#forever indebted to them for bringing light to my life

[go-saeng]

#6YearsWithStrayKids ➳ happy 6th anniversary to our boys! thank you for the countless memories, inspiring music, and unwavering dedication. here's to many more years of spreading joy and making a difference through your talent and passion. thank you for being the reason we stay ♡ (insp.)

[kittyandco-archive]

you and hans are the cutest fr. can you tell us a little about your self insert?

THANK YOU 🥺🥺🥺💖 i appreciate that so much!!!

my s/i has had to grow into herself, so to speak, over the years, kind of like my ship in general. hans wasn't always my number one guy -- it took years for us to get to this point, even though, deep down, i always had a feeling that he would be special to me. so my s/i has had a lot of changes.

back when i first started liking him (a while ago now), i didn't make s/is. i just put myself into the universe and followed my f/o around like a lost kitten 😭 it wasn't until i began to realize just how much i liked him that i began to seriously develop my s/i (and this was around the time i began to write real plots and stories for my ships and s/is, only shortly before i had this blog).

like most people, i take a ton of inspiration from my real life experiences to create my s/is. given that this is the s/i i think about the most because i think about hans & i together so much, i'd say she's the most like me. and like most people, i don't know how to exactly describe myself.

the sense of helplessness and restraint that i've felt through a lot of my life heavily influenced my s/i. it's one of the reasons i relate to hans (and anna & elsa) so much (of course, i didn't really get this insight until i read "a frozen heart" last march, which completely changed my perspective on him and on us as a unit... as in, it only made me go "we're really in it now" 😭 which i didn't think was POSSIBLE).

she has all reason to assume the worst in people and in her prospects, but there's a small light that never dims, even if she can't bring herself to show it to others. she experiences great conflict about this, because she doesn't feel like it helps, she doesn't know where to put this light, and she doesn't know if she's capable of holding it anymore. everyone else sees her as the outcast, the anomaly. too smart for her own good. she's never wanted the things everyone else did. over time, she feels as if she wants to embrace that (kind of like hans, though he's much worse off in many ways).

she's fiercely independent and thoroughly observant, and that doesn't bode well for the situation she finds herself in with hans (with the arranged marriage and all, and given his family and my family's reputations, we would be indebted to and controlled by them... pretty much forever).

she finds herself feeling lonely pretty often, given that she can't seem to relate to anyone around her, which has been my experience throughout my life. and anyone she knows will say "i don't know about kitty, she's so quiet and kind of weird," and will assume just... completely unfounded things. i guess they're right. she spends a lot of her time writing, like i do. alone. but hans was always that one exception. meeting as kids, they became best friends so quickly

she's tired of pretending (just like i was)... which culminates into how she reacts to hans' treasonous actions in arendelle. she's always hoped that they would find a way to be together on their own terms -- that string of hope that strangled her all these years -- and now that he has, now that she has the chance to be with her best friend forever, she's going to take it. she tried to stay strong in her solitude (both incidental and enforced at times), but she's grown vengeful, too. no one has ever tended to her the way she needed, the way she begged for... so nothing else matters. she just wants that one thing: unconditional, mutual, understanding, liberating love

she gives me an outlet for all these things, to explore how, when pushed too far as i often have been in my life, i want to lash out too... but i never do. and with this s/i, i get to, along with the guy who i love that gives me that catharsis just through watching him and reading about him. my s/i is the embodiment of "free my man he did all of it but i don't care" and "he did nothing wrong 😇"

there is so much more i could say, evidence of other things about my s/i interwoven into my posts and fics, but i will leave it here for now!

[candiedstrwb]

he  awaits  her  at  the  end  of  the  aisle  anxiously  ,  repeating  the  vows  he’d  spent  months  writing  and  subsequently  rewriting  .  an  entire  year  of  planning  has  lead  them  here  ,  the  day  that  she’d  finally  bear  his  last  name  .  to  some  ,  they  moved  too  fast  ,  but  to  paxton  this  moment  hadn’t  come  fast  enough  .  their  first  kiss  was  seven  hundred  and  thirty  days  ago  and  he’d  been  practicing  for  their  wedding  ever  since  .  he  looks  out  to  the  sea  of  people  ,  but  none  of  them  put  him  at  ease  the  way  sierra  does  .  he  hears  the  instrumental  ,  and  his  mouth  goes  dry  .  .  .  this  is  it  .

the  moment  his  eyes  find  hers  ,  everyone  else  in  the  venue  fades  to  obscurity  .  sierra  is  the  only  thing  that  matters  .  she’s  a  vision  in  white  ,  an  angel  ,  her  eyes  are  the  only  christmas  lights  that  deserve  to  be  seen  year  round  .  she’s  butterflying  down  the  aisle  like  a  five  foot  promise  ,  and  in  this  moment  he’s  drunk  off  the  champagne  of  her  footsteps  .  he  can  feel  the  tears  welling  in  his  eyes  as  she  inches  closer  and  closer  .  nothing  could’ve  prepared  him  for  this  moment  ,  the  way  she  looks  will  forever  be  etched  in  the  walls  of  his  memory  .  ‘  you  look  incredible  ’  ,  he  mouths  to  her  as  she  is  finally  close  enough  to  grab  hold  of  .  he  takes  both  of  her  hands  in  his  ,  hoping  to  tether  himself  to  his  reality  .  he  was  marrying  his  soulmate  ,  his  best  friend  ,  the  love  of  his  life  .

i  believe  the  couple  has  prepared  their  own  vows  ,  says  a  voice  somewhere  besides  him  .  he  cannot  tear  his  eyes  away  from  the  woman  in  front  of  him  .  it  takes  him  a  moment  to  realize  that  was  his  cue  to  speak  ,  clearing  his  throat  ,  “  people  often  ask  me  to  tell  the  story  of  how  i  fell  in  love  with  you  but  i  don’t  think  falling  in  love  is  a  straight  line  .  it  doesn’t  start  with  us  meeting  in  july  and  me  touching  your  arm  and  you  leaving  too  early  and  both  of  us  secretly  liking  the  other  but  not  saying  anything  .  i  think  falling  in  love  with  you  happens  all  at  once  ,  ”  he  pauses  for  a  moment  ,  reassured  to  keep  going  by  sierra’s  gentle  squeeze  ,  “  it’s  me  cooking  you  dinner  when  you’re  tired  and  pouring  water  into  your  favorite  glass  ,  it’s  the  grin  on  my  face  when  i hand  it  you  knowing  it’s  your  favorite  .  love  is  taking  pride  in  knowing  you  ,  love  is  knowing  you  at  all  ,  and  wanting  to  keep  knowing  you  .  it’s  me  kissing  you  goodbye  in  october  when  i’m  drunk  before  we’ve  admitted  our  feelings  .  i  don’t  count  this  is  as  our  first  kiss  ,  it  was  just  the  habit  of  loving  you  before  i’d  even  realized  it  ,  it  was  just  over  fated  love  getting  overexcited  and  skipping  a  few  steps  .  it’s  me  bringing  you  lunch  at  the  set  of  a  photoshoot  on  the  second  of  january  and  when  i  see  you  i  feel  like  i  could  burst  at  the  sight  of  you  ,  and  what  is  love  if  not  overflowing  ?  it’s  me  offering  to  sew  the  hole  in  your  favorite  sweater  even  though  i  hate  sewing  ,  because  i  hate  it  even  more  when  you’re  cold  .  it’s  us  betting  two  dollars  on  a  game  of  beer  pong  the  night  we  first  kissed  ,  for  real  this  time  ,  it’s  you  winning  and  me  not  minding  one  bit  .  it’s  you  making  me  feel  sixteen  again  when  you  tell  me  you  hope  i  didn’t  just  say  what  i  said  because  i  was  drunk  ,  because  you  really  like  me  ,  and  it’s  how  giddy  i  feel  to  tell  you  i  like  you  back  .  it’s  us  joking  about  it  costing  two  dollars  everytime  we  do  something  for  each  other  because  we  love  our  origins  .  because  i  think  i’ll  always  owe  you  two  dollars  ,  i’ll  always  be  indebted  two  dollars  for  our  first  kiss  .  when  people  ask  me  to  tell  the  story  of  how  i  fell  in  love  with  you  i  often  tell  them  ,  love  takes  it’s  time  ,  and  yours  and  mine  has  no  start  and  no  end  ,  it  keeps  going  and  it  happens  all  at  once  .  ”  as  he  finishes  he  offers  the  same  reassuring  squeeze  she  gave  him  earlier  ,  eagerly  awaiting  to  hear  the  vows  she  had  prepared  .  /  @almedas​​

[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!

[pianocat939]

I loved how you played clotted cream in your last story and gotta see more yandere clotted cream!

May I request a yandere!clotted cream x cleaner reader? Like they are used to cleaning up after the council after meetings and basically cleaning around the main building and the meeting room and places like that? Just a sucker for high class x low class ships sometimes!

I always foam at the mouth every time I read upper class x lower class. It’s just a perfect dynamic for dark/horror genres. 

All my requests are taking forever to answer…makes me kinda angry at myself for some reason

Tw: Financial issues, mentions of loan sharks, mentions of illegal immigration, MC gets taken away from family due to debt issues, strawberry jam (blood), power difference (kinda subtle), this version of Clotted Cream is very different from the last time I wrote him, Clotted Cream looks at personal information

Dirtied hands

In the early morning, the sky still a pale dark blue, a cleaner clutches a rag with a bucket in the other hand. Their hands efficiently erase the dust that clings onto the table, making the table shine in glory: a needed aspect in the meeting room of the Elders and Consul. 

Y/n Cookie, a regular cleaner that lives within the Creme Republic. Someone who always had a normal life, and wishes to continue living that way until their demise. A job that doesn’t bring attention to them, only to the things they clean is perfect for someone like them. 

Yet cleaning can be quite demanding sometimes. 

Everyday they have to clean so many rooms, and not just a quick sweep either. Since it is the building that the leaders of the Creme Republic meet and reside in, they have to make sure it’s satisfactory for the higher class. Which is tiring for the body and mind. 

There are some benefits though; a surprisingly good pay, being distant from those around, and being able to touch the glamourous architecture makes up for most of it. Well, enough to be tolerated would maybe be a more suiting word. 

Y/n Cookie sets down the rag and bucket, proceeding to hold a broom for the next act. They sweep all the dirt and hair into a pile, creating an ugly sight for the eyes. Grabbing the dust pan as they let the broom fall, they sweep up the grotesque mount of grime. 

What beauty the role of being a cleaner has...

Just then, someone opens the door, tall stature sauntering in. “Pardon me cleaner, I think I have forgotten my pocket watch have you seen it anywhere?” He asks, a charismatic smile forming on his attractive face. 

Y/n Cookie blankly blinks for a moment before shuffling through their bag settled on the floor. After a few seconds, they fish out a brass-colored pocket watch, the intials “CCC” inscribed in lovely cursive on the back. They hold it out to him, eyes still blank with any emotion. 

“Why thank you! How kind hearted you are—most steal such quality of watch!” He cheers, recieiving the item with one of his needles. He lightly laughs in a light-hearted manner, but his eyes show no light in them. “Know that I, Clotted Cream Cookie, is indebted to your service.” He turns around, walking off while his cape flutters behind him. 

As he leaves, Y/n Cookie shuts the door, frowning as they do so. “Of course, because I’m a cleaner he thinks I’m going to steal his watch. I am not a beggar thank you very much.” Mumbling venom, they go back to their cleaning. 

——————————————————

The evening stars dance in the navy blanket of the sky, twinkling brightly as the moon rises amongst them. Most cookies are now in their homes, letting the night roll through. Yet upon the streets of the Republic, is a cookie who still hasn’t arrived home since the early morning. Their body aching from the nonstop cleaning. Thankfully, another cookie will be cleaning tomorrow so they won’t have to go for the next few days; barely enough time to rest and relax all the stress away. 

They finally arrive at their house, sluggishly taking out the key and unlocking the door. They turn on the lights, the darkness instantly washing away as the brightness pierces the vicinity of the room. Settling down their items on a plush sofa, they seat themselves on the furniture lazily, releasing the tension that was trapped inside their body all day.

“Berries? Are you awake?” They call out, tilting their head to see if the other inhabitant of the house is nearby. A meek bark replies, a small blueberry cake hound sauntering over to its owner—Y/n Cookie. It hops onto their lap, nuzzling against their lower abodmen. “Sorry I was gone for so long, I hope the neighbor’s pets kept you company.” Y/n Cookie slowly strokes the hound’s head in a loving matter. 

It barks once more, making small circles on their legs before settling down. “At least I have the next few days off; maybe we can go to the nearby park for a while.” They lean their head back, eyes staring up at the ceiling in contemplation. “Just a little more time Berries...Then we can go back to the Hollyberry kingdom.” The hound’s ears perk momentarily before flopping to its sides. 

-----------

‘Xxxxxx Xxxxxxx

Xxxxxx Xxxxxxx

Xxxxxx Xxxxxxx

Xxxxxx Xxxxxxx

Y/n Cookie’

Clotted Cream holds the list of employees in his hands, eyes narrowing at the sight of one cookie’s name. “File number 678…” He mutters to himself, opening the file cabinet adjacent to him. His needles sift through the files, stopping when they reach their target at the number ‘678’.

When he opens the file, he skims through the text, trying to figure who exactly Y/n Cookie is. The profile is mostly the normal things; age, occupation, name, and so on. Yet at the very last line, it states, ‘Citizen of the Hollyberry Kingdom’. How odd. Those of Hollyberrian descent are always registered as citizens of the Republic. So why would this plain little cleaner be a citizen of the Hollyberry Kingdom?

He turns the page to see another paper of data and personal background. ‘Immigration papers approved, has a debt of XXX before able to return. Parents are both Hollyberrian. Taken away due to financial issues.’ His eyes widen the further he reads the text; realizing that Y/n Cookie was taken away and is now living in the Creme Republic in illegal circumstances. 

“My, my...Looks like I’m going to have to confront this plain little cleaner soon enough.”

--------

A few days after the pocket watch incident, Y/n Cookie is once again cleaning. Today, they are assigned to clean Clotted Cream Cookie’s office. It’s quite messy, as if someone had been desperately trying to research something. Files and papers are scattered about the desk, a notepad has writing scratched all along the pages; clearly indicating the distress the person must have been in. 

They sigh, realizing they’ll have to sort the papers and do the regular cleaning. “I should get paid more for cleaning this room.” Quickly getting to work, they start to sort through the papers, putting them into their individuals piles and files. Most of the papers are information about the immigration and regulations of the borders. Seemingly normal things for the Consul to research about. 

At the bottom of all the clutter, lay a file labeled ‘678 Y/n Cookie’. Curious, the cleaner reaches to open the bundle, only for a loud slam of the door interuppting them from doing so. 

“Cleaner~ How are you? Doing well I hope?” Clotted Cream questions, walking towards them with his hands behind his back. Y/n Cookie doesn’t speak, only nodding before returning back to their cleaning. “Apologies for this mess. I was checking some immigrant rules since there have been some illegal crosses from the Hollyberry Kingdom lately.” He walks over to the desk, shuffling through the piles and putting them back into the cabinets.

Meanwhile, Y/n Cookie stares at the ground, unmoving like a statue. He possibly couldn’t have found out, right? And even if he did, he would most likely send them back to the Hollyberry Kingdom. They slowly relax and continue on cleaning, trying to distract themselves from the smile plastered on his face.

His eyes creepily observe their movement, taking note of their obvious discomfort. Finding it adorable that the ever-so-silent cookie is terrified because of a simple mention of illegal crossing. He wants see more—more expressions.

Watch out little cleaner, the Consul has come for you…

——————————————————

“I see…We’ll miss having your presence around!” The manager of employees speaks, giving a small smile to the Hollyberrian.

Finally, Y/n Cookie has managed to save enough money to pay off all the debt and go back to their home in the Hollyberry kingdom. They’ve been gone for a few years now: only being able to communicate with their loved ones through letters. But that doesn’t matter anymore. They can finally leave this Republic and drink all the juice they want when back at the motherland.

“I will be off now, I hope you have a wonderful day.” They quietly leave the room, trying hard to contain a smile.

When they step out into the courtyard, a large grin couldn’t help but appear. After all their hard work and suffering they can finally live a life of liberty! They softly squeal, “Haha! I’m going back! I’m really going back!” Their body wiggles in excitement.

As they cheer in what seems like the empty courtyard, a certain green-eyed male watches them with ecstasy. First uncomfortableness, next happiness; what else could be unlocked within them? Oh how he wants to see them all!

Yet there’s problem that has risen now. The audacity of thinking they’re going to get back safely—ugh how it blackens his heart! He can’t let them go after witnessing their true beauty and emotions! He needs to keep them here in the Republic!

Not to worry, he wasn’t elected Consul for nothing. All he has to do is turn a few keys, pay some money, and jyajan~ they’re right in his arms. (Jyajan is another form of ta-dah btw)

Little cleaner, he’s getting closer…

——————————————————

In the Hollyberry kingdom, far away from the Republic, resides a town just outside the capital city’s walls. In the vicinity of this town, berry bushes line up all around the paths, and barrels upon barrels litter the residents’ homes.

One family in particular has juice barrels in the cellar that stack up so high, it reaches the ceiling. This household is known all around the Kingdom for their famous juice. Their wealth grows year by year as more cookies buy their products. After all, rarely could someone resist the temptation of the dark red liquid.

Despite their current status, it was only until recently have they reached such goals. Before, they were an average juice making company; average taste, average price. It was enough to go by, but it certainly could have gotten better. Unfortunately, it seems as though fate had other plans for them.

One year, a horrible disease killed most of the bushes, causing a great decline in exports. With most of their harvest being cut, they had to buy from others. Which ended up with them making a deal with loan sharks.

As punishment for not being able to pay it off in time, a young member of the household got taken away. Leaving the family terrified of what might happen next. So, they decided to improve their business with lots of research.

After a few months of testing and surveying, they made a breakthrough in juice production. Not only did it taste absolutely delicious, but the amount of berries needed to make the juice is a lot lower than the previous product.

Soon enough the money started to pile in, enabling them to successfully pay off all the debt; however, the one that was taken away still resides in the Republic. As much as they wanted to help, the Republic was very picky on their immigration and visitors: stopping them from helping the lost Y/n Cookie. The most they could do was send letters and hope they come back to the motherland.

When they heard news of them coming back they were greatly overjoyed. No more worries! Just staying at the plantation, enjoying each other's company.

Too bad little cleaner attracted their demise.

——————————————————

The Consul is viewed as society's pride and joy; and yet here he is hiring someone to initiate crime. “As soon as they fall asleep I want you to drug them and bring them back to the Republic.”

“Along the edge of the land or…?”

“Leave them along the port, I’ll retrieve them myself.”

“Ok. And you’ve already paid my debts?”

“Of course. No Consul could dirty their record.” His charming smile? More like meet-your-end smile.

——————————————————

Clotted Cream Cookie sits at the side of his bed, monitoring the cookie before him. He hesitantly caresses their hair, tenderly feeling the strands. His arrogant character replaced by a softer presence. The room is silent, only the soft hisses and clicks of movement accompany his troubled mind.

“Dearest, wake up. It’s time for you to awaken~” He pleas, shaking their body a little. The cookie grunts in discomfort, slowly opening their eyes. Clotted Cream smiles, leaning in closer to the point their faces almost touch. “Good morning.”

“Huh…? Oh, yeah…Good morning.” They look around, recording their surroundings. “This isn’t my bed…And why are you here?” Slowly descending into confusion, they start to take a grip on the situation. “Why do I feel so sick?”

The soft morning light burns their eyes, making them squint in discomfort. The bedroom definitely isn’t theirs, and shouldn’t Clotted Cream be back at the Republic?

Wait…

Why is he here?!

Panicking finally pumping into their veins, they stammer, “Wha- I should be- I should be back at Hollyberry kingdom! Why are you here?! You shouldn’t be here! You belong in the Republic!” As they frantically look at his face, he puts a finger to their lips.

“You’re panicking. It’s going to ruin your health; calm down. You’re fine, I promise you.” He leans back, taking off his finger while doing so. Y/n Cookie watches in shock before snapping back to their usual demeanor. Well, as best as they can after all, they are drugged.

“Consul. Where am I?” Their words slightly slur, indicating the side effects of the drug. Clotted Cream doesn’t answer, now a frown on his face.

They slide out from the bed and stand on the solid ground. “Answer me. Where am-”

“I wouldn’t suggest asking anymore, dearest. You illegally crossed into the nation, now you must pay the price. Your punishment is to be forever bounded and monitored by me.”

He jerks towards them, eyes blown-wide from insanity. “Little cleaner, you may not smile or frown, but I know; deep inside your heart you weep tears of loneliness…Something I want to see exposed for me.” Y/n Cookie looks at his hands, only to realize that there’s jam on it.

Not even a Consul grand as he can stop from wrath of impurity.

——————————————————

THE. ENDING. TOOK. AN. EXTRA. 3. DAYS. Listen, I put lots of effort into this. It’s definitely my longest one I’ve written so far. Yes, it’s messy and I’ll probably edit it sometime this week.

But you have to applause for the time I spent into making this. (Tbh it’s kinda on me because I just really love the social class difference trope)

I’m trying to improve my fics but it’s so hard to organize I swear.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed.

- Celina

[luvyanfei]

anon said. how about fluffy hcs with xiao, zhongli and xingqui taking their s/o out on a first date?

XIAO.

he already finds it difficult just to ask you to hold him without losing his cool, so how can he possibly bring up the idea of inviting you on a date? actually, he probably never knew the word ‘date’ even existed until he heard a passing couple staying over at wangshu inn dreamily talking about how they wish they could go to see the lantern rite festival in liyue harbor together for their first date. a first date, huh? now that he thinks about it, xiao never did properly try to court you, did he? it was always you who approached him first, who held your hand out to him, who confessed that you love him. you’re already giving so much dedication in this relationship. it’s the least he can do to return your affections, not just because he’s feeling a bit indebted, but because he’s your lover. unfortunately, being the awkward yaksha that he is, xiao overthinks the situation and complicates it more than he should.

every chance he gets is blown up by his anxiousness. whenever you come and visit him at the inn, you almost think that he’s angry with you from the way he throws you vicious glares. unbeknownst to you, xiao is actually making that tense face because he’s trying very hard, too hard in fact, to think of the best way to ask you out on a date and seeing you just makes him all the more nervous. he regrets it every time you step into the elevator while giving him a goodbye wave and saying you’ll come visit again. sure, he gets another chance to try and ask you out again, but he also has another chance to fail as well.

when you visit him for lunch, xiao quickly rehearses the words he wants to say to you in the back of his head before coming to greet you. ‘i overheard from a guest in the inn talking about a lantern rite festival. if you mortal, no, [name], desires to go, i can possibly set aside time to accompany you.’ keep it cool, yet short. taking a deep breath to compose himself, xiao walks over to greet you, er, well actually, you’re the one doing the greeting instead, and you settle down to eat. the sweet taste of the almond tofu that you generously bought for him blossoms in his mouth and he loses track of time till your departure. before you leave once more to allow the poor yaksha to wallow in his self-regret again, you stop yourself and turn around to face xiao. tucking your hair behind your ear and giving your best, most radiant smile you can offer to him, you shyly ask if he’d like to tag along with you to the lantern rite festival. “we’ve never been on a date before and i’d love to go to the festival with you and release xiao lanterns together.”

... what? how? his mouth almost opens up in disbelief, as he struggles to keep a stoic expression. ex-excuse him?! that’s supposed to be his line! he’s in shock at how easily you were able to say something that he’s been having trouble sputtering out. you mortals never fail to surprise him. he shakes his head and bitterly scowls, that you almost step back in fright. almost, until he starts speaking, that is. “why is it you? i should have been the one to ask you on a date first, not you!” he’s almost on the brink of tears from the frustration he currently holds on himself. 

a relationship is always about give and take, no? it’s like when zhongli has so kindly decided to save him from the clutches of the cruel abuse he endured endlessly, of course he was forever in debt to rex lapis. surely, it’s the same with you, isn’t it? when xiao tells you this, you immediately start laughing. you calmly explain to him that your relationship isn’t like a form of contract where he’s expected to always repay you back for every gift you give to him. as long as he’s there for you, that’s more than enough of a reward, you say, before plopping a chaste kiss to his cheek.  

“finally, you’re here. what took you so long?” xiao speaks to you with indifference concealing the relief that you actually came. he trails his sharp eyes to inspect your dressed up form and blushes slightly. “you look nice.”

immediately, your eyes widen at his underhanded compliment. did- did you hear that right? biting his lower lip gently, xiao clasps your hand in his, ignoring your astounded reaction, as he squeezes it reassuringly while watching the colourful fireworks light up the murky night.

without thinking, he turns to you when you’re focused on the display of bursting lights reflecting in your eyes, and murmurs to himself softly, “i hope you’ll spend the rest of your time with me, for however long it’ll last.”

XINGQIU.

of course, a date with xingqiu has to be extravagant and sophisticated to the last touch, right? guess again. he may come from a wealthy family, but that doesn’t mean he shares the same interest a selfish, pampered noble may have. he prefers something more simple, yet sentimental. confined in his household with nothing to do but bury his head in a book, he’s picked up some ideas for your date from the romance stories he’s read. surprisingly, they’re all rather cliché.  

the first thing he makes you guys do is go out in the blazing summer day to get yourselves a cool beverage. he explicitly asks the cashier to give him one straw [do they even exist in the game?] and smiles slyly as he thanks them and brings the drinks to you. when you ask about it, thinking that maybe he forgot, all he does is smirk before saying, “there’s no need, my liege. we can share, unless you’d rather melt in the sweltering sun, that is.” he winks teasingly. you... don’t really have much of a choice in the matter. as you stroll around the harbor together, you take turns drinking from the only straw and a wave of consciousness washes over you gradually. wait, isn’t this like an indirect kiss? you place a hand to your gaping mouth after sucking on the straw that xingqiu pressed his lips on merely seconds ago. you should know by now, how bold he is underneath his polite façade. 

after you finish sipping your drink - tediously at that, you both agree on going to the library to read books together since the heat is pretty unbearable to do anything enjoyable. xingqiu recommends you to try reading some of his personal favorites and you do the same as well. he’s thrilled to have a reading buddy now since it’s boring being here by himself. 

while you’re immersed in the novel that you randomly picked from the bookshelf, every now and then, xingqiu will look up from the pages of his book and faintly smile to himself, glad that you’re enjoying yourself.

the sun was setting and the stars started to appear in the pastel pink and orange of the evening sky. you place back the last book and stretch your arms, before turning to xingqiu. sighing, you give him a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek and softly say your farewell.

as you’re about to make your leave for the day, xingqiu halts you with his words, “wait. there’s something i need to do before we can end this date.” nonchalantly, he plucks a book from its shelf, opens its pages, and uses it to block the sunlight drifting through the transparent window glass, effectively shielding his vision from the public eye as he pulls you in for a passionate kiss.

his free hand finds its way combing through the back of your head to deepen the kiss. when he’s satisfied enough, the boy detaches his lips from yours and lightly rubs the flesh of your cheek with a finger, while placing the book down on a nearby table. you keep your eyes fixated on him as he licks the edges of his lips.

“that felt nice,” xingqiu murmurs, “you’re so sweet, i’d hate for anyone else to savor in this pleasant moment with you other than i. shall we continue this again on our next date too?”

ZHONGLI.

the first thing he does is make sure to bring mora, this time. it would be highly inconsiderate of mr. zhongli to have you pay for the expenses of this fine date. he’s one to take things nice and slow. sure, time is unfortunately measured and limited, but he wants to make the most of it with you, a mortal who, just like any other being, has a beginning and end to your life. zhongli wants to shower you in all the beauty and joy this world has to offer while you’re still here with him.

he may be a gentle-spoken and polite individual, but please don’t mistaken him as being shy in any way. he shows up to your residence one afternoon and presents you a bouquet of your preferred flowers while he asks if you would consider accompanying him on a date. you take the bundled up flowers, carefully stroking a petal as if it’s made of fragile glass and accepts his proposal with open arms. 

he takes you out to an expensive restaurant in the night of liyue and helps you select the best dishes. after you’re finished with your lavish and sophisticated meals, zhongli ushers you outside where you’re greeted with fresh air, a contrast to the suffocation you felt back at the restaurant. sure, the place is grand and your hunger is well-satiated, yet despite wearing your best clothing, you felt out of place there, like a commoner surrounded by nobles. 

when you express your earlier discomfort to zhongli, his eyes are filled with shame and he’s already apologizing like the gentleman he is. guiltily, you tell him it’s fine and you ask if you can show him something before you have to head on home. he ponders in thought before agreeing, walking hand in hand with you to your unknown destination. 

the chilling night breeze bites at your bare skin as you instantly shiver. this doesn’t go unnoticed in zhongli’s sharp eyes and he’s already unbuttoning his jacket. he drapes the coat over your shoulder blades and rubs his gloved hands on your cold fingertips to preserve warmth. “are you feeling cold perhaps? maybe we should head back?” you stop him before he can guide you back to the harbor. 

“i’m okay now. thank you for your concern.” you say to ease his poor mind. he nods and you both continue on. the walk uphill takes a while, but it’s worth it when you finally reach the top. your eyes widen in amazement as you witness the glimmering stars splayed across the pitch darkness of the sky. “zhongli, look. do you like it?” he simply nods, but all of his attention is focused on you.

zhongli grins down at your childishly excited face, pausing for a hesitant minute before he carefully places his hands on top of your shoulders. you look up at him in confusion and is about to question him, but any sound that comes out is cut off by his lips ensnaring yours in a kiss. you’re astounded by his intimate move, but you revel in his touch in a matter of seconds. 

he hopes, as he tightens his hold, that you’ll stay with him always, till your last breath. 

tagging. @scarymoosh

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 1

This is my first time publishing any of my reader insert work so don’t be too hard on me. Y/N is a psych student that needs a favor and asks her therapist for help. Lmk if you want to see more.

It was an unmistakable conflict of interest, your relationship with Hannibal. He was your therapist, your mentor, your partner, and many years your senior to boot. You recognized this monumental power imbalance. You put on a façade of embarrassment for the people who expected it; people whose proclivities were done in the shadows and therefore easier to get away with. Why should you be expected to rationalize your loving, mutually beneficial relationship to a person who regularly cheats on her boyfriend?

You'd dated men your own age before, and without fail, you always found yourself waiting for them to grow up. Hannibal made you feel comfortable. Both emotionally and physically. You had a side of his bed and a spot in his arms to fall asleep in every night. Given the choice, you could truthfully say you'd never want to leave his arms.

Like many unlikely relationships, it didn’t start out in the most romantic of ways. Clutching your laptop under your raincoat, you hesitated knocking. Your therapist had, of course, seen you at your lowest points and was sworn to secrecy, but this was a low you didn’t want even him to see. Standing outside of his home, in the so-incredibly-not-business-hours dead of night with mascara running down your face. 

You finally worked up the nerve to knock, telling yourself that he was probably asleep and wouldn’t hear you. This rationalization fell apart when the interior light turned on and the door unlocked. Although you’d been seeing Dr. Lecter for quite a while, his presence never failed to intimidate you. Now it was even worse. His severe expression was fixated on you as he silently awaited an explanation. 

“Dr. Lecter...” You lowered your head and fumbled with your computer. You made a point to kiss your last shreds of dignity goodbye before you opened your mouth again. “...could I please borrow a book?” 

Dr. Lecter narrowed his eyes. “I take it by the hour, this is an urgent matter, Miss [L/N]?”

“My midterm. It’s due in...” You glanced at your watch. “Eight hours.” 

“Well you don’t have a moment to waste, now do you?” Dr. Lecter said, a slight upturn in his voice connoting amusement. “Come in. Let’s find you that book.” 

You felt your muscles relax as he stepped aside to let you in. The house was spacious. Much too large for one person. That was really the only thing you could bring yourself to notice before he shut the door behind you. 

“Now what is this all-important book of yours called?” He asked, pulling your raincoat from your shoulders like he always did. 

“It’s called Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism.” You explained, tucking your computer under your arm. “By Robert Jay Lifton.” 

“You’re in luck, Miss [L/N].” His thin lips turned up into a smile. “I have a copy from my own years as a student.”

You breathed an audible sigh of relief. You tensed your muscles and held in your excitement at the prospect of something finally going according to plan, even if that plan was your third or fourth backup.

You followed him into his office, which reminded you more of Belle’s library than any workspace you’d ever encountered. He must have had thousands of books in this room alone.

“It’s a fascinating read, but not one you could finish in eight hours.” Dr. Lecter's voice echoed from somewhere in the office, getting lost in the books. “Even for the most ravenous of psychology students, of which I know you to be.” 

"Hardly." You muttered under your breath. "If that were the case, I wouldn't be begging for help at 2am before the final paper is due."

"Procrastination is only human, my dear." He assured you, his voice drawing closer. "It's common in those with deep-rooted insecurities about their competency."

"Now that sounds more like me." You joked, leaning back on your heels. "Should you really be trying to validate my bad habits? I feel like that's counterproductive."

"Scolding you would be more counterproductive." He corrected. "You've been scolded many times before and you continue your bad habits. Only when we get to the root of your behavior can you begin to reverse it."

He emerged from the bookshelves and handed you a beat-up copy of Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism, which you graciously accepted. 

“Thank you so much, Dr. Lecter.” You said, placing your hand over your heart. "I owe you my life."

"I'd hardly equate your life to a used book, Miss [L/N]." Dr. Lecter said. "I feel like, as your therapist, we should talk about why you do."

You looked away, smiling sheepishly. "Maybe sometime in daylight. I've taken up enough of your time as it is. I'll get out of your hair now."

"It would take you more time to get back to your dorm that you could use writing." He said, matter-of-factually. "Write your paper in my office."

You looked at him in disbelief. Your judgment was clouded with energy drinks and desperation. So your usual self-sacrificing polite denial was steamrolled by a very enthusiastic acceptance. "I would be forever indebted to you, Dr. Lecter."

"Miss [L/N]," Dr. Lecter cut in. "You're a student, you need to study."

You didn’t really remember a lot of what happened after you wrapped your arms around his waist, too overwhelmed with gratitude to think if an embrace was even appropriate. It was the middle of the night, so you had an excuse if he shoved you off him. But surprisingly, he didn’t. 

You broke the embrace and gathered up your book and computer. “Seriously, I owe you big time for this. You’re really saving my life here.” 

“Go write your paper, [F/N].” He ordered. “We can discuss why you conflate your academics and your life during our next appointment. For now, make yourself at home.”

And that you did. Dr. Lecter retired back to bed and you spent a solid four hours typing away. An antique grandfather clock kept count for you. When you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, you sent the paper off to your professor, editing be damned. You let sleep compel you, comforted by the fact that you didn't have to think about your paper for at least another week before the grading period was over. 

Dr. Lecter’s desk was the most comfortable surface in the world to you that night, because you slept for six hours with only your arms as a pillow. It was the first rest your body had gotten in quite some time. You were gently coaxed awake by the smell of something delicious. 

You followed the smell into a kitchen that could rival those of Michelin-starred restaurants. Dr. Lecter was hard at work, cooking something that enticed your nose. He cracked an egg and looked up at you. “Good morning, Miss [L/N].”

“I’m sorry.” You said, shaking your head shamefully. 

“For?” He asked, fixing his attention back on his recipe.

“Falling asleep.” You dropped your shoulders.

“I told you to make yourself at home, did I not?” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. This time, he sounded like he was actually going to scold you. “Tell me, do you sleep at your desk at home?” 

“I try not to.” You answer with a shrug. 

“But when you feel yourself falling asleep, you usually put yourself to bed, right?” He continued.

You started to feel a bit stupid. “...yeah.” 

He poked at some sausage links in a frying pan, letting out a sizzle. “You could have taken the couch.”

“I guess I was just too sleepy to think of that.” You explained, preparing to be psychoanalyzed no matter what you said.

“No, you were just too polite to push the imagined boundaries of my invitation.” He concluded, busying his hands with plating whatever it was he was making. His tone was comfortingly familiar. “Miss [L/N], don’t sacrifice your comfort for what you think I perceive to be rude. If I found you rude, you’d know it.”

"I'm sorry." You repeated.

"Don't apologize." He said, reaching for the pepper mill. "I know your anxiety disorder makes you feel like you are a burden. I assure you, you are not. I want you to know for next time that the couch is open. Or you could take the guest bedroom."

You stopped yourself before you could apologize again. You momentarily pondered what he had to say before uttering a quiet but convicted "Thank you."

"You're very welcome." Dr. Lecter slid a plate across the table in your direction. "Eat, my dear."

You didn't need to be told twice. You usually didn’t care for sausage, but reconsidered when you took a bite. The meat was so flavorful and rich, a little noise of delight escaped your lips.

Dr. Lecter smiled, your little moan sending his ego through the roof. “You like it?” 

“It’s delicious.” You put your fork down, your face flush with embarrassment. “Way better than the food at the dining hall.” 

“Miss [L/N],” Dr. Lecter began, putting an extra sausage link on your plate. “If you find yourself in need of psychology texts, I’d be happy to extend my invitation indefinitely.” 

You nearly choked on your eggs. “On god?” 

“Given that you arrive sometime before midnight and perhaps call ahead, yes.” He answered. “Your studies are your life and breath, after all. You would find yourself very accommodated to here.”

This time, you'd really take him up on his offer.

[kavufics]

Anthos; Park Seonghwa

The youthful prince hid behind the large pillar, hiding from the royal guards. He’d run off again, to meet you, the florist. The wonderful person who hid behind flowers, who had the brightest smile of them all. This time, he was sure to convey his feelings to you.

He pursed his lips lightly, praying for the guards to look away. Seizing his opportunity, he rushed across the street. Hiding behind vendors he slipped into the familiar store, the sweet scent of flowers flooding his nostrils.

“Welcome! How may I help you?” He froze on the spot, unable to respond. Having been caged in the castle for most of his life, the poor man had the social skills of a bear, which was none.

“Oh uh,” he stammered, at a loss of words. You waited patiently for his response, your smile warm and welcoming. “I’m here for some flowers! Yes, flowers.” He stammered, flustered.

Your gaze softened at his nervousness. “What kind?” You giggled quietly. Your mere giggle had him swooning, hearts were visible in his eyes as he admired your beautiful face. Your eyes held all loving emotions and the sparkles of a thousand stars.

“Love,” He whispered. He gazed at you lovingly, unbeknownst that he’d indirectly confessed. You nodded quietly and got to work.

He watched you pick flowers from the different baskets, admiring you. “Red camellias symbolise powerful love, they usually mean, ‘A flame in my heart.’ White ones on the other hand, symbolise a softer form of love.”

He watched as you bit your lip, gazing into the void. “White camellias can be associated with the phrase ‘You’re adorable,’ a soft yet memorable way of complimenting someone.”

His eyes which were trained to your lips quickly darkened as lustful thoughts poured into his mind. “Sir?” Your angelic voice brought him out of his trance.

“And for the final flower, a few heliotropes to add a contrast to the colours.” You handed him the bouquet, which he accepted happily. He gently grazed the flowers against his nose, falling for their scents.

“Heliotropes symbolise eternal love and devotion.” You smiled. “Whoever receives this bouquet is very lucky.”

“I agree” He gawked at you, in awe of your existence. Anyone could identify that he’d fallen in love with you. You gave him a glance, confused as to why the man wasn’t leaving.

He realised he was staring, a little too much. “Oh, uh yes. Ms?”

“Y/n”

“Miss y/n I’ll take my leave now. Have- have a good day!” He stammered, pretending to not know your name in hopes of continuing the conversation.

He’s cute. You giggled quietly, watching his retreating back.

_________________________________________

It was dusk and you were closing your store, making sure to lock it up properly. As you ventured into the streets the crickets whistles made you smile. You had some company for the night.

You opened the familiar wooden door, surprised to find a bouquet of flowers at your doorstep. The same bouquet you gave the man, except with more flowers.

A small note lay in between the cut stems, a beautiful cursive handwriting.

Chrysanthemums for the love I couldn’t show,

Forget-me-nots for the memories to be made.

Lavenders for the grace of your smile,

And my eternal love to be yours for life.

I stared at the note confused as to who it could be. I walked into the kitchen, where my mother stood making supper for us.

“Mother? Who left the bouquet on our doorstep?”

“I am not sure, sweetheart!” Your mother yelled. The gentle clang of dishes could be heard as she scrubbed them clean. “A few soldiers had come, they said it was for you!”

“Soldiers?” You mumbled to yourself. Nonetheless, you thanked your mother for the information. You grabbed the bouquet, admiring the placement of flowers.

He’d place the flowers on different corners of the bouquet, never disrupting the placement you’d made.

A small clang could be heard as a rock was thrown against your window. A crumpled piece of paper was wrapped around the rock, the same cursive handwriting greeting you.

Your hair dances with the wind,

Your eyes bring light to the dark.

My heart beats for you my lady,

I pray, no one pulls us apart.

From the day you saved me from the wolves,

To the present when you shared your smile.

I am yet indebted to you for my life,

My love forever yours, I’ll never deny.

As you read the note, familiar memories played in your eyes. Many years back, you’d saved a boy from the wolves. You lead him to safety in a nearby treetop, comforting the boy.

You remember talking to him about your deepest dreams and fantasies, afraid that it wouldn’t come true. He supported your dream of being a florist, even when others did not.

“If you were in love, what flowers would you want to receive?” He’d asked you innocently.

“There’s many but, personally speaking, I’d like Chrysanthemums, Lavenders and forget-me-nots.”

“Why’s that?” He questioned.

“I don’t really know, but these flowers seem to comfort me like no other. If I could, I’d love to have a field of those flowers.” You chuckled. “I’d never go back home.”

You’d never see him again, but remembered his doe eyes. They reflected the sun’s rays as he glowed beneath the light.

You dropped the note from your fingers, feeling the dainty paper graze your feet. You whispered the name, you’d longed to remember.

“Seonghwa.”

[bloodpacks-archive]

ooooh if it hasn't been done yet could I request cruore with Seven!!

these were meant to be blurbs. this one is not a blurb. i don't know what happened. also if there are typos shhh. also second part of my birthday event wooooo

cruore | saeyoung choi

warnings: blood/wounds, trauma, it's a hurt/comfort fic w saeyoung it is what it is y'know

word count: 1.9k

Sometimes, it can feel as though Saeyoung Choi is man meant be a painting—someone meant to be adorned in the grotesque shades of scarlet, azure, and violet that are only meant for those who dare test the limits of what life can be. He is covered in differing textures, scars that she cannot fully see now as he wraps himself tighter in his clothes, but ones that she knows lay beneath those layers, ones that she can see peak out from under the seams and the hems.

A bitter crimson now flows from his brow down to his jaw, and he does not dare meet her gaze, not as she gingerly raises a hand up to press at the wound, her touch interrupted by the raised skin of an old scar there.

Sometimes, it feels as though Saeyoung Choi is nothing more than messy watercolor—an outline that was meant to be followed that has now flown out past sketches and black pen. There is too much of him to contain, too much of him left to leak out from the barriers he’s set, even months after he’d sworn he’d take them down.

Of course, he doesn’t feel that way to her. Those are all his words, ones said in poetry or in the confidentiality that only the bloom of nightfall can bring.

Soap and water touch the wound, and he winces, his eyes scrunching and a breath searing past his teeth. He mumbles an apology, leans back into her touch; this is where her interpretation of Saeyoung Choi can begin.

He’s come home to her more times than she could ever wish to count, bloodied and beaten and begging for something of forgiveness as if there was anything he ever had to be forgiven for. She’s seen him collapse onto chairs and lean onto walls, a half-felt smile pressing into his cheeks as though he could hide how hurt he was through the weakest of facades. She’s held his weight against her, led him to their bathroom and helped him sit on the counter when walking made his head feel a little too light.

She’s seen the ways color has adorned his skin in the worst ways, and though she hates to see him like this, wishes to never press another bandage into his flesh, she knows part of his messy watercolor—the part that has broken past the original sketch—is the part that allows himself to come to her.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers again, as though any louder and he may bleed in darker hues than before.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” She replies, a sweetness in her voice that contrasts against the bitter feeling that pushes into his flesh, a softness in her touch against the bandages that lay just ahead of his temple.

“You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“And you should do it yourself?” She says, and although it hardly feels appropriate for the situation, there’s a familiar air of teasing that lays somewhere in her voice, one that makes Saeyoung’s lips perk into a hesitant smile. “You can hardly stand, babe.”

He doesn’t speak again, only bows his head further into himself. She can see the way his fingertips press into his own thigh, the way his jaw clenches and unclenches at the silence that settles into their little space.

She cleans a scratch on his cheekbone, a bruise and a scrape formed together into awful hatch marks amongst the wash of violet. He winces again beneath her, and an ache forms somewhere deep in her chest. By habit, an apology falls out of her own mouth, but as the words curl around the room, as the trill of her muttered voice creeps past both their ears, he leans into her—he pushes himself into her torso, and she’s so sure that he can feel an undeniable ache from the way his wounds press into her, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t even make a sound.

His name falls past her lips in a question, her hands now in his hair, her fingers careful against his scalp. She feels as he slips his hands around her waist, wrapping them closer together.

In this moment, it feels as though pieces of him have fallen apart into her hands, as though she can feel the hues of his hurt and his pain slipping through the cracks of her hands, seeping into the pieces of her skin that she’s left open to him (Which is every part. No matter how deeply 707 lays into him, no matter how many layers he’s left for her to uncover, there is nothing he would ever have to work for to know every part of her. It’s the only gift she can think of that may be good enough for him).

She knows the words that lay on his tongue. In the death of nightfall, he’s murmured them into her ears thinking she’d been long asleep—but that pull could never outweigh the wish to hear his every thought, and so she knows.

There is so much more you could do without me.

Something he’d said nearly five days ago, after they’d danced in the kitchen when she’d pulled him to his feet away from his desk, when she’d smiled into his chest as music filled their little kitchen.

I am forever indebted to you, and it will never be something I could repay. I can only wish for you to move to better things, for you to know how much you deserve, and that though I will always want to give it to you, I don’t know if I can.

A whisper after they’d gone for a drive, when they’d explored the fields and the stars and he’d told her of all the ways she’d made him better, and she’d only returned the favor. A night where dusk had fallen into his eyes and left him buried deep into her shoulder.

Why me?

Last night. He couldn’t bring himself to shower, had avoided any reflective surface they owned in this damn house. She’d blocked him from the mirror and undressed him, pulling him into the shower. She’d washed his hair and called him pretty and told him every good thought that had ever come into her mind—past and present.

And she’s sure that now, those words have found their way to crowd into his mind—a broken mosaic of doubt and hatred and hurt so deep into his flesh and his bone that she can’t tell where it begins and ends.

She wants to erase the sketch that was forced upon him, to create something new out of what he’s painted with himself over the years, to let his borders and barriers fall with the breath of morning air as though dusk had never fallen over his bruised and scarred body.

“Saeyoung,” She repeats, broken whispers forming through the cracks in her voice, “Doesn’t that hurt?”

He doesn’t reply, no shake of his head, not even a hum from somewhere deep in his throat, so she sinks lower until she can meet his gaze.

It’s the first time she’s been able to look him in the eyes that night. He’d been so careful about it up until this point, sure to keep his eyes hidden behind his lashes. Now, she can see everything so clearly in him, from the scar that rests above his brow to the way he can’t keep his gaze still on her, lets it flick over her face as though there would be something more for him to discover in her.

His face has become red, little blotches dotting across his cheeks and his forehead, and she knows it’s from how hard he had pressed into his bruises, from holding back a whine that had begged to settle into his throat.

He’s adorned himself in more colors, forced his skin to mold into the pieces he was given, allowed himself to be hurt because hell, what else has he been?

Loved. Something in her begs. He’s been loved.

Looking upon him, she knows she cannot take away his scars no matter how badly she wishes to erase them from where they lay on his flesh. She knows that every drop of blood is one that she can only attempt to bandage and heal, but it is not one she will be able to forever remove from his mind. Every bruise will never be the way it was before. She cannot love away the marks that rest on his skin.

But hurt is not the only thing that should ever define him.

“I love you,” She whispers, because there’s nothing else to say beyond that. She will love him until he doesn’t let her anymore, and then she will love him beyond that. She will love him until a last breath passes his lips, when crows feet have crossed the corners of his eyes because if he goes any sooner than that hell will whisper her name.

“I love you,” She repeats, and then again, until it is no longer the words that hold the meaning but the way her voice feels as it carries in her breath, and the way it meets him both by his ears and the way it hits his skin.

He doesn’t say it back to her, the words lost somewhere on his tongue, but he doesn’t have to. She knows by the way his lips purse and how his body lurches closer and closer to her with every moment that he means it too.

She lets him do as he wishes, so he curls into her once more, wraps himself so close to her that there is no separation between them. When he does speak, it’s a mess of languages that she doesn’t know, mumbled into her skin with the cracks of whispers.

Te amo in Spanish.

Je t’aime in French.

I love you in English.

Japanese, Mandarin, Russian, Arabic, Cantonese, and then Korean.

She doesn’t need the translation for the ones she doesn’t know, she knows by his breath that they all mean the same. He doesn’t press his flesh into her like he had before, but he holds her as though there is nothing else left on this Earth that’s keeping him here. He holds onto her as though the stars have begged him to leave, and he wishes for nothing more than to touch the grass with her one last time.

He holds her like he knows, like he has heard every one of her thoughts, like another border has been erased before her very touch.

Sometimes, it seems as though Saeyoung Choi is a collection—a movement of pieces that leave different whispers creeping at her skull. But, all the same, each of them are him. No matter the medium, no matter how much the paint spills past the canvas or the how far the protruding pieces reach past the glass casing they’ve been settled in.

Sometimes, it seems as though Saeyoung Choi is not a singular painting, but many, and she can only hope to be there as the gallery grows.

[heartshyuck]

Pairing: Haechan x reader

Genre: fluff, enemies to best friends to lovers, college au

Synopsis: he was the sun but you liked the moon more.

Word count: 6.3k (I know it's literally double the word limit 🥲)

Warnings: swearing

a/n: this is dedicated to @bl--ankhaeji, for the secret santa (@neoculturechristmas ), I hope you have a great holiday and a happy new year <3 sorry I made you wait forever!

Beautiful was the moon, the way she gracefully arose to the sky shining down on earth guiding those who travelled late at night. Accompanied by the stars, she outshone all those no matter how much she showed of herself in the night sky. In winter she ruled the skies with her reign lasting even when the sun would emerge, she would still look mesmerising and for that reason you loved winter. With the moon high above watching over you and the white specs of snow that gracefully fell, illuminated by white light; you walked through the empty campus back towards your dorm, it was pretty late but there were still a few passing bodies that relieved some of your building anxiety. 

Once you approached near, your fingers had already begun to numb, the tip of your nose kissed with frost and your toes frozen in place despite the many layers trying to keep you warm. Your hands shake slightly as you try to lift the key to the lock, hearing your struggles to open the door your roommate comes and saves you as he opens the door before you can. The warmth of the house engulfs you and it's like a pair arms have wrapped round you, protecting you from the harsh cold outside, instantly you begin to warm up. 

"Why do you insist on walking back in a blizzard" Jaemin rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he steps aside letting you in and closing the door behind you. "Literally just call me or Jeno and we'll pick you up" he whines, as always nagging and telling you off in the most loving way, and it only makes you smile, genuinely touched that he cares so much about you. 

"Because Jaems you both have lives and I don't want to be a hassle" you say as you rid yourself of your outside gear and then make your way to the living room, him following shortly behind you.  Jaemin and Jeno are both good friends, more like brothers or as you like to put it, guardian angels that the goddess of the moon sent to you upon your new dawn here at Neo University. From showing up when you needed an apartment to being there to remind you to eat when you were studying late into the night, you were indebted to them forever. "You could never be a hassle," Jaemin argues. 

"Who's a hassle?" Jeno walks into the room, food in hand and he chucks you both your favourite snack and again you're reminded how much they take care of you. "Me. I'm a hassle" you raise your arm, waving your hand a bit and Jeno sits beside you, covering himself and you in a blanket as he shoots you his famous eye smile, that reminds you of a crescent moon. 

"Last I checked you were a y/n, not a hassle" Jeno giggles, you and Jaemin both rolling your eyes at his incredibly bad jokes, though you're used to them by now. After a good few seconds of him still laughing at the horrible joke, he clears his throat "anyways Jaemin is right but if you don't wanna rely on us, how about you get a boyfriend" he raises his eyebrows.

"Well sorry to break it to you but there are no decent guys in this uni" Jeno pouts and Jaemin quickly chucks in a "hey we go here too" in protest, but you continue within the same breath, "all fuckboys who truly do not give a shit about anything but getting their dick wet" you huffed out in obvious built up annoyance directed to the male species. 

"What about Renjun? He's decent and you guys are good friends" Jeno asks "surely if you're friends, he has to be decent" 

"I saw Renjun in diapers, his mum's shown me pictures of him as a naked baby, I could never date him;he's literally my brother" you list off the reasons as to why you could never see Renjun in that way, you had known each other since before you could walk. 

"Maybe you should stop brother zoning guys then" Jaemin says under his breath in a pout and you send slit eyes his way and he smiles at you in return. 

"Okay what about Haechan" and as those words fall from Jeno's mouth, laughter erupts from Jaemin. Again you roll your eyes for what seems like the tenth time in this conversation, Jeno is visibly confused by both your reactions as his eyebrows furrow and nose scrunches up slightly. "What's so funny" this comment only makes Jaemin laugh more and you throw a pillow at him in hopes of shutting him the fuck up but it doesn't. "Best joke you've ever told" Jaemin says in between laughs "she hates Haechan's guts"

"I don't hate him" you snap back at him and Jeno's confused look turns into a surprised one "hates a strong word, i just dislike him" you explain yourself but Jeno's expression is dying for a better explanation "I find him insufferable and annoying as hell" 

"But why" Jeno says almost in a cry "he's nice, fun and honesty is the mood maker. He's great." Jaemin nods along showing that he agrees with Jeno 

"If he's so great, you date him" you roll your eyes and it's a childish comment but the topic of Lee Haechan and him in general brings that side of you out. "I think he's self absorbed, thinking he's the center of the universe and lights up everyone's world" Haechan calls himself the sun and honestly it's obnoxious but fitting you think. To all those around him he seems like the sun, but even the sun is insignificant amongst the millions of stars in the universe. He's just the center of a solar system that's amongst millions of others. He's nothing special but he thinks he is and it sums him up pretty well you think plus you've always liked the moon more anyways. "Also can we drop my depressing love life and watch a movie" you sigh, it’s not like you weren’t already thinking about you being incredibly single, you didn’t need these two idiots to remind you. 

"Yeah please, she's hopeless anyways" and again you throw another cushion at Jaemin, landing square on his face,”I’m not wrong” he cries out, hugging the pillow “you refuse to get a driver’s licence too” and you jab him in the ribs with you elbow causing his to yelp, again rolling your eyes. 

A few days past and much to your relief the topic of both, relationships and Haechan don’t come up again but it was silly of you to assume that God would be so kind to let it drop so easily. Of course Jeno had to bring it up the next time he saw Renjun, “So i was the only one who didn’t know y/n hates Hyuck” Jeno whines a little too loudly in the cafe you all were seated in. It’s a small place, right on campus, decorated with strings of fairy lights that give off a warm hue to the place; it’s open all day and it’s here you found Jeno and Jaemins want for a roommate poster on the notice board. “Jeno can you be quiet, anyone can overhear and like i said i don’t hate him” your voice dropped into a whisper as if it could undo any damage Jeno may have done and you spoke through gritted teeth. 

"It's not like he's here" he argued back and as if he had summoned him Lee freaking Haechan walks through the cafe doors. He strides in with confidence circling around him, dressed in his infamous playboy outfit, the leather jacket and black combat boots, he holds a smirk across his face as he scans the room; all eyes are on him as the bell that hung above the door announces his arrival as if royal blood coursed through his veins. In these moments you understand why Haechan believes he is the center of the universe because here everyone orbits him, everyone but you. Everyone stops and stares, their eyes lingering at each step he takes and each expression he makes. Their weary of his eyes, just in case they stop on theirs, everyone but you because you couldn't care any less. The sun is blinding and it's irritating and you'd much rather avoid it, as he steps closer towards your table; recognising the boys that accompany you, he smiles and waves in their direction, you get up to leave. "I need to go" you blurt out, pushing your chair out abruptly, it scrapes against the floor, the screech making you cringe. "I'm gonna be late for my next lesson" you clear your throat of any awkwardness and grab your things before any of them could question or comment on the situation, you rush past Haechan not giving him a second look. 

Jeno's eyes widen at the scene that had just unfolded in front of him, his mouth slightly gaping, Renjun sighs and rolls his eyes before giving a welcoming smile to Haechan who stands there confused whilst Jaemin simply continues to drink his coffee, firmly believing if he act like it didn't happen, then did it really happen. "Is y/n okay?" Haechan asks with genuine concern in his voice and in the same breath he continues to question the three, "is it me or does she always seem to leave when I arrive?" 

The three sit there in slight awkwardness that hangs in the air, it's not hard to answer this question, the simple answer would be a yes. Another simple answer would be to just shrug him off and tell him you have a lecture, a lie but still a rather simple answer and before the lie could leave Renjun's mouth, the truth slips out of Jeno's. "Yeah she absolutely hates you" Haechan's smile falters and Jaemin chokes on air.  

"What the fuck Jeno" Renjun gawked, jaw hanging, there's a heavy silence and it probably only lasted a few seconds but it felt like forever as everyone just stared at each other, only breaking when Jaemin laughs a little raising confusion amongst the three others who stare back at him. "Good joke Jeno, best one you've told" he places hand on Jeno's shoulder and kicks him under the table. Laughter erupts from both Jeno and Renjun as they try and attempt to cover up the damage. "Yeah y/n just has a lesson" Renjun laughs out and tries to emphasise this to Haechan who's now laughing but with obvious hesitation in it, awkwardness still sitting in the air. 

"Oh shit, I just forgot I had to meet up with Mark" Haechan waves to the boys as he leaves the cafe, a sigh leaves his mouth as he finally exits the cafe, his shoulders drop and a deep breath he didn't know he was holding left his lungs. He sees your figure still in the distance and he's not sure what takes over him but his legs being to move.  Faster and faster, Haechan runs towards your figure that only seems to be getting further, maybe it was his pride that was hurt or maybe it was curiosity as to why you hated him or maybe it was because Haechan liked a challenge. 

The heavy steps and heaving breaths catch up to you quickly, getting louder and louder you stop and turn back, Lee Haechan stands chest rising and falling rapidly bent down with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. "Haechan, what the hell are you doing?" He lifted his finger up indicating for you to give a minute for his lungs to catch up with his body, you roll your eyes and it’s action that doesn't go unnoticed as he begins to speak through his heaving breaths, struggling. “I heard you hate me” it’s breathy and deep but you make it out all the same, a wave or shock and slight embarrassment overtakes you, a heat rising up your neck and to your cheeks and you’re quick to shake your head, denying his allegations. “No. what? no i don’t-” you stammer over your words until you're cut off by Haechan, as always he’s the one that controls the conversation.

“Jeno told me” he clears his voice, finally have caught his breath, “by the look on renjun’s face and your reaction, he wasn’t lying” you grimace at his words “so I’m here to change your mind” Your mouth gapes as he stands there glowing in the white light that reflects off the snow, it angers you how beautiful he looks yet his ego is insufferable and too suffocating for you to focus on that. 

“Fuck you Lee Jeno” you mumble under your breath and haechan smirks at the comment, “honestly Haechan i don’t hate you” you begin to explain hoping you’ll get out of this, whatever this is. “I just don’t like you as much as others do and that’s normal”

“No it’s not” again your cut off and you’re pretty convinced he’s in love with the sound of his own voice with how many times it’s happened “you can’t hate me” and at this you scoff, eyes rolling back so far into your head you’re sure they’ll get stuck. 

“I have a lesson” you say turning on your heels, every conversation with Haechan is a reminder as to why you can’t stand him. He loves himself a little too much, he has a superiority complex that’s consistently being fed, he thinks he’s the epitome of perfection and he thinks he’s the sun, center of everyone’s universe. 

“What lesson, I’ll walk you there” he says as he follows your footsteps, prisoning you as he wraps his arm around yours, you're confused, shocked and baffled, legs stopping, as you look down at the junction where both your arms meet and you try to release yourself but his grip is too strong. “Come on, let’s go” he pulls you, not knowing where your lesson is. “You’re a history major right?” he keeps talking, not allowing you to even answer the question “so you must either be in building B or C, but since psych usually runs at this time in C, i guess your in B” again he doesn’t waste a second before pulling you towards the building he assumes is where your lesson is. You pull back, still in complete shock as to everything that’s going on, you just said you didn’t like him and by how quickly he was able to deduce where you next lesson is, you're pretty certain he knows you don't’ want to spend any time with him and of course he knows, the smirk is evident of that. He doesn’t care what you want, for his pride you must like him because the existence of your hatred itself is an imperfection of his, a cloud covering the sun. 

“Haechan just please leave me alone” it’s like you're speaking to a wall, completely ignored as he just navigates his way to your building, arm still interlinked with yours and every now and then when you try to pry your hand out, his grip tightens. “You’re hurting my arms” you deadpan and he turns back, loosening his grip and rubbing your arm. 

“Sorry” he laughs a little and smiles, you don’t know what it is but for the first time you’ve looked at Haechan and the irking feeling of wanting to punch his face isn’t there, his face looking a little less punchable. You shake your head, choosing not to believe the bubbling feelings of butterflies and warmth on your stomach as that smile replays in your head, again and again. You let him continue leading you to lecture, too tired to fight anymore. 

You don’t even notice when you’ve reached your destination blindly following Haechan, until he stops suddenly turning again as he flashes his brightest smile and it’s as if golden rays are dancing on your skin, lighting you up, sparking warmness in your chest. You’re flying too close to the sun. “We’re here” he says happily and finally releases your arm from his captive.

“Thanks” you mumble annoyed but not as annoyed as you thought you’d be, there was a warmth that comforted you, a woody musk that swirled around you placing you in a trance. Haechan glowed, ethereal he was with all his beauty on display and you realise if kept his mouth shut more often you probably would be just as in love as all the other girls but thank god he doesn’t have an off switch because you will not fall in love with Lee Haechan. The one who melts hearts and burns skin, everyone who’s got too close bursting into flames. 

“I’ll see you after your class” he waves turning back to the direction you just came from, your heart finally returning back to a normal pace the further Haechan walks away from you, the cold from the snow returning to your skin, finally your world has span on its axis away from the sun allowing the moon’s white light to cool you down and comfort you. 

Your lecture went on for about two hours, your eyes nearly closing towards the end as at this point not even caffeine isn’t getting you through these long days and you’re sure your lack of sleep is causing you to hallucinate, because there sat at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to building B stands Lee Haechan, Lee fucking Haechan. When he said see you after class you didn’t think he meant straight after class. Fear rises and you beg he doesn’t turn around. It’s fine you tell yourself, just don’t look in his direction and don’t draw any attention to yourself. You walk down the first couple of stairs, slowly thinking it’ll make you invisible or something and then comes the screams. Girls that flock past shouting Haechan’s names, he turns around and there he sees you, nose scrunched up as you cringe at the banshees and sigh in defeat as your attempt of an eclipse fails. 

Haechan waves at the girls as he walks up to you, snatching your folders out your arms he carries, “so where are we off to now?” he asks, grabbing your hands in his, your hands are cold, fingers frozen but his are warm, a never ending supply of heat emitting off of him. 

“I’m going to the library” you say, taking your hand out of his “no idea where you’re going to next” you smile at him, snatching your folder back. Haechan can’t help but smirk, he really loves a challenge.

“Oh wow what a coincidence, I was on my way there too” he smiles and takes your folders back out of your grasp, “so let me help you” you let a deep sigh out and close your eyes trying to regain some of your patience. You decide it’s best to not fight it, you walk past him letting him carry your folders and he runs to be by your side again catching your hand in his. You don’t know he’s playing but you allow it to happen, after spending two hours learning about medieval medicine, eyes closing slightly, you allow Haechan to warm up your hands. Some sun is good for you, right?

“So you just not gonna work” you look up from the book you’ve been staring at for the last thirty minutes, Haechan choosing your face to stare at instead, he only smiles at your word as he rests his head on his hand. 

“I am studying” he says with mock offence as if he’s been accused of something he hasn’t done, “I’m studying beauty” he smirks looking directly in your eyes and all though you roll them an unbearable heat still manages to rise up. “You hungry? we should take a break” 

“Why is my face boring you” you look down at the book, trying your best to stay focused but the universe really isn’t letting that happen today. For it places a giant burning ball of fire in your path, one that feels warm from a distance but once you instantly get too close you’ll combust, so you have to keep your distance not ready to give your heart up for anyone just yet. 

“No never” again in that sarcastic offended tone, that just irks you, seriously you’re impressed at your patience in not having punched him in the jaw by now. “But i thought you might be getting bored and studying History must make you hungry” 

“I’m not hungry, thanks” you cut him off, not looking up from your book hoping that the less interest you show, the quicker he gets bored. However, like you said, the universe is not allowing that to happen and your body betrays you for not feeding it earlier. Your stomach rumbles and it doesn’t help that the library is dead silent, the sound echoes and Haechan lets out a soft laugh.

“I think you are, don’t worry I’ll go get snacks” instantly getting up and heading towards the vending machine that awaits outside. This is it you think to yourself, this is your chance to escape his burning presence, finally be free and all you have to do is run out the door. Quickly you pack up your belongings, shoving everything into your bag before Haechan comes back and out the library door you ran, freeing yourself from his burning presence but not for long as he trails after you. As a kid you thought the Sun was following you as you would stare out the window of the moving car, thinking you were the center of the galaxy, only to find out you orbit the Sun instead but now as the sun trails after you, his legs speeding up to reach your side, you guess you are at the center of this galaxy. "Why do you keep running" he shouts as he tries his best to reach you

"Because you're insufferable, Lee Haechan" you shout back, still keeping up your fast pace, not taking a second to spare him a glance. 

"And you think you're not" he scoffs and sighs in disbelief, a sound that makes your skin crawl. “I hate to break it to you but you’re pretty annoying too” and the statement shoots straight to your heart, out of all people who was he to say that, causing your legs instinctively to turn; your fast and loud stomps directed straight at him.

“I’m the annoying one? Says the one who’s none stop bothering me for hurting his superiority complex. I’m sorry Haechan that you’re not as perfect as you thought you were, sorry that one person in this whole world doesn’t like you and I’m sorry you aren’t the center of my universe” you step closer and closer as you ramble about what about him just infuriates you and all Haechan can do is roll his eyes at you and even has the nerve to let out a small laugh that only seeps wrath further into your bloodstream, intoxicating you. Everything about Lee Haechan does that to you, his smirk, his attitude, his carved by the gods features and that damn smile. He’s a menace, the core of chaos and the true essence of calamity and yet somehow it’s exhilarating enough for you to crave his presence and it causes your skin to crawl, your eyes to roll. Too close and you’ll burn. “What’s so funny?” annoyance dripping of every word. 

“I just find it funny how you’ve placed me on a pedestal in your head of being perfect, superior and then decided to hate me because of it” he inches closer, heat radiating off his body , his lips so close to yours, you feel the words that next leave his mouth with each movement, his breath sending chills down your spine “the image of me in your head, isn’t my fucking problem” he steps back after finally being satisfied with how startled he’s left you, leaving you dazed as his words hit you hard. His warmth no longer there, you shiver yet his words still hang in the air as they plague your mind, repeating themselves again and again. He walks further away and you let him have the last say because you're sure he’ll be back, his pride won’t allow you to hate him for much longer, won’t allow you to block his rays of light. He’s right the way you perceive him isn’t his problem but that doesn’t mean he won’t go out of his way to change that and nor does it mean your perception of him is wrong, even if it’s just at surface level you know enough about Lee Haechan to predict his next move. He’ll be back. 

"Ugh" you scream out, letting out a deep sigh, eye's screwed shut as you let the snow fall on your face in hopes of letting it cool you down but then there's a burning on your wrist, fire swirling around you, sparks dancing on your skin and stars shoot through your bloodstream. You're pulled and pushed, swung around until your eyes land back on his, you should've known the sun never really disappears even when it sets, eyes burning red; anger, passion or lust you’re not quite sure but burning orbs are staring right at you. You don’t even have time to respond as both his hands reach up, gripping at the side of your face, holding tight as he crashes his lips onto yours. Your lips melted, his in a hurry as he harshly pressed against yours, passion overflowing in each rough movement, his warmth radiant and you welcome the burning sensation for once. Finally you move your lips against his. The kiss is messy, teeth clashing against each other occasionally, with his grip on your face tightening, you crumpling his shirt as you hold on as if you’d fall without support, his scent intoxicating and strong and you press your body further into his and it’s as if a knot has come undone. As if the air it’s self released a heavy sigh as it seems lighter and all fades away as you begin to float, lips moving in perfect unison until the last of the oxygen in your lungs is exchanged and the burning scorches your lung even after Haechan pulls away, with a heaving chest. “Try hating me with that” he huffs out, lips swollen and eyes glossy and again the sun sets. 

Again he leaves you stunned, holding on to your lips as you walk home in hopes that the warmth from them won’t leave just yet, the scene playing in your head over and over again as if it was the greatest blockbuster but a buzzing snaps you out of it and you flinch at the sudden noise. Your phone flashing bright with an unknown number, hesitantly you pick up. “Um hello” nerves evident in your voice

“I’m picking you up tomorrow at 5, be ready” and with that you roll your eyes, his voice still annoying your ears. “Also before you ask, Jeno gave me your number” he tells you as if he could hear your thoughts aloud.

“I’m gonna kill you Lee” you whisper under your breath and Haechan isn’t sure if it was directed at him or Jeno but he hopes it would be the latter and chooses to ignore it. 

“Anyways 5pm, okay” he repeated once again, asking for confirmation that you heard him.

“You really can’t just leave me alone, can you?” you whine in annoyance but Haechan finds it cute and it only pushes him more to continue bothering you. 

“And have you forget me and my handsome face, never could allow that now could we” he teases 

“Handsome? More like punchable, trust me i could never forget how much i want to just wipe that smirk off your face” you argue back, how could he even think you could forget him after that kiss. It’s all you could think about. 

Ignoring your comment, he continues “Yeah well 5 tomorrow, I’ll be waiting outside your place, dress warmly” he tells you for the third time and without even saying bye, hangs up. 

“Ugh stupid Lee Haechan” you kick some snow in your path as you continue to walk home. 

When you got home that evening you didn’t waste a second in trying to kill Jeno, trying would have turned into having killed Jeno if it wasn’t for Jaemin who had been there to hold you back. Yet that’s the last thing on your mind right now, now all you can think about is what to wear tomorrow. “Something warm” you keep repeating to yourself, mind wandering to where you'll be going instead of choosing something to wear and time flies past and before you know it, it’s already 5pm. Haechan is outside honking, being his usual obnoxious self, having no patience as usual. You run out the house, shoes not even on properly and quickly shooting Jeno a middle finger as he smirks watching you leave. He’s honking all the way until you sat down in the car. “You’re so annoying, you know that right” you tell him as you fasten your seatbelt. 

“Yes, you remind me every breathing moment” he rolls his eyes and starts driving, christmas songs playing. 

“Well if you weren’t so annoying every breathing moment, i wouldn’t have to remin-” your cut off by your own breath that gets stuck in your throat as you look down to find his hand holding onto yours that rests on your thigh and you see the smirk he holds on your face as he’s proud he managed to shut you up. “You were saying” he teases and you clear your throat as he laughs slightly. 

“Like I said annoying” you move your hand from under his yet it gets worse as he just rests his hand on your thigh, heat seeping through your jeans.

“You call it annoying, I call it charming” he turns to you as he pulls up at a red light, flashing you a beautiful smile causing you to scoff, crossing your legs, his hand drops off your thigh.

“Anyways where are we going?” ignoring his earlier comment, done with arguing for now. 

“Surprise” he tells you, taking your hand back in his, his grip loose and when you make no effort to move, an eternal smile is plastered on his face as his grip tightens. The music fills the car, you hum along to every song that plays. 

“Well then music major” you start up conversation again “how about you sing for me” you turn to him, hands still intertwined. Haechan only laughs at your request “hey I’m being serious, all the rumours that Lee Haechan is good looking, has a great sense of humour and can sing” 

“And you believe them?” he asks, still smiling.

“Well your jokes aren’t for me but humour differentiates, so prove you can sing”

“Ah, so you think I’m good looking” he comments, smile only growing bigger. 

“I didn’t say that” you scoff 

“Yeah and you didn’t say I wasn't” he retorts, smile turning into a smirk as he feeds his own ego. 

‘Are you gonna sing or what” you pull your hand out of his and instantly he pulls it back as he suddenly agrees to sing for you. 

“I sing like an angel hun, you’ll think you’re in heaven” he tells you again feeding into that forever growing ego of him 

“I’m sure i will” every word dripping in sarcasm as you roll your eyes. He wasn’t wrong though, you jaw hung ever so slightly as he sang along with Mariah Carey, compared to him she was nothing. The once vocal goddess outshined by Lee Haechan as his angelic voice drowned hers out. It was beautiful and he knew it, continuously he left you dazed. You were lost for words, you couldn't describe how beautiful it was and all that could leave your mouth in that moment was “wow” you let out a heavy breath.

“I know” he laughs at your reaction. The rest of the ride was silent, on your part at least as you focused on the moments Haechan would sing along with some of the songs, even his humming was pretty. He glew when he sang, shining brightest. 

Pulling up to the place, the light sparkles infinitely. Laughter rang through the air and there was warmth despite the snow that fell down. Your eyes lit up and for once being around Haechan didn't seem so bad. 

"The winter carnival it's my favourite. I come every year" Haechan tells you as he grabs your hand in his, leading you towards the entrance. 

"Oh and how many other girls have you brought here?" You tease him

"None" he turns to look at you and for once the fire that burns behind his eyes isn't blinding or intimidating, they sparkle. Instead of just the sun, a galaxy. You find yourself drawn into them, like a black hole he takes up all life around, light fading away until it's just you two by him. You move closer until you realise black holes destroy, the sun burns and you flinch backwards. 

You clear your throat before shooting him a smile that's well rehearsed "let's go" you say softly, gripping his hand and this time you take the lead. 

A few rides, hot chocolates and countless conversations, you find that Haechan isn't entirely what you thought he was. Yes he's confident, knows he's good looking and has swarms of girls after him but there's something about him that seems to balance it all yet you're not quite sure what it is but he doesn't allow you any moment to think anymore about it. Always dragging you from one stall to the next. 

"I'll win the big Teddy for you" he declares, chest puffed out and embarrassment strikes through you. You would have never imagined standing here, watching Lee Haechan trying to throw down all the pins to win you a Teddy bear. Everything feels so surreal, a warmth bubbles up inside you as you watch him, tongue slightly sticking out as concentration takes over and you can't help but smile. The sun's beauty, clear. He shoot a few times, each time turning to see your reaction, promising he'll get it the next one and when he finally knocks down every pin. He pulls you in his arms, happiness practically seeping out of him. You can feel his heart beat against his chest or was it yours you weren't sure. Pointing at one of the big blue teddys at the back he hands it over to you. You almost fool the sparkles in his eyes for adoration as he nears you again, a smile stretched along his face. "I told you I'd win it for you" he says, cocky as ever. 

"Thanks" you say so softly you're unsure if he heard but the smirk on his face says otherwise and thank god he couldn't hear nor feel your heartbeat as it fastened in pace, jumping and leaping against your ribs, answering to his voice. Your heart was ready to be his. That would've inflated his head a bit too much, and just when he couldn't do anything else to cause butterflies to burst, you watch as his eyes wander to a little girl, also trying to knock the pins down. 

"Do you need help?" He asks her softly as though she was made of glass, she only nodes in return but he picks her up, placing her on his shoulders so she had a better view. Her arms extend backwards as she throws the ball, knocking down all the pins. Haechan shouting words of praise and a smile lights up the little girl's face as she grabs onto a large teddy bear. 

"Thank you" she whispers, visibly shy once Haechan places her down and she hugs him. It was in this moment you could feel you were flying too close to the sun, heat rising, palms sweating and eyes sparkling as you watched him, the only source of light and the center of the universe.

Haechan begged you to go on one more ride with him before going home, the wind was harsher and the snow fell heavier and though the sun had set long ago, the moon’s reign seemed to be never ending. Your own sun was right by you, emitting light and heat endlessly, he held your hand and kept you close as you rode the ferris wheel to the top. The ride was silent most of the way, the occasional hum from Haechan as he stared out into the horizon, the dark sky filled with bright stars and the moon shining down, lights and Christmas decorations and a sfar as the eye could see white snow that illuminated under the moonlight.  Once you reached the top, he turned to you. Your breath hitching as beauty stood in front of you, a stone statue carved by the gods to show the ability of their power, a rival to the moon’s beauty, a rival to the sun light and warmth and a rival to billions of stars that envied the way he shined, forever burning. 

“So do you hate me now?” He asks a smirk always on that goddamn beautiful face of your and you can’t help but smile. Pulling him closer until he can feel your lips brush past his as you speak these next words. 

“Shut up, isn’t this where you kiss me” you crash your lips onto his and you can feel his heart stop, taken back by your actions yet he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back, lips moving in sync and you can feel his heat overtaking your body, your heart leaping. You’re flying too close to the sun, your wing’s melting and you’re falling. Falling in love with the sun. 

© (jisungiest) 2021. All Rights Reserved.

[goldenboywrites]

in my mind, you're mine forever

“Ollie?” Oliver Davenport looked up mid pancake flip and met the adoring gaze of Theodore Maddox-Wicker. He leaned across the counter after Theo hopped up onto a stool and ruffled the kid’s bedhead even more. “Good morning. Did dad already leave?”

“Good morning, birthday boy.” He flipped the pancake again before deeming it worthy enough for the boy sitting across from him. “Yes, he left early for work but he wanted me to tell you that his first present to you was not waking you up before he left and that he will be home early to celebrate with all of us.” Oliver spooned cut-up strawberries onto the plate then poured a healthy amount (which Apollo could scold him for if he were present) of syrup on the pancakes before passing the plate off to Theo. “Your uncle Cass will be by later and your aunt Artemis…” 

Theo forked a strawberry, his carefree smile turning into a frown. One that pained Oliver’s heart to see. “But I won’t see my dad.” 

He wasn’t talking about Apollo. 

“No,” Oliver said carefully, turning off the stove and placing the last pancake on a plate for himself. “Probably not tonight but you’ll see him this weekend. And I heard a rumor that he may be taking you to Australia for a few days as an extra special surprise but don’t tell him I told you.” The former Gryffindor grabbed a fork and cut through the side of the pancake. Theo’s frown only deepened and Oliver inhaled slowly before continuing. “I know it’s not what you want but both of your dads are doing their best. Remember that, kiddo.” 

Theo made a noncommittal noise and ate some of his pancakes. Oliver knew him well enough to see the gears turning in that brain of his. “Do you think my dad will come home soon?”

He nearly choked on the piece of pancake in his mouth. Immediately Oliver grabbed a glass of orange juice and washed it down. He glanced at Apollo and Isaac’s son, the most wonderful kid he had the pleasure of knowing. There was nothing Oliver wouldn’t do for Theodore Maddox-Wicker. He would move mountains, slay dragons, give him a kidney. This was the kid that he and Cassio both loved as if he were their own. Guilty, his gaze quickly shifted down to his own plate. He didn’t have the courage to tell Theo that he didn’t know. 

“I wish they would just talk like they used to,” Theodore said as he pushed his plate away, more than half of it was uneaten and Oliver knew he should be the adult in the situation and make sure the boy ate a good breakfast but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when it was the first birthday Theo would have to celebrate twice because his dads weren’t together. “I know they still love each other.” 

Oliver sighed, pushing his own plate aside and resting his arms flat on the counter. He bent his back,  groaning lightly at the light crack of his spine. Fuck, he was getting old. They all were. “I think they’ll always love each other, kid. And if it’s meant to be then they’ll find a way back to each other. All we can do is give them time.” 

“Time makes things worse. Space makes things worse.” Theo argued, his mouth forming a pout. 

Not always. Sometimes staying together when things aren’t working does more damage. Is what Oliver wanted to say but he had to remind himself who he was talking to. A child whose entire world was upside down and changing. He didn’t want to crush the innocent hope he still had. “Alright, you’ve got me there.” Oliver threw his hands up in mock defeat. 

“So you’ll help me then?”

Oliver Davenport’s face paled and his brow furrowed into a line of confusion. “Help you?” He questioned.

“Parent trap them, duh.” Theo reached his hand out expectedly and gave Oliver an impatient look. “Phone, please.” 

“I don’t understand that reference,” Oliver admitted but still took his phone out of his pocket and handed it off to Theo despite the uneasiness he felt in the pit of his stomach. “Please tell me you just want to play candy crush…” 

“I’m going to get them to talk or remember how much they love each other and our fam-” Theo explained at the same time that Oliver warned, “Theo…” 

“Please, uncle Ollie?” Oh no, his heart clenched in his chest and he tried to look away before but no, Theo that look on his face. His big, brown puppy dog eyes staring up at him as if he put the stars in the sky. “Please help me. I can’t do it without you…” 

Oliver sighed. Then he sighed again. After that, he crossed his arms over his chest and light stomped his foot out. It wasn’t fair. The love he held for this kid wasn’t fair. Cassio was going to murder him for getting involved. “As your father’s best friend,”

“I thought uncle Cass was dad’s best frien-” 

“Uncle Cass and I are a packaged deal so if he’s your father’s best friend then that makes me his best friend too. Also, I saved his life one time and uncle Cass hasn’t,” Oliver paused, shaking his head. “Never mind, anyways. As your dad’s best friend I say heck yes, let’s do it. But I also feel like I need to also say that as the only mature, responsible adult, and your unofficial guardian when your dads are working, that I do not approve of meddling in other adults private affairs.”

But Theo wasn’t listening. He was punching in number’s on Oliver’s phone and then lifting it up to his ear. Oliver heard it ring and then the muffled voice of Isaac on the other line. Theo whimpered at sound of his dad’s voice and huffed out, “Hi dad,” trying (and succeeding) in making himself sound as sad and pathetic as possible. He was good. He was real good. And Oliver was scared about what he had just agreed to do. 

===============

“This better be an emergency. I’m trying to leave the office on time,” Apollo muttered into the phone as he tucked it between his ear and his shoulder. “Please tell me you were able to pick up the cake.” He shuffled through a thick stack of papers, notes from his three current court cases. The work never seemed to end these days. 

“Hi, sister. How are you? Are you well? Are you enjoying the nice weather we’re having?” She said in a mocking tone. “It’s amazing to me that you have so many clients when you clearly don’t know how to properly answer the phone.” Sometimes, most of the times, Apollo wished he was an only child. Having a twin sister who constantly called you out on your own bullshit was exhausting.

“My clients don’t pay me to be polite on the phone,” He reminded her with a sigh. “They pay me to win their cases.”

She scoffed and he imagined rolled her eyes at the same time. “Ah yes, my brother. The shark of the wizarding world. Anyways, I was checking in to make sure you didn’t need me to pick up anything else but since you’re in wonderful mood, I’m not sure I want to do you any favors.”

He was trying. Really he was, despite what everyone around him thought. Despite what Isaac believed about him these days. He was trying to be a better person and a better father. He was trying to control his anger, still trying to work through the hardships he had faced in his life. There were still quite a few things that haunted Apollo even though he had tried to put his past behind him. A lot of it was bubbling back up to the surface now that Isaac had left him. 

“Hello?” Artemis sang into the phone. Apollo shook his head and refocused. 

“Just get to the house. Oliver is there with Theo. Cass is picking up dinner and I will be home in half an hour.” Apollo stopped suddenly, his phone nearly slipping from his ear as he felt the wards around his building shift in a sickeningly familiar way. He gritted his teeth and then, in an attempt to calm himself, took a sharp breath. “Just keep an eye on Theo, okay? He’s really struggling with everything that’s going on and I want him to feel special on his birthday. I know he’s disappointed that-” He couldn’t say his name. He wouldn’t. The door to his office opened and Apollo glanced up to see a trio of men standing in his door. “Artemis,” He hissed, not breaking eye contact with the man in the middle. 

“Yeah, Apollo. I know. We’re all make sure he has good time tonight and you will too, right? You’ll be home on time? Promise me you won’t let him down today…” 

The men walked to the bar cart on the right side of Apollo’s office. They helped themselves to glasses of scotch. With his free hand, Apollo rubbed at his forehead. “I uh,” Sometimes the weight on his shoulders felt so heavy he was scared he would crumble under the pressure. “Something has come up. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” 

“Apol-” He hung up on her.

“This better be good,” Apollo said through gritted teeth as each of the men took a seat in front of him. “I have somewhere important to be.” 

The man seated in the center, tapped his fingers against the glass and raised a brow at him. “Do you now? Something more important that this meeting, you say? Do we need to remind you that you are indebted to us for life? Must we remind you that you are here in this fancy office because we put you here? You would be rotting in Azkaban with Beery if it weren’t for us. So how about we start this meeting over again. This time with manners.” 

Apollo gritted his teeth so hard, his hands shook and he laced his fingers together so they wouldn’t see. An empty glass on the bar cart behind him shattered. Yet he didn’t pay it any attention. Instead he leaned back in his chair and forced a tight grin to show. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

Maybe one day he would free from the things that held him prisoner.

[archivedatl]

Old Blogs

Howdy. I’ve noticed some concern over the loss of my old blogs here n’ there so I decided to post all of them in one large, comprehensive blog-a-verse. Hope this brings a smile to a few faces. Our Street Corners Keep Secrets This is me asking for a brick to be thrown through my window,
a message attached that reads, "Why can’t you just wake up?"
I am not a star,
don’t look up to me in hopes of finding something more.
That which is out of reach does not promise anyone a goddamn thing.
Hope arises in possibility,
but possiblity is fragmented and selfish,
so don’t think for a second that I am safe ground to walk on.
I will sink beneath the feet of a thousand travelling companions,
and make ruin of any city’s foundations,
because concrete and steel can never tell a soul how it feels.
Our street corners keep secrets, and our road signs only suggest,
never deciding for us,
never knowing if the destination to which they lead,
is where we truely belong.
Life’s greatest tragedy is not that it will some day end,
but that most of us just live to follow directions,
and many times we end up totally lost. I am a landmine. Sometimes I break down so hard you can hear it, and when I can stand to come near it with means to repair, the chances of walking out unscathed are slim to none.
I know because I’m one; a victim of second-hand breakdowns and bad impressions, made under intoxicated conditions with poorly lit expressions. And I regret not going back, I regret not missing flights, I regret not asking for more and taking chances that I can only hope will not be forgotten. My fingers are crossed.

I-O-U.

Now my telephone’s dead and I can’t stand to hold out like this, but I’m constantly checking myself so as not to be a burden. Anything too heavy eventually gets dropped, no matter the cost. Let me be light as a feather, but valued enough so as to remain in a back pocket, until those jeans need washing and I find my place on a bedside table, to be read aloud on nights when memories and prying needs return to haunt the foundations of this room.

Pick me up,
Read me every now and then,
I won’t disappoint.
*I am* witty and engaging so bless me with attention, because I’m *dying* for attention *without* any means of telling *you*. I’ll talk the talk, you take care of the rest. What up thugs?

I’m alive and well, realizing how eternally grateful I am for everything going on in my life day by day... Its a lot like learning to walk - at least, that’s how I’d like to think of it. We’ve all been there, so I won’t waste your time painting a pretty picture of how it all goes down...
I want to talk about other things...
First and foremost, I’ve come to understand that as of late there have been a lot of people finding this little piece of my life tucked away on the web; moreso than usual, and for that reason, I’d like to extend my proverbial hand to anyone and everyone who may have something - anything to say to me. Thank you for taking an interest in who I am and what I’m attempting to do with my life. I am opening myself up, as much as possible, to anyone who may be interested. All I ask is that whoever you may be, wherever you may be, understand that I am only human - two hands, ten fingers, and a life... I’ve received a few messages from people, upset that I haven’t been able to respond to their previous comments or private messages, and who now probably think less of me for it. I hope this isn’t the case, but its bound to happen. What I’m saying is that I don’t live my life on the internet... I’m sorry if there’s a message I never got around to responding to... I’m just not that good at keeping up with reality, let alone a virtual one. I will, however, try harder from now on... And understand that even if I don’t respond, I probably have read your message. I don’t just clear my inbox and move on. Thats plain rude. :)

To all my good friends,
the ones I should talk to more often,
the ones I left back home,
the ones I will never stop loving,
thank you for still hugging me when I come home...
I know I don’t always show it,
but I’m forever indebted to you all for everything you’ve ever done for me...

That brings me to my second point.
The closest friends you’ll ever have are the ones you’d take a bullet for,
but they’re the ones you constantly feel you could put a bullet in as well. ;)

Think about that one.

That’s it for now. I can’t believe I’m up at 5:14am. Touring has made me an insomniac, but I feel fucking great.

Have a good one y’all,

Me Lawyers and Liars I am a liar.
I am self absorbed.
I am in this for me.
I am seeking recognition.
I am not concerned with politics.
I am attempting to rise to the top.
I am never going to forget my intentions.
I am allowed to worry about my own life above the lives of others.

-------AFTER ALL---------

I am human. Part Deux: Colors, Sounds and Feather-Downs 
Current mood: happy I had a long, goofy conversation several weeks ago with an interesting girl who I haven’t seen since, in a diner I have yet to revisit, but it stirred up some thoughts that I found pretty interesting. Maybe I’m just nuts. Anyhow, the discussion began on a simple basis; I inquired as to what her favorite color might be. She said she didn’t know. I replied, "How can you not know? Its a simple question." -- She paused, looking sort of surprised, as if someone had never pressed her for an answer before, and then replied, "Well... It changes... Today its yellow."

I didn’t know what to say...
I didn’t understand.

How can your favorite color just change?
What happened to yesterday’s favorite color?
If, on a whim, something of such esteem and value can be replaced with another, then on what grounds was it ever of any more value to begin with?
When I was little, my favorite color was green. It stayed that way, no matter what I said to be trendy at the time (IE. 8th grade was my "black is such a raw and expressive pigment" phase, but everyone goes through that shit.) As of late, I’ve become more partial to blue - Light blue in particular, but that’s not that important. My point is that something happened that caused me to send green packing, and to fall absolutely head-over-heels for blue.
(Stay with me on this...)
Now, such a dramatic change in attraction doesn’t just happen - I mean shit, I know we��re only talking about colors here, but this kind of switch-a-roo has only happened ONCE in my entire life. Green ---> Blue. Just like that. Must mean somthing, right?
Pablo Picasso went through a "blue period", at which time he was broke and mourning the loss of a dear friend. There’s a similarity there somewhere.
Please don’t get me wrong, I am by no means depressed, nor do I have any reason to be, but perhaps color - every, individual hue, represents to each of us a state of being, and in turn, helps us to deal with whatever it is we may be going through. I’m not talking mood-ring shit here. What I mean is that there are things - simple things - that without our knowing, mean the world to us and when they change, they change for our own good, because whether we like it or not, we are looking out for ourselves. We do it unconsciously - But we do it. We do it to stay happy and to stay alive... And above all else, that’s what matters.
On this note, I’d like to attempt to make my point - Don’t throw yourself out on another’s whim. People change, as do intentions and as a result, consequences. Live for yourself - love those around you, but realize that they’ve got their own agendas. People will screw you - You will screw people... Green ---> Blue. Get it? I’m not sure I do... Always consider that your life will venture in new directions, but be aware that other’s will do the same, and in accordance, understand that to be happy, people must exist in their own light, cast in and of themselves, not by the light of their peers. Conflict will arise because of this. Conflict is to be expected; conflict is a part of life. Find ways to work through conflict, even if it means picking a new favorite color...


I hope this makes a little sense.


I’m tired and rambling, and perhaps just a misguided fool, but I think there’s something in this - something that I am learning and accepting as my fingers punch these keys to an inviting, hypnotic rhythm. I feel like they’re leading me somewhere, and I’ve decided to follow.

____I’m going to bed. Take from this what you will.

Love,

Alexander William Gaskarth

*I feel fine* The first of many, I hope. 
Current mood: happy So I’ve decided to spill it; the beans, the juice, my guts... Whatever you want to call it, consider it spilled. Up to this point, I feel like I’ve done an excellent job of keeping just about everything true about myself, to myself... and for good reason - what people don’t know, people can’t use against you. I guess that’s my first confession. I fucking despise the way people operate. The way people go out of their way to find things out, only to throw them senselessly (BLINDLY) into conversation later. I don’t know if its intentional, (I guess that sometimes it is and sometimes it isn’t,) but frankly, it gets to me. Its the same kind of prying aggravation I feel when someone starts moving shit around in my car, or on my computer table. Stop putting hills in my rugs! Please. Call me OCD but if I put something somewhere, chances are, I wanted it there and it should remain that way. Its the same for anyone else. Let one’s own business remain that way. Anyway. I’ve fallen into a depression lately - not emotionally per say, but I feel like my ability to open up to people has peaked over the past two years. I used to be so ready to say anything, without caring how it affected me, but recently I’ve become so protective of myself, not because I’m afraid of getting hurt by others, but because I might make myself look bad. It’s disgusting. I never used to be so self-absorbed. Its like in every situation, I’m wearing a mask... Not just one mask, in fact, but many masks; Masks to hide masks between people - to hide certain sides of myself from those who disapprove where others don’t. I try so hard to win the approval of everyone. Why? Fucked if I know. I just love being the center of attention I guess. And all this time I thought myself to be humble. No sir. But then, who really is humble? Everyone wants to be loved, right? So am I wrong in looking out for my own well being? Who knows? It makes me sick to my stomach, regardless. I’ve unknowingly stumbled across so many insecurities lately that I feel like a different person at times. It’s like I’ve been born all over again, to a world where I have to carry myself differently. I’m still opinionated, I’m still eagerly in search of answers, but my motives have changed. I do it for myself now; for the praise and admiration I earn as a result of my actions, not for the simple pleasure found in just "doing it". Maybe its all just part of growing up, as they say. Maturing... You know? But does it continue to change? Will I stop acting like such an asshole? Who knows. It worries me. I don’t want to be like this, but its who I’ve become... What’s worse is that I don’t know who or what to blame for the transformation. That would be too easy, right? I digress. I’ve got a lot of things on my plate. My dreams are coming true right before my very eyes - I have a band - We’re going somewhere - This time next year I hope I’m far, far away from this place. I want to see Japan. I’ve wanted to see Japan for a while now; call it a calling. Haha. I don’t know what I want when I get there - I don’t even like the hustle of big cities for too long. Gives me a headache. But there’s something about it. I’ll see it soon enough. The repetition of every day life kills. It ruins the flow of my creative juices. No joke. On days that I sleep in, I go to bed feeling exhausted, and yet, I never sleep on the weekends, when I should want rest. I don’t. It would be a waste of freedom. Why spend time on parole in seclusion, you know? I’m only tired on weekdays - only when I know I have to drag myself out of my fucking room to take a shower and go to school, and then to work. Maybe I’m not tired. Maybe it’s just a natural defense against running myself into the ground with routine. I feel pale, and sick, and run down... For no reason. I eat right. I see the light of day. I breathe fresh air all the time. I love the outdoors. Shit. I love my life. But between Monday and Thursday I feel so transient... My head isn’t in the clouds - My feet aren’t on the ground. Where am I? I don’t know, but frankly, it sucks. I have some good friends. We get hammered sometimes and forget about everything. The occasional dramatic scene is worth it. People naturally don’t get along with one another. It’s all a matter of how tolerant people are. I have some tolerant friends. In turn, I think I put up with my share of bullshit. It’s like a cycle of tough loving. But it works. It keeps me sane. In the end I think we really do love each other. Awww. I also like to kiss people. It gets me into trouble sometimes. Whatever. Certain individuals need to stop looking for love in the wrong places. --I can’t talk. --I’ve found love in the worst places. --Its not an easy thing to deal with. --Doesn’t change the way I feel about them. --Its ok. --As long as I’m happy. There I go being selfish again. ___I’m done confessing for now. Take from this what you will. Love, Alexander William Gaskarth *I feel better.*

[aot-snk-4238]

SNK Meta Part 2: Ymir

In my previous post, I talked about my feelings regarding Historia's character this final arc. Now I'm going to talk about Ymir, her relationship with Historia, and my feelings about her send-off.

Was Ymir a good character?

In my eyes, yes. When she was first introduced, it was clear that she had feelings for Historia, making her one of the only canon queer characters in the series (assuming Historia reciprocated those feelings, which I'm pretty sure she did). She also appeared very snarky and cynical, but us readers came to learn later on that there was a much softer, sensitive side to her deep down that Historia would be the first to witness. These revelations, including her backstory, helped flesh out her character in a way that made her very interesting and mysterious for me. I especially loved how sharp and intuitive she was. I'm going to quote the wiki on this part, because I think it does a great job explaining her impressive observant abilities. "Ymir was extremely perceptive and could discern the nature of the people around her with alarming accuracy, such as Historia's martyrdom mentality, Reiner's split personality disorder, and Sasha Blouse's desire to look good in front of her peers by hiding her native accent and developing an extremely formal way of speaking. Due to her experiences and belief in self-pride, she tended to rudely criticize people for being untrue to themselves. Furthermore, Ymir was very reasonable, as she knew what to do during her kidnapping situation and reconsidered her options to accomplish her goals." I also enjoyed her interactions with other characters besides Historia. Take Connie, for example. When he lamented over the possibility of his mother being stuck as a mindless titan, Ymir tried to distract him, albeit not in the most appropriate way (ch. 38).

Connie complained about this behavior later on, but Historia defended her, explaining that she was only trying to stray his thoughts from that traumatic discovery. There were a few more moments between these two that were fun to see as well.

😂😂😂. Ymir's looking at him like, "You ruined it, Connie..."

I love the way she pats him on the head. Knowing how much taller Connie's gotten I don't think she'd be able to do that anymore.

This becomes one of the many times that Connie calls her "ugly" when she's in her titan form. Too bad she couldn't talk very well as a titan or else she probably would have had a smartass remark to throw back at him. It's looking back on scenes like this where I wish we could have gotten more out of these two. You can tell she cared for Connie and I know he also cared in his own way.

We only saw her together with Eren once when Reiner and Bertholdt captured them, but it was very interesting to see their perceptions of each other.

Eren found Ymir to be mysterious and wasn't sure if he could trust her, which isn't surprising considering this was the only time they ever spoke to each other. One detail that he couldn't miss, however, was Ymir's undying determination to protect Historia, a goal they would both come to share later on. Meanwhile, Ymir couldn't trust Eren because she found him to be too reckless and hot-headed.

These were my favorite qualities from Ymir, although to this day I still question the rationality of leaving Historia behind considering the situation she's currently in. Historia herself called her an idiot after reading her goodbye letter. Now that I've covered my reasons for liking Ymir as a character, let's move on to her relationship with Historia.

Ymir and Historia

I've loved these two together since the beginning for their complex and amusing dynamic. On the surface, you had the selfish, confrontational tomboy and the girly, kind and beautiful goddess. But underneath were two young women who were dealt a dirty hand early in their life and lead empty lives as a result until they found each other. Their story arcs throughout the Clash of the Titans arc were beautiful and complimentary, and it's part of the reason why it's actually my favorite story arc in the series. Everything from Ymir seeing through Historia's charade and urging her to live her life with pride to Historia telling Ymir her real name and the two of them fighting side by side in chapter 49 was some of the most empowering moments for me and I will forever cherish those parts of the story.

Ymir's departure

And now the part I've been most excited to talk about! Ymir's glorious, memorable and emotional departure.

Her ending...was not what I expected it to be. She left Historia at the very last second and gave herself away to the enemy because she felt guilty for something that was not her fault. Now as we know, Ymir is selfless at heart and she felt indebted to Reiner and Bertholdt for inadvertently helping her return to her human form after 60 years of wandering the earth as a mindless titan. She also decided that Historia might be safe after all after learning that Eren possessed the coordinate. I understand all of that, but what I don't understand is...well...everything else.

This was Ymir's last real appearance. We see that Ymir has willingly chosen to accompany Reiner and Bertholdt back to Marley to give up her titan powers at the cost of her life. Many people weren't so sure if that was truly the last of her though, because her death was not explicitly confirmed for a long time. We spend the next 33 chapters hoping to get something more, and then this happens...

A glimmer of hope. Finally there's a real chance we'll hear from her again, and it's got a lot of people buzzing with excitement. Sure enough, we finally get to see what's in that letter a few chapters later and are given Ymir's backstory. Here's where the disappointing part comes, though. Ymir makes it clear at the beginning of her letter that she will be dead by the time Historia receives it, meaning that this is the only goodbye they're gonna get. The last time they saw each other, Ymir wasn't even in human form. Instead of a proper goodbye, all we get is a short letter. The anime even tried to fix this by giving us Ymir's backstory earlier, but by doing that, her letter was cut short by a lot. All that was really left was, "Hi babe, sorry I left you like that. Oh well, I'm about to die anyway. Sorry we couldn't get married." And then this happened:

Historia touches Ymir's letter and is suddenly bombarded with visions of Ymir's past, including her chained up and about to be eaten. That is definitely not what happened in the manga and its honestly very confusing to me. How was she able to see all of that just by touching the letter? I get that she has royal blood and was able to access memories when she touched Eren, but Eren is a human who just so happens to possess the founding titan. The letter is just a piece of paper. Also, I'm guessing the last thing Historia saw was Ymir chained up so that there will be no need to bring her up again like Reiner and Porco did in chapter 93. I don't blame the anime team for making that change because I'll be honest, when we saw that one panel of her in her death chamber it felt very out of nowhere and I had a hard time concentrating on the rest of the chapter after that. So here are my main problems with her death:

1. It was off-screen

If I recall correctly, Ymir is the only major character in the series whose death was off-screen. All we got were her final moments, and there wasn't even any dialogue. That part especially bothered me because you can see that Ymir and Porco are looking at each other and Ymir's mouth is slightly open, implying that she's speaking. But what was she saying? You seriously don't mean to tell me that they both just sat there and stared at each other the whole time. She must have had some last words, but for some reason we never got to know what they were. At one point I even thought that Historia and Porco might cross paths at some point and he would be able to give her closure that way but no. No closure, just a last minute goodbye letter and a glimpse of her final moments that I now consider completely useless and unnecessary because we never got more out of it. I mean really, we even got closure and an on-screen death for Marco for crying out loud. Why give him that kind of attention and not Ymir? Not to mention one of the more recent guidebooks. Her character has the diceased sticker and it talks about how she went back to Marley with Reiner and Bert, but that's it. Not even the guidebook makes it clear what happened next. Yeah she died, but did anything else happen before then? That's what I wish we could have gotten more details on like, I don't know....her final words???

2. It was anticlimactic

We didn't get enough focus on Ymir's point of view after leaving Paradis in order for her death to have any kind of lasting emotional impact. As I mentioned above, it just felt out of place and messy. There was nothing memorable about her death either. It was quite simple and boring.

3. It contributed to an ongoing literary issue that has anti-LGBTQ roots

Yep. I'm talking about the infamous Bury Your Gays trope. Now before I go any further, I am not accusing Isayama of being anti-LGBTQ, I'm just shedding some light on something that's been continuously repeated in countless forms of media, not just anime and manga. Truthfully, I hadn't heard about this trope before reading Attack on Titan, but when I did hear about it, it only made Ymir's death even worse for me. I'm not surprised that it exists and I realize that this is a manga where death is inevitable, but keeping both women alive in the end would have certainly been very refreshing. At this point, all I could ask for is that Ymir and Historia get to see each other one last time. Obviously since Ymir is dead it will have to be through other means and I don't care how it's done. It can be in a dream, a vision or through Paths (which I think would work best). Seriously, there's nothing I've been more curious about than how Ymir would react to Hisu's current predicament and what she would say to her. It would just be great for them to have one last conversation face to face because for me, the letter just wasn't enough. Of course I'm hoping for too much, though. We've only got 1-2% of the story remaining, leaving no room for further closure. It's disappointing and frustrating, but no story is perfect. I'm grateful for the content that we did get, but I hope one day I can find a story like this one where the queer characters get to live for once. I'm aware of other shows like Steven Universe, Adventure Time and Yuri on Ice that give them good endings, but those shows are much friendlier towards younger audiences and aren't nearly as dark and grim.

Conclusion

Ymir was a very intriguing character while we had her, but her death was unsatisfactory and only left us with more questions. I am not going to trash Isayama for it, but I will leave this critique here so I can unload all my thoughts for others to read if they wish, or possibly share their own thoughts. We are coming close to the end of the manga, so now would be a great time to reflect on what we read and enjoy what's left of it.

[astoldbycrimson]

For You Only

Summary: You always dreamed of how his lips felt against yours. What he tasted like. And everything else that he was hiding beneath that helmet. With a special loophole, you finally uncover the secrets.

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x f!Reader

Warnings: sweet wholesome, tooth-rotting fluff and maybe a tiny bit of spice

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5

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

There had always been an unspoken bond between you and Din. After you'd saved his life back on Dathomir, you convinced him to bring you along. Spinning tales of how great of an asset you could be, but also pulling at his honor strings, knowing he was indebted to you. Having witnessed your strength and cunning, he was inclined to oblige your little request. 

You started with minor chit chat here and there, but mostly communicated through fighting. The Mandalorian definitely admired your skill and witt, especially how you could disarm foes with your acting abilities. No one anticipated this blind woman to be a force user, especially not a trained jedi. 

Yet you proved yourself useful time and time again. And the more you two fought together, the more drawn to you Din had become. You had told him your secrets and showed him your scars. In turn, he shared the struggles he faced and the pain he endured. Why he put on the helmet and why he couldn't take it off. But most importantly, he had shared his true name with you.

Conversation turned to companionship, which ultimately drove you into uncharted waters. Given your backgrounds, there hadn't been a time or place for love. So the entire concept was foreign to you both.

You started with small touches here and there. Knuckles ghosting the skin near a wound as you tended to it. Your bare fingers would brush gloved hands as Din piloted the Razor Crest. Or you'd carefully caress the cold steel of his helmet. Simple touches, but deep inside you wanted more.

You never tried to remove his visor or cast light on his shadows. Never digging for secrets he wasn't ready to share. If nothing else, you knew how important being a Mandalorian was to him. You knew the consequences of what removing his helmet would bring, so you never dared, no matter how badly you wished to taste his lips.

But that's what it meant to love him. You knew what you signed up for. The helmet. The armor. The weapons and the fighting. It was the Way. Everything had been made very clear to when you started this journey more than a cycle ago. Loving a Mandalorian was never meant to be easy. Was it even supposed to happen in the first place?

You always told yourself you could handle this forever, the way things were. Because being with Din was enough. Knowing that he loved you. Being able to share this adventure with him. Traveling amongst the stars, fighting, loving. Longing...

The way things were wouldn't stop you from dreaming though. Of wondering how his face felt beneath that carefully crafted helmet. Was he cleanly shaven or hiding a beard? Scarred? Or dimples? You wondered what sort of hair he had. Was it carefully cut or a mess of unruly curls? Would he groan softly as you ran your fingers through it?

And his lips. Oh how you dreamed of those. Were they soft and round? Or chapped from him biting back words and hidden desires? And, Maker, how did they taste?

Above all, you dreamed of your future together. Maybe, one day, he'd be willing to retire and it would all come off. That you could settle down somewhere and find peace. But for now, you could be content with just being by his side and loving him.

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

"Does it bother you?" He quietly asked one day, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Hmm?" You questioned absentmindedly. 

Din was silent a moment. "...The helmet?"

"Well it's not as though I could see your face either way, Din. You could be absolutely nude and unless I caressed you, I'd be none the wiser." A teasing smile.

He sighed. "...That's not what I asked." While he was usually quite serious by nature, even this surprised you, making you straighten in your seat.

"I'm sorry…" After a moment of silence, you continued, "If I am being completely honest, I… I'd love to caress your face as I do your helmet. To knot my hands in your hair and… taste your lips..." A sigh before you went on. "But that's incredibly selfish of me. You took an oath, so I understand the helmet… and the armor… must stay on." Your cheeks were flushed pink and you avoided looking in his direction.

Even at that angle, in the dim light, Din saw the blush spread across your cheeks. How beautiful you looked in that moment. His heart was hammering beneath his armor and he was worried you could hear it. That you could just look at him and see the blush creeping across his cheeks, even beneath his helmet.

Minutes passed before he realized he hadn't opened his mouth to respond. His silence had you worried. Had you crossed the line? Was he upset by your words? The silence was deafening and the air in the cockpit was threatening to strangle you. So you immediately excused yourself to make dinner, rushing out before he could stop you. 

Din started to beat himself up after you rushed off. But there he sat, replaying the conversation in his mind. Were you aware of how badly he wanted you to feel him without his armor? To expose himself so fully to you, the woman he loved? To share the secrets he had carefully hidden beneath the weight of that helmet?

But he couldn't shake what else you had said. It's not as though I could see your face either way. Despite your sensitivity to the force and your ability to map out the lifeforms around you, you were still blind. He could remove his armor and outside of your other senses, you couldn't see anything. If he removed his helmet, you'd never actually see his face. Perhaps there was a way to go about this after all...

With that thought in mind, he practically sprinted from the cockpit, leaving his helmet on his seat, and found you grabbing dishes from the wash unit below. You heard his approach and prepared to speak, but you soon found yourself pinned to the wall, dishware clattering to the floor. 

Your first instinct was to think you were in danger, that someone boarded the ship while you were in a daze. But any alarm raised was immediately quieted as you felt warm lips press against yours. You didn't think twice before wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing closer. When you felt thick, soft locks beneath your fingers, you couldn't stop yourself from tangling your hands in them.

His hands raised to cup your face as he got lost in the kiss. How wonderful it felt to practically steal the breath from your lungs. To finally lose himself under your soft touch. Din wanted this. He needed this. To be held and kissed and loved so completely by you. Maker, he hadn't realized just how starved he was until he tasted your lips.

Everything about this told you that you were dreaming. Surely you'd been knocked out or even killed upon impact, like the ship had crashed. This was too wonderful. How your lips fit together so perfectly. How everything felt so right. Like fate was playing in your favor.

But it felt too real. The cold steel of his chest plate flush against your skin. The tightness in your chest and the air slipping from your lungs as you were kissed so passionately. So desperately. As though you only had moments left.

You stayed like that until you needed air and Din pulled away. He was positively entranced by the sight of you when he opened his eyes. Rosy lips, gaze half-lidded, and tinted cheeks. The element of surprise definitely made the moment even sweeter. 

It took you a moment to return to reality, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. And you were certainly startled by what you felt beneath your fingers. The soft hair and the heat of flushed skin. A warm, ragged breath on your face. Sweet and inviting. But no cold Beskar steel...

You released your grip on him and nearly leapt out of your skin. "Din! Your helmet?! What're you… what about..? The Way...? Your people! I thought... You… you or'dinii! I didn't want you to… to throw your life away for me!" You raised a fist and brought it down against his chest plate, insulting him in his own language. Of course you had wanted so desperately to kiss him, but now you were panicked by the thought of it. By the aftermath of this one impulsive action.

"Shhhh, cyar'ika. Calm down." His hand covered your fist and he kissed your forehead. "You can't see my face, right?" 

It took you a moment to find your words again. Your thoughts were pulling you in a thousand different directions. Lost between excitement and anger. Fear and arousal. Fantasy and reality. "Well, no, but…" you finally managed to say.

"Then no rules have been broken."

At first you were confused. Then you remembered that he technically couldn't allow anyone to see his face. And, well, you couldn't see a damn thing. Now you were catching on. "So... we're fine? You're fine?"

"It'll be our little secret," he whispered into the shell of your ear. You were shuddering at how he sounded without the modulator. His smooth baritone had you reeling. And the feeling of his warm breath against your skin... how could he be so perfect?

You raised a shaky hand to caress his cheek, adrenaline having scorched your nerves. Stubble tickled your palm and you felt him smile. That gave you courage and soon your hand was exploring his entire face.

Din's jaw was angular and he had high cheekbones. His skin was warm and smooth, aside from the prickly stubble lining his chin and upper lip. There were no notable scars. No wrinkles. His hair wasn't too long. Cleanly kept. And there were curls. Soft curls.

"Handsome," you whispered before cupping his cheeks and pulling him into another kiss. You fully planned on using this loophole to your advantage.

[mysterioushogwartsrequests]

Hello :) I saw that your requests are open so i figured i could try my luck and write you. Would you be up to write something with Charlie Weasley? Something with the same atmosphere of the music video "Wildest Dreams" by Taylor Swift? The song is stuck in my head and the mv is so aesthetical (somehow i can just picture Charlie with it). It would be super cool, however if that is too difficult maybe some fluffy first Christmas at the Burrow with Charlies first kid?

It sure has been a while, hasn’t it? I hope all of you are safe and healthy during this time.

I’m not sure if I’ve done a request with a song implemented in the story for this account, but here it is.

I wanted to get back into writing stories for this account because I recently started replaying Hogwarts Mystery and I missed creating stories for this blog.

This one is a little iffy, but I hope you all enjoy it and I’ll be posting more requests soon!

(Y/N) (L/N) had quite a reputation at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her connection to Jacob automatically made her a trouble-maker even though that was far from her true nature. However, no matter how many times she attempted to prove herself, negative rumors about her intentions spread around the school. 

As a first-year, she had hoped these rumors would come to an end as the years progressed, however, as she entered her fifth-year she realized they had only gotten worse. (Y/N)’s friends attempted to cheer her up, but the rumors that she would bring danger to Hogwarts had affected her self-esteem and she had begun to isolate herself from the rest of the students. 

Charlie Weasley noticed her strange behavior and began to worry about her well-being. He wasn’t used to seeing a frown on her face and her red nose and puffy cheeks made it clear she spent most of her time crying. 

Deciding to take matters into his own hands, Charlie grabbed his broom and a supply bag enchanted with an extension charm, fully determined to make (Y/N) feel better. 

Charlie headed towards the North Tower, knowing (Y/N)’s Divination class would let out in a couple of minutes. Charlie knew this way her final class of the day and she had fallen into the habit of retreating into her dormitory after her classes so, for his plan to work, he would have to reach her on time. 

Leaning up against the wall, he waited at the bottom of the Divination stairwell, counting the minutes until the class let out. The booming voice of the students came from the top of the steps, the students laughing as they descended the stairs. Charlie pushed himself off the wall, scanning their faces to find (Y/N). Once his eyes landed on her familiar features, a grin spread across Charlie’s face as he quickly approached her. 

(Y/N) stepped off the ladder and turned, only to come face to face with Charlie Weasley. His sudden appearance caught her off guards and she sheepishly looked away, “Hey, Charlie” she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Hey, (L/N)” He smirked, his hand swiftly grabbing hers, “I’ve made plans for us today” Charlie stated, pulling her off to the side with a wicked grin. (Y/N) looked away with a small frown, not understanding why Charlie would want to suddenly sweep her away. 

“Charlie,” She uttered, furrowing her eyebrows, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to talk to me” She admitted, nervously gripping her cloak. She looked at the passing students, acknowledging their snide remarks as they stared back at her, “You’ll ruin your reputation”.

Now it was Charlie’s turn to frown, he leaned down to meet her gaze and squeezed her hand tightly, “What are you saying, (Y/N)” He asked sternly, his worry for her growing as she remained silent, “Do you honestly think I care about what the others say?” Charlie pried, but (Y/N) still did not answer his question. 

Charlie huffed, letting his gaze fall and his eyebrows furrow, “You don’t have to answer me, but I’m going to tell you this anyway” Charlie began, resting his broom against the wall, “I’ve gotten the chance to know you for who you truly are and I know you’re loyal, responsible, and one of the kindest people I’ve met here” 

(Y/N) was surprised by his sudden confession, but still could not meet his gaze, she still could not understand why he would want to get mixed up with her. Determined to prove his point, Charlie’s hand slipped underneath her chin, slowly tilting her head to meet his gaze.

He said, "Let's get out of this town Drive out of the city, away from the crowds" I thought heaven can't help me now Nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down” 

“You’re so much more than what they say and I will prove it to you” Charlie’s bright brown eyes meeting her (E/C) ones, “But you have to come with me, we’ll fly out of the city, away from these students, and we’ll have fun” Charlie grinned, his thumb gently trailing across her chin. 

(Y/N) began to blush darkly, his soft touches making her heart flutter. The two of them had grown close during their fourth-year but had not spent time together in the last couple of months, “I don’t know, Charlie...” She uttered, “I have a roll of parchment on Dream Interpretations due on Monday and I’m not sure if I should put it off...”

(Y/N) was nervous about what the students would say about Charlie if they saw them flying off-campus during the evening. However, despite her concerns, she couldn’t help fantasizing about what a relaxing evening with Charlie would be like. She let her guard down, her eyes examining his defined features as the blush on her cheeks deepened.

“Dream interpretations...?” Charlie whispered, tilting his head subtly, “Come on, (Y/N)” He pleaded, his hand cupping her cheek, “What does a bloke have to do to take a pretty girl out?” Charlie flashed her a bright, white smile, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but return it. 

He's so tall and handsome as hell He's so bad but he does it so well I can see the end as it begins

My one condition is

“My one condition is that you help me finish this assignment afterward,” (Y/N) replied a small burst of confidence in her voice after receiving Charlie’s compliment. 

Charlie nodded approvingly, lacing his fingers with her’s, “Then what are we waiting for?” He asked, pulling her down the corridor as quickly as he could. (Y/N) yelped as Charlie tugged her, but began to laugh as the two raced down the corridor. 

Charlie began to laugh with her, satisfied with hearing her laugh after only hearing her cries for the past month. He did not know how to describe it, but her laugh made his head turn, there was something so contagious about her laughter that always made Charlie feel comfortable. 

His heart began to beat faster as the two locked eyes and she shot him a playful wink, reminiscent of the ones she would give him during their fourth-year adventures. 

The two finally reached the Clocktower Courtyard, catching their breath in between their laughs. Charlie took this time to take in her beauty while she was distracted, the golden light of the sun illuminating her features. He examined her hair, her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, making sure to appreciate every single part of her in secret. 

Charlie dreamed of his future as a Dragonologist, but he also dreamed of finding the person he’d spend the rest of his life with. His wildest dreams were filled with magical creature explorations besides the woman he loves and will create a family with. Lately, (Y/N) had been appearing in Charlie’s dreams, where she usually cheered him on at his Quidditch Games or they spent time away on vacation together. 

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just in your Wildest dreams, ah-ha oh Wildest dreams, ah-ha oh “Have you ever ridden on the back of a broom before?” Charlie asked, getting (Y/N)’s attention. 

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) shook her head in response, “I’ve ridden a broom, but never with someone else” She replied, raising an eyebrow at Charlie’s intention, “Just what exactly are you planning, Weasley?” 

Charlie chuckled softly, throwing his enchanted bag over his shoulder before mounting his broom, “Can I surprise you just this once, (L/N)? I promise I’ll impress you” He stated confidently, waiting for her to mount his broom. 

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes shining brightly as she agreed to Charlie’s questions. Shedding all her inhibitions, she climbed behind Charlie, wrapping her arms around his tone, but slender figure. 

“Hold on tight, (Y/N)” He whispered, giving her a small wink as he took off from the Courtyard. (Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut as her arms tightened around Charlie’s waist as she adjusted to the feeling of flying behind somebody. 

I said, "No one has to know what we do" His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room And his voice is a familiar sound Nothing lasts forever but this is getting good now

“I hope your eyes are open!” Charlie spoke up as he flew them over the Hogwarts grounds, “I don’t want you to miss the view from here, I want you to take it all in!” Charlie exclaimed happily and (Y/N) opened one of her eyes to view the landscape. 

“O-Okay!” (Y/N) exclaimed, finally giving in and opening both her eyes, her arms relaxing as she grew more comfortable. Her eyes widened as they passed the Hogwarts towers, enjoying the wind flowing through her hair as Charlie safely guided them to their location. 

There were tall, dark green trees and multiple blue-green lakes covering the Scottish landscape, and (Y/N) began to feel relaxed. She had spent multiple days cooped up in her dormitory that she had forgotten how beautiful the scenery around her school could be. Looking up at Charlie, she noticed the small smile on his face as they flew past Hagrid’s Hut and through the Forbidden Forest. 

Even though they had not been out for long, (Y/N) was already beginning to feel better and she couldn’t help but feel indebted to Charlie for planning this. (Y/N) valued Charlie’s friendship, but she realized what she was currently feeling could be more than friendship. Her mind went back to their encounter in the corridor and the feeling of his thumb tracing over her cheek and chin. 

(Y/N) blushed, remembering the feeling of his face leaning close to her as he attempted to convince her to adventure with him. Her arms instinctively tightened around his waist, her fingers brushing against the muscles of his abs as she held on. This feeling only made her blush more as she imagined Charlie lifting crates and supply bags for Professor Kettleburn, it wasn’t much labor but it certainly helped Charlie define his figure.

He's so tall and handsome as hell He's so bad but he does it so well And when we've had our very last kiss My last request is

Charlie felt (Y/N)’s grip tighten around him again and he grinned as they touched down at their destination, “We’re here” Charlie announced, hopping off his broom then extending his hand to help (Y/N) off his levitating broom. 

Finally breaking away from her thoughts, (Y/N) slipped her hand into his and carefully stepping off Charlie’s broom. “Where are we?” (Y/N) asked, gazing at the surrounding trees and the flower beds that covered the area around the lagoon. 

“We’re at Grindylow Lagoon”, Charlie replied leading (Y/N) closer to the lagoon, “We can’t get too close to the water itself because of the Grindylows, but the area surrounding it is peaceful for students” 

“The flowers are beautiful, I never even knew this lagoon existed!”, (Y/N) exclaimed happily as Charlie pulled out his wand. She watched as the picnic blanket flew out of his bag along with plates, silverware, and food. 

“Well, I’m technically not supposed to bring anyone here,” Charlie admitted sheepishly as he scratched the back of his head, “But this was an exceptional situation that required some rule-breaking” 

(Y/N) begun to giggle, her blush obvious on her cheeks, as she shook her head at Charlie, “You’d risk getting in trouble for me?” She asked making Charlie roll his eyes in response. 

“Would you risk getting in trouble for me?” Charlie asked, raising his eyebrow teasingly at (Y/N) who obviously knew the answer to her own question. Shaking her head, she gazed up at Charlie with a smile, “Touche, Weasley” she stated simply, sitting down on the mat Charlie had prepared. 

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just in your Wildest dreams, ah-ha oh Wildest dreams, ah-ha oh “What can I say, (Y/N)?” Charlie said as he took his place beside her, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see that gorgeous smile on your face” He admitted bluntly, placing his hand atop hers. 

(Y/N) blushed once again, her eyes meeting Charlie’s as the sun set around them, “That’s very sweet of you to say, Charlie” (Y/N) admitting, giving his hand a light squeeze, “You’re the first person to get me out of the castle these past five months” (Y/N) let out a small sigh, gazing down at her lap as she recalled the vicious rumors her classmates spread throughout the years. 

As the two spoke, Charlie began passing (Y/N)’s various sweets he had collected from The Great Hall. Passing a warm Pumpkin Pasty to (Y/N), he reached into his bag and pulled out two drinking glasses, “Would the lady prefer Butterbeer or Hot Chocolate?” Charlie asked, making her giggle once again. 

“I’d like Butterbeer, please” (Y/N) replied, playing into Charlie’s scenario as he poured her a drink. Taking a bite of her Pumpkin Pasty, she shut her eyes and enjoyed the flavor of the warm pastry as the crisp breeze filled her lungs. Charlie chewed on some Salt Water Taffy as they enjoyed their treats in comfortable silence. 

Surprisingly, Grindylow Lagoon was calm and completely different from the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts Castle. The two listened to the buzzing of the bugs that covered the tall trees, to the sound of frogs croaking around them, and the soft-howls of creatures in the distance. Normally, most students would be spooked by the noises of the Forbidden Forest, but Charlie and (Y/N) were confident they would be safe as long as they stayed together. 

You see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burning it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memories Follow you around (Y/N) watched as the Grindylows swam through the lagoon, noticing the babies and the families as they traveled back and forth. “Do you think we’ll remember this when we graduate Hogwarts?” (Y/N) asked, breaking their comfortable silence, “So many life-threatening situations happen all around us and I’m afraid that is all we’ll remember when we’re done” She admitted, bringing her goblet to her lips, enjoying the cold Butterbeer running down her throat. 

Charlie was taken aback by her sudden question and thought for a moment, “I think we’ll remember the peaceful moments and the life-threatening ones” Charlie replied, finishing his Pumpkin juice. “I think these moments are even more special thanks to the types of adventures we have”, Charlie stated.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow at him, “Why do you think that?” She asked, making Charlie smile as he gazed into his empty cup. 

“If you think about it, we’re always risking our lives to protect the school, especially you”, Charlie explained, “Since you’re always surrounded by threats and villains, these peaceful moments are special because they don’t occur as often”. (Y/N) begun to understand what he meant, “Everyone deserves to relax after saving the entire student body” Charlie smiled, grabbing a treacle tart to appease his sweet tooth. 

(Y/N) nodded in agreement, grabbing her own tart to enjoy, “I’ve never thought about it that way”, (Y/N) admitted, “But I agree with you, these are some of the moments I should treasure because they don’t occur as often” (Y/N) analyzed Charlie’s words, utilizing them to create her own conclusions. 

“I really appreciate you bringing me here, Charlie” (Y/N) spoke, her body moving closer to Charlie’s as she grabbed his hand. As time the sun went down, (Y/N) felt compelled to be honest with Charlie, “I’ve been having a difficult time because of all the rumors and I thought it would be easier to isolate myself than to face the situation” (Y/N) let her gaze fall, but she squeezed Charlie’s hand as she spoke. Charlie returned her squeeze, hoping it would encourage her to continue talking. 

“But you helped me realize that it rumors don’t define the type of person I am,” (Y/N) looked up at Charlie, leaning her body closer to his, “This might be bold of me to say, but I hope I can share more of these memories with you” (Y/N) admitted, a dark blush spreading across her cheeks as Charlie returned her loving gaze.

You'll see me in hindsight Tangled up with you all night Burning it down Someday when you leave me I bet these memories Follow you around

Charlie’s heart fluttered at (Y/N)’s words, he had always been impressed at her bravery when it came to the Curse-vaults, but this was a different form of admiration. He admired her smile and placed his free hand against her cheek, his thumb softly tracing the top of it as they spoke, “I’d be honored to be a part of your memories,” Charlie stated, his voice low and soft. (Y/N) leaned her cheek into his palm, giving his hand another squeeze once she heard his response, “You’re the most brilliant person I’ve ever met and I will do everything in my power to keep you in my life”. The two of them were still young, but the passion in Charlie’s words was unmistakable. Charlie had grown up watching his parents’ healthy relationship and understood the love they shared for each other. It was their successful marriage that helped Charlie understand what type of relationship he wants for his future. 

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just pretend “Charlie...” (Y/N) whispered, leaning closer towards the Weasley boy, “I’m so happy to hear you feel that way”, She admitted, her eyes switching from his brown eyes to his lips. A blush appeared on her cheeks as she imagined what it would be like to lean in and kiss him, but she could not find the courage to. 

Charlie could read her like a book and the blush on her cheeks revealed her true intentions towards him. Letting a smirk play on his lips, Charlie leaned his face closer to hers as he tucked a strand of her (H/C) behind her ear, “Is there something you’d like to ask me?” Charlie asked softly, his hooded eyes meeting hers. 

There was something about Charlie’s gaze that caused (Y/N)’s heart to melt instantly. The blush on her cheeks darkened as she realized Charlie had caught on to her intentions, “Ha, you’re really going to make me ask?” (Y/N) muttered with an embarrassed tone. 

“Well, it’s not safe to assume,” Charlie teased, “I want to hear what you want word for word, then I’ll know we’re both on the same page” He confessed, pulling her face closer to his, ensuring her that he understood her intentions, “So, why don’t you tell me?” Charlie whispered, his soft lips brushing against her own.  (Y/N)’s heart almost jumped out of her chest at his words, his sultry tone making her head spin. They were so close to sharing their first kiss, but he was making her wait and ask. Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) recalled her encounters with the Curse-Vaults, were-wolves, and other mysterious occurrences at Hogwarts that required bravery and determination. 

Although this was not a life or death situation, she knew she needed to be brave if she wanted to get what she wanted. 

And what (Y/N) wanted right now was a kiss from Charlie Weasley, “Kiss me, Charlie” She stated confidently and a grin spread across Charlie’s face. 

“Gladly,” He replied, finally closing the small distance between their lips and kissing (Y/N) softly. 

(Y/N) immediately felt the sparks when their lips connected, the feeling of butterflies in her stomach as the two shared a kiss. Charlie instinctively wrapped his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, pulling her body against his as he deepened their first kiss. 

Say you'll remember me Standing in a nice dress Staring at the sunset, babe Red lips and rosy cheeks Say you'll see me again Even if it's just in your (just pretend, just pretend) Wildest dreams, ah-ha oh In your wildest dreams, ah-ha oh (Even if it's just in your wildest dreams) ah-ha In your wildest dreams, ah-ha

Breaking their kiss, the two pulled their faces away but remained in each other’s arms, “I can’t believe you made me ask” (Y/N) laughed, pressing her forehead against Charlie’s. 

Charlie gave her a subtle shrug, “Will it make you feel better if I ask you this time?” Charlie teased, running his fingers through her (E/C) hair. 

(Y/N) smiled, pressing a kiss against Charlie’s cheek, “Well, we won’t know until you try” She said. 

Charlie rolled his eyes at her remark, “I better give it my best shot then” he stated, pulling her in for another kiss. (Y/N) happily returned his kiss, enjoying the moment they shared at Grindylow Lagoon. 

[filmista]

Gilda (1946): An uncoventional femme fatale

-Isn't it wonderful? Nobody has to apologize, because we were both stinkers, weren't we? Isn't it wonderful? -Wonderful.

Gilda could be the ultimate example of a film in which a single scene transcends the entire film, making the viewer forget about everything. Some may not have even seen it yet, but they do know of that iconic striptease.

What is film noir without the relationship between the protagonists? What is left in a film noir when we strip it of this element, of those murky and sickly as well as fascinating relationships?

Make no mistake: the sophistication that characterizes film noir would be meaningless without the protagonists. And in this sense, Gilda has its own characteristics, something of a film noir, but with a development in its characters very different from the genre.

Here, the femme fatale doesn’t need a man to lead "to perdition." Her reason for being isn’t that, far from it. Therefore, Gilda breaks with that film noir rule; here the protagonists drag each other in that whirlpool that only brings misfortunes, which is resolved in a totally different way in this film. 

One of the characteristics of film noir is that of the love triangle although, in this case, we could speak of two love triangles, one of them very particular. At the beginning of the film, we see Ballin rescue Farrell from the street, from the underworld of Buenos Aires.

He has saved his life; one feels indebted and the other responsible for the act. Next we see the third component of this triangle, the cane. A cane that hides a  a deadly weapon.

Ballin: It is a most faithful and obedient friend: it is silent when I want it to be silent, but talks when I want it to talk.

Farrell: Is that your idea of a friend?

Ballin: That is my idea of a friend.

It’s not trivial to consider that cane as another member of the relationship between the two men; in fact, when Ballin introduces Gilda, Farrell says: "I thought we were three already”, referring to the cane. 

That strange triangle is agreed upon and closed with the following words by Ballin: “This I must be sure of, that there is no woman anywhere. Gambling and women do not mix.” Farrell becomes Ballin's right-hand, his best friend and confidant. 

And there it is, the second triangle, and this time, the real one. Ballin appears with his new wife, Gilda, Farrell's old love. As they walk up the stairs, guided by Gilda's siren song, Farrell mumbles an "I hope everything is as before", which sounds more like a wish that he knows won’t be fullfiled; his relationship with Ballin isn’t going to be the same as before. He stands at the bedroom door while we see on his face that he recognises the voice, that voice that he has heard sing so many times in the past.

Ballin tells him that "he seems stunned" listening from the doorway. When Farrell reminds him of the "no women" pact, Ballin replies "my wife is not a woman.” And it is then when Ballin asks Gilda the question:

-Ballin: Are you decent? -Gilda: Sure I’m decent.

The tension between Gilda and Farrell is evident. We don't know what happened between them (that could be another movie), but the wound there is palpable; Ballin is no stranger to that, he realises it perfectly. The Casino workers notice too, in fact they joke about it. When Ballin asks Gilda not to call him "Mr. Farrell", but Johnny, she says "Johnny is a very difficult name to remember and very easy to forget."

And here that obsessive triangle unfolds, so obsessive that, despite Ballin's suspicions that Johnny and his wife knew each other from before, he asks him to stay near her, to take care of her. It seems to be a game that Ballin enjoy. That macabre game reaches its height during a dinner in which the three share a table, in which they toast the misfortune of the woman who made Johnny suffer:

Ballin Mundson : Now then, before we were interrupted, I believe we were about to drink a toast. So: disaster to the wench who did wrong by our Johnny. No, Gilda? You won't drink to that?

Gilda : Why not? Disaster to the wench!

When Farrell admits to Ballin that they knew each other from before, he says, "I taught her what she knows." Up to that point we can imagine what Johnny has meant in Gilda's life. Thinking that Ballin is dead, Gilda and Johnny get married in a wedding that could predict what comes next: we only see her through a window, through the rain that falls outside.

Johnny begins to punish her by leaving her alone, humiliating her, to such an extent that she has to go see him at the office: “Hello. Do you remember me? I am Gilda, your wife ”. Farrell enjoys humiliating her; He lights her cigarette by placing the lighter at waist height, so she has to "bow" to light the cigarette.

She married Ballin out of revenge on Johnny, and he marries her to humiliate her. So much so, that their new home is dominated by a huge portrait of Ballin. She is a prey to her past. She tries to run away from Johnny, but wherever she tries to go, he torments her.

When everything is over, Gilda surrenders and decides to leave the country; He returns to ask her to leave together, while apologizing for his behavior: “We were both scoundrels. Isn’t it wounderful". That obsessive triangle becomes a couple of neurotics, in which with their strange relationship of emotional dependence., they feed each other until they reach the point of recognising that it’s wonderful that they don’t have to ask for forgiveness or that anyone is guilty of anything, the two have been just as awful.

But Ballin returns from the shadows to claim what is his: his wife.

But prophetically it’s a member of the previous triangle, the knife hidden in the cane, that is going to solve this triangle, and this time forever. Ballin dies at the hand of his best friend, 

The tagline for the film announced that "there is no woman like Gilda". There may not be a more iconic female character in film history. She has such strength on  screen that perhaps because of that the viewer may not have been able to judge her in depth. She has nothing to do with the rebellious woman we all thought her to, nor is she a man-eater; Gilda is simply different. She is a woman with an apparent happiness, that hides an immense sadness and melancholia. 

A woman who complains about "so many people and so much loneliness.” Her need for attention and love is palpable. From the moment she meets Johnny Farrell, The expression on her face changes: the past has returned. When Johnny first goes to the ballroom run by Ballin, he meets a beautiful woman and, when he asks about her they tell him: she is a harpy.

Harpies, fantastic beings with the face of a woman and the body of a bird of prey. In Greek mythology, they were the beings in charge to enforce the punishment of Zeus to Fineo, stealing his food. Later on, various traditions gave them malevolent connotations, carriers of catastrophes. 

When Ballin appears to be dead, Farrell finds himself between two harpies reading Ballin's will and instructions.

Gilda can’t be considered the classic film noir femme fatale. She seeks to torment Johnny, but in order to make him  jealous, her end goal is not money, as is often the case with the film noir woman; She is in love with him, she marries Ballin for money, yes, but it’s a question that Ballin was not oblivious to when he married her; for him she is a beautiful and hungry little girl. 

He feels like a man, he realises himself as such by feeding her. But Gilda's wound is very deep; referring to Farrell, she says: "I was once loyal to a man, and look what happened." Ballin justifies her marriage to him: “She said she was born the day she met me. The three of us have no past, only future. Interesting, right?". Those same words are the ones Johnny used when he met Ballin, who had been born the day he met him.

There are two very important themes in Gilda: hatred, hatred that’s been shaped by Gilda’s pain. She reiterates many times how much she hates Johnny, but it’s a simple excuse; She loves him so much that she has had to turn the feeling into hate as a barrier against pain: “Hate can be a very intense emotion (…). Hate is the only thing that warms me. ”

And Farrell in turn thinks about her: “I hated her so much that I couldn't forget her. I was in the air I breathed.” The reunion with Johnny makes her want to plunge into a self-destructive spiral that, that would destroy everything she knows.  Her words to Johnny are very significant: "I hate you so much that I would destroy myself to drag you down with me."

But the love game she plays with Johnny reveals something else: She doesn’t hesitate to be seen with other men to arouse his jealousy, a game into which she falls very easily. At the Carnival, with another identity, with a mask, they dance as it seems they did before. She’s mischievous: “I can help you regain practice. I mean dancing. "

He asks her to throw her hat back. He shoves her away violently while she laughs amused. The love-hate game between them is very powerful. We can’t forget the famous slap that he gives her ... although he doesn’t escape a few himself. The game of erotic power play and violence often present in film noir is very noticeable here. 

When he takes Gilda home, she does’t hesitate to stress again and again that they are alone. He can’t avoid the temptation and goes up to the bedroom. She has removed her disguise, she is Gilda again, a Gilda in the shadows. They hesitate whether to approach each other or not: "I hate you so much that I think I'm going to die from it ... darling." Their neurotic behaviour could be summed up in this phrase, in that kiss during which the two explode when they say that they hate each other to death.

Gilda’s death drive leads her to an obsessive superstition, another important theme in this film, in which she leaves her life and actions in the hands of that belief, she sees signs everywhere and subjects her life to that destiny. The night the three of them toast to the misfortune that Johnny suffered (herself), she is afraid to drink the glass, as if consuming the champagne closes a pact with the devil.

But after a moment of doubt, she drinks without hesitation, as if that liquid were a poison and she wanted to die right there. She doesn’t care that she’s toasting to her own misfortunes. She’s so superstitious that when she tells the maid, she asks her not to repeat it. Whilst being in luck at roulette someone says "lucky in the game, unlucky in love", and she stops playing to avoid tempting luck. On her wedding day with Johnny, a lonely, sad and glamorousness wedding, a wedding that we as spectators only see through a window, she says: “The rain has stopped. Maybe it means something. ”

Of course Gilda is not the typical film noir woman. She is a tremendously sad woman, sadness caused by love, and who seeks to flee from herself, from everything inside herself.

A woman afraid of her husband and destiny, fearful of life, in a word. In the end, feeling cornered by everyone, the only thing left for her to do is a farewell worthy of her, an iconic dance: She knows she’s being observed by everyone, especially by Johnny. A song in which she asks to blame someone else, "Put the blame on me."

Don't blame Gilda; she’s already fleeing Buenos Aires. But Johnny asks her to go with her. What was Gilda looking for? To be loved. Nothing more, nothing less. Gilda represents the “whore” who wants to emancipate herself to become a mother. Almost no woman in film noir is a mother, a femme fatale is not a mother, she’s a temporary distraction and obstacle to the hero. 

But Gilda wants to escape such a condition, and we could really see her as a loving mother and living together with Johnny. In Gilda the woman could be seen as a symptom of the man, Gilda comes to substitute those other symptoms that these men have (sadistic in the case of Ballin, vengeful in the case of Farrell), and take them out on her. 

Film noir always plays with appearances: nothing is what it seems to be. But in Gilda, this premise turns to "but in the end everything was what it seemed to be." That game of appearances, like at the Carnival, ends when the participants remove their mask, this time, in a violent way. Neither is Ballin the good Samaritan who saves lives altruistically, nor is his Casino his main activity, not even his death is true. We are shown his shadow on different occasions, in profile; we never see him fully.

Gilda and Johnny’s life is also a lie, to bear their pain. The Casino is itself a lie, a place that Ballin uses to hide his work, and that he has arranged to be able to  see without being seen. His office is upstairs, from where, thanks to a set of lights, blinds and windows, he can see everything, like an omniscient God.

It’s the only way out of the suffocating atmosphere of the game room. Gilda is no stranger to what that game of points of view can provide to her, on two occasions she knows she’s being observed by Johnny, she seeks to be observed by him, but she doesn’t see him watching her, as if he doesn't want to see her face and guess what she’s thinking at the moment. The final moment, Gilda’s iconic dance, seems meticulously prepared for him to observe her, but also for him to see how others look at her. What does Farrell do? He stops her.  He can’t stand what’s happening.

Doesn't that moment remind us of this one from Paris, Texas?

Or this one?

Two absolutely different women, but in a sense mirrors of each Gilda is the whore who wants to emancipate herself to become a mother; Jane is the mother who emancipates herself and becomes a whore, once Travis appears, she takes the path back to that role of mother. Could that moment that game of points of view, be the beginning of that emancipation, of that path?

That claustrophobic environment and that game of viewpoints is exemplified in Gilda and Johnny's wedding: We only see her through a window, through a rain curtain, we don't even hear what is being said inside the room. We are spectators. But aren’t we during the entire film?

Gilda’s iconic phrase: If I'd been a ranch, they would have named me "The Bar Nothing.", is now more ironic than ever. No, she is not the free woman we were made to believe; she has an owner, Johnny. The mare is back with the stallion.

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