feel the way his fingers hesitate as yours make to intertwine with his as you walk towards the entrance, smiling at whatever camera flashes you encounter on your way. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were holding hands with a ghost. 

The moment you step inside and are ushered out of the door’s view, Taehyung’s grip relaxes on yours. For a moment, you think he’ll actually spend the rest of the night like this, a gentle hand wrapped around yours, but then he pulls it away entirely and shoves it back into his pocket. Oh. You frown quietly to yourself. So that’s how tonight’s going to go. 

You don’t make an effort to reach out towards him again. 

For an event concerning people you don’t know a damn thing about, everyone sure seems to know things about you. Other than greetings, you don’t think anyone’s said anything to you about anything other than your recent marriage to Taehyung. Every conversation is punctuated by a Congratulations! you do not feel that you have at all earned, considering you and Taehyung could barely look at each other on the way here.

Maybe Taehyung was right. All you really can do is stand there and smile.

“Oh, don’t tell me… Y/N, is that you?”

The champagne swirls around in the flute between your fingers as you turn towards the sound of your name, looking up to see a familiar face headed your way. 

Kim Seokjin is nice enough. He’s terribly handsome and got a flawless smile, but you know better than to trust those pearly whites of his. The sight of him alone is enough to make your body tense up. There was a reason you had explicitly told your parents not to invite him to your wedding. 

“Seokjin, what a surprise to see you here,” you say, forcing a smile. “I thought you were supposed to be in Switzerland right now.”

“Change of plans,” Seokjin grins back in that awful, awful way, the kind of grin that makes you feel like he’s looking right through you. “I came back early. It’s a shame, though, I missed your wedding.”

You shrug. “It was a humble affair.” It wasn’t. And you’re positive that Seokjin knows it wasn’t an accident that you didn’t extend an invitation to him or his family. 

“Ah, I see,” Seokjin says, nodding his head. He turns to Taehyung next to you, who is making no effort to hide how wholly uninterested in this conversation he is, and holds out a hand. “You must be Kim Taehyung, then. I’m Kim Seokjin. Congratulations on your wedding.”

Taehyung shakes his hand firmly, the air between the three of you growing unbearably palpable. 

“Seokjin’s father is the VP of News Daily,” You explain, eyebrows raised as you try to signal to Taehyung what exactly it means when Seokjin is speaking to the two of you. “And his mother is a popular journalist for the city’s post.”

Seokjin grew up in the world of media, and it seems he’s picked up his parent’s affinity for sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. You know he’s not talking to the both of you out of the goodness of his heart. 

Seokjin laughs, his hand waving away the mention of his parents. “Oh, please. That’s them. I’m just a bored socialite like the rest of you.”

You resist the urge to scoff. 

“Marriage treating the two of you well?” He changes the subject to what he really wants to talk about: you. 

“Of course,” you say quickly, preventing any hesitation on your end. Your empty hand reaches towards Taehyung’s, fingers searching for his between the two of you. But his refusal to join hands does not go unnoticed by you nor Seokjin, who is eyeing the space between your bodies with an eyebrow raised. “It’s just been—well, it’s just been difficult to adjust to a new life. That’s all.”

If you were to describe the face of a non-believer, it would be the exact expression on Seokjin’s face. “Perfectly understandable,” he says, that same toothy smile lacing his features. “But it must be nice, you know, to marry someone you love.”

“I couldn’t be happier,” you say, almost challenging Seokjin to say something even more inflammatory. He must know that all you’re trying to do at this point is save face. Love? Ha! As if. 

“And Taehyung?” Seokjin motions to your husband. 

You can feel the way Taehyung is stiffening beside you. “I suppose we are both lucky and unlucky in many ways when it comes to who we love.”

It’s enough of an answer to get Seokjin off your tail. For now. He bids the two of you a tense goodbye before sauntering off to go poke his nose in someone else’s business, fish for drama, a thread of a rumor he can pick apart with nimble fingers. You wonder if anybody actually likes him. 

The moment he disappears from earshot, you grab Taehyung’s wrist tightly and pull him close to you. “What the hell was that?” You hiss into his ear. 

“What?” You can’t tell if he’s playing dumb or if he really is that dense. 

“You!” You exclaim. “Kim Seokjin is the one person who could easily expose how fake this marriage is and you pull away from me? Right in front of him? You can’t even hold my hand for two seconds, that’s how much you hate me?”

“Who cares what he thinks?” Taehyung says. “He’s just another media rat. No one will even remember we were here tomorrow.”

“But if you keep acting like this, people will start to notice! Why can’t you just act like you don’t hate me, for one night? Is that so bad? Is it that torturous, to spend one night with me?”

“Do not turn this on me,” Taehyung orders harshly. “You’re making a scene. Come on.”

You don’t have time to shout at him for bossing you around like you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum before he drags you out of the venue, the two of you finding a back door to the building that leads outside. The cold air blows against your body, goosebumps popping up against your skin, but you find that the chilly night provides quite the respite after practically overheating indoors. Taehyung makes fire rush through your veins but at least the air can cool you back down. 

Nevertheless, your conversation is not over. It’s just been moved to a more private location.

“You do realize that our marriage isn’t going to suddenly go away, right? That we’re going to have to keep doing this for the rest of our lives?” You remind him, eyebrows raised. There’s a part of you that genuinely thinks he’s completely forgotten that your marriage is permanent.

“Oh, and not holding hands for five minutes for this one event is totally going to change the course of our lives, isn’t it?” Taehyung fights back.

“Don’t act like you did the right thing,” you spit out. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I know you don’t give a shit about our marriage.”

“What marriage is there to even give a shit about? Just because we had a wedding and signed some documents does not mean there is a real marriage between us. Look at us,” he motions between the two of you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We hate each other. Is this what you would call marriage?”

“But at least I’m trying to get past that!” You exclaim. “You make it seem like being as miserable as possible is some sort of badge of honor. Do you actually want to spend the rest of your life hating the person you married? Or do you want to grow up and try and move on?”

Taehyung frowns. “What I want is for the person I married to stop acting like they’re doing me such a huge favor by pretending to care about us. Especially when all they really care about is their family’s goddamn reputation.”

“No,” you tell him sternly. You are doing him a favor. He just can’t admit that he actually needs help from you. “You are putting zero effort into this. What am I supposed to do?”

“Let it go!” Taehyung shouts. “Maybe one day we’ll actually start getting along, but right now it’s obvious that neither one of us can stand the other. I don’t need you to do favors for me. I can handle it myself.”

You look away, rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t look like it to me,” you mutter to yourself. 

Taehyung cracks. “Fine. You want me to pretend that I actually care about us? I will.” Thank God. Maybe now the two of you will finally start seeing eye-to-eye. “But make no mistake about how I feel about you,” he spits. “Getting married to you ruined my life.”

You stare straight at him and his eyes are swirling, so obscured in the darkness of the night that you might even think he doesn’t have a soul at all. His pupils bore into yours and for once, for once in your goddamn life, after so many years of staring each other down at debutante balls, so many years of witty refrains and snarky insults hurled each other’s way, it feels like the two of you might actually snap. 

Then, a camera flashes.

Trouble in Paradise! would be a suitable title for the front page of the city’s biggest tabloid… if anything about your life with Taehyung could be considered paradise. Unfortunately for the both of you, that is not the case. 

You don’t need to keep reading the rest of the trashy article on the front page of the daily tabloid to know how much trouble you’re in, nor do you even have time to scroll beneath the terrible photo of you and Taehyung literally shouting at each other before you hear your phone ring. 

You don’t even bother saying hello to whoever’s on the other end. You know it’ll go in one ear and out the other. 

“I assume you know why I’m calling,” your mother’s harsh tone spits from the other end of the phone. There’s no doubt in your mind that she’s standing in the middle of her office, snapping her fingers at her fifteen secretaries as they partake in the worst damage control your family’s had to deal with since your cousin two years ago was caught with a mistress outside a high-profile restaurant. 

“Can I take a wild guess?” You’re about to be scolded into the next century, so you might as well enjoy your last few moments. 

“Don’t get cheeky with me,” your mother warns. “Care to explain why you and your beloved husband made the front page of the Daily Post today?”

“I know,” you sigh, a hand coming up to rub at your temples. It’s eight in the morning, you’ve barely looked at your phone, and you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet. It feels like you’re still asleep, and most certainly lack the energy to deal with this right now. 

Your mother, on the other hand, thinks otherwise. “You know? You know, and you still go out and do this? For everyone to see?”

“We tried to take our argument outside,” you begin to explain, but your mother isn’t having a single word of it. 

“The fact that you thought it was even appropriate to have an argument in a public setting at all astounds me, Y/N. We raised you better than that.” There’s no need for you to even see her face. You’ve grown so used to that disappointed frown over the years that it’s burned into your brain. 

“Maybe you should have thought about that before marrying me off to a man I barely know so I could be someone else’s problem instead of yours,” you bite. 

“We did this for your own good,” she hisses back. “You are married because we love you, and we want you to succeed outside of this family.”

“Then why do you care what the tabloids print about me?”

“Because being married does not mean you are no longer a part of this family,” your mother informs you sternly, lips smacking together. “Your marriage reflects on all of us, and you know that. What will people think of us when they see how terribly behaved you are?”

“Everyone acts like that, and you know it.” How could your mother preach good behavior when everyone, everyone you know, is just as spoiled and entitled as you? There’s no such thing as being altruistic when it comes to people like you. Being genuine, and good, and pure—that will get you ruined. 

You can hear her breathing into the phone when your mother responds, “But not in public, and that is the point. We expect better from you.”

“If you were so worried about me behaving so badly, then why did you even marry me off anyway? You knew that I didn’t want to. What did you think would happen?” It’s a question you wouldn’t have dared ask three months ago. Hell, even a year ago, when it was first revealed you were to be engaged, you wouldn’t have dared open your lips. But things are different now. You’re married to a man that hates you just as much as you hate him. He is making no effort to improve your relationship and seems hellbent on despising you forever. There is no way to get out of it. And if your parents really foresaw all of that, then what was the point in the first place?

“Your grandmother.”

Your mouth shuts. 

“You know she wanted to see you married before she passed,” your mother says, words clipped and biting and harsh. “She cares about you. She wanted to make sure you’d be taken care of.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you mutter to yourself like a petulant child. In a way, you sort of are.

“If you want to stay in her will, I suggest you change that mindset.”

You freeze in your tracks. The will?

“Is that a threat?” You ask, positively dumbfounded. Are you being coerced into staying in this marriage because of your grandmother’s will?

You can hear your mother laugh, that muted, knowing chuckle of hers. “It was the deal all along, remember?”

Vaguely, you do. You remember fighting your parents tooth and nail over getting married until your grandmother revealed it was her dream to see you wed. You remember the look on her old, wrinkled face, that soft, sad smile that said she knew she didn’t have much time left. You remember agreeing, because how could you deny her? You remember her promising to remember what you’re doing for her. 

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“But—”

“That’s the end of this conversation, Y/N. You fix things with your husband or you’re out of her will. She’s made that clear. I expect you’ll make the right choice.”

She hangs up. 

Well. 

There are a lot of ways to describe how you’re currently feeling, and you most certainly had an expensive education that would provide you with plenty of the vocabulary, but you think the most appropriate words for the current situation would be: you’re fucked. 

At least the feeling is mutual. 

Hardly two minutes after your mother’s brutal phone call, Taehyung comes storming down the stairs, hair still mussed from the night prior, his own phone clenched tightly between is fingers. Even from where you stand in the middle of the living room, you can see the way his eyes are glinting with anger, the veins popping out from his skin. 

“I just got off the phone with my parents,” Taehyung begins, not even bothering to spare a ‘good morning’ your way, “and they are fucking furious about last night.”

You shrug. “Join the club,” you mutter, arms crossed in front of you. What, does Taehyung really think you got off scot-free?

“Don’t act like this means nothing to you,” Taehyung says as he approaches you, footsteps calm despite his demeanor being anything but. “You’re the one who’s so obsessed with keeping up their family’s perfect reputation. You’re the reason we’re even in this mess in the first place.”

“What do you mean, ‘I’m the reason’?” You ask, astounded. Like he’s totally absolved of all blame and just an innocent third party. “You are the reason we went outside. You are the reason we had that argument, because you refuse to accept the fact that we’re actually married and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Right, because holding hands is really gonna show all those people how in love we are. I bet your parents are so thrilled right now.” Taehyung drawls. 

“It’s a start!” You shriek. “God, you’re just so��so infuriating! You can’t accept that this was your fault, too. You just have to turn everything against me and you always, always have to get the last word. It’s like you think you’ll die if you don’t.”

“Like you’re any better,” Taehyung huffs back. “You think I’m the villain because I don’t want to pretend to be in love with someone I’m not in love with. You act like us not holding hands is going to ruin our lives. It was one event! One! It’s obvious we hate each other, so why even try?”

“What, do you expect me to just sit around and do nothing? To act like everything’s fine? Like I’m happy?” As if. This marriage is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. “While you prance around the city with your rich boy friends, going out to clubs and parties and pretending that I don’t exist? Is that what you expect from me?”

Taehyung laughs, this loud, disbelieving sort of noise, like he’s never heard such nonsense before. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean the rest of my life has to change. Am I not allowed to enjoy myself with my friends? Or are you determined to keep me chained to your side for the rest of our lives?”

“What I want,” you punctuate every word, “is for you to stop acting like you haven’t got stakes in this, too. You think I don’t know how your family works? What being married to me means for you? Because I do. And I know that if we were to divorce, it would be you who would get the short end of the stick. Make no mistake.”

That’s enough to shut Taehyung up for a good few seconds. And it shuts him up, because he knows it’s true. Taehyung’s family may have a little more money, a little more power than yours, but you’ve got a family intimately more connected with the media. One phone call and Taehyung may have a rather messy, rather public breakup to deal with. 

“You wouldn’t,” he says, calling your bluff. 

“Are you sure about that?” You say, sticking your ground. You would never really divorce him, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I am,” Taehyung says firmly. “Don’t think I don’t know what being married to me is in it for you. What is it? Money? Power? Your father’s CEO position?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap quickly. Maybe you’re more transparent than you thought. Bristling, you straighten your shoulders and turn back to meet his eyes. “Regardless, it seems we both have a reason to stay in this marriage.”

“It seems we do,” Taehyung agrees with a thin, contained smile. “Then I suppose we can reach some sort of agreement.”

“As in…?” Your interest in piqued. 

“I’ll stop going out with my friends if you stop picking fights with me all the time,” he says economically, like he’s killing two birds with one stone. 

“Only if you agree to also act more like my husband when we’re in public,” you tack on, because you just can’t settle for anything less. 

“Public only,” Taehyung specifies. 

You scoff. “Like I’d even want to pretend to be your wife when we’re in private.”

“Good. It seems we’ve come to a deal.”

“What’s in this for you, huh?” You prod, just to be annoying. Taehyung’s right. There’s a reason you’re not divorcing him the second you get the chance. But there must be a reason why he’s not doing the same thing. 

“Does it matter?” He challenges, a single eyebrow raised. “My life is just as awful as yours.”

Fair enough. 

“Do we have a deal?” Taehyung asks, holding out his hand, that sneaky, devilish grin lacing his features. 

Taking his hand in yours and grasping it firmly is the easiest decision in the world. His palm presses against your own, hot hand meeting your cold skin, and it feels like the two of you are finally finding some sort of balance. You look up into his eyes, burn your gaze into his pupils, watch them glint in the white ceiling light of the living room. 

“Deal.”

For two people raised on the values of reading the fine print and making educated choices when it comes to business deals, you and Taehyung sure haven’t worked out any of the intricacies of the deal the two of you agreed to. Unlike those business deals your parents constantly agreed to, however, knowing all of the stipulations and provisions of your strange, strange agreement with Taehyung may prove more harmful than helpful. 

Like right now. 

“Wait, we don’t have to be by each other’s side the whole night, do we?” Taehyung asks you, eyebrows furrowed in a knot, as you sit in the back of a big, black van on your way to a mutual friend’s twenty-first birthday bash. 

“There are going to be a lot of cameras there,” you respond. 

“Yeah, outside the entrance to the damn club. You know they won’t be allowed in, so who cares?” Taehyung rebukes. 

You huff out a little sigh, not wanting to get into an argument when you’re literally minutes away from your first public appearance since the whole tabloid debacle from three weeks ago. You and Taehyung could both do with being a bit more relaxed than you normally are when you’re around each other. 

“Hasn’t Clarissa invited hundreds of people? They’ll all notice if we aren’t together,” you remind pointedly. The girl whose birthday party you are attending is an heiress who grew up on the money of two people with a monopoly over the current artificial intelligence market and has millions of followers on social media. There will be notable people there. And people will know the two of you, as well. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “That’s the point, Y/N. There’ll be so many people, no one will even care. It’s her twenty-first birthday. Do you think people are going to be sober?”

You purse your lips together. He’s got a point. “How about when we are together, we hold hands. But if you see a friend or something then feel free to say hi.” Taehyung can be afforded that luxury. Especially because the chances of him not bumping into someone he knows is exceedingly low anyway. 

Taehyung nods in agreement. “You too. But I won’t leave you unless I know you’re with someone you’re close with.”

“You don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine,” you say with a small chuckle. What, is Taehyung suddenly worried, or something?

“Yeah, but it would be in bad taste if I left you with someone you didn’t know well. Or alone. Just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.” He shrugs nonchalantly, turning back to look out of the window on his side of the car. 

“Okay.” 

You don’t really have anything else to say to that. You’re sure you can handle yourself if you’re left alone for a few minutes while Taehyung says hi, but you actually find yourself rather appreciative of his resolve to look after you. Or, at least, make sure someone else is looking after you. It’s quite… chivalrous. Strikingly out of character for the Taehyung you’ve become well-acquainted with over the past couple of months. 

By the time you arrive, it’s obvious that Taehyung was right about there being so many people you two practically don’t even exist. Other than the herds of camera crews waiting outside the joint, photographing everyone that steps out of a black car to see what they’re wearing and who they’ve come with, no one seems to be paying you any attention. And in a way, that sort of nonexistence, that anonymity, it’s refreshing. Your entire life you’ve felt like all eyes were on you, like there was constantly a spotlight above your head, but here, the party centers around someone else. 

Despite that fact, Taehyung keeps his promise. He keeps himself pressed closely against you when there’s not enough space for you two to stand side by side, and he makes sure to have a hand gently intertwined with your own as you weave your way through the dozens of bodies in the room. He doesn’t say anything, of course, always looking up and forward instead of beside him, where you stand, but you find that you’re actually quite relaxed with his presence. He spots a bit of a clearing near the back of the first floor of the club, where a whole bunch of leather couches are pressed up against the brick walls, where the two of you can take a breather. 

“Damn, Clarissa knows a lot of people,” you say when you finally settle down, happily plucking a martini from a tray held by one of the many caterers wandering through the venue. 

“I doubt she’s even spoken to half of them,” Taehyung comments. “She and I have maybe spoken once… three years ago.”

“It was enough to get you invited, wasn’t it?” You point out with an eyebrow raised. 

Taehyung nods, chuckling a little. “Touché,” he says, clinking his own cocktail glass against yours. 

You take a swig of the drink, letting it wash down your throat. You’re not exactly sure how else you’re supposed to survive the night. “You must enjoy this, huh?” You muse, looking up at Taehyung from where you’re seated on the couch. He’s standing next to you, looking around the room with a distant gaze in his eye. 

“Enjoy what? The drink? It’s nice,” Taehyung says, having another sip. 

“No, I mean this,” you say, motioning toward the crowd. “The clubbing, the dancing, the drinking. I’ll bet that if you could do this every day for the rest of your life, you would.”

“I’m honored that you think so highly of me,” he deadpans. 

“Just making an observation,” you say, holding your hand up in surrender. “I mean, isn’t this what you used to do every weekend before we got married? Get wasted and party? Wake up in someone else’s bed the next morning? Muscle your way through the week just so you could do it all over again?”

Taehyung shakes his head, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like someone keeps up with her tabloids. Let me guess, you would scroll through all of those trashy articles on your phone whenever you woke up so you could see what your future husband was doing?”

“I could have never even met you and I would know that that’s exactly what you do,” you say, even though you definitely did do those things before your engagement was announced to the public. “You’re a heartbreaker, Kim Taehyung. I don’t need to read a tabloid to know that.”

“Well, you must be quite the lucky girl, then,” Taehyung comments. “You seem to be taking up so much of my energy that I don’t have the time for that anymore.”

You place a sarcastic hand on your heart. “I didn’t know you were always thinking about me. I’m touched.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Taehyung huffs out, making the two of you both shake your heads as you chuckle to yourselves. First civil conversation you’ve had with each other in a long while, even if there may have been a few blows exchanged. 

The privacy doesn’t last long. Soon after, a huge crowd of people that could honestly still pass for teenagers herds towards the back of the club, all of them wanting to take pictures with each other. You and Taehyung do your best to stay out of the way, but one of the girls recognizes him from the Elle photoshoot he did about a year ago and begins to strike up a conversation with the both of you about your recent marriage. If she was paying attention to anything the tabloids leaked three weeks ago, she doesn’t mention it. Taehyung smiles and happily answers all of her questions, and even offers to take a picture of the group for them. The conversation ends before the two of you even catch her name. 

You’re standing by the line of buffet tables laid out against the staircase leading up to the second floor, no doubt as crowded as this one, when the opportunity for you to speak to someone other than Taehyung finally presents itself. 

“Y/N!”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. You turn around to see Victoria barreling towards the both of you, not even caring when she accidentally spills a bit of her piña colada on the floor as she does. 

“Hey!” You exclaim excitedly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure Clarissa invited everyone on her, her best friend’s, her best friend’s cousin, and her best friend’s cousin’s dog’s contact list,” Victoria says with a laugh. “It’s nice to see you. I feel like you’ve been holed up in that big ol’ penthouse for weeks.”

“Damage control,” you remind her succinctly. Victoria knows enough that that’s all the explanation she really needs. 

“I don’t know if the two of you have ever met formally,” you say, thinking back to your wedding, where Victoria spent most of her time schmoozing with your parents (who love her) and didn’t even engage with any of the people who Taehyung’s family had invited. “Taehyung, this is Victoria. Victoria, Taehyung.”

“Pleasure,” Victoria says in that loud, unabashedly forward way of hers, holding out a friendly hand. Taehyung smiles back curtly, taking her hand and shaking it gently, so as not to spill any more of her drink. 

“Mine as well. I remember you were at our wedding.” Oh? So he does know her?

“That I was. Oh, I miss that day. The food was excellent. Tonight’s isn’t too bad either. Hope you’re doing well, the two of you. It’s nice to see you getting along,” she says, always the observer. 

Taehyung’s eyes widen a little when he picks up what Victoria is not-so-subtly putting down, but you place a hand on his upper arm to calm him. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “She won’t say anything.”

“My lips are sealed,” Victoria adds. 

“If you wanna go spend time with some of your friends, you can,” you say, giving Taehyung a nudge. He looks positively helpless standing in between the two of you as Victoria out-extroverts him. 

“Alright,” he says hesitantly, even though you know he’s already spotted at least ten people you’re sure he’d want to spend time with over you. “I’ll come find you soon, okay? Don’t go too far.”

You nod, and Taehyung disappears off into the crowd. Not two seconds later, you hear someone else call his name in a familiar tone. 

“I thought you said you hated him,” Victoria points out as the two of you watch his caramel brown hair makes its way throughout the crowd. 

You take another sip of your drink. “I do,” you say. 

Victoria looks at you like you’ve just told her you’ve sworn off custard-filled doughnuts. 

“What?” You ask, feeling suddenly defensive. 

“Nothing,” Victoria singsongs. “It just doesn’t look like that to me.”

“We just need to keep up a good appearance in public, that’s all. You know how mad my parents got when the tabloids leaked all that shit a few weeks ago,” you explain. You’re not sure what all the fuss is about. Taehyung said he would do these things. And he did. That was him upholding his end of the deal. This is you upholding yours. 

“If you say so…” Victoria says, not looking at all convinced. “I guess I’m just surprised that—that you two seem to be getting along so well. Maybe you being married isn’t going to be the worst thing after all.”

You stare back out into the crowd, scanning the top of people’s heads for Taehyung’s familiar locks. In the dim light of the club, you have a difficult time finding his, squinting your eyes slightly as you look around, but eventually you spot him, dancing happily with some old friends of his you recognize. He looks like he’s having a good time. And that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might end up alright. 

“Yeah,” you say, though with the pounding of the bass and the alcohol already rushing through your veins, it doesn’t really feel like your voice belongs to you. You look back at Taehyung, knowing exactly where he is now, and you smile. Just a little. “I guess he’s not so bad.”

You never do get a chance to meet Taehyung’s friends that night. By the time he joins back up with you and Victoria he’s by himself, a little more drunk than when he left, and ready to go home. And for once, instead of fighting him, instead of insisting you stay an hour more just to make sure you’ve done all of your rounds, you let him take you home. 

Taehyung has been spending a lot more time at the penthouse lately. Perhaps his family’s business happenings are slow, or perhaps he’s actually starting to get more comfortable with inhabiting the same space as you, but he has definitely found himself quite the rhythm in that house of yours. He even comes down to the first floor rather regularly. 

When he’s home, Taehyung is a lot quieter than you thought he would be. Granted, you don’t exactly know what you were expecting in the first place, but it certainly wasn’t him ruminating in one of the home offices while the Beatles play softly on the stereo, nor was it him reading a book in French in one of those big old grandfather chairs in the living room. If you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was still absent in that old way of his, ghostlike and silent, like he was occupying the space instead of truly living in it. 

But you do know better, and even though Taehyung is just as noiseless as he used to be, the house already feels a little bit fuller. 

Perhaps the reason you’ve become so keenly aware of his presence over the past few days is because of the notable fact that Taehyung has indeed held up his end of the deal, and no longer goes out with his friends in the evening. Or at all, for that matter. Which strikes you as rather odd, because he’s the epitome of a social butterfly, a thousand contacts in his phone and a whole group of friends he regularly spends time with. Maybe his parents told him to tone down the public appearances, too. And that’s understandable, but don’t they know Taehyung? Can’t they see how much he thrives on social interaction? It almost makes you feel… bad for him. 

To remedy this, you suggest he invite over his friends. Just for a few hours, you swear you won’t mind. 

“Seriously?” Taehyung looks positively shocked when you tell him he can, standing in the doorway of the office he seems to have designated as his own. 

“Yeah, why not?” You say with a carefree shrug. Besides, you’ve never met his friends anyway, and now seems as good a chance as any to introduce yourself. You are his wife, after all. “Unless your parents say you can’t. But it’s not a problem for me.”

“You… don’t mind if I have my friends over for a bit? Honest to God, we’re probably just going to play FIFA for three hours straight,” Taehyung says like it’s some sort of warning. Like the idea of him and his buddies from college are going to sit in the living room screaming at the television, leaving you alone to do literally anything else, is somehow bad. 

You laugh. “It’s fine, really. Call them. I’d actually quite like to meet them.”

Taehyung picks up his phone almost instantly, as if you’ll change your mind in the next five minutes so he better get them over soon, and already you can see the way his face is lighting up, the way his eyes crinkle as he chats to his friends and the way his lips curl upwards when they crack a joke back. Isn’t it obvious? He feeds off of the energy of others. Who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?

As it turns out, Taehyung’s friends actually end up being quite nice anyway. 

He invites over three, because four people is apparently the perfect number for a hardcore game of FIFA on his Playstation, and they are all very handsome men you have never met before. You suppose like attracts like, after all. 

“You must be Y/N,” says the first one you see when you open the door to let them in. He doesn’t look a day over twenty-one—in fact, he could probably still pass as a college student—and has rather long dark hair that drapes over the sides of his face, covering the edges of his big doe eyes. “I’m Jungkook. This is Jimin and Hoseok.”

“Nice to meet you all,” you say, stepping aside so they can enter.

The shortest one, Jimin, grins in response, and Hoseok, behind him, gives you a wave. It’s refreshing enough as is, not having to exchange formal greetings and shake each other’s hands like you do with everyone else. Hoseok even gives you a bit of a nod, too.“You, too,” he says. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Oh, have they, now? Interesting. 

“All good things, I hope,” you say awkwardly, forcing a small smile as Taehyung comes bounding into the room, ears perked up at the sound of his friends’ voices. 

“Definitely. Thanks for having us over. We didn’t wanna intrude on the sanctity of your new place,” Jungkook says, gesturing vaguely to the house as a whole. He’s got this excellent, genuine grin on his face, the kind that people who are just happy to be alive always wear. 

Already he’s said enough to charm the shit out of you. Who knew Taehyung’s friends could be so… friendly? “Please, you’re welcome any time. I was just thinking Taehyung was getting a little lonely.”

“There he is!” Jimin shouts excitedly when he spots Taehyung behind the two of you, looking a lot more casual than he normally does when he’s alone with you, having abandoned his usual silky button-down and wide-leg slacks for a loose shirt and some sweatpants. You didn’t even know he had those things in his closet. 

“Hey, everyone’s here!” Taehyung exclaims, just as happy. He squeezes past you to give the three of them a big hug, and it almost makes you feel like you’re intruding on something you shouldn’t be in. Even though this is literally your house. 

“Nice place you got here,” Hoseok comments, eyes drifting around the living room. “Very minimalist, I like it.”

“Sure hope you don’t spill anything on those nice leather couches of yours,” Jungkook says. 

“Yeah, unlike Kook, who has spilled tomato soup on every shirt he’s ever owned,” Jimin jokes, earning laughs from Taehyung and Hoseok and a punch from Jungkook. 

“Moved after we married,” Taehyung says simply, shrugging his shoulders. It’s an easy enough explanation for why it doesn’t look at all lived in. Here’s hoping none of them realize you sleep in different bedrooms. 

“Yeah, congratulations on that, man,” Hoseok says, giving Taehyung a celebratory nudge in the shoulder. “Who’d have thought, out of the four of us, Kim Taehyung would be the first one to settle down.”

The way Taehyung’s body tenses up at that comment does not go unnoticed by you. 

“Seriously, I would have never guessed,” Jimin adds on. “You’re showing us a new side of yourself, Tae. But I’m happy for you.”

Normally, you’d probably take offense at such blatant insinuations that your husband was a former playboy, especially from his equally noncommittal friends. But truthfully, it’s not like you were blind to Taehyung’s transgressions either. And what matters most is the fact that since it was announced publicly, you are the only woman he’s been seen with since your engagement. 

“Me too. You seem to really like her. I’m glad,” Jungkook pipes up, sending a smile your way. You definitely feel like you don’t belong in this conversation. “I think the two of you will be good for each other.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Taehyung says with a nervous chuckle. His eyes quickly shoot your way, the two of you meeting gazes, your hesitant expressions matching. At least the two of you are on the same page. “Alright, alright, enough,” Jungkook says. “Who’s ready to get their ass kicked in FIFA?”

“You’re on, Jeon. But when I win, you owe me a five-star dinner,” Hoseok challenges. 

“Deal.”

Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately crowd towards the couch, and you take that as your cue to leave. But before you can disappear down the hallway, you and Taehyung look awkwardly at each other, hands tied. It’s not like you can say anything to them. 

The truth is that, sometimes, it’s easy to forget that not everyone else knows that your marriage is just for business. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that there are still people out there that believe you marry for love. 

Isn’t it crazy to think that you used to be one of those people, too?

“Hey,” Taehyung says when you meet up at the bottom of the stairs again. 

“Hey,” you respond. 

“You look nice.”

You scoff a little to yourself. What, are you exchanging compliments now? “Thanks,” you say, looking him up and down. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Like he ever is. 

“I knew you had taste,” Taehyung teases, and it’s the sort of comment that would have earned him a melon ball to the face back when the two of you were teenagers at a debutante ball, but today only earns him a roll of your eyes as you join hands. You don’t have anything big tonight—just a small dinner to celebrate some sort of business accomplishment for your family, which means that all you have to manage is not ending up in some sort of food fight by the end of the night. 

“I didn’t have a choice, did I?” You retort easily as you get into the car. 

You don’t normally speak a lot on the way to events. Not that you ever did, but even as your relationship has slowly faded from pure hatred to attempts at compromise, you both seem to relish in being able to stare out of your respective backseat windows and into the city that surrounds you. Just out of curiosity, about halfway through the ride you look towards Taehyung to see what he’s up to, and find yourself genuinely surprised to see him leaning against the window with his eyes closed. Is he sleeping? A couple more minutes of gazing at him tells you he is, because his body has gone lax and his breathing has evened out, soft snores leaving his mouth. This ride can’t be longer than twenty minutes. Has he not been sleeping well? Up in that enormous second-floor bedroom of his?

He’s awake by the time the car parks outside the restaurant, this fancy name brand steak place that was chosen solely because the biggest beneficiaries of your family’s new business deal are two sixty-year-old men whose entire diet consists of beef and beer. No cameras tonight, just a small family affair. You and Taehyung hold hands as you enter the restaurant and are led to the private room in the back anyway. 

You and him are seated on the far end of the long, rectangular table, alongside all of the other adult children dragged along to celebrate something that has no effect on their lives. But it’s nice, because the space alone prevents your parents from actively speaking with you, and you and Taehyung can stay in your own little bubble, only chiming in for a toast when necessary. 

“What are you going to get?” He asks you, the two of you gazing at the menu. No matter how fancy this place is, all the options seem to boil down to steak, steak, steak, steak, and caesar salad. Classic. 

“Oh, so you actually care now?” You counter, an eyebrow raised in amusement. 

Taehyung laughs. “Aren’t I supposed to?”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, wise to his usual shenanigans. It’s hard to tell if Taehyung really means what he says, or if it’s all for show. But perhaps he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious, since no one else seems to be paying you any attention. 

“The choices on this menu are simply overwhelming,” you say, motioning to the six options in front of you. 

“I know, I’m so torn,” Taehyung jokes, making you huff out a little giggle. At least he’s still got that same sense of humor. 

You both end up going for a pretty classic steak dinner, which neither of the two of you finish because the damn portions are the size of your head. Dinner is, in and of itself, absolutely mindless, all of your parents talking about things that don’t concern you whatsoever, leaving you and Taehyung to your own devices as you desperately try to make the night go by faster. 

At one point, you notice Taehyung’s foot brushing up against yours, the leather of his loafers brushing against the toe of your patent heel. Thinking someone of it, you push back, foot nudging his back to his own chair. It’s not a second later that Taehyung retaliates, the two of you dancing around each other underneath the table. 

If the two of you were any younger, or perhaps any less resigned to your fate, there’s no doubt in your mind you would be attempting to get Taehyung to fall off his chair in an effort to do the same to you. Footsie means war. But when the both of you know that, at the end of the day, you’ll still be going home to the same place, and waking up the next morning in the same house, it doesn’t feel like this is a battle.

It’s just life. 

Eventually, you meet Taehyung’s eyes with a hesitant smile, shoe pressed against his, stuck in ceasefire. And for once, he doesn’t have that devilish look in his eye, that smug little grin on his face that tells you that he’s going to make you regret whatever it is you just did. He’s just smiling back at you, all pink lips, having found real fun in the little things. 

And that makes you happy. 

The rest of the dinner is uneventful, which, in your book, is about as good as a dinner can go. You cheers to the future of your parents’ relationship with their newfound partners and say a quick goodbye to them both, hurrying out of there before they can ask you any questions on your relationship with your husband. But you don’t spend the car ride in silence on the way back. 

Instead, you say, “Have you been sleeping well?”

The question seems to catch Taehyung off guard. He was already getting in position to take a power nap on the ride home, head pressed up against the window of the car. 

“What?”

“Have you been sleeping well?” You repeat. “I noticed you fell asleep on the way here.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess,” he says, a hand scratching the nape of his neck. “I mean, it’s been hard adjusting, I suppose. But I’ll get over it.”

Hard adjusting? You’ve been together for nearly three months now. Three months worth of sleeping in the same penthouse bedroom, on the same soft-as-a-cloud mattress, underneath the same weighted blanket. And he’s still having trouble? 

“Oh. I mean, I just wanted to ask because you seem really tired lately.”

“I got a lot on my plate, what can I say,” Taehyung says with an empty smile, forcing a chuckle. “I’ll be fine, seriously. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Isn’t that my job?” You remind him. “I am your wife.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything to that. He just lets out an audible breath, the kind you let out when you’re amused and have something snarky to say, but don’t have the energy to get the words off your tongue. 

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet. 

When you get home, you place your house keys in the bowl by the entrance and take off your shoes, just about ready to take a hot shower and collapse in bed, when Taehyung’s voice stops you. 

“Hey,” he begins, almost hesitantly. You look back at him inquisitively. “I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, we could start sleeping in the same bed?”

You scrunch your nose up. Not in disgust, but in surprise. In bewilderment. What brought this on, all of a sudden?

“Really?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. “I thought we liked the separate bed thing. Gives us privacy.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says with a shrug, “but—I don’t know, it’s stupid. I just thought, you know, since we’re married and all. And it’s been three months.” He looks about two seconds away from backtracking, from shaking his head and going upstairs before you can say anything else. 

“Alright,” you say quickly, nodding your assent. Taehyung’s eyes widen when he hears the word, like he had completely expected you to shut him down the moment he made the suggestion. “If that’s what you want. We can try it.”

“You sure?” He asks, that same hesitant smile from earlier lacing his features. It’s strange. He almost looks… sweet. Nervous. 

You grin back at him. “Yeah, I am.”

Taehyung lets you grab some of your toiletries and your pajamas from your designated bedroom before you head up the stairs together, towards the bedroom he’s claimed for himself. Funnily enough, this is the first time you’ve been in his room. Three months of living together and you haven’t dared step foot on the second floor. 

You don’t know what you were expecting when he opens the door to let you inside. Maybe a room that screamed ‘Taehyung’ a little more than this one does. One that looks like an actual human has been living here. But other than one of his classic silk button-downs draped over a chair, there’s not a shred of evidence someone has actually been sleeping here. You could honestly be fooled rather easily that the shirt, too, is just decoration. 

“You can pick a side,” Taehyung says casually. He grabs his own sleepwear—an old t-shirt and some sweats—and heads into the bathroom to change. 

You wonder why Taehyung has had such a difficult time adjusting. This room is about as lavish as a bedroom can get. And yet. 

Sitting down on the left side of the bed, you begin to remove your own clothes, unzipping tonight’s dress and stepping quickly into your pajamas, hurrying to make sure Taehyung doesn’t catch you half-naked. How funny is that, you think to yourself. You’ve been married for three months and you still can’t bear the thought of Taehyung seeing you without a shirt on. 

When Taehyung comes out of the bathroom, hair all messy and clothes all casual, he grins lazily to himself. “I sleep on the right anyway,” he comments mindlessly. 

Within twenty minutes the both of you are about as ready to pass out as you have ever been, the only lights still on the ones on your respective nightstands. 

“Goodnight,” Taehyung says, reaching an arm over to switch his off. 

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning off yours as well. And all of a sudden, the room is shrouded in darkness. 

You fall asleep instantly. 

When Taehyung wakes up the next morning, the first thing he says to you is that he hasn’t slept that well in ages. 

“You slept together?” Victoria shrieks, so loud you actually have to move your phone away from your ear as you punch in the code inside the elevator for access to your floor. 

“We did not sleep together,” you emphasize. “Okay, well, we sleep together, as in, in the same bed. But we are fully clothed. And not the slightest bit interested in doing anything other than sleeping.”

“I thought you said you liked having your own space,” Victoria points out. “When was the first time you—uh…” she pauses to find the right words, “shared a bed?”

“A couple weeks ago. It’s really not so bad, I don’t know why you’re so hung up over it,” you say, lips pursed. You squeeze the phone between the side of your head and your shoulder, hands full of shopping bags, the string of the handles burning your skin. Maybe you should look into getting a personal shopper. 

“I’m hung up over it because, for the longest time, you have sworn off Kim Taehyung. Called him dead to you. Insulted him every chance you get.” 

You scoff. You don’t need reminding of how much you hated him, how much you can’t believe you have to spend the rest of your life with him. “It’s different now. We’re married. And he said he wasn’t sleeping well. I felt bad.”

“He wasn’t?”

“Enough about him,” you say, shutting her up. You don’t feel like talking about him with Victoria anymore. “Word through the grapevine says that your parents are actually thinking of letting you start your own company?”

It’s enough to distract Victoria. For the rest of the ride in the elevator, she talks animatedly about a new streaming service her parents are considering letting her launch, under their parent business, of course, but it’s her own company nonetheless. And you’re proud of her. Proud she could do something your parents would never dream of letting you do. Proud she could make that happen. 

You push open the front door with the side of your hip after entering in the security code, phone still snug between your ear and your shoulder, when you hear Taehyung call out your name. 

He comes into view from the kitchen, which surprises you because you have, on multiple occasions, made fun of how much of a disaster chef he is, especially because he’s admitted to you he’s not a very good cook. 

“I made brownies,” he says, holding out a plate of the chocolate treats in front of you. Instinct has you dropping your bags on the floor by your feet and reaching out, but you eye him first, suspicious. 

“I have to go,” you tell Victoria, hanging up before she even gets a chance to object to your sudden departure. “You made these?”

“Yes, I did,” Taehyung says, rather proud. 

“And the kitchen is… still standing?” You ask, skeptical. 

Taehyung frowns at you, clearly unimpressed. “How bad of a chef do you think I am?”

“Pretty bad,” you admit with a shrug. 

Taehyung pouts sadly to himself for a moment. “These are good, I swear. Nothing weird in them like vegetables or anything either. I used a box mix.”

“No wonder they look so nice,” you comment snidely, hesitant hand reaching out to grab one. They feel like brownies. So that’s good. 

“Hey, I was the one who had to crack the eggs and shit. Three eggs! And not one eggshell in the bowl!” Taehyung says, clearly very pleased with himself. 

You laugh at his enthusiasm, taking a bite. It’s good. And exactly what you needed after a long day of shopping. “I’m proud of you. They taste good.”

“I knew you wouldn’t doubt me.” Taehyung grins.

“They’re really good, actually,” You amend, genuinely surprised. And the best part is that you can count at least ten brownies left on that plate, which means that you get at least five more. Which, if you had any less self-restraint, you would probably eat all at once within the day. 

“I’m glad you like them. They’re all for us, you know. No one else to share them with,” he says.

“Honestly, I’m probably going to finish them by tonight. You’ll have to make more tomorrow,” you say sheepishly. 

“We can make some together,” Taehyung suggests. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” you respond. The words come off your mouth easily, tumbling from your lips without you having to think about it. You aren’t saying them because you have to. You’re saying them because you want to. Because baking with Taehyung doesn’t actually sound too bad. Especially if it means more brownies. 

“You’ve, uh, you’ve got something,” Taehyung says, gesturing vaguely to the side of his lip. 

“Oh, I do? Yikes,” you say, a little embarrassed. Your hand comes up to wipe at the left side of your mouth. “Is it gone?”

“Wait, here, let me do it,” Taehyung says, reaching out towards you. He presses his palm against the side of your face, cradling your cheek and jaw in his enormous hands, and all at once it feels like your skin is on fire. 

Your body freezes up at the touch, at the way his thumb swipes at the corner of your mouth, right against your lips, wiping away nothing but a goddamn brownie crumb. You look at him, look right at him, how can you look anywhere else when he’s right in front of you like this, and it feels like you are caught in his gaze, a rain droplet trapped on a web, a bee stuck in its own honey. His big, brown eyes sparkle from the ceiling lights, a chocolate sky that mirrors the food he just made for you. He looks at you and his eyes are so soft, so open, so happy to be looking right back at you. God. 

“There,” he says, a moment too late. 

“Thanks,” you stammer out, speechless otherwise. 

You both stand there, looking at each other, wordless expressions drawn all over your faces, no idea what to do next. 

After a while, Taehyung breaks the silence. “Do you wanna order takeout tonight?”

“Okay,” you nod, still a little breathless. Taehyung smiles before retreating back to the kitchen, leaving you standing in the entranceway, shopping bags abandoned by your side. 

You look over to where he’s vanished. There’s a part of you that wishes he hadn’t left. A part of you that makes you want to see him again. 

Phone calls from your mother are never good. The last time she called… well, you know how that went. So when you see her contact information light up your home screen, it’s only instinct that you feel your heart rate spike. 

“Hello?” The voice that comes out doesn’t even sound like yours. 

There’s no good way to put what comes next. Your grandmother has died. Heart attack. The paramedics got there too late. It was over before it even started. 

For a moment, for a split second, it feels like everything is frozen. Like the world has come to standstill. Your mother’s voice echoes in your ears, suspended in time, the words turning into stone as they crash onto the floor. And when they do, it is as if everything comes back to life. 

Truth be told, you don’t know how long you stay there, sitting on the edge of the left side of the bed, your phone resting lifelessly in the palm of your hand. It feels at once like an eternity and only a second in time. You spoke to your grandmother two days ago. You had promised that you and Taehyung would visit her soon. How can this be happening?

Your phone buzzes relentlessly in your hands, condolences pouring in from every person in your contacts, sorry’s and heart emoticons and If you need anything, I’m always here’s filling up your screen. There’s a part of you that vaguely registers your mother, alongside some of the other members of your family, trying to call you. But nothing can seem to shake you. 

Until—

“Y/N? You still up here?”

You hear Taehyung before you see him. Hear his voice, hear his footsteps, hear the door creak open as he enters your bedroom. Slowly, almost sluggishly, you twist around to look at him, the mere act knocking the wind out of you. Or maybe you were already breathless. 

“Hey, you alright?” Taehyung knows instantly that something is wrong. 

“My grandmother died.” The words sit heavy on your tongue. There’s no point in not telling him. He’ll find out soon enough. He’s… he’s family, isn’t he?

“What?” Taehyung freezes in place. “I—I’m so sorry to hear that, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, voice weak but steady. You blink up at him, once, twice, three times, and then suddenly you feel tears running down your cheeks. 

Taehyung doesn’t say anything else. He rushes to your side and sits himself down on the bed next to you, arms wrapping around your body. And you don’t think about the fact that it’s him, about the fact that this is the closest the two of you have ever been. You just let yourself be engulfed in his frame, let yourself be enveloped in his hold as the tears stream down your skin, little hiccups jolting your throat. You close your eyes and press yourself into his arms, head resting against his chest, and wish so desperately that so many things about your life were just a little bit different. 

It must be at least five minutes before either one of you dares to move. Your phone begins to rattle incessantly, that familiar and insistent buzz that the both of you are hard-pressed to ignore. 

“I think you should answer that,” Taehyung whispers into your skin, lips right by your forehead. 

“Yeah,” you sniffle, sitting up next to him and wiping the remnants of wetness by your eyes. Well, Taehyung’s seen you cry. There’s no going back now. “You’re probably right.” You look down at the phone. It’s your father. 

“I’ll be downstairs, okay? Unless you want me to stay,” he offers, looking hesitant. 

You shake your head. “No, it’s—it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Call me if you need me,” he makes you give him a nod of understanding before he finally gets up, hands slowly removing themselves from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake. Remnants of warmth. Suddenly, you feel much colder. Hardly a minute later he’s out of the room, and you can hear his distant footsteps as they make their way down the stairs. 

Sighing, blinking, and swallowing all at once, you pick up. 

The call passes by in a blur. Your father says the will will take at least half a year to be executed, but that the funeral is already being planned. Your grandmother had hoped you would eulogize her. You agree, but you have no idea what you will say. He says Taehyung is invited but does not need to come if he cannot make it. He says a lot of other things too, about your mother, about your cousins, about your aunts and uncles and your poor grandfather, who passed five years ago, but you can’t even remember them moments after he’s said them. 

When he hangs up, the tears on your cheeks have dried, patches of them left along your skin. You head to the bathroom, getting off your bed for the first time that day, and try to wash away everything that has stained the morning. A part of you doesn’t even want to bother, just wants to slug downstairs and eat as much sugary cereal as you can get your hands on, but you can’t go down there looking like this. Looking so helpless. 

By the time you reach the kitchen, Taehyung is already standing there, on the opposite side of the counter island, a big stack of pancakes in front of him. They look mouth-watering. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Thought you might want something to cheer you up.”

“Did you make these?” You ask, a little endeared. That was thoughtful of him. 

“Yeah. They’re still warm,” Taehyung says. He holds out a fork. 

You grin. 

The funeral is a week later. It sucks in every way that something can suck. But not in the same way your wedding sucked, or even the announcement of your engagement. It sucks because it’s a funeral, because you have to stare down your grandmother’s casket when a part of you still doesn’t even believe that she’s gone. Because everyone there is so sad, so melancholy, dressed in all black and looking down at their feet. Because everyone is so sorry for you, so sorry for your loss, everyone has nothing but condolences to offer you. What will those do? They won’t bring her back. They won’t change things. They won’t make you feel even the slightest bit better. 

Taehyung comes. He comes because he offers, and because you want him to. You want someone whose hand to hold. Want someone to smile at you when you’re speaking in front of your entire extended family and trying not to cry. You want someone who is familiar, and warm, and there for you. 

And most of all, you want someone who won’t keep the conversation going when you get home. 

“Do you wanna order Chinese?” He asks, coming into the living room, where you have been sulking on the couch ever since you stepped foot inside the door. 

“That sounds nice,” you force out. 

“Okay. Your usual?”

“Yes, please.” You don’t bother asking how Taehyung already remembers what you like to order when you’ve only gotten Chinese twice in the last three months. 

“I’ll call them.” He disappears off into the kitchen. 

What you do appreciate about Taehyung is how he has defaulted to food as a comfort measure, and how the thought alone genuinely brightens you up a little bit. You don’t know each other very well—still, after three months, you couldn’t even say his favorite color—but he is doing his best, and he is trying his hardest. In some ways, you were unlucky to marry him. To marry someone you didn’t love. To be forced into a union you had no say in, with someone you had so much antagonistic history with. 

But in some ways, your luck has changed. In some ways, marrying him was perhaps the best thing that could happen to you. Taehyung is snarky, a little devilish, and absolutely full of himself, but he is not thoughtless. He is not heartless. He has proven that he is willing to put in the work. That he can grow to care. To change. To compromise. And isn’t that the luckiest thing you could have gotten?

“I’m sure you’re probably sick of hearing people tell you they’re sorry for your loss.”

His voice breaks your reverie, carrying throughout the wide open space of your living room. He’s grinning honestly where he stands, slowly making his way over to you. 

“Kind of, yeah,” you admit. “It’s not going to bring her back. Most of those people probably don’t even mean it.”

“Don’t say that,” Taehyung says, sitting down next to you. “I’m sure they do.”

You look at him skeptically. 

“I mean, they’re sorry for your loss because that loss is causing you pain. And that sucks,” Taehyung explains, albeit a little less eloquently than you thought he would. “I know it sucks for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like seeing you sad,” Taehyung says honestly, shrugging to himself. 

You scoff a little to yourself. “I would have thought my downfall would be the exact thing the great Kim Taehyung would wish for himself.”

“Maybe a couple of years ago.”

You narrow your eyes. 

“Okay, maybe even a few months ago,” Taehyung admits with a laugh, making you smile, ever so slightly. “But it’s different now. I like it when you’re happy. When you’re snarky and funny and a little evil. Seeing you like this… I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

“That’s called empathy,” you point out. 

“I’m trying to tell you that seeing you sad makes me sad, stop being a smartass,” Taehyung chides, and that really makes you grin. “There. There’s that smile I was looking for.”

“You’re so annoying,” you say, even though there’s no malice behind it. You give him a little push, palms of your hand pressing lightly against his shoulder as you roll your eyes. 

“Only for you,” he promises. He manages to grab a hold of your wrist as your hand meets his torso, pulling you into him as he wraps an arm around your torso. You gasp a little at the sensation, head falling against his body, fitting snugly in the crook of his neck. He gives your side a comforting rub. “I’m sorry today was so shitty.”

“It was,” you agree. “But Chinese food will make it a little bit better.”

Taehyung looks positively scandalized. “What? ‘Chinese food will make it better’? But not your loving, doting husband?” 

You pretend to think for a little bit, tilting your head up to the sky as you tap your chin with your finger. “Okay. Maybe that, too,” you cave after a bit of waiting, just to be extra bothersome. 

“That’s what I thought,” Taehyung says proudly, looking down at you, eyes sparkling. You can feel his grip tighten as he presses you against his body, letting you rest your head on his side. It feels like the longest hug ever, like you’re wrapped up in a weighted blanket. Only it’s not a blanket. It’s Taehyung. It’s your husband. 

He’s your husband.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he says, and it sounds a lot like a promise. 

You nod against him, letting your eyes drift shut. Things are pretty awful right now. Your grandmother’s dead. The funeral was the saddest family event you have ever attended. You have no idea what’s supposed to happen next. 

But he’s right. He seems to be right a lot these days, actually. 

Tomorrow will be better.

Taehyung lets you sleep in for the next few days. Next several days, actually. Every time you wake up it’s close to noon and your husband is nowhere to be seen, the right side of the bed cold to the touch. It’s nothing to be worried about, though, because you can still see the noticeable dip in the bed from where he lies upon it, sinking his weight into the mattress. Taehyung’s an early bird and you’ve been having fitful nights ever since your grandmother passed. 

Today, you pull yourself out from underneath the covers around noon, sluggish and still tired, squinting as the near-afternoon light streams through the enormous windows of the bedroom. Taehyung must have thought to keep the curtains open today. 

You pull on the first casual clothes you see in your shared closet, some wide-leg sweatpants and a drapey t-shirt, and trudge downstairs like a raccoon to a trash can, hoping to fish through the kitchen cabinets to find something to eat. 

Taehyung is, as far as you can tell, nowhere to be seen. You can’t seem to hear him anywhere, and a part of you wonders where he’s at when you stumble upon the note left on the granite counter. 

Had a meeting downtown, be back around 1! There should be smoked salmon and some cream cheese and bagels in the fridge. 

Taehyung.

You chuckle to yourself as you read his flowy handwriting, amused that he thought to let you know of, of all things, the available breakfast foods in the kitchen. You check the clock. It’s nearly noon. Which means you have just over an hour of the house all to yourself. 

Having the house to yourself for five minutes is infrequent enough as it is, let alone for a whole hour. So often is Taehyung around, somewhere, holing himself up in one of the dozens of rooms or mindlessly wandering down the hallways. And for how much Taehyung is present, the funny part is that you still have no idea what he gets up to most of the time. Despite your voluntary abandoning of the separate bedroom rule, the two of you are still firm proponents of the sanctity of your personal spaces. There are rooms in the penthouse Taehyung has never been in, rooms filled with your clothes and makeup and accessories for when stylists come over before an event. A sewing room that you had specifically asked your parents for, because a part of you never let go of that childhood dream of being a fashion designer. 

And there are rooms in the penthouse that you have never been in. Rooms with dark wooden doors that have always been kept closed, that you have never stepped foot in. It’s not that you aren’t curious as to what Taehyung gets up to. He could have a goddamn evil lair in one of those rooms and you would be none the wiser. But you don’t go, because he doesn’t go into your rooms. Because you two, despite all the vows you have broken, promised each other you wouldn’t.

An hour to yourself is almost a good enough excuse for you to head back up to the bedroom and take a nap. Not that you don’t get enough sleep on a regular basis, or that you even had a fitful night last night—hell, you woke up near noon today and already you want to go back to sleep—but what else is there to do when he’s not around? What new freedoms have suddenly been given to you?

You head back upstairs, much less groggy after that delicious bagel of yours, when you catch a whiff of what smells like wet paint coming from down the hallway. It’s potent and immediately invades your senses, prompting you to wonder if that has always been there, or just magically appeared. Maybe you were so sleepy earlier, you didn’t notice it. 

Well, you notice it now. Unable to help yourself, you start to wander down the hallway, towards the source of the smell. God, it stinks. It takes you back to those days in middle school, when you would spray paint projects inside a tiny little classroom, have to step outside for fifteen minutes while you cracked the windows and aired it out. It gets stronger the further down the corridor you go, like a thick, smelly cloud stationed firmly within the walls of the penthouse. And then you realize where it’s coming from. 

It’s an art studio. 

A very messy art studio, you amend to yourself, as you peek inside. The door is wide open, and all of the windows are popped too, but the extra air circulation doesn’t seem to have made a dent in the scent. And all over the floor, the walls, and the tables are canvases covered in paint, denim jackets and pants and shirts with these wide, unafraid brushstrokes. Open cans of spray paint lie discarded on the hardwood floor stained with splotches of red, yellow, and green. 

Is this what Taehyung does in his free time? Is this where he goes, this bright, sunny room at the end of the second floor hallway? Is this what he is making?

You look down in awe at the clothes resting on the floor, splayed out to maximize dry time. Abstract faces, landscapes, and words are painted onto the backs of jackets, the fronts of old white t-shirts. What hasn’t made it onto the clothes has been put on canvases instead, blurs of color mixed together in this purposeful pattern, confidence emanating from every stroke, every dot. It’s not art in the way that the gorgeous landscapes of Monet, the picture-perfect portraits of Kahlo, the messy, unplanned splatters of Pollock are. It’s art in a different way. In a Taehyung way. 

Who knew he loved it so much? 

You almost feel like an invader encroaching on his territory when you lean down to start cleaning up some of the mess, throwing out empty spray-paint cans and tossing out grey paint water. You don’t dare touch any of the work, don’t dare try to move it. You do what you can, washing out the brushes resting in the water and cleaning up the wet splotches of paint on the hardwood. Over time, the thick scent of still-wet paint slowly fades, disappearing out the window as the fresh afternoon air seeps in. And you stand there, in a room full of art, in a room full of pieces that Taehyung has undoubtedly poured his heart into creating, and you smile to yourself. 

That’s how Taehyung finds you ten minutes later, peering into the room after declaring that his meeting had ended early. 

“Thought I’d find you in here,” Taehyung says with a grin as you jump at the sound of his voice, eyes widen when you turn around to see him standing by the door. 

“Oh, hey,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Maybe because this is the farthest room in the house from the front door,” Taehyung teases lightly, coming up behind you. “I see you found my studio.”

“I know I’m not allowed in here,” you admit. 

Taehyung scoffs. “Who says?”

“Didn’t we both agree on that?”

He shrugs. “Sort of. I think we just reached an unspoken understanding we wouldn’t invade each other’s personal space. But it was not in the fine print, no.”

“The fine print of what?”

“That deal we made.”

Right. That deal you made, four months ago, That deal, where the two of you agreed to pretend to be in love with each other during public appearances so you wouldn’t get burned at the stake by your families. Where the two of you agreed not to interact with each other otherwise because you hated each other so much. 

“Oh, yeah,” you say distantly, feeling naive for already forgetting about it. It doesn’t seem to have slipped Taehyung’s mind whatsoever. 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind that you’re up here,” Taehyung says, interrupting that piercing little voice in the back of your head that is asking you why on earth you forgot about that deal in the first place.

“Yeah, I—” You scratch at the nape of your neck, trying to find the words to say. “It just smelled like paint, so I wanted to see what you get up too. And it’s this, apparently.” You motion vaguely to the entire room.

“You sound… surprised,” Taehyung muses correctly. 

“I guess I am,” you surmise. “I’m rather impressed, too, actually.”

“Really?” It’s Taehyung’s turn to sound surprised. 

“Yeah,” you tell him honestly, looking into his eyes. “I—you know, I just came in here because the entire hallway smelled like wet paint and I wanted to know why. But I didn’t know you loved art so much.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Taehyung points out. 

You suppose that’s true. You don’t know his favorite color. His favorite song. His favorite book. For a long time, you didn’t know what he got up to on his side of the penthouse. You don’t know how he met his friends. What he studied in university. Who he has loved in the past. Who he loves now. You don’t know why he does the things he does, and why he doesn’t do the things he doesn’t do. 

But you do know his Chinese takeout order. 

And you do know his hobbies. Well, one of them, at least. 

Who’s to say you can’t learn more?

“Well,” you start with a smile. “I’m your wife, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I begin to learn?”

Taehyung picks up what you’re putting down instantly, grinning in response. “Only if you’ll tell me things about you, too,” he requisitions. 

“I will,” you promise. It’s the easiest one you’ve ever had to make. 

His face is light, bright, bathed in the rays of the afternoon sun. His eyes shimmer as they meet yours, golden flecks more pronounced like this, in this gorgeous, open space, daylight streaming through the windows. Looking at him makes you feel like you are surrounded by warmth, makes you feel like the sun is opening its arms out to you. He has always been gorgeous. Beautiful. But looking at him like this, standing in the middle of a room filled with all the things he loves, a yellow halo surrounding him—he is ethereal. 

Taehyung smiles. “Then I will, too.”

The hand-holding comes naturally tonight.

The funny thing is, actually, you don’t need to hold hands at this gathering. It’s not an event. Or a public appearance. It’s not even a business dinner. It’s your aunt’s sixtieth birthday party, reserved exclusively for family. Isn’t that strange? That Taehyung is, technically, family now?

For so long you had vowed to stay as far away from him as possible. Vowed to stick it to him whenever and wherever you could, do anything you could to get on his nerves, rile him up. Vowed that when you, one day, took over your family affairs, you would never, ever invite him. Make it known that he wasn’t to be a part of your life. And yet, here you are. Clinging to him despite being well-acquainted with—loved by, even—every other person in the room. Holding his hand like a goddamn lifeline. 

To be fair, Taehyung doesn’t look a hair out of place here. Dressed relatively casually, a smart sweater with a collared shirt underneath it, he smiles warmly at all of your relatives and presents your aunt with a beautiful and very expensive scarf the two of you had commissioned from a designer in Italy, which she absolutely loves. She pinches his cheek and proceeds to wear it for the rest of the night. 

“Damn,” you murmur to yourself as you wander around your aunt’s house, hand wrapped around his arm. “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”

“When was the last time you were here?” Taehyung asks. 

The question actually makes you think for a moment. “I don’t know, maybe five years ago? Last couple of birthdays I was overseas or in school. Had to send her a card.”

“Bet your parents were real pleased with that,” he jokes, making you both laugh. At least you two will always be able to share your experiences of domineering and influential parents with each other. 

“Oh, I’m sure. Just as pleased as they were when they realized how much we hated each other.” You expect that little jest to elicit a laugh out of Taehyung as well, but he just smiles tightly, huffing out a breath of acknowledgement. 

“Eh, it’s not like that now, is it?” He offers up. 

“I suppose not,” you muse, sitting down together on her ancient grandma couch in the living room. No matter how rich your family gets, she’ll never get rid of this thing, that’s for sure. 

One thing you’ve picked up over time is that, for every second Taehyung spends basking in the spotlight, he spends an equal amount of time lingering by the wall, watching the rest of the world turn without him. He’s an observer. He is one by nature, feeling an irresistible pull to understand humans in a way only artists could ever do. He sits down next to you and watches your family in an environment where they can relax, where they can feel comfortable and be casual with one another. 

Very seldom have you ever brought friends to events like these. Small family affairs. But Taehyung isn’t a friend, is he? No, he’s your husband. He belongs here just as much as you do. 

“My family seems to really like you,” you point out. Not that anybody has ever harbored as much disdain for him as you. Your parents called him respectable and polite when they told you you were to be wed. Your grandmother had said he was a dashing young man. He doesn’t exactly have to reach far to be loved around here. 

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” He replies snidely. 

“Oh, just take the compliment,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Taehyung always has to be so difficult. “I’m surprised you aren’t nervous as hell. Last boyfriend I brought to meet my parents was shaking in his Louis Vuitton shoes.”

“Last boyfriend, huh?” Taehyung’s interest has been sufficiently piqued. “And, uh, how many of those have you had?”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, smile twitching on your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Heartbreaker.” Pretty rich of Taehyung to be asking you such a question when he’s probably had more girlfriends than you can count on both hands. “Not as many as you’ve had girlfriends, that’s for sure.”

“Guess I’m a lot different than all those trashy guys you’ve dated, aren’t I?” He asks, an eyebrow raised as he looks at you. 

“You are?”

Taehyung nods assertively. “Well, yeah. First of all, I’m your husband. Second of all, your parents love me. Third of all, you love me, too.”

You scoff. “Don’t humble yourself. You don’t know me that well.”

“Speaking of which,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as he points to you knowingly, “how about you tell me a little fact about yourself? It’s my job to learn about you, isn’t it?”

“That is my line, watch it,” you sneer, pointing back at him. You wrack your brain for a fact that you can tell him, something more exciting than your favorite color but less weird than one of those terrible icebreaker exercises you had to do in college seminars. Something that has pertinence to who you are. Who you’ve become. “Alright. I used to want to be a fashion designer when I was little.”

Now that catches Taehyung off guard. “Really?” He says, genuinely intrigued. 

You shrug. “Yeah. I learned to sew when I was really little. Been tailoring and hemming clothes all my life. But I always wanted to design my own stuff.”

“Is that what’s in your room?” Taehyung asks. “A sewing machine?”

“Bingo.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says. “I didn’t know that.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?” You say, just to be smart. 

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes rolling. 

“What about you?” You ask. You can’t imagine what he’ll say. Astronaut. Veterinarian. Or, if he really wants to surprise you, a business executive. 

“A museum curator.”

It is an answer that simultaneously surprises and doesn’t surprise you at all. 

“Fitting,” you muse. “You could have put your own art on display.”

“Pretty sure that’s, like, super unethical,” Taehyung reminds you. 

“So? You’re rich. Start your own museum. Put your own art on display. Live your dream,” you amend. “It shouldn’t be holed up in that studio of yours forever. It deserves to be seen.”

Taehyung smiles at you. “You think so?”

You nod. “Of course. You create beautiful things, Tae.” It’s the first time you’ve ever called him that. And that is not lost on Taehyung, either.

“Thank you,” he says softly, blinking as he looks at you. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

Later that night, when everyone’s gotten a few drinks into their systems and Bruce Springsteen is playing low on the stereo, Taehyung disappears off towards the bathroom, no doubt because of the excellent soup that was served that night. All by your lonesome, you feel a little stranded, surrounded by your old relatives dancing on the hardwood floor of the dining room, your other cousins too young to actually spend time with. 

In the commotion, your mother comes up to you, swirling a rather large glass of red wine in her hand. 

“Where’s Taehyung?” She asks. 

“Bathroom.”

“No wonder you were alone,” she says with a hearty laugh. “The two of you have been glued to each other’s sides all evening.”

“He’s my husband,” you offer as an explanation. 

“I know, I know,” she says, shaking you off with a smile. Your mother is a lot more casual once she’s had her fill of wine, no doubt her favorite, Bordeaux. A lot more loving, too. “You really made your grandmother proud, you know? She loved you so much.”

“I know,” you say, trying not to get choked up at the mere mention of your grandmother. 

“She was so happy to see you with Taehyung. It made her feel safe that you would be taken care of,” she continues on, barely paying you and your swimming eyes any attention. “She would be so happy to see you with him now, too. How much you love her.”

“I miss her,” you hiccup out, trying to compose yourself. Nothing kills a birthday party like some sad sack crying over her deceased grandmother. 

“I know, darling,” your mother says, calling you by a nickname she has hardly used ever since you turned eighteen. She squeezes you tightly, a small hug of comfort. “I miss her, too.”

Someone calls your mother’s name, distracting her as she wanders off to your uncle, who is asking what the best way to cut the three-tiered cake on the dining room table is. She bids you a goodbye before disappearing towards the kitchen, no doubt ready to make the cutting of the cake an affair all on its own. 

Taehyung comes back soon after, spotting you instantly as you stand around in the living room. 

“Hey,” he says, noticing the wet shimmer of your eyes. “You alright?”

You nod, feeling better already now that he has returned. Now that he is by your side. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I hope those tears aren’t because you missed me,” he says, wiping away a stray one that has escaped from your eyes. You close them as his thumb brushes against your upper cheek, your eyelashes, opening them only when you’ve felt his touch vanish from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake. 

“No,” you say. But the night makes you honest, and a couple of drinks, even more so. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Taehyung smiles. “Me, too.”

For all those days you have spent together, never have you and Taehyung had a night in. Which isn’t necessarily completely surprising, considering how many evening events the two of you have had obligations to attend, considering your differing work schedules and meeting times. Considering that, for a very long time, the two of you had no desire to spend any time with each other at all. 

But tonight, there is nothing on your calendar. No galas, no dinners, no meetings, no schedules. There is only Taehyung, who has spent the entire afternoon up in his studio, inhaling spray paint fumes and doing what he loves. And there is only you, who has spent the entire afternoon wondering what the hell you’re going to do tonight when there is nothing else planned. 

You knock on the door to his studio, catching him right as he’s finishing up another piece. This one is a single flower, painted in broad, confident strokes, bright green and red and sunflower yellow decorating the canvas. 

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, turning around to face you. 

“Wanna order takeout tonight?” You suggest. 

Taehyung grins. 

Thirty minutes and your favorite Chinese food later, you and Taehyung have settled onto the couch, trays of dumplings and noodles and rice in front of you, an unfunny movie playing in the background. 

You can’t remember the last time the two of you sat on this couch together. Maybe that night you had made the deal? Perhaps not even then. It wouldn’t at all surprise you if you found out that this was the very first time you and Taehyung have sat together on your couch, in your living room, in your house. So often is it occupied by others—Victoria, who sometimes comes over to ooh and ahh at your closet, Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok, who sit on this couch and play FIFA like it’s their job, your mother, when she wants to make herself at home in a place that doesn’t belong to her—but never you. Never you and him. 

“This is kinda nice, isn’t it?” You ask, swallowing a bite of dumpling. 

“Chinese food is always nice,” Taehyung responds over a mouthful of cold noodles. 

“Not that,” you say with a sigh, “this. Sitting together. Watching this shitty movie.”

“It’s not that shitty,” Taehyung tries to reason. On screen, the main character is getting pied in the face during some weird college fundraiser. “Okay, it’s a little shitty. But it’s good background noise, right?”

You nod halfheartedly. “I guess.” Silence. You take another bite of your dumpling, not really sure how to continue the conversation. “We don’t really get to do this a lot, you know? Sit and eat dinner and watch a movie together. Like a date.”

“We’re on a date now, are we?” Taehyung muses, eyeing you snarkily. 

“Isn’t that what this is?” You retort. 

He shrugs. “I suppose it is.”

“Tell me another fact about you,” you request, looking over to him where he sits on the opposite side of the couch. 

“About what?”

“Anything.”

Taehyung pauses, ponders for a moment. But he could never say anything wrong. Not when there is still so much you don’t know about him. Still so much you want to learn, so much you want to commit to memory. For so long you have stared at the planes of his face, the curve of his nose, the twinkle in those dark brown eyes. Those you will always remember. But what about who he is? What he loves? Those are things you still don’t know. 

“The very first time I met you,” Taehyung begins, “I asked Jimin what your name was.”

“When was that?” You ask. Despite you being someone who has spent the better part of the last several years vowing never to give Taehyung the time of day, you sure don’t remember when it all started. 

“That debutante ball,” Taehyung remembers fondly, “when we were fifteen. I asked Jimin what your name was because I wanted to ask you to dance.”

“Shut up, no you didn’t,” you say with a scoff. 

“It’s true. You were standing there in that poofy white dress and I wanted to ask you to dance,” Taehyung points out. The fact that he even remembers what you were wearing is shocking. 

Who knew. Who knew, back then, that you would one day grow up to marry him. 

“And what did I say?” You demand more. 

Taehyung laughs at the memory. “I came up to you, and I asked you if you wanted to dance, and you said, and I quote, ‘Who are you?’”

“No,” you say, aghast at your own behavior. Were those really the first words you ever said to KIm Taehyung?

“You did. Don’t you remember?”

You think back. Think back to every year you have ever known Taehyung, every year you have spent scowling at him from across ballroom floors, making some snide remark as you pass by each other in the hallway. Every year you have spent cursing his existence, willing him away from you so he could bother someone else. Every year you have listened to rumor after rumor of girlfriend after girlfriend. You think back and somewhere, somewhere in there, in those dusty corners of your brain and cobwebbed boxes of your heart, is that first memory of Taehyung, too. 

Of him standing there in some generic black suit, black hair swept over his forehead, shoes too big. Of him coming up to you, trying to be as suave as a fifteen year old could be. Of you saying to him, instead of a hello, or even a what’s your name, “who are you?” 

Of him saying—

“And you said, ‘your dream come true’.” Like a dam bursting open, the memories flood back to you all at once. “I remember that.”

Taehyung laughs out loud at the thought of him saying something so cheesy. “Unsurprisingly, you didn’t want to dance with me.”

“You were so—” you begin, but you don’t have the words. Don’t have the words to express how you felt about him that night. Don’t have the words to express how you feel about him now. Thinking about this, talking about it, it is a bridge. A bridge between what was then and what is now. A bridge between who Taehyung was and who you were and who Taehyung is and who you are. “—so unthinkable. I couldn’t believe you had come up to me and said that. I couldn’t believe you had the audacity. But something about that night made me remember you. Made me remember your name.”

“You thought about me after that?” Taehyung asks. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“There is something about you that is unforgettable,” you say, honest and real and true. What else can you tell him? The truth is that you have always thought about him. Whether you liked him or not. 

You finish your dinner and place your trays on the end tables next to you, stacking your empty bowls and plates on top of one another as the movie rumbles on in the background. 

“It is kind of a shitty movie,” Taehyung admits after a while of being wholly unenthused. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “But it’s good background noise.”

Taehyung laughs at your little mockery, warm and deep and from his belly. You look at him. He feels so far away, on the other side of the couch. Feels like he’s miles apart from you. You have spent countless nights clinging to his harm, hand gripped tight in his. And sitting like this, a full couch cushion of space between the two of you—it isn’t enough anymore. So you inch closer. 

And closer. 

And a little closer. 

Until you’re pressed up against his side, legs touching as they rest neatly in front of you, backs stick straight as you stare at the television. 

Taehyung holds his arm up. An open invitation. 

Without asking, you lean into him, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder, in the space right underneath his jaw. You pull your feet up onto the couch and curl into his frame, pressing yourself against him. He is warm and firm and inescapable. He smells of coffee and paint and Chinese spices. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in, as if there were any other place you’d rather be. 

You sit like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other. Lazing around on the couch as the stars twinkle above your head. The movie ends and the two of you don’t even bother skipping the credits, letting them and the cheesy 80’s pop song play on, a distant soundtrack. 

“I never thought any of this would happen,” you breathe out. 

Taehyung looks down at you curiously. “What? This?”

“All of it,” you admit. “Us. Getting married. That stupid tabloid picture. My grandmother. This. It’s all so new.”

“New things will happen all the time,” Taehyung muses aloud. “We can’t help when things change.”

“You don’t have any regrets?” You have plenty. Regrets that you’ll never become the CEO you wanted to be in college. Regrets that you’ll never become the fashion designer you wanted to be as a little girl. Regrets that you will come to resent this marriage, resent Taehyung more than you have in years past, all because you had no choice. Regrets that your grandmother couldn’t see you now. Regrets that there were so many things in your life you could have changed, but didn’t.

“I thought I did,” Taehyung tells you. “I wanted to spend more time with my friends. I wanted to major in art in college. I didn’t want to marry you. I know you didn’t want to marry me.” He looks down and you look up at the same time, eyes locking, inches apart. “But looking back on it, I’m happy where I am. With what I have.”

“I never thought it could ever be like this,” you say, words falling off your tongue before you even ask them to.

“What?”

“Us.”

There’s no need to elaborate. Taehyung understands. He understands that, half a year ago, you both would have thrown yourselves into a volcano before holding hands with each other. He understands that getting over your hatred for each other seemed like an absolutely insurmountable task. He understands that you had never wanted to marry each other, that you couldn’t believe you would have to spend the rest of your lives with each other. 

And he understands that now, things are different. 

“I’m glad things happened the way they did,” Taehyung begins. “I’m grateful for us.”

You press yourself impossibly closer to him, feel his grip tighten around you. Like this, you can hear his heartbeat. Hear it thump like a drum, steady and firm and unwavering. His heart beats against his chest and you wonder. 

You wonder if he can hear the way yours beats for him, too.

There were lots of things that made your night in together special. But one of them is the glaring fact that you don’t get them very often. That their infrequency makes them all the more valuable. 

This has become blatantly obvious to you, because right now you are not spending a night in together. Right now you are stuck at a gala that you have to attend for the sake of business, drinking thin flutes of champagne and mingling with people you barely speak to. 

The one good thing about nights like these is that Taehyung looks positively gorgeous in suits. He sort of always has, but you’d never admit that to his face. At least not until now. And as his wife, you are lucky enough to have a front-row seat. 

“I can feel you staring at me all the way from over here,” Taehyung deadpans as he helps himself to a chocolate-covered strawberry from the buffet table. 

You’re too obvious to have any shame about it. “What can I say, I like the view.”

“Hard to believe I was the once the one being shouted at for being inappropriate in public,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. He bites into the strawberry and eats it all in a single go, tossing the stems into a bin nearby as you join back up in the heart of the crowd. 

“It’s only inappropriate if other people hear,” you tease, letting him guide you, hand intertwined with yours, towards an empty corner where the two of you can snuggle up to one another in (relative) peace. 

“I don’t think the champagne was very good for your filter, Miss Y/N,” Taehyung hisses into your ear, warm breath tickling your skin. 

“Don’t you mean Mrs. Kim?” You pose, an eyebrow raised. 

That seems to do something to Taehyung. It’s not very bright in here, with it being nighttime and all, but even still you can see the way his eyes darken. See the way his lips curl upwards, feel the way his grip on you tightens. It sparks something within you. Something deep in the pit of your belly. 

Something that makes you want more. 

You test the waters. “Mrs. Kim has a nice ring to it, don’t you think, Tae?”

Taehyung looks about a moment away from losing control. But instead of slamming you against the wall in front of all of these people and giving you what you really want, he growls out, low and powerful, “Home. Now.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. 

You hail your car outside of the venue and it’s all the both of you can do to not jump on each other right then and there, in the backseat of this giant black van, overcome with want, with need, with everything in between. Taehyung’s leg bounces impatiently the entire ride back, and the feeling of your hand pressed against his doesn’t seem to be calming him down. He pulls you close to him in the backseat of the car, a hand resting on your thigh. You eye him carefully, as if challenging him to be any more daring. He grins. 

Home cannot come soon enough. The two of you tumble out of the backseat and into the elevators, where you mash the top floor button after entering in the security access code, desperate and shameless. The ride seems to take hours, and the heat that surrounds you practically smothers you, covers you, fills up your lungs and chokes you. 

There is nothing left by the time you reach your door. The moment it slams shut behind you Taehyung presses you up against the back of it, pins you against the wood as he hovers over you, eyes tracing your lips. 

“Tell me something,” he demands. 

“What?” 

“A fact. Something I don’t know.”

It doesn’t take much thinking. “I want you,” you breathe out, watch it hit his skin, watch the way his eyes glint in the light of the entranceway. “Please, Tae. I want you.”

It’s enough for him. 

This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed. The first time was nearly five months ago, in a chapel, at an altar, surrounded by hundreds of people. It was so unfun that you seem to have eradicated the mere thought from your memory. But you remember that feeling from that day. That feeling you got when you pressed your lips against his, cemented your marriage with a kiss. That heat. That sting. 

Kissing him now—that feeling has returned tenfold. When his lips meet yours, it feels like fire is rushing through your veins, setting alight every nerve it passes, unforgiving and relentless. His enormous hands come up to cup your jaw, fingers pressing against the skin of your cheeks as they pull you close to him, keep you trapped in his hold. This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed but it feels like it is—it feels like there is a lotus blooming on a lilypad in your heart, it feels like you have been struck by lightning, it feels like nothing else you have ever felt before. It feels brand new. 

Pressing back against him, he slowly releases you from the cage he has created against the door, spinning around so the two of you can tumble up the stairs and into your bedroom, unable to resist sneaking in pecks here and there as you make your way upstairs. Every step you take you stop, giggle as he presses you against the railing just so he can steal another kiss from you, put his hands all over your body. It’s a wonder the two of you even make it into your bedroom at all. 

When you do, however, all bets are off. Taehyung presses you against the still-made bedsheets with a glint in his eye and a growl on his lips, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, at your body.

"Aren't you a sight? Laid out so pretty for me," he purrs, robbing a breath from you.

It's a tone you have yet to hear from him. You find yourself growing impossibly hot under his stare, burning with an uncharted desire.

You can hardly wrap your brain around it. Here you are, craving the man you had spent the better half of your young adult life loathing. Maybe it’s the champagne; maybe it’s the way his fingers are running slowly up the length of your clothed torso. Whatever it is, your stomach does flips, unfamiliar to the way your body preens under his touch.

"Don't let it go to your head," you tease, simply because you could.

Taehyung hums disapprovingly, pressing kisses into your neck as he grabs one of your thighs and wraps it around his waist, riding your dress up in the process.

You sigh, exposing your neck further for him as he paints bruises into your neck. It feels like just yesterday you had called him out at the altar for his habit of sporting the very same marks you were soon to wear.

Perhaps you should have thought twice about letting the man you had married purely under business pretenses press his hips against your clothed center, but as he rolls his into yours, your mind falls blank, silencing any and all reservations you should have.

Whimpering, you beckon his mouth back onto yours, tongue meeting his wantonly. 

You feel his fingers creep up the outside of your bare thigh, thrilling you in the most primal way. Reaching the band of your underwear after what felt like entirely too long, he runs the pad of his thumb against the lacy fabric.

 You could scream. He is doing this on purpose. He must be. Surely he knows how badly you were aching for him? For him to fill you– whatever the manner may be.

You let out a whine before you can help yourself, frowning as Taehyung looks pleased with himself, confirming his knowledge of your prolonged pleasure.

"What's that? Did you say something?" he mocks, looking cruel and yet strikingly gorgeous as he smirks above you.

"God, you're irritating,” you huff, hips jerking up against his as he pulls at the band of your underwear, the elastic snapping back into the flesh of your hip. "Just fuck me already."

He tuts, clearly unimpressed by your impatience, "Now, where is the fun in that?"

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers suddenly snake their way between your thighs. Mouth falling ajar, you grip his shoulders as he runs his middle finger against your clothed slit, trailing up and down your warmth. To think he was still dressed while he was touching you like this...

"No... I think I'll take my time with you," he says.

You mew against his hand, arousal forming against his long digits' ministrations. You have to hand it to him. Taehyung knows what he’s doing. The life of a bachelor has seemingly served him well.

You aren’t usually vocal in bed, but the way he’s purring words of filth to you, breath hot against the shell of your ear as he tells you how hot and slick your pretty pussy felt against his hand, has you gasping and sputtering, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist.

The fabric of your panties provides a friction that toys the line of pleasure and pain, making you thrust up to meet his motions, your humility slipping from you.

Taehyung watches you intently, cock growing hard under the constraints of his dress pants. You look better than he could've imagined, eyes watering and body shivering under his touch, his fingers soaking with your arousal. He can only imagine what you'd feel like with his fingers fully buried into you, rocking them against your velvety walls.

He lets out a groan of his own, turned on by the idea of you fucking yourself onto his fingers, whimpering out his name in ecstasy.

There’s this part of you that faintly recognizes that Taehyung has done this plenty of times before. Plenty of times with plenty of other lovers. But there is a different part of you, that part that bursts with light and hope, that reminds you that he was never married to those other ones. That his allegiance lies with you. And that thought, knowing that deep within you, he is yours, makes your jaw fall slack, pretty noises tumbling from your lips and your thighs clamping around him.

You were close, closer than you care to admit. Every touch against you is careful yet deliberate as he reads the signs of your body, the way it keens and arches into him, offering you words of encouragement as your climax finally hits.

"That's right. Good girl. Let go for me," Taehyung coos, eyes dark and focused on your writhing form.

You cry out into the familiar space of your shared room, head thrown back as you ride out the high, letting it wrack your body, send jolts throughout your veins.

You barely have time to catch your breath when he presses his mouth back onto yours, kiss still as eager as it was when you both first entered your home. You are alight with satisfaction as he pulls away to press a trail of kisses against your jaw.

"I want—f-fuck," you stutter as he finds your already hypersensitive clit once more, rolling his thumb over your now soaked panties in tantalizing circles, "want to make you feel good, too."

Admittedly, this fantasy had crossed your mind once or twice, brought on by the way he carried himself in a suit and the way his large fingers wrapped around the champagne glass; confident, collected, and entirely charming. Who are you to shy away from a man like him? He certainly has always been rather good-looking. 

He pauses his motions, pulling his hand back to sit on your waist. Your dress is of the finest, most delicate satin, and after tonight's activities, completely wrinkled. You can almost hear your stylist's cries of dismay. Whatever. You have a steamer. And why focus on the dress when it’s obvious the two of you are focused on what lies underneath it?

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod, skin still burning from your past climax.

Helping you back up, Taehyung stands. You lick your lips as you sit back up on the edge of the bed, watching intently as he unbuckles his belt, audibly hissing as his pants fall to his ankles, cock visibly straining against the fabric of his underwear. Thank God you don’t have to stand. With the way your thighs still felt weak and how your husband looks like a goddamn Adonis towering above you? Your legs surely would give out underneath you if you rose.

Brows furrowed, Taehyung palms over himself briefly before pulling down the waistband of his underwear, his painfully hard member slapping against his torso.

Your eyes widened on instinct. While the last thing you wanted to do was help inflate Taehyung's already large ego, you were certainly impressed at his size; thick and girthy, his tip red and shining with precum.

He couldn't help but smirk, thoroughly pleased by the way you stared at him unabashedly, chest rising and falling heavily.

"Open up for me," he orders.

And who are you to deny a request from your dear husband?

Your pretty lips wrap themselves around his engorged tip, all remnants of lipstick long gone by now. Taehyung hisses, a hand finding the side of your jaw as you run your tongue against the underside of his cock.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he grunts, fighting off the urge to grip the back of your head and fuck your throat. As much as he'd love your have you choking and drooling all over his cock – and boy would he – he lets you set your own pace, not wanting to overwhelm you.

It doesn't take long for you to sink your mouth further down, however, clearly set on making Taehyung feel as good as you could.

A low moan erupts from his throat, digits pressing into your jaw in request to take more of him in, which you happily oblige.

You had your eyes trained on him, completely obsessed with the way he panted through pink lips, hissing slightly every time your tongue rolled over his sensitive tip.

Lolling his head to a side, his eyes meet yours, gaze primal and wolfish as he watches the way you worked his cock.

"Doing so good, love. Doing so fucking good for me,” he murmurs.

You hum against his skin at the sound of the sudden pet name, an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in your belly. You push aside the feeling, focusing instead on the way he grunts at the new sensation you had just given him.

Giggling, you pull off his cock, opting instead to press a kiss against his leaking tip, making sure to hold his eyes as you run kitten licks against it.

"God, you're such a tease." He shakes his head in disbelief. 

He looks so good above you, shivering and cursing out praises on how good your mouth feels, how well you take his cock. Running your tongue along the length of his shaft, you become certain that this is a display you can’t imagine yourself ever getting tired of. But you have all the time in the world, right?

"Y/N,” he gasps suddenly, hips jerking towards your face. "Love, I'm gonna-- gonna cum."

"Cum in my mouth, please." Your voice was pleading and desperate. Taehyung had never heard such words spoken more sweetly. 

"Fuck's sake."

You let out a yelp in surprise as his fingers work their way through your hair, bringing your head back down onto his cock. You relax, though, when you feel the hot ropes of his cum hit the back of your throat, your hands finding purchase on his thighs as you do your best to swallow it all down.

Pulling yourself off him, you let out a small cough, eyes watering slightly as you hadn’t managed to prepare yourself with a breath before his release. His large palm runs across the top of your head as you caught your breath, expression flickering with something unfamiliar. Could it be... fondness? 

Your heart stammers at the thought as you stand, slowly stepping out of your dress, letting it drape off of your figure. Taehyung looks absolutely gobsmacked, pupils dark as he gazes at you, eyes unabashedly raking your body. He’s shameless. 

You both are. 

Slowly, you step towards him, fingers reaching out towards his shirt, carefully undoing the buttons as you gaze at each other, expressions unreadable. 

"Tae?” You ask innocently, blinking up at him. “Fuck me?" 

Your polite request makes Taehyung chuckle. 

"Please?" You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes blinking up at him adoringly for good measure. You reach the last button, let his dress shirt drape open. He brushes it off himself, stands there for a few seconds just to let the way you’re ogling his toned chest go to his head. At least he’s good-looking. 

He sighs, probably contemplating some clever rebuttal, but eventually decides against it as his cock is already twitching back to life.

"Alright, love. Turn around. On your knees for me," He orders, making your stomach flip.

To your surprise, you are hardly in place when the warmth of his large hands finds the soft of your tummy, pressing you back into his chest as he pressed a peck to the back of your neck.

You squirm in his hold, whining as that same hand of his grabs hold of your breast, long digit rolling your nipple between their tips. You can’t help but press your ass back into him. His cock feels hot and heavy, pressing against the back of your thigh, making your pussy clench in anticipation. 

You want him.

You want him so bad that you don't know what to do with yourself, shuddering as his free hand runs along the side of your ass, leaving scorching hot trails on your skin wherever he kneads into your flesh. He's touching you everywhere – everywhere but where you need him the most, and the arousal that drips down your thigh mocks you.

"Dammit, please!" You exclaim, running out of patience.

"Please what?" He says, an eyebrow arched.

You shiver, committing the way his middle finger traced your pelvic bone to memory forever.

You puff out a frustrated breath, nearly at your wit's end. "Please fuck me, Tae."

Taehyung pauses, grip on your breast and hip tightening as he lets out a moan. You let one out yourself as you feel him readjust, cock pressing against your slick entrance.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty when you say my name," He grunts. "Okay, baby. I'll fuck you. Begging so nicely for my cock."

You let out a squeak as you're suddenly pushed down onto your hands, back arching as he pushes his fat cock inside your heavenly cunt. He's thick, so thick, that you instinctively grip the sheet underneath you, fingers curled around them tightly as if it means to hold onto your sanity.

Taehyung lets out a shaky breath, angling your hips up so that you could take more of him.

"You feel—feel so good," he admits above you, and suddenly you wish you could see him. See the way his bangs stick to his damp forehead—see the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip wickedly.

You let that thought go, however, as he thrust into you, making your jaw fall slack and eyes flutter shut. Profanities roll off your tongue unabashedly, helpless under the way his thick member pulls out of you, only to slam back into you.

You weren't expecting this. The way he stretches you out further than anyone had before. Your pussy clenches around him, reveling in the sweet, sweet burn.

He digs into the flesh of your hips, holding you steady as you mew and cry out, pushing your hips back in time to his, trying your best to meet his movements.

"Tae... fuck, fuck, fuck—"

He was filling you to the brim. Filling you tight and deep.

God, the way he was panting behind you was music to your ears. His cock pulses every time you call out his name, voice muffled and buried as you had your head pressed into the mattress, hair messy and bouncing with every hard thrust.

"S'good! Fuck... so, ah, big..." you cry out.

You feel drunk. Intoxicated off this beautiful man and the way he makes you feel a way only he can.

You nearly let out a sob as the rough pads of Taehyung's fingertips suddenly reach around you and find your neglected clit, rolling light circles on the soft and swollen bundle of nerves skillfully.

You are a mess, whimpering and drooling into your expensive sheets, and he filled every inch of you, leaving no place undiscovered. Your high nears, stewing on low heat somewhere near the pit of your belly, waiting for a chance to erupt and wash all over you. Taehyung must be close to, you realize, as his thrusts began to slow down, slamming into you roughly as if chasing after his high.

"Gonna take this load? Huh? Gonna let me cum inside your pretty little pussy?" His voice is straining, as if trying to breathe evenly but merely moments from falling apart.

If only you could formulate an intelligent response, but instead, you are a blubbering wreck, thighs shaking as they threatened to give out underneath you. But somehow, Taehyung knew. He had you. Quicking his motions against your delicate pearl, he could tell you were close too, and he was going to make sure you got there.

Suddenly, you're crying out and convulsing, tears brimming at the ends of your eyes as you feel Taehyung empty into you, collapsing onto his hands as well.

You feel his hot breath against the back of your neck as he pants, breath growing more and more even as the two of you regain control of your bodies and minds.

Pulling out of you, he plops down beside you, and for a moment, the two of you hold each other's gazes, eyes speaking in ways words never could.

Finally, after what feels both like an eternity and just a moment, you work up the courage to say something, moving closer to him as you place a hand on his chest, cushioning your chin as you rested on top of it.  

"Psst," you beckon, voice hushed.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky and tired.

"I’m grateful, too."

"Huh?"

"I’m grateful for us, too."

Taehyung's gaze is soft, and it lingers on you for a second before the sides of his mouth curl up tenderly. He grins down at you, eyes drifting shut. You feel him squeeze you closer, pressing you against his skin. And then, you hear his breathing steady, see his lips part slightly. 

You lean into his chest, eyelids fluttering. “Thank you, Tae.”

Not unlike the many other mornings you have awoken in this bed, when you open your eyes as the morning sunlight streams through the windows, Taehyung is nowhere to be found. The sheets on his side of the bed are flipped aside, revealing that soft outline of his body from the night before left imprinted into the sheets, a dip in the mattress where he slept. You had fallen asleep all wrapped up in each other, tangled up like vines, but must have separated sometime during the night. Distantly, you register Taehyung’s voice outside, notice his phone missing from his bedside table. He must be on an early morning call. 

You check your phone for the time. Ten o’clock. 

A late morning call, then. 

Still basking in the afterglow of the night prior, you slowly inch your way out of bed, shivering as you pull the covers off you and scoot your legs around so they hang over the edge of the bed. You rub at your eyes until you faintly remember you did not take your makeup off last night, and when your hand comes away covered with black streaks and flecks of mascara, you wince to yourself. There goes five hundred dollars worth of a skincare routine. 

After washing yourself up and applying as many serums as you can to your skin, you wrap yourself up in one of his button-up shirts, the torso so wide that it drapes over you. The tips of your fingers peek out from the ends of the sleeves, and you cross your arms lightly over your chest as you make your way to the door, ready to entice your husband back to bed for round two. What? It’s Saturday. 

You peer around the door to find Taehyung standing a few feet away, facing away from you. He’s shirtless, and as his wife you have absolutely no problems ogling him, the toned curves of his back, the muscles in his arms. He’s always been a looker. You just finally have an excuse to look for yourself. 

You approach him quietly, not wanting to interrupt nor broadcast your sex life to anybody on the other side who may be listening. Already, the idea of crawling back in bed together sends goosebumps along your skin, makes you giddy with anticipation. You’re just about to tap him on the shoulder, lips curled upwards in suggestion, when he says—

“And my inheritance? That’s secured now, right? Because I said I would pretend to be in love with her in public—?”

And it is as if Medusa herself appeared in this room, turning you to stone as your heart thuds to the floor, a hollow, empty noise. 

You don’t hear the rest of Taehyung’s conversation. You don’t even hear the sound of your own heartbeat. This terrible, aching sound rings in your ears, silencing everything in its wake, drowning out even the sighs of your own breath. It is as if you have been frozen solid. As if you have been shot in the stomach. You stand there, feeling absolutely nothing, and all you can do is brace yourself for what is to come. Taehyung’s words were the knife but his next actions will be its removal, leaving in its wake an irreparable wound. 

He turns around, casual and cool, voice still hushed. As if you were still asleep. As if you hadn’t heard anything at all. But when he twists his body and sees you standing there, staring back up at him, lips parted in shock. 

“I’ll call you back,” he tells whoever was on the other side of the line, looking more panicked by the second. He opens his mouth so he can explain himself, but you don’t need him to. You’ve heard everything already. 

“I should have known,” you say, feeling angry and betrayed and sad all at once. “I should have known it was all an act.”

“Y/N, wait, let me explain—”

“What is there to tell me, Taehyung? What are you going to say? That you didn’t mean it? That you thought I wouldn’t find out? That last night was just a one-off?” You demand. The heat from your veins hasn’t left. Still, it simmers through your blood, burning you up from the inside out. “That you didn’t want to lie to me?”

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Taehyung says defensively, brows furrowed. “Just give me a chance to explain myself.”

“Explain yourself? How you pretended, every day and every night, just so you could get some more money in your bank account? So you could make sure you would get your father’s business when he died?”

Taehyung bites back easily. “Don’t act like you weren’t also faking it at some point. I know you were almost removed from your grandmother’s will.”

Your tongue is bitter at the mention of your grandmother. As if Taehyung ever even knew her. “My grandmother has nothing to do with this.”

“Really?” Taehyung challenges. “So you wanting to stay in her will was just a little bonus, right?”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “It’s different.”

“Different how?” Taehyung spits. “Because right now, to me, it looks pretty similar to what I’ve done.”

“My grandmother died months ago,” you remind him. Her will is no longer the question. It has been written, settled, and executed. There was no reason for you to continue playing along once she took her last breath. No reason—unless you wanted to. “Meanwhile you’ve been keeping your inheritance a secret from me this entire time.”

“We made a deal,” Taehyung says. “A deal that said we would both act happy and pretend to be in love because we both had things we needed to worry about. Family things. Money things. You were a part of this, just like I was. You pretended, too.”

“Well, maybe I stopped pretending!” 

You can’t take it anymore. All this anger, all this emptiness, it’s been bubbling up inside you ever since you heard those first words come out of his mouth. It spills out of you all at once, an eruption from your lips, your heart’s doors bursting open. You have held his hand tightly in your own. You have pressed your lips to his. You have laid yourself bare in front of him. What is there left to protect? What part of you has not already been stained by him, by his touch, by the feeling of his fingers against your skin?

The hallway is silent, but you can hear your cry echo down the corridor. Hear the way it bounces along the walls before fading away. 

“Maybe I stopped pretending,” you repeat, softer this time. You blink and already can feel the streaks along your skin, the tears falling from your eyes. “Did you ever think about that?”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Taehyung looks like he’s in disbelief. Like he cannot believe the words you are saying to him. 

Well, that makes two of you. 

“Can’t you see, Tae? Can’t you tell?” You ask, the nickname falling from your lips before you can even help it. You must remind yourself to change that, later. “I’m in love with you.”

They are words you have never said to someone before. Not even your old boyfriends. Words that you always knew you would reserve for someone special. Someone who would touch your heart and make it their own, someone who would leave imprints of their fingers against your chest. Someone who would brighten you up from the inside out, leave you bursting with light. 

Ironic, that Taehyung has become that someone. When he is the one person you never thought could. 

When he has proven, time and time again, that you two just cannot mix. Oil and water. Pastel and acrylic. Satin and silk. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” you spit out quickly, before Taehyung has a chance to respond. “I know it doesn’t matter to you.”

“Y/N, yes it does,” Taehyung begins, desperate and pleading. “I know you heard what I said, but I swear, it stopped being an act for me, too. Things are different now, just like you said.”

“Don’t. Please.” You pull away as he reaches out towards you. Faintly, you remember that it is his shirt you are wearing. Remember that no matter what you do, he will always surround you. “Please, Tae.” You have nothing left. You can’t bear to look at him, but where else will you go? You cannot believe the things he’s said, the things he’s done, but where else would you go?

“I love you, too,” Taehyung says, and a part of you wants so badly to believe him. 

A part of you wants so badly to ingrain those words into your head, carve them into your heart, let him wrap his arms around you and promise that everything will be alright. But things are different now. Just like you said. You and Taehyung are not the same people you were six months ago. Or six weeks ago. Or even six minutes ago. You are helpless and he has proven that he does not care. 

“I have to go,” you say, looking away. You don’t think you could handle turning back to him again. “Please, Tae.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, and he reaches out once more but you are not there to meet him halfway. Were you ever?

“I know,” you whisper back.

You duck into your bedroom and pack a suitcase of everything you need. Being here is suffocating. Being with him is like setting yourself alight. 

Victoria has no questions when you show up at her door later that day, suitcase by your side and this ridiculous bottle of Merlot in your hands. You had picked it up on the way over. You sort of figured you might need it. 

“You don’t wanna talk about it, do you?” Victoria asks. 

“Tell me about your streaming service,” you hiccup in response.

Victoria is happy to oblige. She even tells you that she still hasn’t picked a CFO, and that the position would be open for you if you ever wished to take it. 

Funnily enough, what will become of you once your father retires and passes along the company is the furthest away from your thoughts. 

You remember being so worried about that. Being so worried that, once they married you off like every good daughter should be, you would be absorbed into your husband’s life, cut out of your family’s. Your father would choose a cousin, an uncle, or even a friend to take after the business, bestowing upon you a thoughtful inheritance but nothing more than that. All of those years of schooling, finance in college, your MBA soon after, would be wasted, just so you could hang on the arm of your husband for the rest of your life. 

It’s thoughtful of Victoria to think of you for the position. She knows just as well as anyone else that you would be an excellent fit. And if things were just a little bit different, you would be jumping at the offer. 

But your future career plans are on the backburner, along with the rest of your life. 

All you can really do, right now, at this very moment, is wait for things to change. As they always do. 

“Don’t you have an event tonight?” Victoria asks about three days into your stay. She’s given you her favorite (her words, not yours) guest bedroom and an enormous closet to match, despite you only coming over with a carry-on’s worth of clothes. 

You scoff to yourself. “Like I’d want to go to anything with him.”

“Have you even called your parents?” 

“No,” you say, not even caring about the repercussions. There’s no doubt in your mind that they’ll be ringing you soon. And when they do, maybe then you’ll finally work up the courage to tell them what really happened. Tell them that you can’t go back there. Not yet, at least. 

“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” Victoria says as she hands you a bowl of vegetable soup, homemade from a couple of days ago. You nod to yourself, sniffling as you curl into the couch cushions and wish they would absorb you whole. 

There’s no need to ask her what she means by ‘this’. Everything. From your engagement to the marriage, from those tabloids to the deal, from your grandmother’s death to now. It has all been unfair. Life is unfair. And while you’ve always known that, it has been particularly cruel to you as of late. 

Still, when you wake up sometimes, you can still feel him tracing over your skin. Feel his lips hovering over yours, breath fanning out over your cheeks. You turn over and expect to see him lying there, on the right side of the bed, sheets mussed as they cover his figure. You wake up and for a brief moment, for that split, split second, there is peace. And happiness. And love. 

And then there is nothing. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me, too.”

Maybe he really does love you. Maybe things really did change. But you have always been a pragmatic person, always let your head guide you rather than your heart. The secret’s out. Taehyung had an inheritance he needed to secure. You were his path to doing so. Those things haven’t changed. No matter if his feelings did. 

“Hey, look at this,” Victoria says, brows furrowed as she holds out her phone in front of you, revealing a livestreamed interview from the event tonight. 

You peer over. 

It’s Taehyung. 

Of course it’s Taehyung. Who else would she be showing you?

He stands in a clean-cut gray coat, draping over his figure, black dress shirt and slacks underneath, belt wrapped neatly around his hips. He holds his hand up in a wave and smiles politely to the cameras, to the reporters, letting the flashes wash over him like waves in the ocean. 

“Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim!” Someone calls. “Where’s your wife?”

Oh, God.

Taehyung grimaces a little, pursing his lips. “My wife won’t be joining me tonight.”

“Can you tell us why?” They shout. 

“Sorry, no more questions. Thank you for asking though. She’s well,” he says, quickly ushering himself along, entering the venue so no more reporters can bombard him. When he disappears, the livestream immediately moves on to the next guest, but you hardly pay them any attention. 

“Huh,” Victoria says aloud. 

Indeed. Taehyung’s response strikes you as rather odd. Why would he tell the public that? Why not make up a lie, say you’re sick, or you’re overseas, or you’re just late? Why simply tell them that you won’t be there? Surely, Taehyung is just as aware of the consequences of arriving at an event without you as you are. There’s no doubt that his parents will be in contact with him soon, too. No doubt that this will leave a stain on his family. His image. It might even threaten his inheritance after all.

So why not lie?

You frown to yourself, nose scrunching up in confusion. You don’t like where this train of thought leads.

“You okay?” Victoria asks when she sees the bewildered expression on your face.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you say. Just completely befuddled. It escapes you, why Taehyung wouldn’t just make up some sort of excuse as to reasoning behind your absence. Why he would even show up at the event at all. Certainly, going to the event without you is worse than not going at all. It prompts questions. It spreads rumors. 

Later that night, you get a call from your parents, demanding to know why you weren’t there with him. You say you got sick. You plead with them not to question anything. 

You wonder what happens next. You and Taehyung still have two more events this week. A dinner and a ball. What will you do then?

Taehyung goes solo for the dinner. You suppose you could have predicted that, considering his apparent willingness to arrive alone for the first event, too. He hasn’t made any efforts to contact you and for once, you’re glad for his silence. Not that you even know what he would say to you, anyway, but at least he isn’t begging you to come back to him. 

The sad truth is that if he did, if he got down on his knees right in front of you and willed you to come back home, you probably would. He has always been impossible to resist. Even when you first met him, when he sauntered up towards you and told you he was your dream come true. You didn’t know it then. But he was. He was everything you would ever want. 

Why would he lie? 

Why would he do that?

You can’t wrap your head around it. What is he getting out of it by telling the truth? By admitting to the paparazzi, to the reporters and the cameramen, that you won’t be there with him. That you will not be joining him. Nothing, certainly. His parents must be furious. His inheritance may be on the rocks. His image might tank. 

So then, why do it at all?

Could it… could it be?

Is it true?

You have loved Taehyung for a long time. Longer than you probably even care to admit. You have always held your head high at events, spoken loudly and without fear, but being with him made you feel safe. Secure. You would hold his hand and know, know that he was holding yours, too. It grounded you. It soothed your worries. 

Does he really love you back?

Taehyung smiles politely and laughs when he needs to at these events, but he doesn’t look the same. Even through the screen you can see those bags under his eyes, that spark that has faded. You hardly recognize him. He looks so lonely, without someone by his side. So distant. 

When you know the dinner has ended, you almost pick up the phone and call him. 

Almost. 

Instead, when the ball rolls around, you ask Victoria if she’s got a spare dress she can lend you.

 Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen covered in paint splotches, wearing old college hoodies, and fresh out of a restless night’s sleep, cleans up pretty well. For a married man, at least. 

You wonder what the past few days must have been like for him. If they have been as empty as your own. Wonder what it was like, riding alone in a big black van to this hotel ballroom, no one to tease, no one to laugh with, no one to hold. No one to poke him awake if he accidentally fell asleep. No one to make sure he’s okay. 

Taehyung stands right outside of the entrance, waving politely to all of the paparazzi, smiling as the cameras flash, giving them the time of day for a moment before he heads inside and muscles his way through another event without you. 

Or so he thinks. 

You spot him just as he opens his mouth, ready to repeat those same lines all over again.

My wife won’t be joining me tonight. She’s well, though.

And maybe it’s just because you haven’t seen him in nearly a week. Maybe it’s just because he is about to lie to those reporters once more, ready to face whatever consequences come his way. 

Or maybe it’s just because you miss him. Miss him terribly, have been missing him terribly. Being away from him was necessary, but that didn’t make it any less unbearable. Not getting to hold his hand, see his smile, meet his eyes. You and Taehyung may not have always liked each other, but you saw him every day regardless. He became a constant in your life. Not an if, but a when. If everything went to shit, you always knew he would still be there. 

And there he is. 

“Wait! Taehyung!”

Taehyung’s eyes widen as he hears your voice, gaze darting around wildly, mouth parted in surprise. He looks around desperately, scanning the crowd, meeting the eyes of every single person in front of him until he finally looks to the left, sees you rushing up towards him, hiking up the skirt of your dress as your heels tap against the sidewalk. 

And when he spots you, sees you running up to him, his body relaxes, a weight lifted from his shoulders as he beams back at you, relieved and thankful and filled with joy, all at once. And you know, then. 

You know that everything will be okay. 

“Sorry I’m late,” you say sheepishly, cheeks burning as he looks at you, takes in every inch of you, breathes you in and lets you fill him up. 

Taehyung doesn’t respond. You reach out to hold his hand but he grabs your wrist and pulls you in, presses you against his body as he presses his hands against your cheeks, palms burning as they meet your skin, and he kisses you. In front of all these people, he kisses you. 

And goddamnit, you will kiss him back. 

It feels like lightning, like a thunderstorm, like the waves of the ocean are crashing against your heart. It feels like fire, like flames are licking at your veins, sending sparks through your blood. It feels like home. 

You and Taehyung ignore the shouts of reporters, the flashes of cameras, the honks of the cars on the other side of the road. When you part, he presses his forehead against yours and lets the tip of your nose meet his. And you smile. 

“Don’t be alone any longer, Mr. Kim,” you whisper, loud enough so only he can hear. 

“When I’m with you, I never am, Mrs. Kim,” he murmurs back. 

You wonder what those tabloids will be saying about you tomorrow. 

The rest of the night finds the two of you pretty much inseparable. You wrap yourself around his arm and for the first time in a long time, he presses his hand against the small of your back, keeping you close. Like he’d ever lose you again. 

One of your least favorite parts about attending balls used to be the dancing. As a young and eligible bachelorette, you would always have to lock hands with another, let him awkwardly guide you along to the music as you made the worst small talk imaginable, forcing laughter and smiles whenever he said something he thought was particularly funny. 

But, like so many others, things have changed. Things are different now. 

The waltz comes on and you and Taehyung are the first to reach the center of the ballroom floor, letting him rest his hand on your waist as you press yours on top of his shoulder. Let him twirl you around the room as the orchestra plays in the background, a soft, sweet, light little melody that carries you along. 

“I missed this,” you say softly. 

“I missed us,” Taehyung corrects. He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my inheritance.”

“I’m sorry for storming out. I should have listened to you.” you respond easily. You both have plenty to apologize for. But night is darkest right before dawn. 

“I should have said something,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. “But I was just so—so worried that something would go wrong. And I didn’t know how to explain how I felt about you. I acted in the beginning, too, but then things changed.”

“They always do,” you muse with a grin. 

“I couldn’t believe I had you,” Taehyung admits. “I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous. And funny. And true.”

“Go on,” you tease, even though you do nothing to hide the smile inching its way across your face, the heating of your cheeks, the simmering of your skin. 

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I just—I felt something for you I couldn’t explain. I still can’t.”

You don’t have to prod any further. You know. Deep within your heart, you know. There is love blossoming in his to match the garden that has bloomed in your own. The flowers that have sprouted in the ashes. He has them, too. And when those petals open and the light streams in, he will know. He will know, too. 

“You make me crazy,” you tell him, whispering gently into his skin. “But I’m a better person when I’m with you. I know I am.”

“I meant what I said, that night,” Taehyung says. Makes you wonder which night he’s actually talking about. “That I’m happy that things have changed. That things happened the way they did. I’m grateful for us.”

“I am, too,” you say. And you are. 

You rest your head against his chest as you dance together, swaying back and forth to the beat of the drums, to the strums of the violins, all wrapped up together like ivy, like vines. Those, too, sit in that garden of yours. Keep you tethered to his side, keep him close to yours. He holds you in his arms and he smiles, because he knows, too. Knows that that garden in your heart will soon have a matching one in his. A mirror image of who you are. Who you’ve become. 

Things change. They always will. But so long as he is by your side, and so long as you are by his, you know. Everything will be okay. 

It's different, this time, when Taehyung presses you into the mattress. 

There is no rush. Because now you know for certain that all the time in the world is yours. He is yours forever. You are his.

The two of you are a mixture of tangled limbs and shared breaths, the feverish, irrepressible need to give yourself to each other nearly tangible. He breaks the kiss suddenly, and you’re about to break out in protest. That is, until you see him unbuttoning his shirt.

Inspired, you wiggle out of your own clothes, eyes locked on Taehyung's soft torso and the idea that you had married such a beautiful man, inside and out.

Looking back, you wonder if that was always inevitable. If you and Taehyung falling into each other had been written in the stars from day one, sealed as your fate from the moment he came up to you at that ball when you were teenagers. He was going to be a part of your life no matter what. Whether or not you ended up marrying him. But having him like this?

It makes it all worth it.

"Do you like what you see?" That old cocky smirk of his makes an appearance.

You raise a brow, choosing to omit a response as you unclasp your bra, letting it fall from your chest.

Taehyung swallows.

"Do you?" You tease.

His response comes in the form of bites down your necks and licks down your chest, stealing your breath from you. 

Your clothes are somewhere dispelled beside your passionate bodies, growing cold beside the way your two hot bodies warmed one another.

"You are so beautiful," Taehyung praises, fingers coming up to cup your breast, bringing it up to his mouth.

You mewl, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as his tongue toys with your pert bud, teeth grazing it ever so often just to hear the broken gasp that'd always follow. 

"And so sensitive too," he giggles, making you pout. His hands are gentle as if every touch means something. As if you mean something—no, everything—to him. And the most wonderful part is that he means everything to you, too. 

"Shut up." You roll your eyes playfully, gasping as his palm comes down the side of your thigh suddenly in warning. You bite down your swollen bottom lip at the gush of arousal that dampened your underwear in response.

"Watch your tone, love. Of both our positions, you are in the most compromising one." He reminds you. It isn't a threat, and while usually, that kind of tone would thrill you, you couldn't help but want his mouth back on yours already.

"You talk too much." You flop back onto the bed with a sigh. Taehyung watches with interest as your pretty tits bounce in consequence. Extending your hands out towards him, you give him a pouty look. "Just wanna kiss you."

"Is that all I am to you? Just a pair of lips for you to mack on? I've got news for you, sweetheart, there's a brain behind these ravishing good looks." He scoffs in feigned offense, sitting back on his heels.

You giggle.

It seems as though even during the most intimate of moments, Taehyung still found a way to be, well, Taehyung. At least that hasn’t changed. 

"Whatever, pretty boy. Why don't you come over here and put that mouth of yours to good use?" You purr, making his eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Oh? I don't remember you being this assertive when I was pounding you into the mattress last time."

“What, I can’t have a little fun as well?” You tease, grinning as you look up at him, raking your eyes over his figure. 

"Wanna have fun, love?," He murmurs into your ears, hands gripping either of your plush thighs. "Then spread those pretty legs for me, and I'll show you exactly how much fun you can have."

God, you love this man.

You oblige eagerly, breath quickening as he helped you press your knees by your chest, leaving the wet patch in your underwear on full display. 

"My pretty little wife." He sighs dreamily, making heat rush to your core.

Taehyung's cock stood loud and proud, a hot reminder of where the night would eventually lead to. Seriously, how did you get so lucky? You must've been a saint in a previous life, you decide right then. Or at least, the stars have chosen to be rather kind to you in this one.

"Gonna take these off," he mutters, mostly to himself, tugging the ruined fabric over your ass and down your legs, with your help, of course.

Despite your usual display of confidence, lying beneath your husband, spread out like this, has you feeling vulnerable and slightly insecure. But that insecurity vanishes, however, as he lets out a soft moan, fingers moving to spread your glossed lips apart.

"So fucking pretty, baby. Gonna make you feel so fucking good," he groans, leaning down to press his face near your most intimate part.

Pressing a tentatively lick against, his eyes flicker up to yourself, curious to see if you’re okay with him proceeding. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to say no, are you?

Embarrassingly, you rut against him, making him laugh as you drown in your own mortification.

"Need it that bad, huh?" He coos.

"Yes, please."

The rest of your plea is lost in a moan as Taehyung finds your clit, wrapping his pink lips around the sensitive muscle and giving it a generous suck. Your hands are in his hair before you can think to stop yourself, tugging at his scalp deliciously as his mouth makes its way with you.

Thank goodness for this apartment belonging to just the two of you as the noises that tumbled from your lips surely would've left a roommate blushing.

You're panting, begging for more even though you aren't sure how you'd even handle more. It comes as a delight and slight surprise as fingers suddenly slip inside, wasting no time to rub against your velvety smooth walls, curling themselves inside you.

"Fuck, Tae!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.

It was pure reflex. Up until now, you had been watching Taehyung intently, completely consumed by the way his mouth moves against you. How his tongue flicks against your needy clit cruelly. It just felt too fucking good.

You're so wet, positively dripping down his chin as he runs his hot muscle up and down the length of your pussy, devouring you like he hadn't eaten in months, and you were his first meal.

Taehyung’s nothing short of addicting, completely and utterly intoxicating, and you slip further and further to your demise with every lick he takes, every press of his tongue against your clit.

He has a hand pressed against the lower half of your torso, feeling the way you jerk and squirm as he makes a mess of you. You’re close and you know it, too, if not by the way you’re calling his name over and over again, then by the way your thighs tremble, hardly even strong enough to stay up.

"Let go for me, love. I've got you." He sounds so sweet, so angelic, despite how filthy what he was doing to you was.

His words are the push you need, and, like a rubber band that has been stretched past its limit, you finally snap, back arching off the bed as you come with a cry. White fills your vision, and your mind goes blank, only sounds of blissful static filling your ears.

His fingers hold up your quivering legs, mouth pressing kisses onto your pussy encouragingly until you simply can't bear it any longer, pushing his mouth away as you stutter out words of sensitivity and overstimulation.

“I’m going to have to request more of that throughout this marriage.” You manage to say once your vision and breath come back to you.

Grabbing one of your hands, Taehyung brings it to his mouth.

“All you need do is ask,” he replies, making you laugh as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, always a gentleman

Not long after, you find yourself pressed against Taehyung, tongue running against his as he presses his hips into yours. He isn’t coy about his want for you, rolling his cock against your already sensitive center. Warm precum leaks onto your lower abdomen, and suddenly, all you can think about is having him inside you again.

“Taehyung?”

You don’t even need to ask. Hitching your leg around his thigh, he knows exactly what you’re seeking, lining up his leaking cock with your swollen entrance.

Pressing into you, he buries himself to the hilt, groaning out as your warmth envelopes him. You moan out so prettily for him, feeling tight and full with your first orgasm only minutes ago.

“You okay?” he hums, kissing your cheek.

You nod, ears warm at the intimacy of the moment. In many ways, this is nothing like your first time together. You are face to face, eye to eye, heart to heart. Between your bodies could be found more than just desire, but commitment. Devotion. Love. 

“I love you, Tae.” You gush, sighing out as he begins to rock into you.

He falters slightly at your confession but recovers quickly, intertwining his hand with yours and pressing it by your head.

Faintly, you realize. 

That was the first time you had ever told him that.

You look up at him, expecting some wide eyes or even a bit of a nervous tilt to his lips, but all you are met with is a glow. He beams down at you, and your heart swells. 

“I love you, too, Y/N,” he whispers, but you hear the words in your ears loud and clear.

Soft noises fill the room as the two of you become one—hearts synchronizing with one another in silent promise.

It was a promise unlike the one you had made to each other that day at the altar, for this one was real. This one was true.

You shutter with every thrust of his hips, your abused clit finding itself in the crossfire of Taehyung’s passionate motions.

Whimpering, you cling to him, overwhelmed and emotional, like your heart was about to burst. Taehyung lights a fire in you, sends lightning straight through your core. Every word, every smile, every kiss, every touch, they send shivers down your spine, tingles throughout your skin. It’s like you’re falling in love with him all over whenever you see him, whenever his deep brown eyes meet your own.

You remember being so afraid of love that you broke up with all your old boyfriends because of it. Because you couldn’t commit, because you were worried about your career, because they just didn’t give you that spark. But lying here pressed against him, against your husband, you aren’t afraid. Wrapped up around him, tangled up in him, you know. 

Between messy kisses and words of adoration, you find yourself growing closer and closer to your release. Brows furrowed and neck flushed, you come with a soft whimper of his name, coaxing his own orgasm out of him. He lets go inside you, painting you with his seed in a way that pleases you to no end.

Hand still in yours, he gives it a squeeze, pressing a kiss onto your damp chest, right over where your heart beats for him.

“I love you,” Taehyung says again when you meet his eyes, firmer this time, louder. Like he’s worried you didn’t believe him the first time. 

“I know,” you say with a giggle, the words going straight to your head—and your heart. 

Taehyung scowls. “What, no ‘I love you’ back? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Well, only because you want one so badly,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his round button nose. “I love you, too, Tae. Always will.”

“I think I knew, then,” Taehyung says with a fond sigh, nostalgia overcoming his expression. “That first time we met. I knew you would be mine, one day.”

“You got lucky,” you scoff slightly. “But I’m glad things happened the way they did.”

“You’re my dream come true, Y/N,” he says. 

“And you are mine,” you murmur.

As the two of you drift off, all twisted up in each other, so mixed up you can’t figure out where you end and he begins, you think back to that night. That ball. 

“Who are you?” You ask, nose scrunched up in distaste. Before you stood a boy you had never met before, wearing shoes that were too big for him and a suit that was a touch too small. 

He grins at you, running a hand through his perfectly-styled hair fringe swiped neatly over his forehead, and he says, “your dream come true.”

And so it was. 

don’t forget to message me! ~ and don’t forget to message rose!

[pazii]

Hashira x reader | General dating headcanons | Part one

Pairings: Hashiras(Giyu,Mitsuri,Muichiro) x GN!reader

Warnings: manga spoilers, Fluff , not proofread

Summary: Just general hcs on how dating them are like!

✧*。Giyu���*。

○Dating Giyu is really calming yet could be difficult depending on the type of person you are and your preferences

○He is not a man of words and is quite new to dating, you are probably his first ever romantic relationship as he's busy with his job as a demon slayer having little to no time to think about romance, until you came into his life and changed it for the better.

○I headcanon you to be the extrovert between the two of you even if you are an introvert yourself.

○You would have to be the more talkative one as default, especially at the start of your relationship with him.

○As time passes he will slowly warm up and become more bold and talkative himself! He could even feel bad at times for making you be the one to always strike uo conversations and drag him around places, conversion with people for him, etc.

○Please give him reassurances! He is quite insecure.

○With the things this man has went through and knowing the dangers of the world, he is quite protective and unknowingly possessive.

○ He never meant to be too possessive over you, he's just really nervous and afraid that he will lose you and death will take you away from him, especially if you are weaker than he is.

○At the start of your relationship he would try to get assigned to be your partner in missions so the two of you can spend more time together as well as look after each other in battle. If you are a slayer that is.

○If you are not, he would always send you letters by his crow whenever he is away, which is unfortunately quite often due to his line of work.

○He loves training with you, being able to help you get stronger and watch you improve makes him so proud.

○Or you help him which he also feels proud about to have such a strong s/o

○If you know how to cook, you would always cook him his favorite dish, that being simmered salmon with daikon. Just to see his goofy adorable smile when he eats it

○He enjoys your dishes way more than another other. Your dishes just have a special pleasantries to it that he can't explain

○Even though he absolutely adores your cooking, he enjoys taking you out to eat as dates as well, especially if you enjoy it as well

○Despite that, he does enjoy having alone time with you peacefully at the estate the two of you share

○At first, Giyu struggled with showing emotions but when he warms up, he can get surprising clingy and affectationate behind closed doors. He's touch starved. Although he does try to not show it

○Him being a hashira mean he is quite well-off money wise.. so you two don't always have to worry about money.

○He always seem to bring something back with him on his missions for you. Usually it's random things he finds that reminds him of you

○You keep everything he gives you in a drawer in your room, safely kept away

○When he stood by the Kamado sibling's side, you stood right beside him, supporting him all the way since you believed and trusted his judgment despite what other may think. You knew Giyu wouldn't have done this without a good reasoning after all.

○You got pretty close to Tanjiro and the gang because of this and they really look up to you

○Now, when I mentioned it could be difficult is mostly about how Giyu is secretive and doesn't know how to express himself too well. He might get insecure, bottle up his feelings instead of telling you about them, dus creating misunderstandings. He does however always tries everything he can to fix what's the issue was

○After all, you mean the world to him

○Shinobu also teases him about his relationship with you a lot and tells you that if he does anything bad go find her and she'll beat him up for you.

○“no one likes you you know.”

○“Y/n loves me.”

✧*。Mitsuri ✧*。

○You're so lucky?? Literally best girl I love her sm no cap 💪💪

○Mitsuri is such a sweetheart who loves you more than anything in this world. She cherishes you and you cherishes her. You two are a true power couple

○Mitsuri is a very affectionate person who reminds you she loves you every chance she gets

○Hugs, hugs from behind, tackle hugs, hugs around your neck, hugs around your waist, bear hugs- A LOT OF HUGS!! And kisses, a lot of them.

○I hc one of Mitsuri's love language is physical touch so she’s quite touchy but if you feel uncomfortable she will tone it down and apologize a lot to you and tell you she didn't mean to make you comfy

○But if you don't mind then this girl is clinging to you like there's no tomorrow. She loves to feel your warmth, loves it when you hug her back, loves hearing your steady heartbeats that calms her down all the time, loves holding hands as well.

○Mitsuri is also somewhat big on PDA but again, if you're uncomfortable she won't do it.

○She usually does it unconsciously she just unconsciously always wants to be holding you and when she gets excited the first thing she does is kiss your cheek or hug you.

○She also calls you a lot of cute nicknames such as “hunny, sweetie, baby, angel, bunny boo, my kitty, honey pie” etc

○Mitsuri will never be shy about your relationship, she is proud and she will let everyone know you belong to her and she loves you unconditionally.

○That's another thing, you always come first to her. She always puts your needs before hers or anyone else's because you're the most important thing to her.

○She gets insecure about herself at times behind close doors and need reassurances from you. And if you ever need comfort or reassurances she is right there for you.

○She is so strong?? Like what- your arm almost broke the time she got too excited and pulled you arm a little too hard. (she apologized and apologized after that she felt so bad)

○You admire her strength though, and tell her that's a part of her and you love everything about her and that you are glad she is not ashamed of her strength and is embracing it.

○She cried at your words she was so touched

○You two probably owns some animals, like cats, dogs or rabbits. Something furry and cute because it's Mitsuri..

○You are usually the responsible one who takes card of them the most though

○Mitsuri loves showing you her flexibility not to brag but she just enjoys your shocked expression

○She will help you with your flexibility as well

○You probably don't get along well with Obanai as well, just saying.

○You look at her sword and always just wonder how she uses it to fight so well

○You find her breath style names absolutely adorable and playfully teases her for it and she gets embarrassed

○This girl eats a LOT... AND I MEAN A LOT... So I hope you have enough money

✧*° Muichiro ✧*。

○Muichiro my favorite boy... It kind of depends on if you started dating after or before he got his memories back. But I personally think it'll most likely be after he regains his memories.

○You have had a crush on him since forever but before he regained his memories it was as if he was in a deep slumber so it was no use. However, after he regained his memories it was like he finally woke up from his deep slumber. He was the one who confessed to you when you went to visit him after he came back from his battle with the upper moon.

○Just like Giyu, I also hc you to be the extrovert in this relationship even if you are an introvert yourself. Muichiro is a really good listener and not so much a talker most of the time. There are times where he does start conversations though, only when it's with you.

○You make him feel comfortable enough he opens up to you about his emotions and past although sometimes it's unknowingly since he lets his guard down

○You definitely go watch clouds and birds with him. It is his favorite activity to do with you, besides cuddling. He loves how calming and relaxing it always is. Love how you always do your best to answer his questions like “what's the name of that cloud/bird?” even if you didn't know for sure

○Spealing of birds, his crow is really jealous of you. Ginko loves Muichiro very much, she's honestly like a jealous younger sister of sorts but she eventually started to warm up to you and you two got along well.

○He likes autumn and winter, he likes the snow and pure white during winter and the beautiful brown and orange of autumn.

○He didn't know what building a snowman, making snow angels and snowball fights were but fear nit, you were there to teach him. You two ended up having a blast with him beating you in snowball fight and apologized with cuddles later

○He can be too honest and direct and it could be hurtful to you at first but he really didn't mean any harm to you. He just didn't see any reason to sugar coat things plus he didn't want to lie to you

○You got used to his straightforwardness eventually and knows that he doesn't mean to be rude to you, he's just not the best at expressing his thoughts

○If you're not a hashira, and you're training with him. He goes easy on you, unlike how he treats the rest of the slayers he trains. Gives you time for breaks and water, isn't mean to you but gives compliments. He is very biased and he doesn't even try to hide it. You are his favorite and will forever be his favorite.

○He shares his food with you, he thinks it's a nice experience and only does it with you

○He isn't very big on PDA but he doesn’t mind it. He isn’t one for actively giving out physical affections either. He loves it when you do though

○He likes getting his face cupped in your palms as well. It just feels really nice

○He also likes napping with you, cuddles, on your lap, etc. When It comes to cuddles he likes being the small spoon but he acts as the big spoon sometimes as well. He enjoys being babied by you

○Finds it absolutely adorable when you wear his clothes, would ask you to wear an oversized uniform like his just so he can see it more often.

○Tengen tried to give him (bad) dating advice and somehow got Muichiro to use a pick up line on you, you were very confused

○The other hashiras and slayers finds it adorable that you guys are dating and dots on you two a lot