#and i forever fucking hate every single person who treated me like shit and genuinely saw no problem with acting like
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oh also this is mostly so it can go down on record but clarification with the note abt shipping in my intro post abt not minding shipping unless its done with jaiden: i still consider qprs to be shipping as i always have because theyre still intimate relationships that you dont just like.. have with just anybodu. but if you see (ic) roier and jaiden as qprs i dont mind since they have iirc called themselves partners just not married/romantic. so while qprs are still shipping to me nonetheless since its pretty close to what theyve described themselves as in canon queerplatonic roier and jaiden enjoyers are fine by me
#also in part saying this because ill be honest im still like. affected by what the qpe techza drama did to me#i genuinely still get anxious and like. i dont know i start having a genuine trauma reaction when i think about#how people treated me because of that. all bc i said i saw qprs as shipping and wanted people to think more critically#about how they depicted and talked about qprs and how people would treat qprs as a way to get around shipping boundaries#and how all the people who shoved that stupid fucking clip in my face clearly didnt give a shit aboht listening to me#or even gave an actual shit about qprs. because not a single one of them pointed out how shit the explanation was for that dono#im forever grateful phil researched it on his own and came to his conclusion based off that research#and i forever fucking hate every single person who treated me like shit and genuinely saw no problem with acting like#'platonic soulmate headcanons' was the best way to describe qprs#fuck everyone who treated me like shit for saying qprs are shipping#fuck everyone who spread misinfo and claimed *i* was the one saying qprs are 'just friends'#fuck everyone who cared more about proving a point and having their little white mlm ship#than actually fucking listening to me and the others who were desperately trying to get qprs to be treated seriously#because i can fucking assure you the people i saw did not treat them seriously. not at fucking all. all it was to them was romance /p#and thats disgusting and i hope the qpr roier and jaiden people are better. please be better. and please respect me about this#thank you#mask mews#qsmp#roier#jaiden
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Spoilers.
Episode 6 was overall pretty decent, but it was the episode that truly made me realize just how much I hate the swearing in Vivzie's shows. Like, I know people like to joke about her bizarre obsession with cursing, but in my opinion, it genuinely, actively harms the worldbuilding and tone of her series.
In Hell, people swearing makes sense, and as obnoxious as I find it, I can look past it. Hell is supposed to be chaotic and raunchy, so it checks out that its residents would have little regard for politeness and social etiquette. But when we're introduced to Heaven, this supposedly very clean-cut and conservative society, and the angels regularly curse there as well, it makes the whole dichotomy between the two feel much weaker. It would be one thing if it was just Adam who swore a lot, and he was treated as sort of an outlier, but literally the first angel Charlie and Vaggie meet at the golden gates says fuck! Why?! There was no point to it. It wasn't even funny!
And then, there was the court room scene. As always, Adam is cursing every other word because that's his entire personality, I guess. None of the others seem to think anything of this angel talking like this, but when the literal princess of Hell says fuck once, Sera and Emily look all shocked and disapproving like it's the most blasphemous thing they've ever heard. Why?! Have you not been hearing the shit that's been coming out of Adam's mouth for the past 10 minutes??
It would have made way more sense and honestly been way funnier if angels absolutely never swore, and Charlie swearing was sort of a culture shock to them. And if they really wanted to keep Adam as a foul-mouthed dickhead, he could have at least put up a more polite and chaste front to give the impression that he's a well-behaved angel in front of the Seraphim. It was so hypocritical and nonsensical to the point it honestly feels like a writing oversight.
By far the worst example of all this to me is the ending of the episode. It's revealed to Charlie that Vaggie was once an exterminator, to the shock and horror of the both of them. This is portrayed as an extremely serious and dire revelation that could potentially change the two's relationship forever. I felt a lot of suspense, and it honestly made me hold my breath for a moment...
...but then it's immediately followed up by Adam saying "Oh, fuck yes! Suck it, bitches!" in his annoying surfer-dude voice and it just completely shatters the tone to pieces. Any and all tension is just gone.
This is just straight up awful writing. Like we laugh at the memes but I genuinely hate Vivzie's juvenile obsession with swearing. It's not funny, it's not subversive, it's not even mature; it's just distracting, cringeworthy, and obnoxious. We can't even have a single serious moment without it being ruined with "haha fuck lol bitch!!" all because going three seconds without a swear word apparently makes Vivziepop break out into hives.
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Look. I get that folks who are approaching the finale from this angle are usually doing so from a place of genuine good faith and love for Joel. But like. If your immediate reaction after finishing season 1 is to insist that the cure never could have been developed/distributed/tested/viable and that the Fireflies were stupid/naive/slapdicks/never could have accomplished it anyways, so Joel Definitely Did Nothing Wrong, I can’t help but feel like you’re wildly missing the point of it all.
Because like. Joel did not ever care if the cure could have worked. He did not care if it’s what Ellie might have wanted in that moment (neither did the fireflies of course, but they’re not the ones who traveled by her side, protected her, made her feel safe and cared about). Neither of these were ever a point of consideration in the finale. Ellie’s death and the resultant hypothetical cure could have had a guaranteed 100% success rate. It could have spread instantly, around the world the moment they removed her brain from her skull, turning every single runner, clicker, and bloater back to a healthy human being, with no deleterious side effect.
And Joel still would have shot that doctor point blank in the face.
Because that moment right there, is the point. To me at least. It’s the climax that the whole story has been building towards: a father’s beautiful, selfish decision to save his daughter at the literal cost of the entire world. And not just the world in an abstract sense, but in ways that carry weight to him on a deeply personal level. Tess’ dying wish. A real future for his niece or nephew. Ellie’s own agency in all of this. And he did it without hesitating for a moment.
Going from treating Ellie like cargo, like a clicker waiting to happen, to deciding that her life is more important to him than than any other human being who was or ever will be born? Regardless of whether it’s “““healthy”””, that’s an incredible fucking relationship arc. And it only has this level of gravity and meaning if there are genuine consequences to making that decision.
(And let me be clear here: none of this is a moral indictment of Joel. Joel’s motivations, actions, decisions etc. are all incredibly blatant, human, and relatable, and if he’d done anything but go on that rampage, it would have contradicted everything we know and understand about him so far. Also, he’s fucking fictional. Who gives a shit if he did a Kinda Amoral Thing. None of it is real, and it doesn’t matter)
The argument here isn’t that Fireflies Good And Smart And Can Totally Save The World For Sure Guys, or Joel Did Objectively Bad Thing And Is Unforgivable Bad Forever Now. The argument is that the show is much more interesting and internally consistent if you buy into the idea that there’s a chance, even a slim one, that the fireflies could have extracted a viable vaccine at the terrible cost of a fourteen year old girl’s life. That maybe Joel did prevent a cure from being made – that he potentially did doom the world for Ellie (or at least doomed it to another few decades of limping painfully by until something else came along). And that despite the cost, he pulled that trigger, brutally and without hesitation. He did it knowing that he’ll have to go on living with the knowledge of what he took from everyone, and how effortless it was to make that choice in spite of it all. That he’ll willingly betray Ellie’s trust as many times as he has to if it means keeping her from taking the burden of that guilt on herself, but also because he can’t bear the thought of her hating him if she learned the truth. And most of all (and in his own words), that if he was given the chance to go back and do it again, he would have made the exact same choice all over.
You take that out, and what kinda finale do you get now? A run and gun scene of a man rescuing a girl that he’s come to love, sure, but now it’s from a bunch of one dimensional, child murdering villains, set in a place they never had to go to, preceded by a journey that was rendered useless before they even left, all because there was never any chance of it working in the first place. Pointless roundabout cynicism, and an endpoint that now textually only existed to stick the protagonists in their get along sweater.
You don’t have to agree with this specific interpretation of the ending. I get that this can come across as a harsh reading of Joel, especially since he’s a character that myself and others genuinely like a lot. But that nitpicky fixation on proving that the cure never could have worked always felt more for the benefit of the uncomfortable player/viewer than as any sort of actual narrative improvement. A way to divest yourself of ever having to sit with the weight of either choice. Of having to think about the way that a secret so massive, sitting unspoken between you and a loved one, can rot that relationship. Of the way that someone you thought you trusted can act in your best interests, but against your own wishes.
And if that’s not what you want from the show, genuinely and without judgment: that’s fine. You keep doing you. I’m just not sure why you’re watching something like tlou otherwise.
#the last of us#tlou hbo#the last of us spoilers#tbh there's so much more I could say about this topic#the messy ways sarah and ellie are intertwined when considering joel's motives for the finale#the way both the fireflies and joel denied ellie her autonomy in this situation and how it changes her opinions of both going forward#but this is already stupidly long#and I'm also trying to avoid getting into part 2 spoilers in any detail but like. it's relevant okay#all of this is relevant#but even if it wasn't#trying to offload any discomfort you feel towards joel's choice onto a secret potential third ending#where the answer is uncomplicated and easy#is just weakening the story overall imo
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first i have a concussion from last night, then i probably have a cold, i haven’t ate all day, and NOW i have to wash a sink full of dishes and i JUST want something to eat and i CANT EVEN DO THAT because someone emptied the WHOLE DISH DRAINER into the sink and they want ME to wash the dishes just for it to be overfilled with dirty dishes in a day. at this point i’m so sick of living. i hated this weekend so much, EVERYONE in my house has a weekend but me, first i get into an argument with my shitty and disrespectful ass little brother, now i have a concussion, and a cold, and i HAVENT ATE ALL DAMN DAY, and i can’t even EXPRESS MY FEELINGS because i’ll feel cornered with guilt trip and gaslighting and i HATE IT. I HATE IT SO MUCH. i hope NOBODY finds this account because i have LOST ALL HOPE FOR EVERYTHING AND EVERYBODY. i’m not being all nice, and friendly anymore, my friends only WANT to talk to me to ask me for money, or tips to tell their SHITTY CRUSHES THAT THEY LIKE THEM. then they’ll go to me, cryin’ and shit about “oh, so and so broke up with me!! console me!!” I TOLD YOU. ohhh, BUT YOU DIDNT LISTENN. and then i gotta deal with my brother yelling ALL FUCKING DAY ON TOP OF THAT WITH HIS LOUD ASS FRIENDS. ACTING AS IF ME AND HIM DONT SHARE A ROOM. MY ONLY SPACE IS MY BED, ALMOST EVERYWHERE ELSE IS MY BROTHERS SPACE. HES CONSTANTLY DOWNGRADING AND DOWNGRADING SOMEBODY, PICK ON YOUR OWN SIZE AND PICK ON SOMEONE WITH A JUST AS SHITTY PERSONALITY AS YOU. i genuinely HOPE nobody finds this account, and find this account!! i dont even care anymore!! go ahead and smear your phone in my face and say it’s not true!! go on ahead and gaslight me! i can’t feel happy almost anywhere besides talking to my online friend, who cares about me more than my friends will ever do! and then, my friend will walk into my fuckin house all sad and shit, i ask what’s wrong, I GET IGNORED, then lunchtime, her ass starts to go onto another of her fucking rants about how “how can he like me” I DONT FUCKING KNOW. just like YOU SAID TO ME WHEN I CAME TO YOU FOR ADVICE, i hate how i’m treated at school! I HATE IT I HATE IT! why am i such an OUTSIDER? WHY ARE ALL MY FRIENDS GETTING ASKED OUT, yet i’ll PROBABLY BE SINGLE FOREVER, receiving love from ONLY MY FAMILY AND MY ONLINE FRIEND, because they’ll be too busy hanging out with their stupid BOYFRIEND OF TWO WEEKS! i can’t stand it anymore !! IM TIRED OF BEING SOME OUTSIDER ALWAYS EXPECTED TO BE TOP DOG OF EVERYTHING, I HATE IT I HATE IT OH SO MUCH! i DESPISE IT SO MUCH WITH EVERY FUCKING FIBER OF MY USELESS BODY! and now i’m FUCKING STARVING, because people don’t wanna clean up after themselves, and then they dump the whole dish drainer in the sink and say “wash the dishes later” THAT MEANS ILL HAVE TO EAT LATER THEN. IF I CANT WASH THE DISHES NOW, THEN I CANT EAT. I MEAN WHAT DO PEOPLE EXPECT, AND I CAN TELL LIFE IS GOING TO GET MORE WORSE AND WORSE NOW THAN EVER.
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love me or we both go down | kth
summary: after going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.
{enemies to lovers!au, arranged marriage!au, rich kids!au}
pairing: kim taehyung x female reader
genre: fluff, angst, smut (i know, crazy right?)
word count: 32k
warnings: oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, multiple unprotected sex scenes (they’re married y’all), fat cock tae, tae has a wife kink, lots of praise, alcohol consumption (but they’re safe), minor character death (not explicit), mentions of heart attack, slow burn like there is no tomorrow
a/n: hello and welcome to the fic everyone, literally everyone, has been waiting for! i am so, so, so excited to share this with you all, especially because none other than rose @kinktae helped me write the smut, and i am literally forever indebted to her. you all better go spam rose with all the love and support you can because this fic would not be here without her and i love her so much.
also, to all my readers who aren’t comfortable reading smut, please know that the smut in this fic is not imperative to the storyline, and you skipping past it will not affect your reading experience., enjoy!
Never in your life have wedding bells felt so ominous.
The sound of them is akin to the sound of strings, of a single piano note in a horror movie, right when the film opens and someone random is about to die on screen for the sake of proving to the audience that this is, in fact, a horror movie. Make no mistake about it; these wedding bells spell doom for you, too. And the most horrific part about them is that just like that poor, helpless soul in the movie, there is no way for you to escape your fate either.
With only seconds left to go before you have no choice but to promise yourself to the man waiting at the other end of the aisle, you desperately try to think of any last-ditch efforts to get out of this. Many, if not all of them, are utterly useless.
Feigning sudden illness won’t work, because then your parents will just reschedule the wedding to a later date. Running away is fruitless. Where will you go? The parking lot?
If only you had a lover out there in the audience somewhere that could object to the marriage when the officiant says, “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” A knight in shining armor that could whisk you out of the venue and off to a new life, far away from here. Too bad all of the people you’ve dated before hate you now.
Maybe getting married isn’t such a bad thing after all. Instead of having relationships with multiple people who will eventually despise your existence, you only have to have a relationship with one. And the feeling, as has always been, is mutual.
You bristle as your assistants do some last-minute prepping, fixing your sleeve and adjusting your necklace and making sure you don’t trip on your enormous train. They flutter around you like a swarm of well-meaning but ignorant butterflies complicit in the agenda of your family. None of them have said a word to you about the wedding ever since you arrived at the venue, choosing to talk more about things like the weather. Not that you were ever under the impression they had been hired to entertain you. Maybe they were told to not engage you, just in case you try to conspire with them.
As if they could be of any use in your wildly unrealistic escape plans.
The truth is that, unless you were to drop dead on this marble flooring right now, you’re getting married. Whether you like it or not.
The doors open.
You’ve attended red carpets, galas, award shows, and balls. You’ve had hundreds of cameras flashing in your face, the bright light capturing each and every centimeter of you. You’ve had paparazzi waiting outside the restaurants you eat at, the stores you shop at, desperate to catch a picture of you in sweatpants without a drop of makeup on. You’ve been on dates with ex-lovers that looked at you like you were a piece of meat with a credit card. And yet, for some goddamn reason, walking down the aisle in a white dress the size of Pluto, with the rest of your life waiting for you at the other end, makes you feel fucking transparent.
Face resolute, you clutch onto your bouquet so tightly the flowers feel like they’re about to pop right out of your grasp. Determined not to look at anybody in the audience, you stare straight ahead, right into the eyes of your future husband.
Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen multiple times drunk off his ass with hickies dotting his neck and jawline, cleans up pretty well. For someone getting married, at least. He dons a simple black tuxedo that still probably costs more than the average car, his caramel brown hair is pushed back off his forehead, and his expression is firm and still. He most certainly has had an equally expensive team prepping him, but they haven’t done too bad a job. The silver lining is that he doesn’t look any more thrilled than you are to be doing this, right here, right now. But to his credit, this is definitely the best he’s ever looked, as far as you’re concerned.
When you reach him, he offers his hand out to you, a hand that you only accept for the sake of professionalism. The bouquet in your hands is handed off to one of your bridesmaids, and the two of you take your position at the front. Your train drags along the aisle, draping over the few stairs you had to climb to reach the altar, this satin trail behind you that cements you to the floor. It may as well be a ball-and-chain. It’s about as heavy as one, anyway.
This is the longest you and Taehyung have ever held eye contact. Not that you’re really keeping track of how long the two of you have met each other’s gazes, but if you had to make an educated guess, this would definitely be the victor. Most of the time you end up sneering at each other ten seconds in, but to be fair, those other times you were also not getting married. To one another. In a ceremony attended by hundreds of people. And cameras.
There can be no sneering here.
“Don’t you look nice?” Taehyung whispers, loud enough so only the two of you can hear. He has that drawling, sickly sweet tone to his voice, the one that you hate because it makes him sound like he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else. “Surprised they were able to makeup that scowl off your face.”
This, of course, brings on a hearty scowl only he can see, your backs both facing the rows of attendees. “How much concealer are you wearing to cover up all of the hickies on your neck?” You quip back easily. It’s not like the two of you are going to pretend he doesn’t waltz around at every club or bar or private venue he can find, looking for his next treat.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Taehyung grins, and if you weren’t standing in front of hundreds of people about to get married, there’s no telling what next you would do.
The two of you would probably go on like that for another ten minutes if it’s not for the officiant, who coughs once he’s ready and opens the book in his hands. Next to you, Taehyung straightens, hands clasped together at his front, and lips pressed into a neat line. You do the same. There will be no giggles, no laughter nor smiles, nor any genuine emotion at this wedding. This is a wedding for the sake of politics, for economics, for security, and anyone in attendance would be a fool to think otherwise. Especially you.
“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, loved ones, and esteemed guests,” the officiant bellows, listing off as many groups of people as he possibly can in an effort to both include and compliment every person in the audience, “We are gathered here to celebrate the wedding, and future life, of Taehyung and Y/N…”
Taehyung turns to you, grinning in that god-awful way, the way he does when he feels like he’s got something over you. And sure, you can’t think of any punishment quite as bad as this, but what’s Taehyung got to smile about? He’s marrying himself off to a woman he hates, kissing goodbye his days as a free-spirited, heartbreaking bachelor, and promising what may very well be the rest of his life to loving you. That is not cause for celebration.
But perhaps, to him, your suffering is enough to bring a smile to his face.
Your vows are, to put it simply, total bullshit. Your family hired someone to write yours and there’s not a doubt in your mind that his family did the same thing. This nonsense talk, this complete and utter garbage that spews from your perfectly-glossed lips, shit about how you promise to love each other until the end of your days, how you promise to take care of each other when you’re sick and accompany each other at every event, every gala, every ball. Shit about how you promise to look only at each other, promise to uphold your family traditions and become a dependable spouse.
The words don’t belong to you. But the thing is that this marriage was never yours anyway.
When the kiss comes, there’s a part of you that thinks maybe you should have psyched yourself up a little more for this. When Taehyung pulls you in, placing a stiff hand on your lower back as he brings you towards his chest, your stomach turns and shivers run down your spine. The feeling of his hand on your body, the breath from his lips brushing against your own, are enough to keep you frozen in place.
He smiles at you, almost as if to ask, “Are you ready?”
And you squeeze your eyes shut, almost as if to respond, “Let’s do this.”
When his lips meet yours, there is almost nothing. Nothing runs through you, nothing explodes, nothing strikes. But when he pulls away and cheers and applause rings out throughout the room, there is something. A little heat, a remnant of a flame, left on your lips. A little sting, just to remind you it happened.
The entire hall is cheering but nothing about this is worth celebrating. The fact of the matter is that you and Taehyung will never love each other the way that you are supposed to.
“Ugh, finally.”
The elevator doors haven’t even properly opened by the time Taehyung is loosening his tie, tugging it off over his head as he stretches his head back and runs a hand through his perfectly-styled hair. As he rakes his fingers through his caramel locks, the hairspray and gel loosens, strands falling down by the side of his face, framing his temple.
“Don’t sound so relieved,” you huff out, deciding now is as good a time as any to start getting undressed yourself. Reaching down to lift up the hem of your reception dress, you tug off your heels, already feeling lighter on your feet. Who cares if Taehyung is watching you pull off your stilettos like a defeated movie heroine? You don’t think you can walk another step in those shoes. “We still have to live together, you know.”
“Don’t remind me,” Taehyung says gruffly, brushing by you roughly as he stomps out of the elevator. “I’m just glad the fucking night is over. I swear, seeing that fake-ass smile on your face made me want to gouge my eyes out.”
You storm after him, refusing to be the helpless damsel in this situation. “Oh, like you didn’t also have that exact same fake-ass smile on your face. It almost made me think you were actually enjoying yourself tonight.”
“I was only enjoying the fact that I know you hate this just as much as I do.” It’s perhaps the only thing you will ever be able to empathize with him on. Mutually relishing in the other’s destruction. Taehyung fumbles with the keypad to the door to the penthouse for a moment before you hear the lock click, the door sliding open as the entrance lights flicker on.
The reason Taehyung’s penthouse is so clean is because he’s never lived here before. Neither of you have—Taehyung’s parents bought it just for the two of you. And as much as you absolutely despise the idea of having to live with him, at least it was not you who paid for your place of residence.
You can tell Taehyung’s never lived here before because it’s actually quite nicely decorated inside. The ceilings are high and the sleek velvet curtains are pulled open, revealing a shimmering skyline. The furniture is modern and functional, and the whole damn place smells brand new. You’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of entering the place Taehyung lived in before now, and it looked nothing like this. The furniture was worn and stained despite the live-in maid, the house reeked of five hundred different spices that wafted from the kitchen to the living room, and the bookshelves were covered with comics, graphic novels, and old textbooks.
If it weren’t for the fact that you and Taehyung are rich kids in their twenties that hate each other, you might have actually thought the place looked… homey.
You don’t have time to be impressed by the interior design and architecture skills of whoever designed this place. Right now, all you can think about is tugging yourself out of your airtight reception dress and passing out on the nearest bed. Which, hopefully, will be as far away as possible from Taehyung’s bed of choice.
“How many bedrooms does this place have?” You ask, shimmying along the floor so you don’t trip over the hem of your dress. From the looks of it, you can see one giant hallway to your right and a massive, double-sided staircase leading up.
“Enough,” Taehyung grumbles in response. The hazy stupor from all of the fancy champagne is starting to wear off for the both of you, leaving behind two grouchy, begrudgingly-married individuals who want absolutely nothing to do with each other and have no problems making that known. Whatever golden light of the evening that was making Taehyung at least a little bit more attractive than usual has faded, and now you see him for what he really is: an unceremoniously tired man in a suit. “You want upstairs or down?”
You gaze up at the marble staircase in front of you, then back down at your too-long dress. “Down.” The last thing you want is to trip in front of the man you have to see, every day, for the rest of your life.
“Fine by me.” Taehyung’s halfway up the stairs by the time he turns back around to say something else. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess?”
“Yeah.” There’s no point in being hostile now. The both of you are too exhausted to mean anything by it. Besides, what else can you say? Everything to complain about has already been complained about. At least the two of you managed to wrestle out from your parents the stipulation that you would not be going on a honeymoon together. Now that would have been your worst nightmare. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It’s as good of a goodnight either of you are going to get. Taehyung heads up the stairs and disappears around a corner, and you start wandering down the hallway. All the bedrooms look the exact same other than different colors on the walls and bedsheets, but they all look serviceable to you. Clean. Empty. Far away from wherever Taehyung is.
You pick the one at the very end of the hall just to be as much of a diva as possible, and don’t even bother drawing the curtains before tugging off your dress. It’s past one in the morning, and you’re so high up you don’t think anyone will be able to see you anyway. By the time you’ve stripped naked and are tugging up the too-tight sheets tucked into the mattress, your legs are about to give out beneath you. The bed could be made of rocks for all you care. Anything to lie down on is fine by you.
Sleep comes fairly easily to you tonight. Once your head hits the pillow you can already feel yourself drifting off, eyelids fluttering shut, but you don’t sleep quite yet. Not before you can think about how this is your life now, sleeping in a foreign bed in a foreign place with a foreign husband upstairs. This is what you will be living in now. Now and forever.
Living with Taehyung is, in both the best and worst ways possible, like living with a roommate that doesn’t give a shit about the fact that they live with another person. It’s good, because you and Taehyung hardly see each other and speak even less, which was pretty much the only thing you were asking for when it came to living with him. But it also sucks, because whenever you do happen to cross paths, Taehyung acts like you don’t exist, barely sparing you a hello or even that tight-lipped smile you send to drivers on the road when they let you cross the street.
Not that the two of you ever engaged in energetic conversation before you got married. But at least the two of you would acknowledge each other, even if only to shoot a glare and a scowl the other’s way from opposite sides of a hotel ballroom. Maybe it’s just because it’s him, but you did always find yourself actually relishing in those little interactions with Taehyung. In this strange, twisted way, it seemed to provide some sort of continuity to your ever-changing life. Like no matter what happened, at least you would know that the two of you would always despise each other.
To be frank, right now you’re not sure if Taehyung even remembers he got married at all.
Nights have been a lot more sleepless since your wedding day. After two weeks, the reality of it has finally started to settle in. This is your life now. And ever since you realized that, your bed has felt much less comfortable.
“But the place is nice, right?”
You look around the living room from where you’re sat on the sleek, white suede leather couch, eyes glossing over the bookshelves, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the draping velvet curtains. From here, you can see the entire city skyline, flecks of gold from the windows of skyscrapers against a navy blue background. Slowly, as the moon creeps over the sky and the clock gets later and later, those lights will soon begin to flicker off, one by one.
“Yeah, it’s not bad.” Nothing to write home about. That is, if home were a place other than here.
“That’s good. At least you don’t live in, like, a total dump or anything,” Victoria says on the other end of the line. “How’s Taehyung?”
His name alone elicits this deeply-exhausted sigh from your lips, like it’s been ten years since you married and every day has felt worse than the last. “Fine.” You can’t really complain about anything yet, considering that you hardly ever see the man.
“Just ‘fine’?” Victoria sounds skeptical.
“Yeah,” you draw out the word, as if trying to convince yourself of its truth. “I mean, it’s like he doesn’t even live here. I barely see him. And when I do, we don’t even speak to each other.”
“That’s good though, isn’t it? You hate him.” Victoria says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And in a sense, it kind of is.
“I mean…”
“I know that your life hasn’t exactly… gone the way you had planned, but isn’t this your best case scenario when considering everything?” She asks. “If Taehyung is as distant as you say he is, isn’t it almost like you never married him in the first place?”
As if on cue, you hear footsteps coming down the stairs, heels clicking on the marble as they make their way to the entrance. You whip your head around to find Taehyung, all dressed up in loose, flowy slacks and a flowery silk button-down, strolling down the staircase as he scrolls through his phone, paying you zero attention whatsoever.
He notices you briefly when he reaches the bottom, meeting your eyes with his own. He offers this measly, unenthused half-smile your way before he grabs his wallet and some house keys from the table by the entrance, opens the door, and vanishes off into the night.
If you hadn’t been in the living room, you probably wouldn’t have even realized he left. Not that you being present as he’s planning on leaving would have stopped him anyway. This is the sixth night he’s done this in the past two weeks. You could stand by the door and stare him down as he emerges from his bedroom, all dressed up for something you’re definitely not invited to, and he would offer you that same goddamn smile and walk out the door without even blinking. Who he was before you got married and who he is now are no different. Not even a ring could change that.
“I guess,” you tell Victoria. At least Taehyung hasn’t turned into a helicopter husband. “I don’t know. Maybe I just wish that I didn’t have to deal with him at all.”
Wish you could turn back time. Wish you could worm your way out of an arranged marriage before it was too late. Wish you could go back to the way things used to be.
You and Victoria talk for another couple of minutes before she regretfully has to end the call, citing both her beauty sleep and an 8AM meeting tomorrow morning as her reasons for hanging up. The moment you put the phone down, you sink back into the couch cushions, staring out the windows at the world below you.
Here’s the deal. What Taehyung does in his free time is none of your business. But also, it’s totally your business, because you are his spouse. A spouse who is an equal amount in the public eye as he is. What he does and does not do has a direct impact on what you do and do not do.
It’s no secret that when you catch Taehyung sauntering down the stairs looking like a Gucci runway model, it’s not because he’s planning on catching a movie with a college friend and then playing video games for four hours on a couch in a basement. He is going out. To clubs, to parties, to exclusive events that he’s been invited to by his equally-rich friends, all of whom are acting like he’s the same bachelor he’s always been.
And maybe that’s the real problem with your whole marriage—other than the glaringly obvious issue that it’s a marriage wholly unwanted by the two parties involved in it. Despite the ring on his finger, Taehyung is going out and pretending that nothing in his life has changed while you’re trapped at home, desperate to save you and your family’s reputation by keeping as low a profile as possible. You would give anything to march around the city all day, flashing middle fingers at paparazzi as you shop at your favorite high-end stores and frequent your favorite clubs. But you can’t, because your family’s fortune and influence is on the line.
And apparently, Taehyung’s isn’t.
It sort of makes you wonder why it was even Taehyung you ended up marrying anyway. His family isn’t any richer or more powerful than yours. Your spheres have always been sufficiently separate. What was it about him, and perhaps more importantly, his family that drew your parent’s eye? And what was it about marrying you that prevented him from saying no? Money? Prestige? Influence?
You suppose you’ll never know. But whatever mystical force that convinced Taehyung to agree to this must not be as important to him as your reasoning is to you, because it’s become exceedingly apparent that Taehyung does not care that he’s married. He doesn’t care about the ring on his finger, he doesn’t care about his public image, and he most certainly doesn’t care about you.
Perhaps you were naive for thinking this, but you actually believed marriage might tone him down a little. Might age him into a real adult with real world obligations. Instead, it’s only given you a firsthand look into who Kim Taehyung has been and always will be: a selfish rich kid.
You don’t bother waiting around in the living room until he gets back, but you are still awake by the time you hear the door creak open. Taehyung makes no efforts to hide his return. You can hear him chattering loudly on the phone as he stumbles up the stairs, can tell from his gait alone that he is most certainly wasted. You don’t want to know what he did tonight. You’ll probably be able to figure it out anyway when you wake up tomorrow morning and check your social media.
What were you thinking, marrying him? That he would change? That he would suddenly become someone that you could rely on? You had no choice when you said, “I do,” but you were at least hoping that maybe one day, one day in a long, long time, the two of you would finally see eye to eye. Maybe there would even come a time when you would genuinely love him. How foolish.
You close your eyes and try to imagine a world where you have married someone you love, someone who loves you back.
Not unlike the many nights preceding it, tonight is sleepless.
Unlike your marital status and general disposition, one thing that hasn’t changed about you is your love for extravagant events. Call you conceited, but there is something so much fun about putting on a fancy, expensive dress that you love and getting your hair and makeup done before going to an exclusive gala and posing in front of five hundred cameras.
Actually, now that you think about it, maybe your wedding could have actually been pretty good, considering it let you do all those things. It’s a real shame there happened to be a storm cloud in the form of Kim Taehyung there to ruin it. Otherwise, you think you would have rather enjoyed that day.
Tonight is the first event since your marriage where you and Taehyung are both required to show up and act like a happy married couple. Which would probably be a lot easier if you and Taehyung had exchanged more than ten words over the past two weeks. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but there was a part of you that thought you could use your arranged marriage to actually cultivate some sort of meaningful relationship between the two of you. So events like these wouldn’t be such a drain on both of you.
When Kim Taehyung comes down the stairs, he actually doesn’t look too bad. You don’t know why this sort of thing keeps catching you off guard—like you don’t expect him to look that good whenever you see him. The problem is that you can’t even chalk up the surprise to him wearing tailored clothes or having his hair done. He just looks… good.
Well, you suppose you do have to look at him every day for the rest of your life. It’s a good thing he’s attractive. At least he’s not sore on the eyes.
Taehyung and his unfortunate attractiveness aside, the two of you don’t say a word to each other as you join up at the entrance, grabbing any last-minute items like house keys, chapstick, and whatever dignity you have left to spare. You send forced smiles and tight nods each other’s way in the elevator, staring straight ahead in the lobby of your building as the car pulls up to the front door.
By the time the two of you sit down in the back of the limousine, the built-up tension between the two of you is so thick you’re almost positive that even the chauffeur can feel it through the closed partition.
If you were any more idyllic, you’d probably spend the drive over to the gala staring out the window and imagining yourself in a different life, on a train to nowhere, flowers in your hair and a journal in your hands. Or perhaps you’d be the CEO of your family’s company instead of having that responsibility passed down to a husband you don’t even want, sitting in an office at the top of a skyscraper overlooking the city. Anything. Anything but this.
But the idyllic part of you died when you realized that fantasies like that are nothing but distractions and that daydreams are for romantics and optimists and losers.
“What’s our plan for tonight?”
Taehyung scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘what’s our plan’?”
You frown. “Well, we’re married, so we at least have to act like it, don’t you think?”
“Isn’t standing there and smiling enough?” Taehyung asks, an unimpressed eyebrow raised.
You bristle. Maybe that sufficed for your wedding, but there was so much going on it was easy to distract yourself from the gravity of it all. But this event is not about you. It’s not even about either of your families. It’s about someone the two of you are, at best, distantly connected to, through work, through fame, through power. Which means that though the focus will not be on you, there will still be eyes looking your way. Eyes watching your every move.
“Do you think it will be?” You challenge. Doesn’t Taehyung realize that things are different now?
Taehyung’s lips curl downwards. “What do you expect us to do, shower each other in kisses? We don’t even sleep on the same fucking floor.”
“Maybe I just expected you to act less like a stranger and more like a husband!”
Taehyung sighs. “Don’t.” The word is clipped, short. “Don’t tell me you actually want to be married.”
“I don’t.” It’s a response that you hardly have to think twice about. “But we are, and nothing can change that.” Unfortunately. But it’s a fact that you and Taehyung have both had to grapple with over the past few weeks, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you are more aware of it than he is. If Taehyung could have his way, he would ignore you for the rest of his life and keep partying with the rest of his bachelor friends until he keeled over and died.
He huffs next to you, eyes staring straight ahead. You don’t think the two of you have met each other’s eyes in a week. Maybe more. They’re starting to feel as soulless as your marriage itself. “Whatever. What do you want me to do?”
“What do you think?” You cross your arms over your chest. “Just act like you don’t hate me. Can you do that?” The way Taehyung’s behaving right now, you expect that will be a challenge for the both of you.
“Only if you can. I’ll even hold your hand to prove that we love each other.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
The idea of holding Taehyung’s hand makes you want to implode. The mere thought sends shivers down your spine. But it’s better than nothing, and that’s good enough for you. At least you won’t have to kiss.
The rest of the ride there is silent. You drive to this gorgeous mansion just outside the city, bathed in lights hidden amongst the bushes, illuminating both the architecture and the enormous fountain that sits in front of it. In a house this size, you imagine you could probably go your whole life without ever having to come across Taehyung. It actually makes you consider investing in a home that big.
Taehyung helps you out of the back of the limousine, a cold hand clasping your own as you rest your palm against his. You can feel the way his fingers hesitate as yours make to intertwine with his as you walk towards the entrance, smiling at whatever camera flashes you encounter on your way. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were holding hands with a ghost.
The moment you step inside and are ushered out of the door’s view, Taehyung’s grip relaxes on yours. For a moment, you think he’ll actually spend the rest of the night like this, a gentle hand wrapped around yours, but then he pulls it away entirely and shoves it back into his pocket. Oh. You frown quietly to yourself. So that’s how tonight’s going to go.
You don’t make an effort to reach out towards him again.
For an event concerning people you don’t know a damn thing about, everyone sure seems to know things about you. Other than greetings, you don’t think anyone’s said anything to you about anything other than your recent marriage to Taehyung. Every conversation is punctuated by a Congratulations! you do not feel that you have at all earned, considering you and Taehyung could barely look at each other on the way here.
Maybe Taehyung was right. All you really can do is stand there and smile.
“Oh, don’t tell me… Y/N, is that you?”
The champagne swirls around in the flute between your fingers as you turn towards the sound of your name, looking up to see a familiar face headed your way.
Kim Seokjin is nice enough. He’s terribly handsome and got a flawless smile, but you know better than to trust those pearly whites of his. The sight of him alone is enough to make your body tense up. There was a reason you had explicitly told your parents not to invite him to your wedding.
“Seokjin, what a surprise to see you here,” you say, forcing a smile. “I thought you were supposed to be in Switzerland right now.”
“Change of plans,” Seokjin grins back in that awful, awful way, the kind of grin that makes you feel like he’s looking right through you. “I came back early. It’s a shame, though, I missed your wedding.”
You shrug. “It was a humble affair.” It wasn’t. And you’re positive that Seokjin knows it wasn’t an accident that you didn’t extend an invitation to him or his family.
“Ah, I see,” Seokjin says, nodding his head. He turns to Taehyung next to you, who is making no effort to hide how wholly uninterested in this conversation he is, and holds out a hand. “You must be Kim Taehyung, then. I’m Kim Seokjin. Congratulations on your wedding.”
Taehyung shakes his hand firmly, the air between the three of you growing unbearably palpable.
“Seokjin’s father is the VP of News Daily,” You explain, eyebrows raised as you try to signal to Taehyung what exactly it means when Seokjin is speaking to the two of you. “And his mother is a popular journalist for the city’s post.”
Seokjin grew up in the world of media, and it seems he’s picked up his parent’s affinity for sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. You know he’s not talking to the both of you out of the goodness of his heart.
Seokjin laughs, his hand waving away the mention of his parents. “Oh, please. That’s them. I’m just a bored socialite like the rest of you.”
You resist the urge to scoff.
“Marriage treating the two of you well?” He changes the subject to what he really wants to talk about: you.
“Of course,” you say quickly, preventing any hesitation on your end. Your empty hand reaches towards Taehyung’s, fingers searching for his between the two of you. But his refusal to join hands does not go unnoticed by you nor Seokjin, who is eyeing the space between your bodies with an eyebrow raised. “It’s just been—well, it’s just been difficult to adjust to a new life. That’s all.”
If you were to describe the face of a non-believer, it would be the exact expression on Seokjin’s face. “Perfectly understandable,” he says, that same toothy smile lacing his features. “But it must be nice, you know, to marry someone you love.”
“I couldn’t be happier,” you say, almost challenging Seokjin to say something even more inflammatory. He must know that all you’re trying to do at this point is save face. Love? Ha! As if.
“And Taehyung?” Seokjin motions to your husband.
You can feel the way Taehyung is stiffening beside you. “I suppose we are both lucky and unlucky in many ways when it comes to who we love.”
It’s enough of an answer to get Seokjin off your tail. For now. He bids the two of you a tense goodbye before sauntering off to go poke his nose in someone else’s business, fish for drama, a thread of a rumor he can pick apart with nimble fingers. You wonder if anybody actually likes him.
The moment he disappears from earshot, you grab Taehyung’s wrist tightly and pull him close to you. “What the hell was that?” You hiss into his ear.
“What?” You can’t tell if he’s playing dumb or if he really is that dense.
“You!” You exclaim. “Kim Seokjin is the one person who could easily expose how fake this marriage is and you pull away from me? Right in front of him? You can’t even hold my hand for two seconds, that’s how much you hate me?”
“Who cares what he thinks?” Taehyung says. “He’s just another media rat. No one will even remember we were here tomorrow.”
“But if you keep acting like this, people will start to notice! Why can’t you just act like you don’t hate me, for one night? Is that so bad? Is it that torturous, to spend one night with me?”
“Do not turn this on me,” Taehyung orders harshly. “You’re making a scene. Come on.”
You don’t have time to shout at him for bossing you around like you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum before he drags you out of the venue, the two of you finding a back door to the building that leads outside. The cold air blows against your body, goosebumps popping up against your skin, but you find that the chilly night provides quite the respite after practically overheating indoors. Taehyung makes fire rush through your veins but at least the air can cool you back down.
Nevertheless, your conversation is not over. It’s just been moved to a more private location.
“You do realize that our marriage isn’t going to suddenly go away, right? That we’re going to have to keep doing this for the rest of our lives?” You remind him, eyebrows raised. There’s a part of you that genuinely thinks he’s completely forgotten that your marriage is permanent.
“Oh, and not holding hands for five minutes for this one event is totally going to change the course of our lives, isn’t it?” Taehyung fights back.
“Don’t act like you did the right thing,” you spit out. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I know you don’t give a shit about our marriage.”
“What marriage is there to even give a shit about? Just because we had a wedding and signed some documents does not mean there is a real marriage between us. Look at us,” he motions between the two of you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We hate each other. Is this what you would call marriage?”
“But at least I’m trying to get past that!” You exclaim. “You make it seem like being as miserable as possible is some sort of badge of honor. Do you actually want to spend the rest of your life hating the person you married? Or do you want to grow up and try and move on?”
Taehyung frowns. “What I want is for the person I married to stop acting like they’re doing me such a huge favor by pretending to care about us. Especially when all they really care about is their family’s goddamn reputation.”
“No,” you tell him sternly. You are doing him a favor. He just can’t admit that he actually needs help from you. “You are putting zero effort into this. What am I supposed to do?”
“Let it go!” Taehyung shouts. “Maybe one day we’ll actually start getting along, but right now it’s obvious that neither one of us can stand the other. I don’t need you to do favors for me. I can handle it myself.”
You look away, rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t look like it to me,” you mutter to yourself.
Taehyung cracks. “Fine. You want me to pretend that I actually care about us? I will.” Thank God. Maybe now the two of you will finally start seeing eye-to-eye. “But make no mistake about how I feel about you,” he spits. “Getting married to you ruined my life.”
You stare straight at him and his eyes are swirling, so obscured in the darkness of the night that you might even think he doesn’t have a soul at all. His pupils bore into yours and for once, for once in your goddamn life, after so many years of staring each other down at debutante balls, so many years of witty refrains and snarky insults hurled each other’s way, it feels like the two of you might actually snap.
Then, a camera flashes.
Trouble in Paradise! would be a suitable title for the front page of the city’s biggest tabloid… if anything about your life with Taehyung could be considered paradise. Unfortunately for the both of you, that is not the case.
You don’t need to keep reading the rest of the trashy article on the front page of the daily tabloid to know how much trouble you’re in, nor do you even have time to scroll beneath the terrible photo of you and Taehyung literally shouting at each other before you hear your phone ring.
You don’t even bother saying hello to whoever’s on the other end. You know it’ll go in one ear and out the other.
“I assume you know why I’m calling,” your mother’s harsh tone spits from the other end of the phone. There’s no doubt in your mind that she’s standing in the middle of her office, snapping her fingers at her fifteen secretaries as they partake in the worst damage control your family’s had to deal with since your cousin two years ago was caught with a mistress outside a high-profile restaurant.
“Can I take a wild guess?” You’re about to be scolded into the next century, so you might as well enjoy your last few moments.
“Don’t get cheeky with me,” your mother warns. “Care to explain why you and your beloved husband made the front page of the Daily Post today?”
“I know,” you sigh, a hand coming up to rub at your temples. It’s eight in the morning, you’ve barely looked at your phone, and you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet. It feels like you’re still asleep, and most certainly lack the energy to deal with this right now.
Your mother, on the other hand, thinks otherwise. “You know? You know, and you still go out and do this? For everyone to see?”
“We tried to take our argument outside,” you begin to explain, but your mother isn’t having a single word of it.
“The fact that you thought it was even appropriate to have an argument in a public setting at all astounds me, Y/N. We raised you better than that.” There’s no need for you to even see her face. You’ve grown so used to that disappointed frown over the years that it’s burned into your brain.
“Maybe you should have thought about that before marrying me off to a man I barely know so I could be someone else’s problem instead of yours,” you bite.
“We did this for your own good,” she hisses back. “You are married because we love you, and we want you to succeed outside of this family.”
“Then why do you care what the tabloids print about me?”
“Because being married does not mean you are no longer a part of this family,” your mother informs you sternly, lips smacking together. “Your marriage reflects on all of us, and you know that. What will people think of us when they see how terribly behaved you are?”
“Everyone acts like that, and you know it.” How could your mother preach good behavior when everyone, everyone you know, is just as spoiled and entitled as you? There’s no such thing as being altruistic when it comes to people like you. Being genuine, and good, and pure—that will get you ruined.
You can hear her breathing into the phone when your mother responds, “But not in public, and that is the point. We expect better from you.”
“If you were so worried about me behaving so badly, then why did you even marry me off anyway? You knew that I didn’t want to. What did you think would happen?” It’s a question you wouldn’t have dared ask three months ago. Hell, even a year ago, when it was first revealed you were to be engaged, you wouldn’t have dared open your lips. But things are different now. You’re married to a man that hates you just as much as you hate him. He is making no effort to improve your relationship and seems hellbent on despising you forever. There is no way to get out of it. And if your parents really foresaw all of that, then what was the point in the first place?
“Your grandmother.”
Your mouth shuts.
“You know she wanted to see you married before she passed,” your mother says, words clipped and biting and harsh. “She cares about you. She wanted to make sure you’d be taken care of.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you mutter to yourself like a petulant child. In a way, you sort of are.
“If you want to stay in her will, I suggest you change that mindset.”
You freeze in your tracks. The will?
“Is that a threat?” You ask, positively dumbfounded. Are you being coerced into staying in this marriage because of your grandmother’s will?
You can hear your mother laugh, that muted, knowing chuckle of hers. “It was the deal all along, remember?”
Vaguely, you do. You remember fighting your parents tooth and nail over getting married until your grandmother revealed it was her dream to see you wed. You remember the look on her old, wrinkled face, that soft, sad smile that said she knew she didn’t have much time left. You remember agreeing, because how could you deny her? You remember her promising to remember what you’re doing for her.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“But—”
“That’s the end of this conversation, Y/N. You fix things with your husband or you’re out of her will. She’s made that clear. I expect you’ll make the right choice.”
She hangs up.
Well.
There are a lot of ways to describe how you’re currently feeling, and you most certainly had an expensive education that would provide you with plenty of the vocabulary, but you think the most appropriate words for the current situation would be: you’re fucked.
At least the feeling is mutual.
Hardly two minutes after your mother’s brutal phone call, Taehyung comes storming down the stairs, hair still mussed from the night prior, his own phone clenched tightly between is fingers. Even from where you stand in the middle of the living room, you can see the way his eyes are glinting with anger, the veins popping out from his skin.
“I just got off the phone with my parents,” Taehyung begins, not even bothering to spare a ‘good morning’ your way, “and they are fucking furious about last night.”
You shrug. “Join the club,” you mutter, arms crossed in front of you. What, does Taehyung really think you got off scot-free?
“Don’t act like this means nothing to you,” Taehyung says as he approaches you, footsteps calm despite his demeanor being anything but. “You’re the one who’s so obsessed with keeping up their family’s perfect reputation. You’re the reason we’re even in this mess in the first place.”
“What do you mean, ‘I’m the reason’?” You ask, astounded. Like he’s totally absolved of all blame and just an innocent third party. “You are the reason we went outside. You are the reason we had that argument, because you refuse to accept the fact that we’re actually married and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Right, because holding hands is really gonna show all those people how in love we are. I bet your parents are so thrilled right now.” Taehyung drawls.
“It’s a start!” You shriek. “God, you’re just so—so infuriating! You can’t accept that this was your fault, too. You just have to turn everything against me and you always, always have to get the last word. It’s like you think you’ll die if you don’t.”
“Like you’re any better,” Taehyung huffs back. “You think I’m the villain because I don’t want to pretend to be in love with someone I’m not in love with. You act like us not holding hands is going to ruin our lives. It was one event! One! It’s obvious we hate each other, so why even try?”
“What, do you expect me to just sit around and do nothing? To act like everything’s fine? Like I’m happy?” As if. This marriage is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. “While you prance around the city with your rich boy friends, going out to clubs and parties and pretending that I don’t exist? Is that what you expect from me?”
Taehyung laughs, this loud, disbelieving sort of noise, like he’s never heard such nonsense before. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean the rest of my life has to change. Am I not allowed to enjoy myself with my friends? Or are you determined to keep me chained to your side for the rest of our lives?”
“What I want,” you punctuate every word, “is for you to stop acting like you haven’t got stakes in this, too. You think I don’t know how your family works? What being married to me means for you? Because I do. And I know that if we were to divorce, it would be you who would get the short end of the stick. Make no mistake.”
That’s enough to shut Taehyung up for a good few seconds. And it shuts him up, because he knows it’s true. Taehyung’s family may have a little more money, a little more power than yours, but you’ve got a family intimately more connected with the media. One phone call and Taehyung may have a rather messy, rather public breakup to deal with.
“You wouldn’t,” he says, calling your bluff.
“Are you sure about that?” You say, sticking your ground. You would never really divorce him, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I am,” Taehyung says firmly. “Don’t think I don’t know what being married to me is in it for you. What is it? Money? Power? Your father’s CEO position?”
“That’s none of your business,” you snap quickly. Maybe you’re more transparent than you thought. Bristling, you straighten your shoulders and turn back to meet his eyes. “Regardless, it seems we both have a reason to stay in this marriage.”
“It seems we do,” Taehyung agrees with a thin, contained smile. “Then I suppose we can reach some sort of agreement.”
“As in…?” Your interest in piqued.
“I’ll stop going out with my friends if you stop picking fights with me all the time,” he says economically, like he’s killing two birds with one stone.
“Only if you agree to also act more like my husband when we’re in public,” you tack on, because you just can’t settle for anything less.
“Public only,” Taehyung specifies.
You scoff. “Like I’d even want to pretend to be your wife when we’re in private.”
“Good. It seems we’ve come to a deal.”
“What’s in this for you, huh?” You prod, just to be annoying. Taehyung’s right. There’s a reason you’re not divorcing him the second you get the chance. But there must be a reason why he’s not doing the same thing.
“Does it matter?” He challenges, a single eyebrow raised. “My life is just as awful as yours.”
Fair enough.
“Do we have a deal?” Taehyung asks, holding out his hand, that sneaky, devilish grin lacing his features.
Taking his hand in yours and grasping it firmly is the easiest decision in the world. His palm presses against your own, hot hand meeting your cold skin, and it feels like the two of you are finally finding some sort of balance. You look up into his eyes, burn your gaze into his pupils, watch them glint in the white ceiling light of the living room.
“Deal.”
For two people raised on the values of reading the fine print and making educated choices when it comes to business deals, you and Taehyung sure haven’t worked out any of the intricacies of the deal the two of you agreed to. Unlike those business deals your parents constantly agreed to, however, knowing all of the stipulations and provisions of your strange, strange agreement with Taehyung may prove more harmful than helpful.
Like right now.
“Wait, we don’t have to be by each other’s side the whole night, do we?” Taehyung asks you, eyebrows furrowed in a knot, as you sit in the back of a big, black van on your way to a mutual friend’s twenty-first birthday bash.
“There are going to be a lot of cameras there,” you respond.
“Yeah, outside the entrance to the damn club. You know they won’t be allowed in, so who cares?” Taehyung rebukes.
You huff out a little sigh, not wanting to get into an argument when you’re literally minutes away from your first public appearance since the whole tabloid debacle from three weeks ago. You and Taehyung could both do with being a bit more relaxed than you normally are when you’re around each other.
“Hasn’t Clarissa invited hundreds of people? They’ll all notice if we aren’t together,” you remind pointedly. The girl whose birthday party you are attending is an heiress who grew up on the money of two people with a monopoly over the current artificial intelligence market and has millions of followers on social media. There will be notable people there. And people will know the two of you, as well.
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “That’s the point, Y/N. There’ll be so many people, no one will even care. It’s her twenty-first birthday. Do you think people are going to be sober?”
You purse your lips together. He’s got a point. “How about when we are together, we hold hands. But if you see a friend or something then feel free to say hi.” Taehyung can be afforded that luxury. Especially because the chances of him not bumping into someone he knows is exceedingly low anyway.
Taehyung nods in agreement. “You too. But I won’t leave you unless I know you’re with someone you’re close with.”
“You don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine,” you say with a small chuckle. What, is Taehyung suddenly worried, or something?
“Yeah, but it would be in bad taste if I left you with someone you didn’t know well. Or alone. Just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.” He shrugs nonchalantly, turning back to look out of the window on his side of the car.
“Okay.”
You don’t really have anything else to say to that. You’re sure you can handle yourself if you’re left alone for a few minutes while Taehyung says hi, but you actually find yourself rather appreciative of his resolve to look after you. Or, at least, make sure someone else is looking after you. It’s quite… chivalrous. Strikingly out of character for the Taehyung you’ve become well-acquainted with over the past couple of months.
By the time you arrive, it’s obvious that Taehyung was right about there being so many people you two practically don’t even exist. Other than the herds of camera crews waiting outside the joint, photographing everyone that steps out of a black car to see what they’re wearing and who they’ve come with, no one seems to be paying you any attention. And in a way, that sort of nonexistence, that anonymity, it’s refreshing. Your entire life you’ve felt like all eyes were on you, like there was constantly a spotlight above your head, but here, the party centers around someone else.
Despite that fact, Taehyung keeps his promise. He keeps himself pressed closely against you when there’s not enough space for you two to stand side by side, and he makes sure to have a hand gently intertwined with your own as you weave your way through the dozens of bodies in the room. He doesn’t say anything, of course, always looking up and forward instead of beside him, where you stand, but you find that you’re actually quite relaxed with his presence. He spots a bit of a clearing near the back of the first floor of the club, where a whole bunch of leather couches are pressed up against the brick walls, where the two of you can take a breather.
“Damn, Clarissa knows a lot of people,” you say when you finally settle down, happily plucking a martini from a tray held by one of the many caterers wandering through the venue.
“I doubt she’s even spoken to half of them,” Taehyung comments. “She and I have maybe spoken once… three years ago.”
“It was enough to get you invited, wasn’t it?” You point out with an eyebrow raised.
Taehyung nods, chuckling a little. “Touché,” he says, clinking his own cocktail glass against yours.
You take a swig of the drink, letting it wash down your throat. You’re not exactly sure how else you’re supposed to survive the night. “You must enjoy this, huh?” You muse, looking up at Taehyung from where you’re seated on the couch. He’s standing next to you, looking around the room with a distant gaze in his eye.
“Enjoy what? The drink? It’s nice,” Taehyung says, having another sip.
“No, I mean this,” you say, motioning toward the crowd. “The clubbing, the dancing, the drinking. I’ll bet that if you could do this every day for the rest of your life, you would.”
“I’m honored that you think so highly of me,” he deadpans.
“Just making an observation,” you say, holding your hand up in surrender. “I mean, isn’t this what you used to do every weekend before we got married? Get wasted and party? Wake up in someone else’s bed the next morning? Muscle your way through the week just so you could do it all over again?”
Taehyung shakes his head, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like someone keeps up with her tabloids. Let me guess, you would scroll through all of those trashy articles on your phone whenever you woke up so you could see what your future husband was doing?”
“I could have never even met you and I would know that that’s exactly what you do,” you say, even though you definitely did do those things before your engagement was announced to the public. “You’re a heartbreaker, Kim Taehyung. I don’t need to read a tabloid to know that.”
“Well, you must be quite the lucky girl, then,” Taehyung comments. “You seem to be taking up so much of my energy that I don’t have the time for that anymore.”
You place a sarcastic hand on your heart. “I didn’t know you were always thinking about me. I’m touched.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Taehyung huffs out, making the two of you both shake your heads as you chuckle to yourselves. First civil conversation you’ve had with each other in a long while, even if there may have been a few blows exchanged.
The privacy doesn’t last long. Soon after, a huge crowd of people that could honestly still pass for teenagers herds towards the back of the club, all of them wanting to take pictures with each other. You and Taehyung do your best to stay out of the way, but one of the girls recognizes him from the Elle photoshoot he did about a year ago and begins to strike up a conversation with the both of you about your recent marriage. If she was paying attention to anything the tabloids leaked three weeks ago, she doesn’t mention it. Taehyung smiles and happily answers all of her questions, and even offers to take a picture of the group for them. The conversation ends before the two of you even catch her name.
You’re standing by the line of buffet tables laid out against the staircase leading up to the second floor, no doubt as crowded as this one, when the opportunity for you to speak to someone other than Taehyung finally presents itself.
“Y/N!”
You’d recognize that voice anywhere. You turn around to see Victoria barreling towards the both of you, not even caring when she accidentally spills a bit of her piña colada on the floor as she does.
“Hey!” You exclaim excitedly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure Clarissa invited everyone on her, her best friend’s, her best friend’s cousin, and her best friend’s cousin’s dog’s contact list,” Victoria says with a laugh. “It’s nice to see you. I feel like you’ve been holed up in that big ol’ penthouse for weeks.”
“Damage control,” you remind her succinctly. Victoria knows enough that that’s all the explanation she really needs.
“I don’t know if the two of you have ever met formally,” you say, thinking back to your wedding, where Victoria spent most of her time schmoozing with your parents (who love her) and didn’t even engage with any of the people who Taehyung’s family had invited. “Taehyung, this is Victoria. Victoria, Taehyung.”
“Pleasure,” Victoria says in that loud, unabashedly forward way of hers, holding out a friendly hand. Taehyung smiles back curtly, taking her hand and shaking it gently, so as not to spill any more of her drink.
“Mine as well. I remember you were at our wedding.” Oh? So he does know her?
“That I was. Oh, I miss that day. The food was excellent. Tonight’s isn’t too bad either. Hope you’re doing well, the two of you. It’s nice to see you getting along,” she says, always the observer.
Taehyung’s eyes widen a little when he picks up what Victoria is not-so-subtly putting down, but you place a hand on his upper arm to calm him. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “She won’t say anything.”
“My lips are sealed,” Victoria adds.
“If you wanna go spend time with some of your friends, you can,” you say, giving Taehyung a nudge. He looks positively helpless standing in between the two of you as Victoria out-extroverts him.
“Alright,” he says hesitantly, even though you know he’s already spotted at least ten people you’re sure he’d want to spend time with over you. “I’ll come find you soon, okay? Don’t go too far.”
You nod, and Taehyung disappears off into the crowd. Not two seconds later, you hear someone else call his name in a familiar tone.
“I thought you said you hated him,” Victoria points out as the two of you watch his caramel brown hair makes its way throughout the crowd.
You take another sip of your drink. “I do,” you say.
Victoria looks at you like you’ve just told her you’ve sworn off custard-filled doughnuts.
“What?” You ask, feeling suddenly defensive.
“Nothing,” Victoria singsongs. “It just doesn’t look like that to me.”
“We just need to keep up a good appearance in public, that’s all. You know how mad my parents got when the tabloids leaked all that shit a few weeks ago,” you explain. You’re not sure what all the fuss is about. Taehyung said he would do these things. And he did. That was him upholding his end of the deal. This is you upholding yours.
“If you say so…” Victoria says, not looking at all convinced. “I guess I’m just surprised that—that you two seem to be getting along so well. Maybe you being married isn’t going to be the worst thing after all.”
You stare back out into the crowd, scanning the top of people’s heads for Taehyung’s familiar locks. In the dim light of the club, you have a difficult time finding his, squinting your eyes slightly as you look around, but eventually you spot him, dancing happily with some old friends of his you recognize. He looks like he’s having a good time. And that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might end up alright.
“Yeah,” you say, though with the pounding of the bass and the alcohol already rushing through your veins, it doesn’t really feel like your voice belongs to you. You look back at Taehyung, knowing exactly where he is now, and you smile. Just a little. “I guess he’s not so bad.”
You never do get a chance to meet Taehyung’s friends that night. By the time he joins back up with you and Victoria he’s by himself, a little more drunk than when he left, and ready to go home. And for once, instead of fighting him, instead of insisting you stay an hour more just to make sure you’ve done all of your rounds, you let him take you home.
Taehyung has been spending a lot more time at the penthouse lately. Perhaps his family’s business happenings are slow, or perhaps he’s actually starting to get more comfortable with inhabiting the same space as you, but he has definitely found himself quite the rhythm in that house of yours. He even comes down to the first floor rather regularly.
When he’s home, Taehyung is a lot quieter than you thought he would be. Granted, you don’t exactly know what you were expecting in the first place, but it certainly wasn’t him ruminating in one of the home offices while the Beatles play softly on the stereo, nor was it him reading a book in French in one of those big old grandfather chairs in the living room. If you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was still absent in that old way of his, ghostlike and silent, like he was occupying the space instead of truly living in it.
But you do know better, and even though Taehyung is just as noiseless as he used to be, the house already feels a little bit fuller.
Perhaps the reason you’ve become so keenly aware of his presence over the past few days is because of the notable fact that Taehyung has indeed held up his end of the deal, and no longer goes out with his friends in the evening. Or at all, for that matter. Which strikes you as rather odd, because he’s the epitome of a social butterfly, a thousand contacts in his phone and a whole group of friends he regularly spends time with. Maybe his parents told him to tone down the public appearances, too. And that’s understandable, but don’t they know Taehyung? Can’t they see how much he thrives on social interaction? It almost makes you feel… bad for him.
To remedy this, you suggest he invite over his friends. Just for a few hours, you swear you won’t mind.
“Seriously?” Taehyung looks positively shocked when you tell him he can, standing in the doorway of the office he seems to have designated as his own.
“Yeah, why not?” You say with a carefree shrug. Besides, you’ve never met his friends anyway, and now seems as good a chance as any to introduce yourself. You are his wife, after all. “Unless your parents say you can’t. But it’s not a problem for me.”
“You… don’t mind if I have my friends over for a bit? Honest to God, we’re probably just going to play FIFA for three hours straight,” Taehyung says like it’s some sort of warning. Like the idea of him and his buddies from college are going to sit in the living room screaming at the television, leaving you alone to do literally anything else, is somehow bad.
You laugh. “It’s fine, really. Call them. I’d actually quite like to meet them.”
Taehyung picks up his phone almost instantly, as if you’ll change your mind in the next five minutes so he better get them over soon, and already you can see the way his face is lighting up, the way his eyes crinkle as he chats to his friends and the way his lips curl upwards when they crack a joke back. Isn’t it obvious? He feeds off of the energy of others. Who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?
As it turns out, Taehyung’s friends actually end up being quite nice anyway.
He invites over three, because four people is apparently the perfect number for a hardcore game of FIFA on his Playstation, and they are all very handsome men you have never met before. You suppose like attracts like, after all.
“You must be Y/N,” says the first one you see when you open the door to let them in. He doesn’t look a day over twenty-one—in fact, he could probably still pass as a college student—and has rather long dark hair that drapes over the sides of his face, covering the edges of his big doe eyes. “I’m Jungkook. This is Jimin and Hoseok.”
“Nice to meet you all,” you say, stepping aside so they can enter.
The shortest one, Jimin, grins in response, and Hoseok, behind him, gives you a wave. It’s refreshing enough as is, not having to exchange formal greetings and shake each other’s hands like you do with everyone else. Hoseok even gives you a bit of a nod, too.“You, too,” he says. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
Oh, have they, now? Interesting.
“All good things, I hope,” you say awkwardly, forcing a small smile as Taehyung comes bounding into the room, ears perked up at the sound of his friends’ voices.
“Definitely. Thanks for having us over. We didn’t wanna intrude on the sanctity of your new place,” Jungkook says, gesturing vaguely to the house as a whole. He’s got this excellent, genuine grin on his face, the kind that people who are just happy to be alive always wear.
Already he’s said enough to charm the shit out of you. Who knew Taehyung’s friends could be so… friendly? “Please, you’re welcome any time. I was just thinking Taehyung was getting a little lonely.”
“There he is!” Jimin shouts excitedly when he spots Taehyung behind the two of you, looking a lot more casual than he normally does when he’s alone with you, having abandoned his usual silky button-down and wide-leg slacks for a loose shirt and some sweatpants. You didn’t even know he had those things in his closet.
“Hey, everyone’s here!” Taehyung exclaims, just as happy. He squeezes past you to give the three of them a big hug, and it almost makes you feel like you’re intruding on something you shouldn’t be in. Even though this is literally your house.
“Nice place you got here,” Hoseok comments, eyes drifting around the living room. “Very minimalist, I like it.”
“Sure hope you don’t spill anything on those nice leather couches of yours,” Jungkook says.
“Yeah, unlike Kook, who has spilled tomato soup on every shirt he’s ever owned,” Jimin jokes, earning laughs from Taehyung and Hoseok and a punch from Jungkook.
“Moved after we married,” Taehyung says simply, shrugging his shoulders. It’s an easy enough explanation for why it doesn’t look at all lived in. Here’s hoping none of them realize you sleep in different bedrooms.
“Yeah, congratulations on that, man,” Hoseok says, giving Taehyung a celebratory nudge in the shoulder. “Who’d have thought, out of the four of us, Kim Taehyung would be the first one to settle down.”
The way Taehyung’s body tenses up at that comment does not go unnoticed by you.
“Seriously, I would have never guessed,” Jimin adds on. “You’re showing us a new side of yourself, Tae. But I’m happy for you.”
Normally, you’d probably take offense at such blatant insinuations that your husband was a former playboy, especially from his equally noncommittal friends. But truthfully, it’s not like you were blind to Taehyung’s transgressions either. And what matters most is the fact that since it was announced publicly, you are the only woman he’s been seen with since your engagement.
“Me too. You seem to really like her. I’m glad,” Jungkook pipes up, sending a smile your way. You definitely feel like you don’t belong in this conversation. “I think the two of you will be good for each other.”
“Yeah, I hope so,” Taehyung says with a nervous chuckle. His eyes quickly shoot your way, the two of you meeting gazes, your hesitant expressions matching. At least the two of you are on the same page. “Alright, alright, enough,” Jungkook says. “Who’s ready to get their ass kicked in FIFA?”
“You’re on, Jeon. But when I win, you owe me a five-star dinner,” Hoseok challenges.
“Deal.”
Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately crowd towards the couch, and you take that as your cue to leave. But before you can disappear down the hallway, you and Taehyung look awkwardly at each other, hands tied. It’s not like you can say anything to them.
The truth is that, sometimes, it’s easy to forget that not everyone else knows that your marriage is just for business. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that there are still people out there that believe you marry for love.
Isn’t it crazy to think that you used to be one of those people, too?
“Hey,” Taehyung says when you meet up at the bottom of the stairs again.
“Hey,” you respond.
“You look nice.”
You scoff a little to yourself. What, are you exchanging compliments now? “Thanks,” you say, looking him up and down. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Like he ever is.
“I knew you had taste,” Taehyung teases, and it’s the sort of comment that would have earned him a melon ball to the face back when the two of you were teenagers at a debutante ball, but today only earns him a roll of your eyes as you join hands. You don’t have anything big tonight—just a small dinner to celebrate some sort of business accomplishment for your family, which means that all you have to manage is not ending up in some sort of food fight by the end of the night.
“I didn’t have a choice, did I?” You retort easily as you get into the car.
You don’t normally speak a lot on the way to events. Not that you ever did, but even as your relationship has slowly faded from pure hatred to attempts at compromise, you both seem to relish in being able to stare out of your respective backseat windows and into the city that surrounds you. Just out of curiosity, about halfway through the ride you look towards Taehyung to see what he’s up to, and find yourself genuinely surprised to see him leaning against the window with his eyes closed. Is he sleeping? A couple more minutes of gazing at him tells you he is, because his body has gone lax and his breathing has evened out, soft snores leaving his mouth. This ride can’t be longer than twenty minutes. Has he not been sleeping well? Up in that enormous second-floor bedroom of his?
He’s awake by the time the car parks outside the restaurant, this fancy name brand steak place that was chosen solely because the biggest beneficiaries of your family’s new business deal are two sixty-year-old men whose entire diet consists of beef and beer. No cameras tonight, just a small family affair. You and Taehyung hold hands as you enter the restaurant and are led to the private room in the back anyway.
You and him are seated on the far end of the long, rectangular table, alongside all of the other adult children dragged along to celebrate something that has no effect on their lives. But it’s nice, because the space alone prevents your parents from actively speaking with you, and you and Taehyung can stay in your own little bubble, only chiming in for a toast when necessary.
“What are you going to get?” He asks you, the two of you gazing at the menu. No matter how fancy this place is, all the options seem to boil down to steak, steak, steak, steak, and caesar salad. Classic.
“Oh, so you actually care now?” You counter, an eyebrow raised in amusement.
Taehyung laughs. “Aren’t I supposed to?”
You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, wise to his usual shenanigans. It’s hard to tell if Taehyung really means what he says, or if it’s all for show. But perhaps he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious, since no one else seems to be paying you any attention.
“The choices on this menu are simply overwhelming,” you say, motioning to the six options in front of you.
“I know, I’m so torn,” Taehyung jokes, making you huff out a little giggle. At least he’s still got that same sense of humor.
You both end up going for a pretty classic steak dinner, which neither of the two of you finish because the damn portions are the size of your head. Dinner is, in and of itself, absolutely mindless, all of your parents talking about things that don’t concern you whatsoever, leaving you and Taehyung to your own devices as you desperately try to make the night go by faster.
At one point, you notice Taehyung’s foot brushing up against yours, the leather of his loafers brushing against the toe of your patent heel. Thinking someone of it, you push back, foot nudging his back to his own chair. It’s not a second later that Taehyung retaliates, the two of you dancing around each other underneath the table.
If the two of you were any younger, or perhaps any less resigned to your fate, there’s no doubt in your mind you would be attempting to get Taehyung to fall off his chair in an effort to do the same to you. Footsie means war. But when the both of you know that, at the end of the day, you’ll still be going home to the same place, and waking up the next morning in the same house, it doesn’t feel like this is a battle.
It’s just life.
Eventually, you meet Taehyung’s eyes with a hesitant smile, shoe pressed against his, stuck in ceasefire. And for once, he doesn’t have that devilish look in his eye, that smug little grin on his face that tells you that he’s going to make you regret whatever it is you just did. He’s just smiling back at you, all pink lips, having found real fun in the little things.
And that makes you happy.
The rest of the dinner is uneventful, which, in your book, is about as good as a dinner can go. You cheers to the future of your parents’ relationship with their newfound partners and say a quick goodbye to them both, hurrying out of there before they can ask you any questions on your relationship with your husband. But you don’t spend the car ride in silence on the way back.
Instead, you say, “Have you been sleeping well?”
The question seems to catch Taehyung off guard. He was already getting in position to take a power nap on the ride home, head pressed up against the window of the car.
“What?”
“Have you been sleeping well?” You repeat. “I noticed you fell asleep on the way here.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess,” he says, a hand scratching the nape of his neck. “I mean, it’s been hard adjusting, I suppose. But I’ll get over it.”
Hard adjusting? You’ve been together for nearly three months now. Three months worth of sleeping in the same penthouse bedroom, on the same soft-as-a-cloud mattress, underneath the same weighted blanket. And he’s still having trouble?
“Oh. I mean, I just wanted to ask because you seem really tired lately.”
“I got a lot on my plate, what can I say,” Taehyung says with an empty smile, forcing a chuckle. “I’ll be fine, seriously. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Isn’t that my job?” You remind him. “I am your wife.”
Taehyung doesn’t say anything to that. He just lets out an audible breath, the kind you let out when you’re amused and have something snarky to say, but don’t have the energy to get the words off your tongue.
The rest of the ride is pretty quiet.
When you get home, you place your house keys in the bowl by the entrance and take off your shoes, just about ready to take a hot shower and collapse in bed, when Taehyung’s voice stops you.
“Hey,” he begins, almost hesitantly. You look back at him inquisitively. “I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, we could start sleeping in the same bed?”
You scrunch your nose up. Not in disgust, but in surprise. In bewilderment. What brought this on, all of a sudden?
“Really?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. “I thought we liked the separate bed thing. Gives us privacy.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung says with a shrug, “but—I don’t know, it’s stupid. I just thought, you know, since we’re married and all. And it’s been three months.” He looks about two seconds away from backtracking, from shaking his head and going upstairs before you can say anything else.
“Alright,” you say quickly, nodding your assent. Taehyung’s eyes widen when he hears the word, like he had completely expected you to shut him down the moment he made the suggestion. “If that’s what you want. We can try it.”
“You sure?” He asks, that same hesitant smile from earlier lacing his features. It’s strange. He almost looks… sweet. Nervous.
You grin back at him. “Yeah, I am.”
Taehyung lets you grab some of your toiletries and your pajamas from your designated bedroom before you head up the stairs together, towards the bedroom he’s claimed for himself. Funnily enough, this is the first time you’ve been in his room. Three months of living together and you haven’t dared step foot on the second floor.
You don’t know what you were expecting when he opens the door to let you inside. Maybe a room that screamed ‘Taehyung’ a little more than this one does. One that looks like an actual human has been living here. But other than one of his classic silk button-downs draped over a chair, there’s not a shred of evidence someone has actually been sleeping here. You could honestly be fooled rather easily that the shirt, too, is just decoration.
“You can pick a side,” Taehyung says casually. He grabs his own sleepwear—an old t-shirt and some sweats—and heads into the bathroom to change.
You wonder why Taehyung has had such a difficult time adjusting. This room is about as lavish as a bedroom can get. And yet.
Sitting down on the left side of the bed, you begin to remove your own clothes, unzipping tonight’s dress and stepping quickly into your pajamas, hurrying to make sure Taehyung doesn’t catch you half-naked. How funny is that, you think to yourself. You’ve been married for three months and you still can’t bear the thought of Taehyung seeing you without a shirt on.
When Taehyung comes out of the bathroom, hair all messy and clothes all casual, he grins lazily to himself. “I sleep on the right anyway,” he comments mindlessly.
Within twenty minutes the both of you are about as ready to pass out as you have ever been, the only lights still on the ones on your respective nightstands.
“Goodnight,” Taehyung says, reaching an arm over to switch his off.
“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning off yours as well. And all of a sudden, the room is shrouded in darkness.
You fall asleep instantly.
When Taehyung wakes up the next morning, the first thing he says to you is that he hasn’t slept that well in ages.
“You slept together?” Victoria shrieks, so loud you actually have to move your phone away from your ear as you punch in the code inside the elevator for access to your floor.
“We did not sleep together,” you emphasize. “Okay, well, we sleep together, as in, in the same bed. But we are fully clothed. And not the slightest bit interested in doing anything other than sleeping.”
“I thought you said you liked having your own space,” Victoria points out. “When was the first time you—uh…” she pauses to find the right words, “shared a bed?”
“A couple weeks ago. It’s really not so bad, I don’t know why you’re so hung up over it,” you say, lips pursed. You squeeze the phone between the side of your head and your shoulder, hands full of shopping bags, the string of the handles burning your skin. Maybe you should look into getting a personal shopper.
“I’m hung up over it because, for the longest time, you have sworn off Kim Taehyung. Called him dead to you. Insulted him every chance you get.”
You scoff. You don’t need reminding of how much you hated him, how much you can’t believe you have to spend the rest of your life with him. “It’s different now. We’re married. And he said he wasn’t sleeping well. I felt bad.”
“He wasn’t?”
“Enough about him,” you say, shutting her up. You don’t feel like talking about him with Victoria anymore. “Word through the grapevine says that your parents are actually thinking of letting you start your own company?”
It’s enough to distract Victoria. For the rest of the ride in the elevator, she talks animatedly about a new streaming service her parents are considering letting her launch, under their parent business, of course, but it’s her own company nonetheless. And you’re proud of her. Proud she could do something your parents would never dream of letting you do. Proud she could make that happen.
You push open the front door with the side of your hip after entering in the security code, phone still snug between your ear and your shoulder, when you hear Taehyung call out your name.
He comes into view from the kitchen, which surprises you because you have, on multiple occasions, made fun of how much of a disaster chef he is, especially because he’s admitted to you he’s not a very good cook.
“I made brownies,” he says, holding out a plate of the chocolate treats in front of you. Instinct has you dropping your bags on the floor by your feet and reaching out, but you eye him first, suspicious.
“I have to go,” you tell Victoria, hanging up before she even gets a chance to object to your sudden departure. “You made these?”
“Yes, I did,” Taehyung says, rather proud.
“And the kitchen is… still standing?” You ask, skeptical.
Taehyung frowns at you, clearly unimpressed. “How bad of a chef do you think I am?”
“Pretty bad,” you admit with a shrug.
Taehyung pouts sadly to himself for a moment. “These are good, I swear. Nothing weird in them like vegetables or anything either. I used a box mix.”
“No wonder they look so nice,” you comment snidely, hesitant hand reaching out to grab one. They feel like brownies. So that’s good.
“Hey, I was the one who had to crack the eggs and shit. Three eggs! And not one eggshell in the bowl!” Taehyung says, clearly very pleased with himself.
You laugh at his enthusiasm, taking a bite. It’s good. And exactly what you needed after a long day of shopping. “I’m proud of you. They taste good.”
“I knew you wouldn’t doubt me.” Taehyung grins.
“They’re really good, actually,” You amend, genuinely surprised. And the best part is that you can count at least ten brownies left on that plate, which means that you get at least five more. Which, if you had any less self-restraint, you would probably eat all at once within the day.
“I’m glad you like them. They’re all for us, you know. No one else to share them with,” he says.
“Honestly, I’m probably going to finish them by tonight. You’ll have to make more tomorrow,” you say sheepishly.
“We can make some together,” Taehyung suggests.
“I’m looking forward to it,” you respond. The words come off your mouth easily, tumbling from your lips without you having to think about it. You aren’t saying them because you have to. You’re saying them because you want to. Because baking with Taehyung doesn’t actually sound too bad. Especially if it means more brownies.
“You’ve, uh, you’ve got something,” Taehyung says, gesturing vaguely to the side of his lip.
“Oh, I do? Yikes,” you say, a little embarrassed. Your hand comes up to wipe at the left side of your mouth. “Is it gone?”
“Wait, here, let me do it,” Taehyung says, reaching out towards you. He presses his palm against the side of your face, cradling your cheek and jaw in his enormous hands, and all at once it feels like your skin is on fire.
Your body freezes up at the touch, at the way his thumb swipes at the corner of your mouth, right against your lips, wiping away nothing but a goddamn brownie crumb. You look at him, look right at him, how can you look anywhere else when he’s right in front of you like this, and it feels like you are caught in his gaze, a rain droplet trapped on a web, a bee stuck in its own honey. His big, brown eyes sparkle from the ceiling lights, a chocolate sky that mirrors the food he just made for you. He looks at you and his eyes are so soft, so open, so happy to be looking right back at you. God.
“There,” he says, a moment too late.
“Thanks,” you stammer out, speechless otherwise.
You both stand there, looking at each other, wordless expressions drawn all over your faces, no idea what to do next.
After a while, Taehyung breaks the silence. “Do you wanna order takeout tonight?”
“Okay,” you nod, still a little breathless. Taehyung smiles before retreating back to the kitchen, leaving you standing in the entranceway, shopping bags abandoned by your side.
You look over to where he’s vanished. There’s a part of you that wishes he hadn’t left. A part of you that makes you want to see him again.
Phone calls from your mother are never good. The last time she called… well, you know how that went. So when you see her contact information light up your home screen, it’s only instinct that you feel your heart rate spike.
“Hello?” The voice that comes out doesn’t even sound like yours.
There’s no good way to put what comes next. Your grandmother has died. Heart attack. The paramedics got there too late. It was over before it even started.
For a moment, for a split second, it feels like everything is frozen. Like the world has come to standstill. Your mother’s voice echoes in your ears, suspended in time, the words turning into stone as they crash onto the floor. And when they do, it is as if everything comes back to life.
Truth be told, you don’t know how long you stay there, sitting on the edge of the left side of the bed, your phone resting lifelessly in the palm of your hand. It feels at once like an eternity and only a second in time. You spoke to your grandmother two days ago. You had promised that you and Taehyung would visit her soon. How can this be happening?
Your phone buzzes relentlessly in your hands, condolences pouring in from every person in your contacts, sorry’s and heart emoticons and If you need anything, I’m always here’s filling up your screen. There’s a part of you that vaguely registers your mother, alongside some of the other members of your family, trying to call you. But nothing can seem to shake you.
Until—
“Y/N? You still up here?”
You hear Taehyung before you see him. Hear his voice, hear his footsteps, hear the door creak open as he enters your bedroom. Slowly, almost sluggishly, you twist around to look at him, the mere act knocking the wind out of you. Or maybe you were already breathless.
“Hey, you alright?” Taehyung knows instantly that something is wrong.
“My grandmother died.” The words sit heavy on your tongue. There’s no point in not telling him. He’ll find out soon enough. He’s… he’s family, isn’t he?
“What?” Taehyung freezes in place. “I—I’m so sorry to hear that, Y/N. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say, voice weak but steady. You blink up at him, once, twice, three times, and then suddenly you feel tears running down your cheeks.
Taehyung doesn’t say anything else. He rushes to your side and sits himself down on the bed next to you, arms wrapping around your body. And you don’t think about the fact that it’s him, about the fact that this is the closest the two of you have ever been. You just let yourself be engulfed in his frame, let yourself be enveloped in his hold as the tears stream down your skin, little hiccups jolting your throat. You close your eyes and press yourself into his arms, head resting against his chest, and wish so desperately that so many things about your life were just a little bit different.
It must be at least five minutes before either one of you dares to move. Your phone begins to rattle incessantly, that familiar and insistent buzz that the both of you are hard-pressed to ignore.
“I think you should answer that,” Taehyung whispers into your skin, lips right by your forehead.
“Yeah,” you sniffle, sitting up next to him and wiping the remnants of wetness by your eyes. Well, Taehyung’s seen you cry. There’s no going back now. “You’re probably right.” You look down at the phone. It’s your father.
“I’ll be downstairs, okay? Unless you want me to stay,” he offers, looking hesitant.
You shake your head. “No, it’s—it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“Call me if you need me,” he makes you give him a nod of understanding before he finally gets up, hands slowly removing themselves from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake. Remnants of warmth. Suddenly, you feel much colder. Hardly a minute later he’s out of the room, and you can hear his distant footsteps as they make their way down the stairs.
Sighing, blinking, and swallowing all at once, you pick up.
The call passes by in a blur. Your father says the will will take at least half a year to be executed, but that the funeral is already being planned. Your grandmother had hoped you would eulogize her. You agree, but you have no idea what you will say. He says Taehyung is invited but does not need to come if he cannot make it. He says a lot of other things too, about your mother, about your cousins, about your aunts and uncles and your poor grandfather, who passed five years ago, but you can’t even remember them moments after he’s said them.
When he hangs up, the tears on your cheeks have dried, patches of them left along your skin. You head to the bathroom, getting off your bed for the first time that day, and try to wash away everything that has stained the morning. A part of you doesn’t even want to bother, just wants to slug downstairs and eat as much sugary cereal as you can get your hands on, but you can’t go down there looking like this. Looking so helpless.
By the time you reach the kitchen, Taehyung is already standing there, on the opposite side of the counter island, a big stack of pancakes in front of him. They look mouth-watering.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Thought you might want something to cheer you up.”
“Did you make these?” You ask, a little endeared. That was thoughtful of him.
“Yeah. They’re still warm,” Taehyung says. He holds out a fork.
You grin.
The funeral is a week later. It sucks in every way that something can suck. But not in the same way your wedding sucked, or even the announcement of your engagement. It sucks because it’s a funeral, because you have to stare down your grandmother’s casket when a part of you still doesn’t even believe that she’s gone. Because everyone there is so sad, so melancholy, dressed in all black and looking down at their feet. Because everyone is so sorry for you, so sorry for your loss, everyone has nothing but condolences to offer you. What will those do? They won’t bring her back. They won’t change things. They won’t make you feel even the slightest bit better.
Taehyung comes. He comes because he offers, and because you want him to. You want someone whose hand to hold. Want someone to smile at you when you’re speaking in front of your entire extended family and trying not to cry. You want someone who is familiar, and warm, and there for you.
And most of all, you want someone who won’t keep the conversation going when you get home.
“Do you wanna order Chinese?” He asks, coming into the living room, where you have been sulking on the couch ever since you stepped foot inside the door.
“That sounds nice,” you force out.
“Okay. Your usual?”
“Yes, please.” You don’t bother asking how Taehyung already remembers what you like to order when you’ve only gotten Chinese twice in the last three months.
“I’ll call them.” He disappears off into the kitchen.
What you do appreciate about Taehyung is how he has defaulted to food as a comfort measure, and how the thought alone genuinely brightens you up a little bit. You don’t know each other very well—still, after three months, you couldn’t even say his favorite color—but he is doing his best, and he is trying his hardest. In some ways, you were unlucky to marry him. To marry someone you didn’t love. To be forced into a union you had no say in, with someone you had so much antagonistic history with.
But in some ways, your luck has changed. In some ways, marrying him was perhaps the best thing that could happen to you. Taehyung is snarky, a little devilish, and absolutely full of himself, but he is not thoughtless. He is not heartless. He has proven that he is willing to put in the work. That he can grow to care. To change. To compromise. And isn’t that the luckiest thing you could have gotten?
“I’m sure you’re probably sick of hearing people tell you they’re sorry for your loss.”
His voice breaks your reverie, carrying throughout the wide open space of your living room. He’s grinning honestly where he stands, slowly making his way over to you.
“Kind of, yeah,” you admit. “It’s not going to bring her back. Most of those people probably don’t even mean it.”
“Don’t say that,” Taehyung says, sitting down next to you. “I’m sure they do.”
You look at him skeptically.
“I mean, they’re sorry for your loss because that loss is causing you pain. And that sucks,” Taehyung explains, albeit a little less eloquently than you thought he would. “I know it sucks for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t like seeing you sad,” Taehyung says honestly, shrugging to himself.
You scoff a little to yourself. “I would have thought my downfall would be the exact thing the great Kim Taehyung would wish for himself.”
“Maybe a couple of years ago.”
You narrow your eyes.
“Okay, maybe even a few months ago,” Taehyung admits with a laugh, making you smile, ever so slightly. “But it’s different now. I like it when you’re happy. When you’re snarky and funny and a little evil. Seeing you like this… I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”
“That’s called empathy,” you point out.
“I’m trying to tell you that seeing you sad makes me sad, stop being a smartass,” Taehyung chides, and that really makes you grin. “There. There’s that smile I was looking for.”
“You’re so annoying,” you say, even though there’s no malice behind it. You give him a little push, palms of your hand pressing lightly against his shoulder as you roll your eyes.
“Only for you,” he promises. He manages to grab a hold of your wrist as your hand meets his torso, pulling you into him as he wraps an arm around your torso. You gasp a little at the sensation, head falling against his body, fitting snugly in the crook of his neck. He gives your side a comforting rub. “I’m sorry today was so shitty.”
“It was,” you agree. “But Chinese food will make it a little bit better.”
Taehyung looks positively scandalized. “What? ‘Chinese food will make it better’? But not your loving, doting husband?”
You pretend to think for a little bit, tilting your head up to the sky as you tap your chin with your finger. “Okay. Maybe that, too,” you cave after a bit of waiting, just to be extra bothersome.
“That’s what I thought,” Taehyung says proudly, looking down at you, eyes sparkling. You can feel his grip tighten as he presses you against his body, letting you rest your head on his side. It feels like the longest hug ever, like you’re wrapped up in a weighted blanket. Only it’s not a blanket. It’s Taehyung. It’s your husband.
He’s your husband.
“Tomorrow will be better,” he says, and it sounds a lot like a promise.
You nod against him, letting your eyes drift shut. Things are pretty awful right now. Your grandmother’s dead. The funeral was the saddest family event you have ever attended. You have no idea what’s supposed to happen next.
But he’s right. He seems to be right a lot these days, actually.
Tomorrow will be better.
Taehyung lets you sleep in for the next few days. Next several days, actually. Every time you wake up it’s close to noon and your husband is nowhere to be seen, the right side of the bed cold to the touch. It’s nothing to be worried about, though, because you can still see the noticeable dip in the bed from where he lies upon it, sinking his weight into the mattress. Taehyung’s an early bird and you’ve been having fitful nights ever since your grandmother passed.
Today, you pull yourself out from underneath the covers around noon, sluggish and still tired, squinting as the near-afternoon light streams through the enormous windows of the bedroom. Taehyung must have thought to keep the curtains open today.
You pull on the first casual clothes you see in your shared closet, some wide-leg sweatpants and a drapey t-shirt, and trudge downstairs like a raccoon to a trash can, hoping to fish through the kitchen cabinets to find something to eat.
Taehyung is, as far as you can tell, nowhere to be seen. You can’t seem to hear him anywhere, and a part of you wonders where he’s at when you stumble upon the note left on the granite counter.
Had a meeting downtown, be back around 1! There should be smoked salmon and some cream cheese and bagels in the fridge.
Taehyung.
You chuckle to yourself as you read his flowy handwriting, amused that he thought to let you know of, of all things, the available breakfast foods in the kitchen. You check the clock. It’s nearly noon. Which means you have just over an hour of the house all to yourself.
Having the house to yourself for five minutes is infrequent enough as it is, let alone for a whole hour. So often is Taehyung around, somewhere, holing himself up in one of the dozens of rooms or mindlessly wandering down the hallways. And for how much Taehyung is present, the funny part is that you still have no idea what he gets up to most of the time. Despite your voluntary abandoning of the separate bedroom rule, the two of you are still firm proponents of the sanctity of your personal spaces. There are rooms in the penthouse Taehyung has never been in, rooms filled with your clothes and makeup and accessories for when stylists come over before an event. A sewing room that you had specifically asked your parents for, because a part of you never let go of that childhood dream of being a fashion designer.
And there are rooms in the penthouse that you have never been in. Rooms with dark wooden doors that have always been kept closed, that you have never stepped foot in. It’s not that you aren’t curious as to what Taehyung gets up to. He could have a goddamn evil lair in one of those rooms and you would be none the wiser. But you don’t go, because he doesn’t go into your rooms. Because you two, despite all the vows you have broken, promised each other you wouldn’t.
An hour to yourself is almost a good enough excuse for you to head back up to the bedroom and take a nap. Not that you don’t get enough sleep on a regular basis, or that you even had a fitful night last night—hell, you woke up near noon today and already you want to go back to sleep—but what else is there to do when he’s not around? What new freedoms have suddenly been given to you?
You head back upstairs, much less groggy after that delicious bagel of yours, when you catch a whiff of what smells like wet paint coming from down the hallway. It’s potent and immediately invades your senses, prompting you to wonder if that has always been there, or just magically appeared. Maybe you were so sleepy earlier, you didn’t notice it.
Well, you notice it now. Unable to help yourself, you start to wander down the hallway, towards the source of the smell. God, it stinks. It takes you back to those days in middle school, when you would spray paint projects inside a tiny little classroom, have to step outside for fifteen minutes while you cracked the windows and aired it out. It gets stronger the further down the corridor you go, like a thick, smelly cloud stationed firmly within the walls of the penthouse. And then you realize where it’s coming from.
It’s an art studio.
A very messy art studio, you amend to yourself, as you peek inside. The door is wide open, and all of the windows are popped too, but the extra air circulation doesn’t seem to have made a dent in the scent. And all over the floor, the walls, and the tables are canvases covered in paint, denim jackets and pants and shirts with these wide, unafraid brushstrokes. Open cans of spray paint lie discarded on the hardwood floor stained with splotches of red, yellow, and green.
Is this what Taehyung does in his free time? Is this where he goes, this bright, sunny room at the end of the second floor hallway? Is this what he is making?
You look down in awe at the clothes resting on the floor, splayed out to maximize dry time. Abstract faces, landscapes, and words are painted onto the backs of jackets, the fronts of old white t-shirts. What hasn’t made it onto the clothes has been put on canvases instead, blurs of color mixed together in this purposeful pattern, confidence emanating from every stroke, every dot. It’s not art in the way that the gorgeous landscapes of Monet, the picture-perfect portraits of Kahlo, the messy, unplanned splatters of Pollock are. It’s art in a different way. In a Taehyung way.
Who knew he loved it so much?
You almost feel like an invader encroaching on his territory when you lean down to start cleaning up some of the mess, throwing out empty spray-paint cans and tossing out grey paint water. You don’t dare touch any of the work, don’t dare try to move it. You do what you can, washing out the brushes resting in the water and cleaning up the wet splotches of paint on the hardwood. Over time, the thick scent of still-wet paint slowly fades, disappearing out the window as the fresh afternoon air seeps in. And you stand there, in a room full of art, in a room full of pieces that Taehyung has undoubtedly poured his heart into creating, and you smile to yourself.
That’s how Taehyung finds you ten minutes later, peering into the room after declaring that his meeting had ended early.
“Thought I’d find you in here,” Taehyung says with a grin as you jump at the sound of his voice, eyes widen when you turn around to see him standing by the door.
“Oh, hey,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Maybe because this is the farthest room in the house from the front door,” Taehyung teases lightly, coming up behind you. “I see you found my studio.”
“I know I’m not allowed in here,” you admit.
Taehyung scoffs. “Who says?”
“Didn’t we both agree on that?”
He shrugs. “Sort of. I think we just reached an unspoken understanding we wouldn’t invade each other’s personal space. But it was not in the fine print, no.”
“The fine print of what?”
“That deal we made.”
Right. That deal you made, four months ago, That deal, where the two of you agreed to pretend to be in love with each other during public appearances so you wouldn’t get burned at the stake by your families. Where the two of you agreed not to interact with each other otherwise because you hated each other so much.
“Oh, yeah,” you say distantly, feeling naive for already forgetting about it. It doesn’t seem to have slipped Taehyung’s mind whatsoever.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind that you’re up here,” Taehyung says, interrupting that piercing little voice in the back of your head that is asking you why on earth you forgot about that deal in the first place.
“Yeah, I—” You scratch at the nape of your neck, trying to find the words to say. “It just smelled like paint, so I wanted to see what you get up too. And it’s this, apparently.” You motion vaguely to the entire room.
“You sound… surprised,” Taehyung muses correctly.
“I guess I am,” you surmise. “I’m rather impressed, too, actually.”
“Really?” It’s Taehyung’s turn to sound surprised.
“Yeah,” you tell him honestly, looking into his eyes. “I—you know, I just came in here because the entire hallway smelled like wet paint and I wanted to know why. But I didn’t know you loved art so much.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Taehyung points out.
You suppose that’s true. You don’t know his favorite color. His favorite song. His favorite book. For a long time, you didn’t know what he got up to on his side of the penthouse. You don’t know how he met his friends. What he studied in university. Who he has loved in the past. Who he loves now. You don’t know why he does the things he does, and why he doesn’t do the things he doesn’t do.
But you do know his Chinese takeout order.
And you do know his hobbies. Well, one of them, at least.
Who’s to say you can’t learn more?
“Well,” you start with a smile. “I’m your wife, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I begin to learn?”
Taehyung picks up what you’re putting down instantly, grinning in response. “Only if you’ll tell me things about you, too,” he requisitions.
“I will,” you promise. It’s the easiest one you’ve ever had to make.
His face is light, bright, bathed in the rays of the afternoon sun. His eyes shimmer as they meet yours, golden flecks more pronounced like this, in this gorgeous, open space, daylight streaming through the windows. Looking at him makes you feel like you are surrounded by warmth, makes you feel like the sun is opening its arms out to you. He has always been gorgeous. Beautiful. But looking at him like this, standing in the middle of a room filled with all the things he loves, a yellow halo surrounding him—he is ethereal.
Taehyung smiles. “Then I will, too.”
The hand-holding comes naturally tonight.
The funny thing is, actually, you don’t need to hold hands at this gathering. It’s not an event. Or a public appearance. It’s not even a business dinner. It’s your aunt’s sixtieth birthday party, reserved exclusively for family. Isn’t that strange? That Taehyung is, technically, family now?
For so long you had vowed to stay as far away from him as possible. Vowed to stick it to him whenever and wherever you could, do anything you could to get on his nerves, rile him up. Vowed that when you, one day, took over your family affairs, you would never, ever invite him. Make it known that he wasn’t to be a part of your life. And yet, here you are. Clinging to him despite being well-acquainted with—loved by, even—every other person in the room. Holding his hand like a goddamn lifeline.
To be fair, Taehyung doesn’t look a hair out of place here. Dressed relatively casually, a smart sweater with a collared shirt underneath it, he smiles warmly at all of your relatives and presents your aunt with a beautiful and very expensive scarf the two of you had commissioned from a designer in Italy, which she absolutely loves. She pinches his cheek and proceeds to wear it for the rest of the night.
“Damn,” you murmur to yourself as you wander around your aunt’s house, hand wrapped around his arm. “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”
“When was the last time you were here?” Taehyung asks.
The question actually makes you think for a moment. “I don’t know, maybe five years ago? Last couple of birthdays I was overseas or in school. Had to send her a card.”
“Bet your parents were real pleased with that,” he jokes, making you both laugh. At least you two will always be able to share your experiences of domineering and influential parents with each other.
“Oh, I’m sure. Just as pleased as they were when they realized how much we hated each other.” You expect that little jest to elicit a laugh out of Taehyung as well, but he just smiles tightly, huffing out a breath of acknowledgement.
“Eh, it’s not like that now, is it?” He offers up.
“I suppose not,” you muse, sitting down together on her ancient grandma couch in the living room. No matter how rich your family gets, she’ll never get rid of this thing, that’s for sure.
One thing you’ve picked up over time is that, for every second Taehyung spends basking in the spotlight, he spends an equal amount of time lingering by the wall, watching the rest of the world turn without him. He’s an observer. He is one by nature, feeling an irresistible pull to understand humans in a way only artists could ever do. He sits down next to you and watches your family in an environment where they can relax, where they can feel comfortable and be casual with one another.
Very seldom have you ever brought friends to events like these. Small family affairs. But Taehyung isn’t a friend, is he? No, he’s your husband. He belongs here just as much as you do.
“My family seems to really like you,” you point out. Not that anybody has ever harbored as much disdain for him as you. Your parents called him respectable and polite when they told you you were to be wed. Your grandmother had said he was a dashing young man. He doesn’t exactly have to reach far to be loved around here.
“That’s my job, isn’t it?” He replies snidely.
“Oh, just take the compliment,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Taehyung always has to be so difficult. “I’m surprised you aren’t nervous as hell. Last boyfriend I brought to meet my parents was shaking in his Louis Vuitton shoes.”
“Last boyfriend, huh?” Taehyung’s interest has been sufficiently piqued. “And, uh, how many of those have you had?”
You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, smile twitching on your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Heartbreaker.” Pretty rich of Taehyung to be asking you such a question when he’s probably had more girlfriends than you can count on both hands. “Not as many as you’ve had girlfriends, that’s for sure.”
“Guess I’m a lot different than all those trashy guys you’ve dated, aren’t I?” He asks, an eyebrow raised as he looks at you.
“You are?”
Taehyung nods assertively. “Well, yeah. First of all, I’m your husband. Second of all, your parents love me. Third of all, you love me, too.”
You scoff. “Don’t humble yourself. You don’t know me that well.”
“Speaking of which,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as he points to you knowingly, “how about you tell me a little fact about yourself? It’s my job to learn about you, isn’t it?”
“That is my line, watch it,” you sneer, pointing back at him. You wrack your brain for a fact that you can tell him, something more exciting than your favorite color but less weird than one of those terrible icebreaker exercises you had to do in college seminars. Something that has pertinence to who you are. Who you’ve become. “Alright. I used to want to be a fashion designer when I was little.”
Now that catches Taehyung off guard. “Really?” He says, genuinely intrigued.
You shrug. “Yeah. I learned to sew when I was really little. Been tailoring and hemming clothes all my life. But I always wanted to design my own stuff.”
“Is that what’s in your room?” Taehyung asks. “A sewing machine?”
“Bingo.”
“Wow,” Taehyung says. “I didn’t know that.”
“Isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?” You say, just to be smart.
Taehyung shakes his head, eyes rolling.
“What about you?” You ask. You can’t imagine what he’ll say. Astronaut. Veterinarian. Or, if he really wants to surprise you, a business executive.
“A museum curator.”
It is an answer that simultaneously surprises and doesn’t surprise you at all.
“Fitting,” you muse. “You could have put your own art on display.”
“Pretty sure that’s, like, super unethical,” Taehyung reminds you.
“So? You’re rich. Start your own museum. Put your own art on display. Live your dream,” you amend. “It shouldn’t be holed up in that studio of yours forever. It deserves to be seen.”
Taehyung smiles at you. “You think so?”
You nod. “Of course. You create beautiful things, Tae.” It’s the first time you’ve ever called him that. And that is not lost on Taehyung, either.
“Thank you,” he says softly, blinking as he looks at you. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.
Later that night, when everyone’s gotten a few drinks into their systems and Bruce Springsteen is playing low on the stereo, Taehyung disappears off towards the bathroom, no doubt because of the excellent soup that was served that night. All by your lonesome, you feel a little stranded, surrounded by your old relatives dancing on the hardwood floor of the dining room, your other cousins too young to actually spend time with.
In the commotion, your mother comes up to you, swirling a rather large glass of red wine in her hand.
“Where’s Taehyung?” She asks.
“Bathroom.”
“No wonder you were alone,” she says with a hearty laugh. “The two of you have been glued to each other’s sides all evening.”
“He’s my husband,” you offer as an explanation.
“I know, I know,” she says, shaking you off with a smile. Your mother is a lot more casual once she’s had her fill of wine, no doubt her favorite, Bordeaux. A lot more loving, too. “You really made your grandmother proud, you know? She loved you so much.”
“I know,” you say, trying not to get choked up at the mere mention of your grandmother.
“She was so happy to see you with Taehyung. It made her feel safe that you would be taken care of,” she continues on, barely paying you and your swimming eyes any attention. “She would be so happy to see you with him now, too. How much you love her.”
“I miss her,” you hiccup out, trying to compose yourself. Nothing kills a birthday party like some sad sack crying over her deceased grandmother.
“I know, darling,” your mother says, calling you by a nickname she has hardly used ever since you turned eighteen. She squeezes you tightly, a small hug of comfort. “I miss her, too.”
Someone calls your mother’s name, distracting her as she wanders off to your uncle, who is asking what the best way to cut the three-tiered cake on the dining room table is. She bids you a goodbye before disappearing towards the kitchen, no doubt ready to make the cutting of the cake an affair all on its own.
Taehyung comes back soon after, spotting you instantly as you stand around in the living room.
“Hey,” he says, noticing the wet shimmer of your eyes. “You alright?”
You nod, feeling better already now that he has returned. Now that he is by your side. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I hope those tears aren’t because you missed me,” he says, wiping away a stray one that has escaped from your eyes. You close them as his thumb brushes against your upper cheek, your eyelashes, opening them only when you’ve felt his touch vanish from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake.
“No,” you say. But the night makes you honest, and a couple of drinks, even more so. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
Taehyung smiles. “Me, too.”
For all those days you have spent together, never have you and Taehyung had a night in. Which isn’t necessarily completely surprising, considering how many evening events the two of you have had obligations to attend, considering your differing work schedules and meeting times. Considering that, for a very long time, the two of you had no desire to spend any time with each other at all.
But tonight, there is nothing on your calendar. No galas, no dinners, no meetings, no schedules. There is only Taehyung, who has spent the entire afternoon up in his studio, inhaling spray paint fumes and doing what he loves. And there is only you, who has spent the entire afternoon wondering what the hell you’re going to do tonight when there is nothing else planned.
You knock on the door to his studio, catching him right as he’s finishing up another piece. This one is a single flower, painted in broad, confident strokes, bright green and red and sunflower yellow decorating the canvas.
“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, turning around to face you.
“Wanna order takeout tonight?” You suggest.
Taehyung grins.
Thirty minutes and your favorite Chinese food later, you and Taehyung have settled onto the couch, trays of dumplings and noodles and rice in front of you, an unfunny movie playing in the background.
You can’t remember the last time the two of you sat on this couch together. Maybe that night you had made the deal? Perhaps not even then. It wouldn’t at all surprise you if you found out that this was the very first time you and Taehyung have sat together on your couch, in your living room, in your house. So often is it occupied by others—Victoria, who sometimes comes over to ooh and ahh at your closet, Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok, who sit on this couch and play FIFA like it’s their job, your mother, when she wants to make herself at home in a place that doesn’t belong to her—but never you. Never you and him.
“This is kinda nice, isn’t it?” You ask, swallowing a bite of dumpling.
“Chinese food is always nice,” Taehyung responds over a mouthful of cold noodles.
“Not that,” you say with a sigh, “this. Sitting together. Watching this shitty movie.”
“It’s not that shitty,” Taehyung tries to reason. On screen, the main character is getting pied in the face during some weird college fundraiser. “Okay, it’s a little shitty. But it’s good background noise, right?”
You nod halfheartedly. “I guess.” Silence. You take another bite of your dumpling, not really sure how to continue the conversation. “We don’t really get to do this a lot, you know? Sit and eat dinner and watch a movie together. Like a date.”
“We’re on a date now, are we?” Taehyung muses, eyeing you snarkily.
“Isn’t that what this is?” You retort.
He shrugs. “I suppose it is.”
“Tell me another fact about you,” you request, looking over to him where he sits on the opposite side of the couch.
“About what?”
“Anything.”
Taehyung pauses, ponders for a moment. But he could never say anything wrong. Not when there is still so much you don’t know about him. Still so much you want to learn, so much you want to commit to memory. For so long you have stared at the planes of his face, the curve of his nose, the twinkle in those dark brown eyes. Those you will always remember. But what about who he is? What he loves? Those are things you still don’t know.
“The very first time I met you,” Taehyung begins, “I asked Jimin what your name was.”
“When was that?” You ask. Despite you being someone who has spent the better part of the last several years vowing never to give Taehyung the time of day, you sure don’t remember when it all started.
“That debutante ball,” Taehyung remembers fondly, “when we were fifteen. I asked Jimin what your name was because I wanted to ask you to dance.”
“Shut up, no you didn’t,” you say with a scoff.
“It’s true. You were standing there in that poofy white dress and I wanted to ask you to dance,” Taehyung points out. The fact that he even remembers what you were wearing is shocking.
Who knew. Who knew, back then, that you would one day grow up to marry him.
“And what did I say?” You demand more.
Taehyung laughs at the memory. “I came up to you, and I asked you if you wanted to dance, and you said, and I quote, ‘Who are you?’”
“No,” you say, aghast at your own behavior. Were those really the first words you ever said to KIm Taehyung?
“You did. Don’t you remember?”
You think back. Think back to every year you have ever known Taehyung, every year you have spent scowling at him from across ballroom floors, making some snide remark as you pass by each other in the hallway. Every year you have spent cursing his existence, willing him away from you so he could bother someone else. Every year you have listened to rumor after rumor of girlfriend after girlfriend. You think back and somewhere, somewhere in there, in those dusty corners of your brain and cobwebbed boxes of your heart, is that first memory of Taehyung, too.
Of him standing there in some generic black suit, black hair swept over his forehead, shoes too big. Of him coming up to you, trying to be as suave as a fifteen year old could be. Of you saying to him, instead of a hello, or even a what’s your name, “who are you?”
Of him saying—
“And you said, ‘your dream come true’.” Like a dam bursting open, the memories flood back to you all at once. “I remember that.”
Taehyung laughs out loud at the thought of him saying something so cheesy. “Unsurprisingly, you didn’t want to dance with me.”
“You were so—” you begin, but you don’t have the words. Don’t have the words to express how you felt about him that night. Don’t have the words to express how you feel about him now. Thinking about this, talking about it, it is a bridge. A bridge between what was then and what is now. A bridge between who Taehyung was and who you were and who Taehyung is and who you are. “—so unthinkable. I couldn’t believe you had come up to me and said that. I couldn’t believe you had the audacity. But something about that night made me remember you. Made me remember your name.”
“You thought about me after that?” Taehyung asks. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“There is something about you that is unforgettable,” you say, honest and real and true. What else can you tell him? The truth is that you have always thought about him. Whether you liked him or not.
You finish your dinner and place your trays on the end tables next to you, stacking your empty bowls and plates on top of one another as the movie rumbles on in the background.
“It is kind of a shitty movie,” Taehyung admits after a while of being wholly unenthused.
“Yeah,” you agree. “But it’s good background noise.”
Taehyung laughs at your little mockery, warm and deep and from his belly. You look at him. He feels so far away, on the other side of the couch. Feels like he’s miles apart from you. You have spent countless nights clinging to his harm, hand gripped tight in his. And sitting like this, a full couch cushion of space between the two of you—it isn’t enough anymore. So you inch closer.
And closer.
And a little closer.
Until you’re pressed up against his side, legs touching as they rest neatly in front of you, backs stick straight as you stare at the television.
Taehyung holds his arm up. An open invitation.
Without asking, you lean into him, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder, in the space right underneath his jaw. You pull your feet up onto the couch and curl into his frame, pressing yourself against him. He is warm and firm and inescapable. He smells of coffee and paint and Chinese spices. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in, as if there were any other place you’d rather be.
You sit like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other. Lazing around on the couch as the stars twinkle above your head. The movie ends and the two of you don’t even bother skipping the credits, letting them and the cheesy 80’s pop song play on, a distant soundtrack.
“I never thought any of this would happen,” you breathe out.
Taehyung looks down at you curiously. “What? This?”
“All of it,” you admit. “Us. Getting married. That stupid tabloid picture. My grandmother. This. It’s all so new.”
“New things will happen all the time,” Taehyung muses aloud. “We can’t help when things change.”
“You don’t have any regrets?” You have plenty. Regrets that you’ll never become the CEO you wanted to be in college. Regrets that you’ll never become the fashion designer you wanted to be as a little girl. Regrets that you will come to resent this marriage, resent Taehyung more than you have in years past, all because you had no choice. Regrets that your grandmother couldn’t see you now. Regrets that there were so many things in your life you could have changed, but didn’t.
“I thought I did,” Taehyung tells you. “I wanted to spend more time with my friends. I wanted to major in art in college. I didn’t want to marry you. I know you didn’t want to marry me.” He looks down and you look up at the same time, eyes locking, inches apart. “But looking back on it, I’m happy where I am. With what I have.”
“I never thought it could ever be like this,” you say, words falling off your tongue before you even ask them to.
“What?”
“Us.”
There’s no need to elaborate. Taehyung understands. He understands that, half a year ago, you both would have thrown yourselves into a volcano before holding hands with each other. He understands that getting over your hatred for each other seemed like an absolutely insurmountable task. He understands that you had never wanted to marry each other, that you couldn’t believe you would have to spend the rest of your lives with each other.
And he understands that now, things are different.
“I’m glad things happened the way they did,” Taehyung begins. “I’m grateful for us.”
You press yourself impossibly closer to him, feel his grip tighten around you. Like this, you can hear his heartbeat. Hear it thump like a drum, steady and firm and unwavering. His heart beats against his chest and you wonder.
You wonder if he can hear the way yours beats for him, too.
There were lots of things that made your night in together special. But one of them is the glaring fact that you don’t get them very often. That their infrequency makes them all the more valuable.
This has become blatantly obvious to you, because right now you are not spending a night in together. Right now you are stuck at a gala that you have to attend for the sake of business, drinking thin flutes of champagne and mingling with people you barely speak to.
The one good thing about nights like these is that Taehyung looks positively gorgeous in suits. He sort of always has, but you’d never admit that to his face. At least not until now. And as his wife, you are lucky enough to have a front-row seat.
“I can feel you staring at me all the way from over here,” Taehyung deadpans as he helps himself to a chocolate-covered strawberry from the buffet table.
You’re too obvious to have any shame about it. “What can I say, I like the view.”
“Hard to believe I was the once the one being shouted at for being inappropriate in public,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. He bites into the strawberry and eats it all in a single go, tossing the stems into a bin nearby as you join back up in the heart of the crowd.
“It’s only inappropriate if other people hear,” you tease, letting him guide you, hand intertwined with yours, towards an empty corner where the two of you can snuggle up to one another in (relative) peace.
“I don’t think the champagne was very good for your filter, Miss Y/N,” Taehyung hisses into your ear, warm breath tickling your skin.
“Don’t you mean Mrs. Kim?” You pose, an eyebrow raised.
That seems to do something to Taehyung. It’s not very bright in here, with it being nighttime and all, but even still you can see the way his eyes darken. See the way his lips curl upwards, feel the way his grip on you tightens. It sparks something within you. Something deep in the pit of your belly.
Something that makes you want more.
You test the waters. “Mrs. Kim has a nice ring to it, don’t you think, Tae?”
Taehyung looks about a moment away from losing control. But instead of slamming you against the wall in front of all of these people and giving you what you really want, he growls out, low and powerful, “Home. Now.”
He doesn’t need to tell you twice.
You hail your car outside of the venue and it’s all the both of you can do to not jump on each other right then and there, in the backseat of this giant black van, overcome with want, with need, with everything in between. Taehyung’s leg bounces impatiently the entire ride back, and the feeling of your hand pressed against his doesn’t seem to be calming him down. He pulls you close to him in the backseat of the car, a hand resting on your thigh. You eye him carefully, as if challenging him to be any more daring. He grins.
Home cannot come soon enough. The two of you tumble out of the backseat and into the elevators, where you mash the top floor button after entering in the security access code, desperate and shameless. The ride seems to take hours, and the heat that surrounds you practically smothers you, covers you, fills up your lungs and chokes you.
There is nothing left by the time you reach your door. The moment it slams shut behind you Taehyung presses you up against the back of it, pins you against the wood as he hovers over you, eyes tracing your lips.
“Tell me something,” he demands.
“What?”
“A fact. Something I don’t know.”
It doesn’t take much thinking. “I want you,” you breathe out, watch it hit his skin, watch the way his eyes glint in the light of the entranceway. “Please, Tae. I want you.”
It’s enough for him.
This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed. The first time was nearly five months ago, in a chapel, at an altar, surrounded by hundreds of people. It was so unfun that you seem to have eradicated the mere thought from your memory. But you remember that feeling from that day. That feeling you got when you pressed your lips against his, cemented your marriage with a kiss. That heat. That sting.
Kissing him now—that feeling has returned tenfold. When his lips meet yours, it feels like fire is rushing through your veins, setting alight every nerve it passes, unforgiving and relentless. His enormous hands come up to cup your jaw, fingers pressing against the skin of your cheeks as they pull you close to him, keep you trapped in his hold. This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed but it feels like it is—it feels like there is a lotus blooming on a lilypad in your heart, it feels like you have been struck by lightning, it feels like nothing else you have ever felt before. It feels brand new.
Pressing back against him, he slowly releases you from the cage he has created against the door, spinning around so the two of you can tumble up the stairs and into your bedroom, unable to resist sneaking in pecks here and there as you make your way upstairs. Every step you take you stop, giggle as he presses you against the railing just so he can steal another kiss from you, put his hands all over your body. It’s a wonder the two of you even make it into your bedroom at all.
When you do, however, all bets are off. Taehyung presses you against the still-made bedsheets with a glint in his eye and a growl on his lips, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, at your body.
"Aren't you a sight? Laid out so pretty for me," he purrs, robbing a breath from you.
It's a tone you have yet to hear from him. You find yourself growing impossibly hot under his stare, burning with an uncharted desire.
You can hardly wrap your brain around it. Here you are, craving the man you had spent the better half of your young adult life loathing. Maybe it’s the champagne; maybe it’s the way his fingers are running slowly up the length of your clothed torso. Whatever it is, your stomach does flips, unfamiliar to the way your body preens under his touch.
"Don't let it go to your head," you tease, simply because you could.
Taehyung hums disapprovingly, pressing kisses into your neck as he grabs one of your thighs and wraps it around his waist, riding your dress up in the process.
You sigh, exposing your neck further for him as he paints bruises into your neck. It feels like just yesterday you had called him out at the altar for his habit of sporting the very same marks you were soon to wear.
Perhaps you should have thought twice about letting the man you had married purely under business pretenses press his hips against your clothed center, but as he rolls his into yours, your mind falls blank, silencing any and all reservations you should have.
Whimpering, you beckon his mouth back onto yours, tongue meeting his wantonly.
You feel his fingers creep up the outside of your bare thigh, thrilling you in the most primal way. Reaching the band of your underwear after what felt like entirely too long, he runs the pad of his thumb against the lacy fabric.
You could scream. He is doing this on purpose. He must be. Surely he knows how badly you were aching for him? For him to fill you– whatever the manner may be.
You let out a whine before you can help yourself, frowning as Taehyung looks pleased with himself, confirming his knowledge of your prolonged pleasure.
"What's that? Did you say something?" he mocks, looking cruel and yet strikingly gorgeous as he smirks above you.
"God, you're irritating,” you huff, hips jerking up against his as he pulls at the band of your underwear, the elastic snapping back into the flesh of your hip. "Just fuck me already."
He tuts, clearly unimpressed by your impatience, "Now, where is the fun in that?"
Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers suddenly snake their way between your thighs. Mouth falling ajar, you grip his shoulders as he runs his middle finger against your clothed slit, trailing up and down your warmth. To think he was still dressed while he was touching you like this...
"No... I think I'll take my time with you," he says.
You mew against his hand, arousal forming against his long digits' ministrations. You have to hand it to him. Taehyung knows what he’s doing. The life of a bachelor has seemingly served him well.
You aren’t usually vocal in bed, but the way he’s purring words of filth to you, breath hot against the shell of your ear as he tells you how hot and slick your pretty pussy felt against his hand, has you gasping and sputtering, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist.
The fabric of your panties provides a friction that toys the line of pleasure and pain, making you thrust up to meet his motions, your humility slipping from you.
Taehyung watches you intently, cock growing hard under the constraints of his dress pants. You look better than he could've imagined, eyes watering and body shivering under his touch, his fingers soaking with your arousal. He can only imagine what you'd feel like with his fingers fully buried into you, rocking them against your velvety walls.
He lets out a groan of his own, turned on by the idea of you fucking yourself onto his fingers, whimpering out his name in ecstasy.
There’s this part of you that faintly recognizes that Taehyung has done this plenty of times before. Plenty of times with plenty of other lovers. But there is a different part of you, that part that bursts with light and hope, that reminds you that he was never married to those other ones. That his allegiance lies with you. And that thought, knowing that deep within you, he is yours, makes your jaw fall slack, pretty noises tumbling from your lips and your thighs clamping around him.
You were close, closer than you care to admit. Every touch against you is careful yet deliberate as he reads the signs of your body, the way it keens and arches into him, offering you words of encouragement as your climax finally hits.
"That's right. Good girl. Let go for me," Taehyung coos, eyes dark and focused on your writhing form.
You cry out into the familiar space of your shared room, head thrown back as you ride out the high, letting it wrack your body, send jolts throughout your veins.
You barely have time to catch your breath when he presses his mouth back onto yours, kiss still as eager as it was when you both first entered your home. You are alight with satisfaction as he pulls away to press a trail of kisses against your jaw.
"I want—f-fuck," you stutter as he finds your already hypersensitive clit once more, rolling his thumb over your now soaked panties in tantalizing circles, "want to make you feel good, too."
Admittedly, this fantasy had crossed your mind once or twice, brought on by the way he carried himself in a suit and the way his large fingers wrapped around the champagne glass; confident, collected, and entirely charming. Who are you to shy away from a man like him? He certainly has always been rather good-looking.
He pauses his motions, pulling his hand back to sit on your waist. Your dress is of the finest, most delicate satin, and after tonight's activities, completely wrinkled. You can almost hear your stylist's cries of dismay. Whatever. You have a steamer. And why focus on the dress when it’s obvious the two of you are focused on what lies underneath it?
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You nod, skin still burning from your past climax.
Helping you back up, Taehyung stands. You lick your lips as you sit back up on the edge of the bed, watching intently as he unbuckles his belt, audibly hissing as his pants fall to his ankles, cock visibly straining against the fabric of his underwear. Thank God you don’t have to stand. With the way your thighs still felt weak and how your husband looks like a goddamn Adonis towering above you? Your legs surely would give out underneath you if you rose.
Brows furrowed, Taehyung palms over himself briefly before pulling down the waistband of his underwear, his painfully hard member slapping against his torso.
Your eyes widened on instinct. While the last thing you wanted to do was help inflate Taehyung's already large ego, you were certainly impressed at his size; thick and girthy, his tip red and shining with precum.
He couldn't help but smirk, thoroughly pleased by the way you stared at him unabashedly, chest rising and falling heavily.
"Open up for me," he orders.
And who are you to deny a request from your dear husband?
Your pretty lips wrap themselves around his engorged tip, all remnants of lipstick long gone by now. Taehyung hisses, a hand finding the side of your jaw as you run your tongue against the underside of his cock.
"Fuck, you're so pretty," he grunts, fighting off the urge to grip the back of your head and fuck your throat. As much as he'd love your have you choking and drooling all over his cock – and boy would he – he lets you set your own pace, not wanting to overwhelm you.
It doesn't take long for you to sink your mouth further down, however, clearly set on making Taehyung feel as good as you could.
A low moan erupts from his throat, digits pressing into your jaw in request to take more of him in, which you happily oblige.
You had your eyes trained on him, completely obsessed with the way he panted through pink lips, hissing slightly every time your tongue rolled over his sensitive tip.
Lolling his head to a side, his eyes meet yours, gaze primal and wolfish as he watches the way you worked his cock.
"Doing so good, love. Doing so fucking good for me,” he murmurs.
You hum against his skin at the sound of the sudden pet name, an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in your belly. You push aside the feeling, focusing instead on the way he grunts at the new sensation you had just given him.
Giggling, you pull off his cock, opting instead to press a kiss against his leaking tip, making sure to hold his eyes as you run kitten licks against it.
"God, you're such a tease." He shakes his head in disbelief.
He looks so good above you, shivering and cursing out praises on how good your mouth feels, how well you take his cock. Running your tongue along the length of his shaft, you become certain that this is a display you can’t imagine yourself ever getting tired of. But you have all the time in the world, right?
"Y/N,” he gasps suddenly, hips jerking towards your face. "Love, I'm gonna-- gonna cum."
"Cum in my mouth, please." Your voice was pleading and desperate. Taehyung had never heard such words spoken more sweetly.
"Fuck's sake."
You let out a yelp in surprise as his fingers work their way through your hair, bringing your head back down onto his cock. You relax, though, when you feel the hot ropes of his cum hit the back of your throat, your hands finding purchase on his thighs as you do your best to swallow it all down.
Pulling yourself off him, you let out a small cough, eyes watering slightly as you hadn’t managed to prepare yourself with a breath before his release. His large palm runs across the top of your head as you caught your breath, expression flickering with something unfamiliar. Could it be... fondness?
Your heart stammers at the thought as you stand, slowly stepping out of your dress, letting it drape off of your figure. Taehyung looks absolutely gobsmacked, pupils dark as he gazes at you, eyes unabashedly raking your body. He’s shameless.
You both are.
Slowly, you step towards him, fingers reaching out towards his shirt, carefully undoing the buttons as you gaze at each other, expressions unreadable.
"Tae?” You ask innocently, blinking up at him. “Fuck me?"
Your polite request makes Taehyung chuckle.
"Please?" You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes blinking up at him adoringly for good measure. You reach the last button, let his dress shirt drape open. He brushes it off himself, stands there for a few seconds just to let the way you’re ogling his toned chest go to his head. At least he’s good-looking.
He sighs, probably contemplating some clever rebuttal, but eventually decides against it as his cock is already twitching back to life.
"Alright, love. Turn around. On your knees for me," He orders, making your stomach flip.
To your surprise, you are hardly in place when the warmth of his large hands finds the soft of your tummy, pressing you back into his chest as he pressed a peck to the back of your neck.
You squirm in his hold, whining as that same hand of his grabs hold of your breast, long digit rolling your nipple between their tips. You can’t help but press your ass back into him. His cock feels hot and heavy, pressing against the back of your thigh, making your pussy clench in anticipation.
You want him.
You want him so bad that you don't know what to do with yourself, shuddering as his free hand runs along the side of your ass, leaving scorching hot trails on your skin wherever he kneads into your flesh. He's touching you everywhere – everywhere but where you need him the most, and the arousal that drips down your thigh mocks you.
"Dammit, please!" You exclaim, running out of patience.
"Please what?" He says, an eyebrow arched.
You shiver, committing the way his middle finger traced your pelvic bone to memory forever.
You puff out a frustrated breath, nearly at your wit's end. "Please fuck me, Tae."
Taehyung pauses, grip on your breast and hip tightening as he lets out a moan. You let one out yourself as you feel him readjust, cock pressing against your slick entrance.
"Fuck, you sound so pretty when you say my name," He grunts. "Okay, baby. I'll fuck you. Begging so nicely for my cock."
You let out a squeak as you're suddenly pushed down onto your hands, back arching as he pushes his fat cock inside your heavenly cunt. He's thick, so thick, that you instinctively grip the sheet underneath you, fingers curled around them tightly as if it means to hold onto your sanity.
Taehyung lets out a shaky breath, angling your hips up so that you could take more of him.
"You feel—feel so good," he admits above you, and suddenly you wish you could see him. See the way his bangs stick to his damp forehead—see the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip wickedly.
You let that thought go, however, as he thrust into you, making your jaw fall slack and eyes flutter shut. Profanities roll off your tongue unabashedly, helpless under the way his thick member pulls out of you, only to slam back into you.
You weren't expecting this. The way he stretches you out further than anyone had before. Your pussy clenches around him, reveling in the sweet, sweet burn.
He digs into the flesh of your hips, holding you steady as you mew and cry out, pushing your hips back in time to his, trying your best to meet his movements.
"Tae... fuck, fuck, fuck—"
He was filling you to the brim. Filling you tight and deep.
God, the way he was panting behind you was music to your ears. His cock pulses every time you call out his name, voice muffled and buried as you had your head pressed into the mattress, hair messy and bouncing with every hard thrust.
"S'good! Fuck... so, ah, big..." you cry out.
You feel drunk. Intoxicated off this beautiful man and the way he makes you feel a way only he can.
You nearly let out a sob as the rough pads of Taehyung's fingertips suddenly reach around you and find your neglected clit, rolling light circles on the soft and swollen bundle of nerves skillfully.
You are a mess, whimpering and drooling into your expensive sheets, and he filled every inch of you, leaving no place undiscovered. Your high nears, stewing on low heat somewhere near the pit of your belly, waiting for a chance to erupt and wash all over you. Taehyung must be close to, you realize, as his thrusts began to slow down, slamming into you roughly as if chasing after his high.
"Gonna take this load? Huh? Gonna let me cum inside your pretty little pussy?" His voice is straining, as if trying to breathe evenly but merely moments from falling apart.
If only you could formulate an intelligent response, but instead, you are a blubbering wreck, thighs shaking as they threatened to give out underneath you. But somehow, Taehyung knew. He had you. Quicking his motions against your delicate pearl, he could tell you were close too, and he was going to make sure you got there.
Suddenly, you're crying out and convulsing, tears brimming at the ends of your eyes as you feel Taehyung empty into you, collapsing onto his hands as well.
You feel his hot breath against the back of your neck as he pants, breath growing more and more even as the two of you regain control of your bodies and minds.
Pulling out of you, he plops down beside you, and for a moment, the two of you hold each other's gazes, eyes speaking in ways words never could.
Finally, after what feels both like an eternity and just a moment, you work up the courage to say something, moving closer to him as you place a hand on his chest, cushioning your chin as you rested on top of it.
"Psst," you beckon, voice hushed.
"Yeah?" His voice is husky and tired.
"I’m grateful, too."
"Huh?"
"I’m grateful for us, too."
Taehyung's gaze is soft, and it lingers on you for a second before the sides of his mouth curl up tenderly. He grins down at you, eyes drifting shut. You feel him squeeze you closer, pressing you against his skin. And then, you hear his breathing steady, see his lips part slightly.
You lean into his chest, eyelids fluttering. “Thank you, Tae.”
Not unlike the many other mornings you have awoken in this bed, when you open your eyes as the morning sunlight streams through the windows, Taehyung is nowhere to be found. The sheets on his side of the bed are flipped aside, revealing that soft outline of his body from the night before left imprinted into the sheets, a dip in the mattress where he slept. You had fallen asleep all wrapped up in each other, tangled up like vines, but must have separated sometime during the night. Distantly, you register Taehyung’s voice outside, notice his phone missing from his bedside table. He must be on an early morning call.
You check your phone for the time. Ten o’clock.
A late morning call, then.
Still basking in the afterglow of the night prior, you slowly inch your way out of bed, shivering as you pull the covers off you and scoot your legs around so they hang over the edge of the bed. You rub at your eyes until you faintly remember you did not take your makeup off last night, and when your hand comes away covered with black streaks and flecks of mascara, you wince to yourself. There goes five hundred dollars worth of a skincare routine.
After washing yourself up and applying as many serums as you can to your skin, you wrap yourself up in one of his button-up shirts, the torso so wide that it drapes over you. The tips of your fingers peek out from the ends of the sleeves, and you cross your arms lightly over your chest as you make your way to the door, ready to entice your husband back to bed for round two. What? It’s Saturday.
You peer around the door to find Taehyung standing a few feet away, facing away from you. He’s shirtless, and as his wife you have absolutely no problems ogling him, the toned curves of his back, the muscles in his arms. He’s always been a looker. You just finally have an excuse to look for yourself.
You approach him quietly, not wanting to interrupt nor broadcast your sex life to anybody on the other side who may be listening. Already, the idea of crawling back in bed together sends goosebumps along your skin, makes you giddy with anticipation. You’re just about to tap him on the shoulder, lips curled upwards in suggestion, when he says—
“And my inheritance? That’s secured now, right? Because I said I would pretend to be in love with her in public—?”
And it is as if Medusa herself appeared in this room, turning you to stone as your heart thuds to the floor, a hollow, empty noise.
You don’t hear the rest of Taehyung’s conversation. You don’t even hear the sound of your own heartbeat. This terrible, aching sound rings in your ears, silencing everything in its wake, drowning out even the sighs of your own breath. It is as if you have been frozen solid. As if you have been shot in the stomach. You stand there, feeling absolutely nothing, and all you can do is brace yourself for what is to come. Taehyung’s words were the knife but his next actions will be its removal, leaving in its wake an irreparable wound.
He turns around, casual and cool, voice still hushed. As if you were still asleep. As if you hadn’t heard anything at all. But when he twists his body and sees you standing there, staring back up at him, lips parted in shock.
“I’ll call you back,” he tells whoever was on the other side of the line, looking more panicked by the second. He opens his mouth so he can explain himself, but you don’t need him to. You’ve heard everything already.
“I should have known,” you say, feeling angry and betrayed and sad all at once. “I should have known it was all an act.”
“Y/N, wait, let me explain—”
“What is there to tell me, Taehyung? What are you going to say? That you didn’t mean it? That you thought I wouldn’t find out? That last night was just a one-off?” You demand. The heat from your veins hasn’t left. Still, it simmers through your blood, burning you up from the inside out. “That you didn’t want to lie to me?”
“It’s not like that and you know it,” Taehyung says defensively, brows furrowed. “Just give me a chance to explain myself.”
“Explain yourself? How you pretended, every day and every night, just so you could get some more money in your bank account? So you could make sure you would get your father’s business when he died?”
Taehyung bites back easily. “Don’t act like you weren’t also faking it at some point. I know you were almost removed from your grandmother’s will.”
Your tongue is bitter at the mention of your grandmother. As if Taehyung ever even knew her. “My grandmother has nothing to do with this.”
“Really?” Taehyung challenges. “So you wanting to stay in her will was just a little bonus, right?”
“Don’t,” you say sharply. “It’s different.”
“Different how?” Taehyung spits. “Because right now, to me, it looks pretty similar to what I’ve done.”
“My grandmother died months ago,” you remind him. Her will is no longer the question. It has been written, settled, and executed. There was no reason for you to continue playing along once she took her last breath. No reason—unless you wanted to. “Meanwhile you’ve been keeping your inheritance a secret from me this entire time.”
“We made a deal,” Taehyung says. “A deal that said we would both act happy and pretend to be in love because we both had things we needed to worry about. Family things. Money things. You were a part of this, just like I was. You pretended, too.”
“Well, maybe I stopped pretending!”
You can’t take it anymore. All this anger, all this emptiness, it’s been bubbling up inside you ever since you heard those first words come out of his mouth. It spills out of you all at once, an eruption from your lips, your heart’s doors bursting open. You have held his hand tightly in your own. You have pressed your lips to his. You have laid yourself bare in front of him. What is there left to protect? What part of you has not already been stained by him, by his touch, by the feeling of his fingers against your skin?
The hallway is silent, but you can hear your cry echo down the corridor. Hear the way it bounces along the walls before fading away.
“Maybe I stopped pretending,” you repeat, softer this time. You blink and already can feel the streaks along your skin, the tears falling from your eyes. “Did you ever think about that?”
“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Taehyung looks like he’s in disbelief. Like he cannot believe the words you are saying to him.
Well, that makes two of you.
“Can’t you see, Tae? Can’t you tell?” You ask, the nickname falling from your lips before you can even help it. You must remind yourself to change that, later. “I’m in love with you.”
They are words you have never said to someone before. Not even your old boyfriends. Words that you always knew you would reserve for someone special. Someone who would touch your heart and make it their own, someone who would leave imprints of their fingers against your chest. Someone who would brighten you up from the inside out, leave you bursting with light.
Ironic, that Taehyung has become that someone. When he is the one person you never thought could.
When he has proven, time and time again, that you two just cannot mix. Oil and water. Pastel and acrylic. Satin and silk.
“You don’t have to say anything,” you spit out quickly, before Taehyung has a chance to respond. “I know it doesn’t matter to you.”
“Y/N, yes it does,” Taehyung begins, desperate and pleading. “I know you heard what I said, but I swear, it stopped being an act for me, too. Things are different now, just like you said.”
“Don’t. Please.” You pull away as he reaches out towards you. Faintly, you remember that it is his shirt you are wearing. Remember that no matter what you do, he will always surround you. “Please, Tae.” You have nothing left. You can’t bear to look at him, but where else will you go? You cannot believe the things he’s said, the things he’s done, but where else would you go?
“I love you, too,” Taehyung says, and a part of you wants so badly to believe him.
A part of you wants so badly to ingrain those words into your head, carve them into your heart, let him wrap his arms around you and promise that everything will be alright. But things are different now. Just like you said. You and Taehyung are not the same people you were six months ago. Or six weeks ago. Or even six minutes ago. You are helpless and he has proven that he does not care.
“I have to go,” you say, looking away. You don’t think you could handle turning back to him again. “Please, Tae.”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, and he reaches out once more but you are not there to meet him halfway. Were you ever?
“I know,” you whisper back.
You duck into your bedroom and pack a suitcase of everything you need. Being here is suffocating. Being with him is like setting yourself alight.
Victoria has no questions when you show up at her door later that day, suitcase by your side and this ridiculous bottle of Merlot in your hands. You had picked it up on the way over. You sort of figured you might need it.
“You don’t wanna talk about it, do you?” Victoria asks.
“Tell me about your streaming service,” you hiccup in response.
Victoria is happy to oblige. She even tells you that she still hasn’t picked a CFO, and that the position would be open for you if you ever wished to take it.
Funnily enough, what will become of you once your father retires and passes along the company is the furthest away from your thoughts.
You remember being so worried about that. Being so worried that, once they married you off like every good daughter should be, you would be absorbed into your husband’s life, cut out of your family’s. Your father would choose a cousin, an uncle, or even a friend to take after the business, bestowing upon you a thoughtful inheritance but nothing more than that. All of those years of schooling, finance in college, your MBA soon after, would be wasted, just so you could hang on the arm of your husband for the rest of your life.
It’s thoughtful of Victoria to think of you for the position. She knows just as well as anyone else that you would be an excellent fit. And if things were just a little bit different, you would be jumping at the offer.
But your future career plans are on the backburner, along with the rest of your life.
All you can really do, right now, at this very moment, is wait for things to change. As they always do.
“Don’t you have an event tonight?” Victoria asks about three days into your stay. She’s given you her favorite (her words, not yours) guest bedroom and an enormous closet to match, despite you only coming over with a carry-on’s worth of clothes.
You scoff to yourself. “Like I’d want to go to anything with him.”
“Have you even called your parents?”
“No,” you say, not even caring about the repercussions. There’s no doubt in your mind that they’ll be ringing you soon. And when they do, maybe then you’ll finally work up the courage to tell them what really happened. Tell them that you can’t go back there. Not yet, at least.
“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” Victoria says as she hands you a bowl of vegetable soup, homemade from a couple of days ago. You nod to yourself, sniffling as you curl into the couch cushions and wish they would absorb you whole.
There’s no need to ask her what she means by ‘this’. Everything. From your engagement to the marriage, from those tabloids to the deal, from your grandmother’s death to now. It has all been unfair. Life is unfair. And while you’ve always known that, it has been particularly cruel to you as of late.
Still, when you wake up sometimes, you can still feel him tracing over your skin. Feel his lips hovering over yours, breath fanning out over your cheeks. You turn over and expect to see him lying there, on the right side of the bed, sheets mussed as they cover his figure. You wake up and for a brief moment, for that split, split second, there is peace. And happiness. And love.
And then there is nothing.
“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me, too.”
Maybe he really does love you. Maybe things really did change. But you have always been a pragmatic person, always let your head guide you rather than your heart. The secret’s out. Taehyung had an inheritance he needed to secure. You were his path to doing so. Those things haven’t changed. No matter if his feelings did.
“Hey, look at this,” Victoria says, brows furrowed as she holds out her phone in front of you, revealing a livestreamed interview from the event tonight.
You peer over.
It’s Taehyung.
Of course it’s Taehyung. Who else would she be showing you?
He stands in a clean-cut gray coat, draping over his figure, black dress shirt and slacks underneath, belt wrapped neatly around his hips. He holds his hand up in a wave and smiles politely to the cameras, to the reporters, letting the flashes wash over him like waves in the ocean.
“Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim!” Someone calls. “Where’s your wife?”
Oh, God.
Taehyung grimaces a little, pursing his lips. “My wife won’t be joining me tonight.”
“Can you tell us why?” They shout.
“Sorry, no more questions. Thank you for asking though. She’s well,” he says, quickly ushering himself along, entering the venue so no more reporters can bombard him. When he disappears, the livestream immediately moves on to the next guest, but you hardly pay them any attention.
“Huh,” Victoria says aloud.
Indeed. Taehyung’s response strikes you as rather odd. Why would he tell the public that? Why not make up a lie, say you’re sick, or you’re overseas, or you’re just late? Why simply tell them that you won’t be there? Surely, Taehyung is just as aware of the consequences of arriving at an event without you as you are. There’s no doubt that his parents will be in contact with him soon, too. No doubt that this will leave a stain on his family. His image. It might even threaten his inheritance after all.
So why not lie?
You frown to yourself, nose scrunching up in confusion. You don’t like where this train of thought leads.
“You okay?” Victoria asks when she sees the bewildered expression on your face.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you say. Just completely befuddled. It escapes you, why Taehyung wouldn’t just make up some sort of excuse as to reasoning behind your absence. Why he would even show up at the event at all. Certainly, going to the event without you is worse than not going at all. It prompts questions. It spreads rumors.
Later that night, you get a call from your parents, demanding to know why you weren’t there with him. You say you got sick. You plead with them not to question anything.
You wonder what happens next. You and Taehyung still have two more events this week. A dinner and a ball. What will you do then?
Taehyung goes solo for the dinner. You suppose you could have predicted that, considering his apparent willingness to arrive alone for the first event, too. He hasn’t made any efforts to contact you and for once, you’re glad for his silence. Not that you even know what he would say to you, anyway, but at least he isn’t begging you to come back to him.
The sad truth is that if he did, if he got down on his knees right in front of you and willed you to come back home, you probably would. He has always been impossible to resist. Even when you first met him, when he sauntered up towards you and told you he was your dream come true. You didn’t know it then. But he was. He was everything you would ever want.
Why would he lie?
Why would he do that?
You can’t wrap your head around it. What is he getting out of it by telling the truth? By admitting to the paparazzi, to the reporters and the cameramen, that you won’t be there with him. That you will not be joining him. Nothing, certainly. His parents must be furious. His inheritance may be on the rocks. His image might tank.
So then, why do it at all?
Could it… could it be?
Is it true?
You have loved Taehyung for a long time. Longer than you probably even care to admit. You have always held your head high at events, spoken loudly and without fear, but being with him made you feel safe. Secure. You would hold his hand and know, know that he was holding yours, too. It grounded you. It soothed your worries.
Does he really love you back?
Taehyung smiles politely and laughs when he needs to at these events, but he doesn’t look the same. Even through the screen you can see those bags under his eyes, that spark that has faded. You hardly recognize him. He looks so lonely, without someone by his side. So distant.
When you know the dinner has ended, you almost pick up the phone and call him.
Almost.
Instead, when the ball rolls around, you ask Victoria if she’s got a spare dress she can lend you.
Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen covered in paint splotches, wearing old college hoodies, and fresh out of a restless night’s sleep, cleans up pretty well. For a married man, at least.
You wonder what the past few days must have been like for him. If they have been as empty as your own. Wonder what it was like, riding alone in a big black van to this hotel ballroom, no one to tease, no one to laugh with, no one to hold. No one to poke him awake if he accidentally fell asleep. No one to make sure he’s okay.
Taehyung stands right outside of the entrance, waving politely to all of the paparazzi, smiling as the cameras flash, giving them the time of day for a moment before he heads inside and muscles his way through another event without you.
Or so he thinks.
You spot him just as he opens his mouth, ready to repeat those same lines all over again.
My wife won’t be joining me tonight. She’s well, though.
And maybe it’s just because you haven’t seen him in nearly a week. Maybe it’s just because he is about to lie to those reporters once more, ready to face whatever consequences come his way.
Or maybe it’s just because you miss him. Miss him terribly, have been missing him terribly. Being away from him was necessary, but that didn’t make it any less unbearable. Not getting to hold his hand, see his smile, meet his eyes. You and Taehyung may not have always liked each other, but you saw him every day regardless. He became a constant in your life. Not an if, but a when. If everything went to shit, you always knew he would still be there.
And there he is.
“Wait! Taehyung!”
Taehyung’s eyes widen as he hears your voice, gaze darting around wildly, mouth parted in surprise. He looks around desperately, scanning the crowd, meeting the eyes of every single person in front of him until he finally looks to the left, sees you rushing up towards him, hiking up the skirt of your dress as your heels tap against the sidewalk.
And when he spots you, sees you running up to him, his body relaxes, a weight lifted from his shoulders as he beams back at you, relieved and thankful and filled with joy, all at once. And you know, then.
You know that everything will be okay.
“Sorry I’m late,” you say sheepishly, cheeks burning as he looks at you, takes in every inch of you, breathes you in and lets you fill him up.
Taehyung doesn’t respond. You reach out to hold his hand but he grabs your wrist and pulls you in, presses you against his body as he presses his hands against your cheeks, palms burning as they meet your skin, and he kisses you. In front of all these people, he kisses you.
And goddamnit, you will kiss him back.
It feels like lightning, like a thunderstorm, like the waves of the ocean are crashing against your heart. It feels like fire, like flames are licking at your veins, sending sparks through your blood. It feels like home.
You and Taehyung ignore the shouts of reporters, the flashes of cameras, the honks of the cars on the other side of the road. When you part, he presses his forehead against yours and lets the tip of your nose meet his. And you smile.
“Don’t be alone any longer, Mr. Kim,” you whisper, loud enough so only he can hear.
“When I’m with you, I never am, Mrs. Kim,” he murmurs back.
You wonder what those tabloids will be saying about you tomorrow.
The rest of the night finds the two of you pretty much inseparable. You wrap yourself around his arm and for the first time in a long time, he presses his hand against the small of your back, keeping you close. Like he’d ever lose you again.
One of your least favorite parts about attending balls used to be the dancing. As a young and eligible bachelorette, you would always have to lock hands with another, let him awkwardly guide you along to the music as you made the worst small talk imaginable, forcing laughter and smiles whenever he said something he thought was particularly funny.
But, like so many others, things have changed. Things are different now.
The waltz comes on and you and Taehyung are the first to reach the center of the ballroom floor, letting him rest his hand on your waist as you press yours on top of his shoulder. Let him twirl you around the room as the orchestra plays in the background, a soft, sweet, light little melody that carries you along.
“I missed this,” you say softly.
“I missed us,” Taehyung corrects. He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my inheritance.”
“I’m sorry for storming out. I should have listened to you.” you respond easily. You both have plenty to apologize for. But night is darkest right before dawn.
“I should have said something,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. “But I was just so—so worried that something would go wrong. And I didn’t know how to explain how I felt about you. I acted in the beginning, too, but then things changed.”
“They always do,” you muse with a grin.
“I couldn’t believe I had you,” Taehyung admits. “I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous. And funny. And true.”
“Go on,” you tease, even though you do nothing to hide the smile inching its way across your face, the heating of your cheeks, the simmering of your skin.
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I just—I felt something for you I couldn’t explain. I still can’t.”
You don’t have to prod any further. You know. Deep within your heart, you know. There is love blossoming in his to match the garden that has bloomed in your own. The flowers that have sprouted in the ashes. He has them, too. And when those petals open and the light streams in, he will know. He will know, too.
“You make me crazy,” you tell him, whispering gently into his skin. “But I’m a better person when I’m with you. I know I am.”
“I meant what I said, that night,” Taehyung says. Makes you wonder which night he’s actually talking about. “That I’m happy that things have changed. That things happened the way they did. I’m grateful for us.”
“I am, too,” you say. And you are.
You rest your head against his chest as you dance together, swaying back and forth to the beat of the drums, to the strums of the violins, all wrapped up together like ivy, like vines. Those, too, sit in that garden of yours. Keep you tethered to his side, keep him close to yours. He holds you in his arms and he smiles, because he knows, too. Knows that that garden in your heart will soon have a matching one in his. A mirror image of who you are. Who you’ve become.
Things change. They always will. But so long as he is by your side, and so long as you are by his, you know. Everything will be okay.
It's different, this time, when Taehyung presses you into the mattress.
There is no rush. Because now you know for certain that all the time in the world is yours. He is yours forever. You are his.
The two of you are a mixture of tangled limbs and shared breaths, the feverish, irrepressible need to give yourself to each other nearly tangible. He breaks the kiss suddenly, and you’re about to break out in protest. That is, until you see him unbuttoning his shirt.
Inspired, you wiggle out of your own clothes, eyes locked on Taehyung's soft torso and the idea that you had married such a beautiful man, inside and out.
Looking back, you wonder if that was always inevitable. If you and Taehyung falling into each other had been written in the stars from day one, sealed as your fate from the moment he came up to you at that ball when you were teenagers. He was going to be a part of your life no matter what. Whether or not you ended up marrying him. But having him like this?
It makes it all worth it.
"Do you like what you see?" That old cocky smirk of his makes an appearance.
You raise a brow, choosing to omit a response as you unclasp your bra, letting it fall from your chest.
Taehyung swallows.
"Do you?" You tease.
His response comes in the form of bites down your necks and licks down your chest, stealing your breath from you.
Your clothes are somewhere dispelled beside your passionate bodies, growing cold beside the way your two hot bodies warmed one another.
"You are so beautiful," Taehyung praises, fingers coming up to cup your breast, bringing it up to his mouth.
You mewl, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as his tongue toys with your pert bud, teeth grazing it ever so often just to hear the broken gasp that'd always follow.
"And so sensitive too," he giggles, making you pout. His hands are gentle as if every touch means something. As if you mean something—no, everything—to him. And the most wonderful part is that he means everything to you, too.
"Shut up." You roll your eyes playfully, gasping as his palm comes down the side of your thigh suddenly in warning. You bite down your swollen bottom lip at the gush of arousal that dampened your underwear in response.
"Watch your tone, love. Of both our positions, you are in the most compromising one." He reminds you. It isn't a threat, and while usually, that kind of tone would thrill you, you couldn't help but want his mouth back on yours already.
"You talk too much." You flop back onto the bed with a sigh. Taehyung watches with interest as your pretty tits bounce in consequence. Extending your hands out towards him, you give him a pouty look. "Just wanna kiss you."
"Is that all I am to you? Just a pair of lips for you to mack on? I've got news for you, sweetheart, there's a brain behind these ravishing good looks." He scoffs in feigned offense, sitting back on his heels.
You giggle.
It seems as though even during the most intimate of moments, Taehyung still found a way to be, well, Taehyung. At least that hasn’t changed.
"Whatever, pretty boy. Why don't you come over here and put that mouth of yours to good use?" You purr, making his eyebrows raise in surprise.
"Oh? I don't remember you being this assertive when I was pounding you into the mattress last time."
“What, I can’t have a little fun as well?” You tease, grinning as you look up at him, raking your eyes over his figure.
"Wanna have fun, love?," He murmurs into your ears, hands gripping either of your plush thighs. "Then spread those pretty legs for me, and I'll show you exactly how much fun you can have."
God, you love this man.
You oblige eagerly, breath quickening as he helped you press your knees by your chest, leaving the wet patch in your underwear on full display.
"My pretty little wife." He sighs dreamily, making heat rush to your core.
Taehyung's cock stood loud and proud, a hot reminder of where the night would eventually lead to. Seriously, how did you get so lucky? You must've been a saint in a previous life, you decide right then. Or at least, the stars have chosen to be rather kind to you in this one.
"Gonna take these off," he mutters, mostly to himself, tugging the ruined fabric over your ass and down your legs, with your help, of course.
Despite your usual display of confidence, lying beneath your husband, spread out like this, has you feeling vulnerable and slightly insecure. But that insecurity vanishes, however, as he lets out a soft moan, fingers moving to spread your glossed lips apart.
"So fucking pretty, baby. Gonna make you feel so fucking good," he groans, leaning down to press his face near your most intimate part.
Pressing a tentatively lick against, his eyes flicker up to yourself, curious to see if you’re okay with him proceeding. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to say no, are you?
Embarrassingly, you rut against him, making him laugh as you drown in your own mortification.
"Need it that bad, huh?" He coos.
"Yes, please."
The rest of your plea is lost in a moan as Taehyung finds your clit, wrapping his pink lips around the sensitive muscle and giving it a generous suck. Your hands are in his hair before you can think to stop yourself, tugging at his scalp deliciously as his mouth makes its way with you.
Thank goodness for this apartment belonging to just the two of you as the noises that tumbled from your lips surely would've left a roommate blushing.
You're panting, begging for more even though you aren't sure how you'd even handle more. It comes as a delight and slight surprise as fingers suddenly slip inside, wasting no time to rub against your velvety smooth walls, curling themselves inside you.
"Fuck, Tae!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.
It was pure reflex. Up until now, you had been watching Taehyung intently, completely consumed by the way his mouth moves against you. How his tongue flicks against your needy clit cruelly. It just felt too fucking good.
You're so wet, positively dripping down his chin as he runs his hot muscle up and down the length of your pussy, devouring you like he hadn't eaten in months, and you were his first meal.
Taehyung’s nothing short of addicting, completely and utterly intoxicating, and you slip further and further to your demise with every lick he takes, every press of his tongue against your clit.
He has a hand pressed against the lower half of your torso, feeling the way you jerk and squirm as he makes a mess of you. You’re close and you know it, too, if not by the way you’re calling his name over and over again, then by the way your thighs tremble, hardly even strong enough to stay up.
"Let go for me, love. I've got you." He sounds so sweet, so angelic, despite how filthy what he was doing to you was.
His words are the push you need, and, like a rubber band that has been stretched past its limit, you finally snap, back arching off the bed as you come with a cry. White fills your vision, and your mind goes blank, only sounds of blissful static filling your ears.
His fingers hold up your quivering legs, mouth pressing kisses onto your pussy encouragingly until you simply can't bear it any longer, pushing his mouth away as you stutter out words of sensitivity and overstimulation.
“I’m going to have to request more of that throughout this marriage.” You manage to say once your vision and breath come back to you.
Grabbing one of your hands, Taehyung brings it to his mouth.
“All you need do is ask,” he replies, making you laugh as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, always a gentleman
Not long after, you find yourself pressed against Taehyung, tongue running against his as he presses his hips into yours. He isn’t coy about his want for you, rolling his cock against your already sensitive center. Warm precum leaks onto your lower abdomen, and suddenly, all you can think about is having him inside you again.
“Taehyung?”
You don’t even need to ask. Hitching your leg around his thigh, he knows exactly what you’re seeking, lining up his leaking cock with your swollen entrance.
Pressing into you, he buries himself to the hilt, groaning out as your warmth envelopes him. You moan out so prettily for him, feeling tight and full with your first orgasm only minutes ago.
“You okay?” he hums, kissing your cheek.
You nod, ears warm at the intimacy of the moment. In many ways, this is nothing like your first time together. You are face to face, eye to eye, heart to heart. Between your bodies could be found more than just desire, but commitment. Devotion. Love.
“I love you, Tae.” You gush, sighing out as he begins to rock into you.
He falters slightly at your confession but recovers quickly, intertwining his hand with yours and pressing it by your head.
Faintly, you realize.
That was the first time you had ever told him that.
You look up at him, expecting some wide eyes or even a bit of a nervous tilt to his lips, but all you are met with is a glow. He beams down at you, and your heart swells.
“I love you, too, Y/N,” he whispers, but you hear the words in your ears loud and clear.
Soft noises fill the room as the two of you become one—hearts synchronizing with one another in silent promise.
It was a promise unlike the one you had made to each other that day at the altar, for this one was real. This one was true.
You shutter with every thrust of his hips, your abused clit finding itself in the crossfire of Taehyung’s passionate motions.
Whimpering, you cling to him, overwhelmed and emotional, like your heart was about to burst. Taehyung lights a fire in you, sends lightning straight through your core. Every word, every smile, every kiss, every touch, they send shivers down your spine, tingles throughout your skin. It’s like you’re falling in love with him all over whenever you see him, whenever his deep brown eyes meet your own.
You remember being so afraid of love that you broke up with all your old boyfriends because of it. Because you couldn’t commit, because you were worried about your career, because they just didn’t give you that spark. But lying here pressed against him, against your husband, you aren’t afraid. Wrapped up around him, tangled up in him, you know.
Between messy kisses and words of adoration, you find yourself growing closer and closer to your release. Brows furrowed and neck flushed, you come with a soft whimper of his name, coaxing his own orgasm out of him. He lets go inside you, painting you with his seed in a way that pleases you to no end.
Hand still in yours, he gives it a squeeze, pressing a kiss onto your damp chest, right over where your heart beats for him.
“I love you,” Taehyung says again when you meet his eyes, firmer this time, louder. Like he’s worried you didn’t believe him the first time.
“I know,” you say with a giggle, the words going straight to your head—and your heart.
Taehyung scowls. “What, no ‘I love you’ back? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Well, only because you want one so badly,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his round button nose. “I love you, too, Tae. Always will.”
“I think I knew, then,” Taehyung says with a fond sigh, nostalgia overcoming his expression. “That first time we met. I knew you would be mine, one day.”
“You got lucky,” you scoff slightly. “But I’m glad things happened the way they did.”
“You’re my dream come true, Y/N,” he says.
“And you are mine,” you murmur.
As the two of you drift off, all twisted up in each other, so mixed up you can’t figure out where you end and he begins, you think back to that night. That ball.
“Who are you?” You ask, nose scrunched up in distaste. Before you stood a boy you had never met before, wearing shoes that were too big for him and a suit that was a touch too small.
He grins at you, running a hand through his perfectly-styled hair fringe swiped neatly over his forehead, and he says, “your dream come true.”
And so it was.
don’t forget to message me! ~ and don’t forget to message rose!
#taehyung smut#v smut#bts smut#taehyung fluff#taehyung angst#bts fluff#bts angst#bts scenario#v fluff#v angst#v scenario#taehyung scenario#bts imagine#taehyung imagine#v imagine#bts au#taehyung au#w: love me or we both go down#ITS FINALLY DONE YOU GUYS HOLY SHIT#this fic honestly has plagued my thoughts and my dreams#since AUGUST
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Spirk fanfic rec
Some amazing Spirk fanfic to bless your dash because I’m falling in love with this shit all over again (this is like the 10th time this has happened lol):
Entering Orbit: Jim escapes to Iowa to avoid the media frenzy following the Narada incident, but a late-night miscommunication results in Spock turning up on his front porch; rated m; 30,957 words
Papers in the Roadside: Non-Starfleet AU. Jim owns a small bar in Chicago, keeps on picking up strays and taking care of everyone no matter how hard it makes his own life. Spock is a journalist writing feature articles for the Chicago Tribune; he depicts the world with uncanny skill, but hides more than one personal drama and is possibly under surveillance from the Vulcan royal family. They meet by accident just before their lives start to spin out of control; rated e; 49,637 words
Take Refuge in What You Know: AU - Kirk has moved into a apartment/house and wants to get to know his neighbors. He meets his neighbor Spock, a loner who suffers from extreme agoraphobia. Kirk thinks he's beautiful enigma; rated e; 120,334 words
Listen, this is not only my favorite Star Trek fic of all time, it’s also one of my favorite fanfics in general. It’s right up there with Text Talk and The Shoebox Project from the HP fandom, which if you’ve read, you know are incredible and frankly life-changing. And this fanfic changed my life. The description the author gives doesn’t do the beauty of this fic justice. I suffer from agoraphobia and Spock’s depiction as an agoraphobic man was probably the most well-researched, sympathetic, empathetic, caring, realistic portrayal of what it’s like to be agoraphobic that I’ve ever witnessed in fiction. It made me cry like a child because I had never felt so seen and understood. This writer is incredible, and this fic is incredible. I can’t recommend it enough. It’s an AU, which I’m usually pretty wary about, but it barely even feels like an AU. It just feels like Jim and Spock. The author’s understanding of both of their characters’ is perfect, like just a spot-on portrayal of who they are. This fic genuinely helped me accept who I am and helped me understand that I am capable of & deserving of love. If you don’t read any other Star Trek fics (and you def should read more Star Trek fics because they’re amazing), then let this one be the one you read. I dare you not to read it three times in a row like I did.
Observations: First Officer Spock comments on life aboard the Enterprise and his service under Captain James T. Kirk; rated m; 500,000+ words.
So the author of this fic actually did a thing where they made this fic into two books (similar to what The Shoebox Project authors did many years ago in the HP fandom). They don’t get any money from people buying the books; the cost is just to go towards producing the books. This fic is the equivalent of two LARGE novels. We’re talking 600 pages & up. It’s a huge fic. Now, that being said, I read it in one day. ONE DAY. It’s that good. This is another one of my all-time favorite fics, though not quite as dear to my heart as the one I listed above. It’s focused on AOS, and tbh, I forget that what happens in this book isn’t actually canon. Like it’s so well-told, it just feels like it’s now part of the timeless story of Kirk & Spock. The “professional” Star Trek writers would never be brave enough to do what this author does with Kirk and Spock, though. This fic will make you angry, will make you laugh, will make you cry. It has such a good grasp on every single character. It also shows the love between the crew of the Enterprise, which is always a treat, and it’s beautifully done in this fic. It has a sorta-enemies-to-lovers arc between Spirk and an enemies-to-close-friends arc between Spock and McCoy that is beautifully done and fleshed out. This fic is definitely a journey to go through, and I can’t recommend it enough. It’s extremely slow burn, and you will want to slap both Kirk and Spock (and McCoy) upside the head at certain points lol.
Of Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves: The progression of a relationship, through Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves. Basically, it’s an AU where Kirk works at a coffee shop to pay his way through school, and Spock visits often. rated t; 16,429 words
Love, love, love, this fic. It’s cute, it’s in character. They have kind of a rocky start together, so it’s got a little bit of that Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy i-hated-you-but-now-i-love-you-marry-me vibes to it. I’m a sucker for that, if you haven’t figured that out by now lol. It’s really good, and a really enjoyable read. And it’s not too long, if you’re in the mood for something on the shorter end of things.
Please Don’t Touch the Vulcans: The "yes" is out of Jim's mouth before he can think about it. Jim is chipper about having time off for the holidays. He asks everyone if they want to spend time together but sadly, everyone ditches Jim over the holidays because they have plans. McCoy visits his daughter, Nyota visits her family, and everyone splits. Not knowing Spock has feelings for him, Jim doesn't even bother asking if he wants to spend time together figuring he has something to do. Something cute, romantic with the boys spending time with one another and confessions; rated m; 17,690 words
Super cute and has lots of Sarek, which idk about y’all, but I’m always a fan of. Sarek and Jim kind of get to know each other a bit, and it’s cute. Sarek knows about they’re in love before Spock & Kirk know lol. If I remember correctly, there’s also some appearances from everyone’s favorite: Old!Spock! You also get a little bit of jealous and protective Young!Spock. So you’re in for a real treat with this one.
The Ren shat’var Trilogy:
A split-second decision changes Jim's life forever, as he enters into a bond with Spock in the face of certain torture. Enemies to the Federation emerge from unlikely places, and the command team must contend with unexpected threats, as well as challenges within their own intense relationship. In this three-part series, the Enterprise races across the galaxy to confront the unknown, and Jim and Spock discover the true significance of their unprecedented connection; rated e; 184,411 words
Textual Attraction: Valentine’s Day does not bring up pleasant memories for Cadet Kirk. But the serendipitous switch-up of his cell phone with a particular Vulcan professor’s will make his day far more interesting –and romantic. Perhaps some new memories can be made! 15,900 words
SO GOOD. Just SO good
Spaceman: Academy AU. Five times Spock realizes he's attracted to a barista at the academy spaceport, and one time he decides to do something about it. rated t; 3728 words
Short, sweet, funny. You’ll love it.
Subtext: Texting your Vulcan first officer in the middle of the night is never a good idea. Especially when you have an obsessive crush on said Vulcan.The holidays are approaching and Jim is left entirely Spockless aboard the Enterprise when his First takes shore leave on New Vulcan. After some midnight pining, Jim sends a text he instantly regrets. That is, until Spock responds and willingly continues their textual communications to an inevitable conclusion; rated t; 13,032 words
Cute, sweet, funny. It’s a texting fic. I think you’ve probably figured out I love those. This one makes me laugh so fucking hard. Like actually laugh-out-loud-omg-did-i-just-snort kind of funny. Spock is great in this one
All Spock Wants For Christmas: While Jim is away on a delegation mission, he panics about what to give Spock for Christmas. With help from Bones and Uhura, and in between some spam texting with Spock, Jim realizes he already has the perfect gift. And all it needs is wrapping paper and a bow; rated t; 11,966 words
And here we have another cute, sweet, funny texting fic. Sue me lol
The Morning After: Jim convinces Spock to take shore leave with him on Risa, hoping the time together will help re-solidify their bond of friendship after some recent tension. Meanwhile, Spock convinces himself he's on Risa for one reason and one reason only, to prevent his wayward captain from getting into trouble.
After a passionately illogical night of Romulan Ale and chocolate infused liquor, everything changes when Jim wakes with something other than a hangover filling his head. Something he's sure neither he nor Spock can handle. Because if Jim knows anything for sure, it's that his messed up thoughts belong nowhere near Spock's clean, ordered mind; rated m; 50,381 words
HAHA. This fic fucking cracks me up. You’ve got drunk boys pining over each other & not realizing it. You’ve got accidental marriage. You’ve got bed sharing. It’s great, it’s cute, it’s funny.
Take This Sinking Boat (And Point It Home): In which Spock pines, Jim isn’t stupid (except he kind of is), and Christopher Pike has had enough of this bullshit; 6698 words
Pike is great in this one, and it’s super, super funny.
Extracurricular Activities: Spock returns to the Academy from a tour of duty to find an intriguing cadet captures his attention; rated e; 15,433 words
Veritas: Basically, Kirk and Spock are on trial because the Federation thinks they are emotionally compromised by each other, which is putting the lives of their crew in danger. They have to convince a court they’re not actually in love with each other. They think the claims are bullshit. They think it will be easy to prove that they aren’t in love or emotionally compromised, damn it. It isn’t; rated m; 186,80 words
This one is so, so good. A real gem off of Fanfic.net. I remember it was actually one of the first Spirk fanfics I ever read, and it blew me away. The progression of their relationship is really well-done and interesting. It has star-crossed lovers vibes and has some really emotionally intense moments in it, especially for Spock.
A Habitual Affection: Living in 1930s New York with the Vulcan you're secretly in love with is no simple thing. But Jim never liked anything simple. And then, the big snowstorm hit...; rated t; 7998 words
A beautiful TOS fic about one of the gayest episodes of Star Trek. Love this one.
Atlas: Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning; rated t; 135,529 words
A beaut. Really great characterization, and the progression of Jim and Spock’s relationship is really well-done.
#spirk#spock#kirk#james t kirk#spock/kirk#kirk/spock#star trek#star trek tos#star trek aos#space husbands#spirk fanfic recs#spirk fanfic
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𝐸𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠//𝑄𝑢𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑡𝑦
Masterlist
Quackity x reader !c
Pronouns used: none specified
Warnings: death, angst, fluff, blood
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“My love for you is endless” Is what he says every single time I see his face. In my dreams he is all I see, the world that surrounds mine is his.
Everyone believes in soulmates right? The people your just ment to be with, even tho sometimes people don’t live long enough or right to meet those people.
That means that if you go and stay with the wrong person your both destined for misery. Love is supposed to be happiness and the extent and feeling of warmth in the single touch of a finger, arm, hand, etc.
The butterflies that erupt in your stomach or the thoughts imploding in your head wondering how I can be exactly perfect because you don’t want to let down the one you love.
If you do manage to hurt your love you feel dread and a weight on your shoulders like a cannon just fell on top of you.
So when I watched the one I love holding a sword above my heart I felt broken. Absolutely dreadful. I was done, done with it all.
The second the cold steel slashed into my chest the red metallic blood pooling out, I heard him say one last thing. “My love for you is endless”
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“Quackity.. Stop where you are!” I threatened the ducking, I stood back holding my hands up in surrender. “Give me my beanie back N/n, and we won’t have any problems.” His tone was malicious but it only made me giggle, so I ran almost tripping on the different buildings.
A feild of dandelions surrounded me, cornflowers and Lily’s of the valley at my feet. It felt amazing as the cool summer breeze fanned upon my skin. The sunlight shine reflection a mirror of my current move. I shrieked as Quackity came out of nowhere tickling the sides of my waist.
“This is why you don’t mess with me love!” I pouted flopping my back onto the grass, my love joining shortly after with the beanie secured on his head. “We should invest in sun glasses, the light is too much for my eyes.” I crowded away giggling as a butterfly landed on my nose.
“Do I need to fight this son of a bitch.” He sat up leaning against his elbows, staring down the beautiful monarch. Once it flew away I waved it goodbye, Quackity jumping after it on the other hand. “Yeah! That’s what you get for touching my lover you dick!”
His childish antics brought a smile to my face, getting possessive over a butterfly.. “Careful, don’t touch it’s wings. That could kill it.” I shouted after him, making sure the small creature won’t get hurt.
“I hope it breaks its wings and dies.” I scoffed rolling around, “You can’t say that. Now come join me or I’ll have an affair with a rabbit.” I joked around but supringly enough he came running. “The likeliness of that happening is zero to one.” I just shrugged leaving him exahsperated.
“I have so many better traits then a damn furry. Those shits are impossible to catch anyways, while I’m right here.” I genuinely thought about it, debating my options. Safe to admit, he was sadly right. Dating a hate would be rather impossible, and rather immoral in my opinion.
I patted out any wrinkles in my clothing, laying down on Quackitys chest. “Alright alright, I’m all yours.” “Forever?” “Maybe.” There were some times where you couldn’t trust his judgement. Naive you may call it, or possibly just blinded by the moment, It’s cruel really.
“So I’ve been speaking to some more people around the server, apparently they don’t all hate me after Schlatts death.” I was surprised at the knowledge, I know I hated him for a good while. Schlatt was a terrible man to Quackity, never treated him right making the ducking out to be a bad guy. One of the reasons why his left wing is missing feathers..
I hummed begging for him to continue, “Who may these mystery damsels in distress be?” Quackity wasn’t very amused on the comment, ignoring it otherwise. Tommy best quality may be annoying people, pushing his small buttons.
“Sapnap and Karl Jacobs, they’re really fucking awesome. Made me feel a little more welcome you know.” A little ping went through my heart, suddenly not feeling the best. “I tried you know.” His head lifted up bringing me with, “Nono I didn’t mean it like that!”
I smile either way, placing a quick peck on his lips. “Don’t worry, it’s no big deal.” We have endless time to be with each other, make friends and live our lives. I’m happy. Yet he has the head start.
≫≫∘❁♧︎❁∘≪≪
“Quackity, look at me dammit!” I shouted grabbing the mans arm, he cringed away from me grabbing his suite jacket. “Go the fuck away Y/n.” I almost cried at the smell of smoke admitting from his mouth, carefully watching as he slipped the dark jacket over his arms.
“Actually fucking listen to me.” Those around started looking at us, a rush of heat on my cheeks. “You left me to go run off with your little fiancé’s. But once they fucking forgot you, you came running back to me! Now that you have your fun casino you act like it’s all my damn fault.”
I could easily tell he was getting frustrated, uninterested to be embarrassed in front of his workers and clients. “Can we take this outside, cause you failed to see that there are actual people here before going off on your tantrum.” I was shocked to hear the words escape from his mouth.
“Tantrum? Is that how you see me? Just a little fucking leech following you around everywhere, begging for constant attention and time to play!” I instructed Charlie to bring me my coat, prepared to leave. “Here you are Y/n from Las Navadas, dap me up!” I attempted to shake the slime human’s hand.
Sighing, taking a deep breath as I exited the casino. The loud noises of the music and slots machines, alcohol reeking from the inside. “Wait.” I turned around to see Quackity, sand whisking around as he ran to me. “Y/n, I want you to know something.”
I almost flinched when he put his hands on my waist, looking into my eyes with adoration and love. “My love for you is endless.” I gasped as blood started pooling from my abdomen, red seethed my clothes. “I’m sorry, you know too much.”
It all went blank, as I felt my body disintegrate for the last time. The only thing I could hear, the loud nauseous noises of caterers and game machines. Except nobody was here?
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The ending was kinda shit since I didn’t know what to do with it- but casino Quackity my love?
Anyways, ask ans request anything! And ask if you want to be on a taglist
#quackity x reader#quackity#mcyt#mcyt x reader#dsmp x reader#dream smp#las navadas#quackity x you#karlnapity#kinoko kingdom#mcyt imagine#mcyt fanfiction#dsmp imagine
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i have an amazing idea for a book, truly could be an incredible story. one that i would love to read myself. two things tho, how tf do i write it when i suck so bad at writing and how tf do i get it all out of my brain. i wish i could just unhinge my skull and let it pour out like one does with warm laundry from the basket to the couch (for folding of course) but yet it’s stuck in there like a bird in a warehouse. i ask you because the way you churn out stories is awe inspiring and i was hoping you might have some words of advice for a dumbass 🥺 ty, ily, i hope you get to eat a brownie today 🧡
First of all nonny, thank you, I'm delighted that you like my writing so much. I'm really flattered that you want to come to me for advice. Hey @extasiswings you have an admirer!
Second of all, that is the mood of writers everywhere - wishing we could just pour our thoughts for the story onto the page and voila.
Third of all - to answer your question. The second part is easy. You get it out of your brain by writing it.
Which brings us back to the first part of the question. What if you're not great at writing yet? Well first of all - who gives a fuck? First drafts are called vomit drafts for a reason. The first draft only has to exist. That is all. It can be an utter pile of cliche shit. So long as it exists, that's all that matters. Get the story out of your head by writing it.
Many people find it helpful to voice record things instead of writing it, since they can't write as fast as their thoughts go, and they get caught up in whether or not something reads well as opposed to just vomiting out all the shit they need to. "I hate the sound of my own voice!" Tough titties, my ducklings! If you're going to let something like "I hate the sound of my voice" stop you then by all means don't force yourself, but what you're really saying is, "I don't care enough about this story to overcome my personal discomfort." Nobody's going to hear these voice recordings except you. Nobody's cringing. You just need to talk out the plot points or verbalize a really good bit of dialogue before it forever vanishes into the ether, and that's all you need.
(You will never get it entirely out of your brain until the story is finished, by the way. Welcome to being a writer.)
As for "sucking so bad..." there's only one cure for that, and nobody likes it. In fact, we loathe it.
The cure is to write.
Read books by authors whose writing you like and want to emulate. Watch well-written films and television. We practice what we are shown as examples, so give your brain good examples. And then just write! You will never, ever get good at something if you don't practice it. Not a single person woke up one day able to be a genius at [enter talent here]. Even the "prodigies" and the "natural talents" took training at some point, and quite intensive training usually.
I'm going to be honest with you, it will be a while before you write that story the way you see it in your head. It will be a while before you're satisfied. But that's okay. I've been writing for literally twenty years. That’s two decades of practice. And even I have my bad days! From roughly September last year until a month or so ago I hated every fic I wrote. My friends encouraged me to post them because they loved them. I didn’t think they were good enough. I still don’t. You mention how my friend and I can write stories for each other on demand. It took me twenty years to get to that place.
So be patient with yourself. Writing is a habit, a journey, a practice. If you really want to write a book, prepare to settle in for the long haul. The only way to get better is to write. The only way to get the story out of your head is to write it. The only way to not suck is to practice the thing you suck at. There’s no magical tricks, no secret ingredient, no special shortcuts. You just gotta write.
Of course, nobody is forcing you to do this. Please do not take this as some kind of “do this or else” message. But if you really, genuinely want to write something you’re proud of, then the only solution is to practice writing, and accept that improvement takes time.
“But what if I sit down and there’s no inspiration?” you say. Well, there’s the voice recording as I said, but also, treat writing like brushing your teeth. It’s not an art. It’s a habit that you have to practice every day in order to train your brain until it becomes automatic. Write at the same time, do the same thing every time before you write (like walk the dog) and be sure to reward yourself afterwards (get a cookie). Doing the same thing at the same time will mean that now, at 10am after you walked the dog, your brain goes “oh writing time!” and turns on that part of your brain. And because there’s a reward, your brain goes OH BOY COOKIE!!! and that motivates your brain. Start small. Don’t go by word count, go by time. Set a timer and for ten minutes write, even if what you write is “I fucking hate this shit and I’m shit and everything is shit.” Write literally anything! “They do this and then this and then this happens.” YAY! Eventually you’ll be able to fill that time, and then increase it. 15 minutes. 20 minutes. 25. 30. An hour. Don’t write for too long without a break. Twenty minutes of consistent steady writing with a break is better than an hour staring at a blank Word doc.
Again: be patient with yourself!
That’s really the only advice I can give you. Please remember, nonny dear, what you are seeing is the result of twenty years of nonstop practice. “Wow she just churns them out!” Well, sure, now I can. I couldn’t for the first ten years. Sometimes just because I can churn ‘em out doesn’t mean they’re any good. And I have my bad days and rough patches too. I have my periods where I don’t write anything at all. So be kind to yourself. Treat yourself. You and your story deserve it.
#mads answers things#also nonny your analogies in your ask were lovely#so I suspect you aren't as bad of a writer as you think you are
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Gems💎
I hope in 30-40 years down the road, we’d still be friends. Laughing our asses off just like these moments I captured. I wouldn't trade this two for anything in the world.
I have never felt such huge contentment in my life when it came to having friends, till' I met this two. You both taught me so much in ways you guys never knew. But I keep saying this over and over again, that if I were to give any advice it would be to find people who are your tribe. Who you can be anybody in the world and they would still accept you through it all. It doesn't matter the amount of times we've hung out, doesn't matter the amount of who treated who the most, what mattered was the bond we crafted. A friendship that could not compare to anything else.
Fandi, you really taught me a lot despite the fact that it always feels like we're the ones guiding you. You opened up a world to me that used to make me feel so intimidated by. When my mind wasn't fully evolved, I felt that the kind of world you lived in was scary. But that's the thing about humans, we're afraid of the things we don't know, of the unknown. But ever since I gotten to know you, you make me dip my feet once in a while to the other side of the river, knowing it wasn't so bad. That there are genuine people who are just lost and confused, and wanted to find people who resognated with each other. Like the rest of us. Tattoos, Drinking, Clubs, Drugs, Casual Sex, Questioning one's sexuality, all this tabboos that brings people together but in the most fucked up way, makes life so much interesting and thrilling. Stories that you'd tell. ''One for the books'' they said. Fandi, you're more of a brother to me than my own, and I appreciate every ounce of breath you take because your existence in my life makes such a difference. I love you for who you are despite and inspite of everything. All the troubles you've caused, all the mess you get yourself into, all the dirty shit you teach me, because you are the person who keeps giving me pieces of myself that I'd cherish forever. You make me feel complete, in being who I am.
Now where do I start with the bestest of friend that any girl would be lucky to have? Zalikha; you're out of control. But in the best way possible. You know how in movies they'd show love at first sight? It was like that when I first met you. You were unapolegetically yourself to begin with and I immediately vibed with it. There was this undeniable connection that kept pulling me to wanting to be friends with you. You're like a rare pokemon. There's this zestness in you, that was so contagious, it was outrageous but pure are the same time, and I am so honoured that I get to call you my best friend. If I were to be granted a wish right now, it would definitely be one for you. Babe, you deserve the world and if not, the universe. That's how I see it, and how I see you. Worthy. Amazing. Beautiful. Heart of Gold. And if any man doesn't see that, its their fucking loss, honey. You love the fuck out of someone, you're so loyal that it makes me inspired. You're a gem waiting to be discovered. After all the things we've been through, you still stood by my side. Nothing that I'd do would ever come close to what you've done for me.
Truth be told, I think this two were brought into my life, to save me from myself.
They always say, count your blessings. I have two more now. You guys keep me going. From the downfall of my engagement, to the point where I thought someone who from the past was the one, and to where I am now, you both have catched me every single time that I fall. Every rookie mistake I purposely make, you both were there. You both could always fight about the fact how Fandi likes to drop and leave when we're hanging out so he could have a quickie with some stranger on Grindr, but I'd always make it to a point to glue you both back together. I feel that is my responsibility. I'd hate to see this beautiful friendship we've crafted break apart just like that, and I'd do anything to salvage it.
You both are my rocks, my gems.
Even if the worst comes that we might fall apart in the future, I'd speak proudly of having friends like you guys.
Cause frankly, you guys aren't just my friends. You guys are my extended family. Family is suppose to make you feel safe, protected, guided and unconditionally loved. That's what you guys make me feel.
So here's to us, from the horny fucks that can't catch a break in their love lives'. HAHAHA.
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Hello! I have a request for the obey me bro! Could you write some hc abt a MC who would see the boys as lovely (each for their reasons) and would considers them more like cute little beans rather than demons, spoiling and pampering them as if they were children, giving them candy or patting them on the head to calm them down, buying them stuff... and so MC would be completely oblivious to their attempts to flirt! (like : you want a kiss? what if I pinched your adorable cheek instead?)
Ooooh boy this is both adorable and hilarious! I’m gonna do just the brothers for now, but if you want to see others lmk!
Content Warnings: References to spoilery stuff for Lucifer, Asmo, and Belphie’s sections, Asmo’s section also contains alcohol/clubbing
MC Treating the Brothers Like Cute Little Beans
Lucifer
MC hits Lucifer like a fucking freight train. They’ve been kidnapped and dragged to Hell, and their response to living with seven demons is... Well, he’s not sure what to call this.
The behaviour isn’t malicious or threatening, beyond dealing some serious damage to his Pride(tm), so what is he really able to do? Is this some human custom? Will he offend them if he asks them to stop? He’s supposed to be accommodating of them for the sake of the exchange program, but the last person to be so soft with him is...
He decides to deal with it. The heart-shaped foods when it’s MC’s turn to cook, the little presents, the... headpats, and other doting measures MC deems necessary. He only asks that they refrain from doing so around others, especially outside of the House of Lamentation. If Diavolo saw him like this, he’d never live it down.
And it eventually becomes quite endearing. Lucifer finds himself anticipating MC’s affection, and notices if they stop. It’s while he’s been swamped for an especially long time in paperwork that he realizes he misses it. Who knew a human like them could stir up these feelings in him...
Lucifer comes to the conclusion that if MC is so essential to his life, he should let them know. But the Avatar of Pride isn’t about to say, “Your babying has made me fall in love with you,” so instead he opts to start flirting. He gets MC fancy gifts, his touches start to linger, and he even invites them out to dinner.
And none of it gets a reaction. They coo over the gifts and smile at the increased attention, but the idea of romance seems to fly right over their head. He offered to take them to Ristorante Six and they pinched his cheek! He is The Lucifer, the son of the morning, the embodiment of pride, and a human just giggled at him and called him “such a sweetie” for trying to ask them out on a date!
Oh no. He will not let this human get the better of him. Lucifer will find a way to make his intentions clear, and this human will see him as a serious candidate to be their partner.
Mammon
Mammon lives a rough and tumble life. He’s energetic and loud, and his schemes to get riches often put him at odds with those around him. He can con people, and he can survive hostility, but MC is not the type of thing he deals with often, if ever. Part of him is convinced this is fine: he’s the GREAT Mammon, of course this human is all over him! Another part of him is flattered and greatly appreciates the attention.
But there’s a growing part of him that’s concerned that they think he’s some kind of adorable pet rather than a powerful demon. And he’s not sure if he really minds that.
He flips between grinning broadly and boasting about receiving MC’s attention, and putting on an act of being upset at being coddled by some weak human. Stop packing him lunches, MC, he can make them or buy them himself! No, don’t take it away! ...yes, he likes the apple slices.
Whenever he’s upset, Mammon will storm over to MC’s room and start grousing about whatever is troubling him at the moment, be it some plan of his that failed or his brothers’ teasing. When MC starts stroking his hair and making shushing noises at him to calm him down, he’s initially flustered and offended - he’s not a child, MC! - but his weak spot is his head, and the pats win him over in the end.
It’s become something of a ritual if he’s being honest.
MC also leaves him all these little gifts, and - that’s it. This human’s wormed their way into his heart, there’s no way he’s letting anyone else have them!
Mammon tries a variety of convoluted ways to try and “confess” to MC, but it never works out the way he wants, either because of some outside force or because MC themself just... isn’t taking the hint. He’s going to have to be as direct as possible about his feelings... Shit.
Leviathan
This must be some Normie Tactic, Leviathan thinks as MC ruffles his hair while he complains about his older brother not paying him back yet again. His crippling lack of self esteem won’t let him view MC’s intentions as genuine, and he reacts to every gift or compliment with immense suspicion. The only people who are this nice to someone always do it because they want something, and once MC figures out he’s just some yucky otaku, they’ll lose interest.
Except now he’s at a convention, dressed in a handmade and Completely accurate Lord of Shadows cosplay, and MC is dressed in an equally impressive Henry cosplay, and they’re holding his hand and asking him what merch he wants. And it hits poor Leviathan right then and there that MC is just doing this because they think he’s...
Well, he’s not sure what they think of him. The gifts, the comforting, the kind words, they all would normally read as flirting, but MC never seems to actually go anywhere with that? They’ll hold his hand, but just to make sure they don’t get separated. They’ll hug him, but only to cradle him when he’s feeling upset about something. They even gave him a kiss once, but it was on the forehead!
Is MC bad at flirting? Are they teasing him? Is this just how they are with everyone, and he’s perverting their friendship because he wants something more?
“So, have you made up your mind yet, Leviachan?” MC asks, giggling at the cutesy nickname for their favourite little bean.
“Will you just stop TEASING me already?!” the bean shouts in response, breaking their Platonic Hand Hold for dramatic effect. “If you really l-like me, just tell me! And if you’re just doing this to make fun of me, then cut it out!”
Leviathan turns beet red as he processes what he actually just said. He scrunches his eyes shut, unwilling to face MC’s rejection.
Instead, he feels a soft hand take his. “Silly Levi, of course I like you!” MC says. “You’re so adorable when you’re all flustered like that.~ Now come on, best friend, I saw a TSL poster that would be a great fit for your room!”
MC promptly drags him off towards a booth, having clarified absolutely nothing for the poor Avatar of Envy. Of all the genres his life could have become, he had to be stuck in a rom com...
Satan
Oh No. Satan tries very, very hard to be taken seriously, despite being the personification of Lucifer’s wrath and the youngest of the brothers in terms of actual age, and a human treating him like an adorable kitten or beloved grandchild is going to get on every single one of his nerves. His self-control is famously ironclad though, so he’s able to get through it with fake smiles and clenched fists.
It doesn’t hurt that MC also flusters his brothers, especially a certain someone, to an unprecedented degree, and Satan finds this very amusing. When he’s not up to humouring MC’s bizarre affections, he’ll proverbially wind them up and point them at whichever brother most recently slighted him, saying “Oh, Mammon’s been feeling a bit down lately... MC, you should go make sure he’s okay,” or, “Lucifer seems really overworked, doesn’t he?”
But his anger can’t be contained forever. Eventually, on a particularly bad day when MC is being especially persistent, Satan snaps. With a crackle of power, his demon form rushes to the surface as he vividly recounts all the horrible things he’s going to do to MC if they don’t stop with their incessant coddling-
MC responds by waltzing up to him and petting between his horns, saying that it’s healthy to vent your frustrations, and oh isn’t his feather boa so handsome!
Satan freezes. He forgets why he was mad. He forgets why he’s ever been mad, or ever felt anything else ever. Either MC is completely fearless or they... they’re not scared of him. They trust him.
He spends the next week catatonic under a pile of blankets or pacing his library of a room, sustained by tea and biscuits brought to him by a cheery, if somewhat confused, MC.
Dammit MC, ya broke him
Asmodeus
Unlike his brothers, Asmo is very familiar with this kind of attention, and he eats it up! He’s used to people giving him gifts or calling him pet names or even getting handsy with him, and he knows exactly where this is going to lead. So everything MC throws at him, he sends right back with flirting of his own.
“Asmo, your skin is so soft!”
“Thank you, darling! If you want, I can show you how I keep it this way... But I might need some help getting the moisturizer everywhere...”
“Awwww, you can’t reach your back? But you’re usually so bendy!”
They don’t quite respond to his attempts at getting spicy the way he expects, but the delayed gratification just makes it even more exciting!
Except... it keeps going like this. MC hasn’t responded to any of his suggestive pick up lines or his lingering touches with anything more than a fond smile and a peck on the cheek. This causes Asmo to do something he usually hates to do: reflect.
MC’s gestures were all very sweet, yes, but if they were trying to ply him with sweets and little fashion shows and going out dancing with him, they would have tried to sleep with him by now. But that seems to be the farthest thing from their mind.
Does MC just happen to... like him? Not to lust after him, or find him beautiful, but really, genuinely think he’s worth their time, no strings or favours attached?
Unthinkable.
The next time they go clubbing together, Asmo goes overboard with the Demonus and ends up piss drunk at the bar, sobbing in the arms of a much less tipsy MC.
“I just don’t understand!” he laments as MC fondly strokes his hair. “What do you want from me? Am I not enough? How is that possible?! I’m-I’m the- *hic*- I’m the embodiment of Lust!” His words slur more and more as he continues, his rant becoming unintelligible. “I can give you anything you desire! Who wouldn’t want that?”
MC pulls out a makeup removing wipe and carefully removes Asmo’s smeared mascara from his cheeks. “Don’t worry, you’re still the most beautiful demon in the Devildom to me, Asmo-chan~” they say as they boop his nose with the wipe.
What is he going to do with them? And what are they doing to him?
Beelzebub
When MC first meets Beel, he’s very hungry, and thus very grumpy. They quickly figure out that a steady supply of snacks drastically improves his mood, and make it their personal mission to keep their favourite giant beanstalk happy and munching. Beelzebub, for one, is completely on board with this, and will in turn tolerate MC’s... unique brand of affection. How can he really complain, anyway?
Even if they fling themselves at him at high speeds, he doesn’t mind catching them because he knows they probably have some homemade goodies on their person ready to reward him. A part of him wonders if this is some way of training him to respond to their commands even without being able to call on their pact, but they’re so unwaveringly doting that his suspicions can’t stick.
MC is also his biggest cheerleader at his games, and there’s something really sweet about seeing a small human in a stadium of demons screaming louder than anyone about their precious lovely Beelzburger’s athletic prowess.
The clinginess, the gifts, the relentless adoration, and yes, the many snacks all warm Beel up to MC very quickly, and he decides that he really likes being around them and wants to return the favour. Unlike his brothers, Beel’s quite emotionally intelligent, and goes for the direct route in his confession.
Which completely flies over MC’s head. They don’t flat out reject him, but they also don’t exactly respond in a way that suggests they even fully understood exactly what Beelzebub meant when he said, “I really love you, MC, and I want to make you as happy as you’ve made me.” He thought he was clear, but apparently not.
Maybe he needs to speak their language?
MC begins finding half-eaten treats accompanied by notes written in Beel’s blocky handwriting, and notices that the Avatar of Gluttony has been vocalizing his feelings about them a lot more than usual. They find this absolutely delightful, and relish in the attention, but even still, there’s no moment of realization.
Have they been flirting with him the whole time and take his reciprocation of their affections as an unspoken acceptance of their feelings? Or do they still not understand what he’s trying to convey?
Beel wonders if he’ll ever know the truth.
Belphegor
At first, Belphie couldn’t care less about how the human treats him. He just needs them to get him out of this stupid attic. Their babying is easy to play into: he leans into the “poor helpless small bean baby brother locked away in the attic :’(“ sob story to get MC to work on freeing him faster.
But of course, organically making pacts with six powerful demons is going to take a while, so MC has plenty of time for their coddling shenanigans in the meantime. Despite the threat of Lucifer looming over them at every turn, MC still manages to sneak Belphegor small gifts or fresh linen. One time they even bring him a cow plushie from his formerly shared room with Beel. It has a new collar though, with a tag that says, “I hope this puts you in a good MOOd! :D”
That cow joke would be later known as the thing that kickstarted Belphegor’s existential crisis.
The denial is easy to keep in place, at first. Belphie is faking his whole persona, why wouldn’t this human be doing the same thing? They could just be trying to win him over in hopes of making a pact with him as well; they seemed strangely keen on the concept of collecting them from his brothers, after all. And besides, MC is human, and he hates humans.
Yes, that is familiar, that is safe. Humans are awful, and this one is no exception, even if they insist on kissing his forehead through the bars to the attic and giving him presents with increasingly terrible and saccharine puns on them. The denial runs so deep that he ends up getting angrier and angrier as MC continues their coddling.
It all culminates when they finally open the door to the attic. Free, furious, and ready to enact his revenge, Belphegor makes the first move to kill the idiotic nuisance that’s been a thorn in his side since he decided to start hating them day one. He offers to hug MC (to get their guard down so he can kill them, not because he actually wants to or anything...), but when he moves to wrap his tail around their throat, they spasm out of his grip, shrieking.
Terrified that they’re somehow aware he was planning on taking them out this whole time, Belphegor tries to back away in search of a weapon or an escape route, but is stopped by something latched onto his tail.
It’s MC. On their knees, stars in their eyes, hands wrapped around the base of the fluffiest part of the Avatar of Sloth’s tail, tickling themself with it and giggling violently.
Belphegor blanches. “Are you really this stupid?! Do you know what I just tried to do to you-” He lets out an undignified shriek of his own as MC gently, but insistently, tugs on his tail to force him to come closer to them.
He finds himself in MC’s lap, being held like a child. They cuddle him closer to their chest and say, “I know you want to be a big scary demon-” he is dammit, if it wasn’t for his hesitation their stupidity, they would be dead right now, “-but I know you’re just sad, and angry, and alone. So you can’t scare me, Belphie-bean.”
Belphie-bean. The Devildom’s biggest traitor has been defeated by cow puns and Belphie-bean. Belphegor falls asleep in MC’s arms, the first of many naps taken to process this development in the sick joke that is his life.
#Anonymous#obey me imagines#obey me:swd#obey me#obey me headcanons#lucifer#mammon#leviathan#satan#asmodeus#beelzebub#belphegor#mc#fan mc#mine#headcanons#long post#my writing
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A/N: shout-out to that one anon on bloodybrahms’ blog forever ago where they were like ginger fitzgerald x jennifer check x jd x reader. their mind?? i haven’t known peace since seeing the concept.
coincidentally, you as well, will never know a moment of peace again.
your relationship is overflowing with chaos. you can’t let your guard down for even a second because that’s the exact moment one of your partners will choose to strike and do some absolute bullshit™. it is imperative that you never take your eyes off them or leave any of them on their own.
if you cannot stay with them at all times at least take care to make sure you never leave all three of them alone together. nothing good has ever come from you doing this.
you act as the impulse control for all three of your partners. they straight up don’t know how to act without you around.
let’s talk about the chaotic dynamics and features of this relationship, shall we-
○ ginger and jennifer ....where to start. they dislike each other so much, both on the fundamental levels of their personalities and also as supernatural entities. werewolves and demons aren’t like…. natural enemies or anything but they can be Genuine Threats™ to one another so their hackles are always a little raised around each other.
○ that aside, jennifer is the exact type of girl ginger hated in high-school. she took one glance at jennifer and said "what a fucking vapid wanna-be barbie looking slut" and she hasn't changed her mind since.
○ meanwhile, jennifer thinks ginger is just.... beneath her. she wouldn't have hated a girl like ginger back in high-school because she never would've fucking noticed her. once she is forced to acknowledge ginger as a sentient, living being due to your poly relationship she's just.... aggravated by her. if jennifer had to put into words what she doesn't like about the other girl it would be how fucking judgmental she is. absolutely rich coming from jennifer of all people but she's serious! you're gonna sit here.... and hate her.... because she's popular and sexy?? are you fucking twelve?? you mangy, pathetic, edgy, "i only listen to evanescence" ass bitch (and she means the bitch part literally.)
at best their relationship could MAYBE wind up like that exchange from jumanji: welcome to the jungle:
Professor Shelly Oberon : Seriously, I can't even open my mouth around you. You don't even know me, but you, like, decided you hate me.
Ruby Roundhouse : Look, I just think you live in, like, the "hot popular girl" bubble, you know, where everybody either treats you like a princess or like an object. Maybe it makes you a little self-absorbed or something?
Professor Shelly Oberon : That's fair. But do you think that maybe the reason why you are so judgy is because you are like afraid that people are not gonna like you, so you've decided not to like them first? I'm just saying, you're a babe, go with it.
but realistically they will never have a conversation this open and honest. they'll stick to bickering and being catty, thank you very much. occasionally they are so catty that they start literally fighting and yes, your house will get destroyed every time some shit pops off between them. please have everything insured.
○ funnily enough they both like/love jd!! off the bat they both find him incredibly attractive. jennifer saw him and said "yummy.com, much?" ginger did not say anything but watched him like a hungry....well, wolf. honestly though looks weren't enough to keep either of them interested in someone when they were plain human and un-traumatized let alone now. in fact, considering that jennifer is a succubus her finding jd hot only put him in danger adjkl.
○ lucky for him he was surprisingly resistant to her physical charm/succubus powers/allure when she first approached him, planning to make him her next meal. while she totally took his disinterest as a challenge because uhm?? are you fucking blind?? i'm a fucking buffet?? all i serve is looks?? it also made her respect him quite a bit. jennifer takes very few people seriously. her respecting someone so soon after meeting them is actually a way bigger deal than her liking them.
○ jd takes some time to warm up to jennifer but not as much as you'd think? while he might roll his eyes at her popular, mean girl shtick he's very observant and sees that there's more to jennifer than meets the eye.
○ the fact that he doesn't immediately hop into her bed just because she sticks her chest out gives him enough time to see beneath her surface and surprises her enough that she let's him. there are plenty of things he likes about her. he admires the way she can just...bend the world to her will. when she wants something she gets it, no matter what. he loves that?? she's very dynamic and bold. excitement either follows her or she chases after it. and unlike a lot of charismatic or popular people jennifer lacks the one trait jd absolutely can't stand being fake. jennifer doesn't hide the fact that she's a stone cold bitch. she always says exactly what she means or what's on her mind. overall jennifer is an addicting personality to have around and even jd falls for her charm eventually.
○ jennifer won't say it but realizing jd actually cares about her and likes her as a person is what makes her fall, you know because she's a fucking narcissist... just kidding. it catches her off guard for someone to fall for her because of who she is and not what she looks like. it makes her vulnerable for just long enough that she sees all the things that are good about jd and BOOM, she's in love. now she's got two mates and one annoying hang around whom she also has sex with because she's not hideous (her mate, ginger is also her mate, she just likes ginger less than she likes the two of you.)
○ ginger loves jd's intensity. they're pretty much ' same hat! ' relationship wise.
ginger: men are fucking worthless
jd: *walks around fucking unhinged*
ginger: ....one man allowed
○ she genuinely loves his personality and he genuinely loves hers right on back. they're kind of just...mirrors of each other in a lot of ways but there's just enough difference between them that they don't piss each other off. other than their tempers they get along really well because they think the same way?? have the same ideas?? want to do the same things?? kill the same people?? you know bonding shit. they're kind of perfect together? they completely understand one another. they are probably the most like-minded of the whole relationship, not the closest, but they think pretty much the exact same shit, i cannot emphasize this enough. they can make eye contact and know exactly what the other is thinking and they love that. lowkey best friends. highkey you cannot let them go on dates alone.
○ where do you fit in here? uhm you're the glue and stability of this relationship. sure they all love or begrudgingly (and secretly) like each other but you're like.... gravity. essential and holding the world together, keeping everything balanced. you were probably the start of the relationship to begin with. they all knew you and were growing to love you separately and then each realized they had competition but while they were trying to fight each other off they just sorta...got used to one another. and none of them were willing to give you up so it's lucky they decided to share or it would've been a fucking bloodbath to put it lightly. none of them have self control or boundaries. to get what they want they'd all go ridiculously far... i don't know what's farther than murder but they'd do it.
○ they all depend on you emotionally, honestly. you're their closest friend, the person they can be vulnerable with, someone they trust to take care of them in the way that matters most. they love you because you make them all feel....human (even jd who is the only actual human besides you. but you get the point.)
sometimes they get jealous of each other, which is ridiculous, because you're almost always together as a group. you do occasionally go off in pairs or to separate outings/activities/dates but generally?? you're all together. it's typically more like-
ginger: you've been hanging off y/n all fucking day, jennifer! they barely fucking smell like me anymore.
jennifer: what's so bad about that? you smell fucking disgusting-
jd: *grabs ginger around the waist before she can jump across the kitchen counter and beat jen's ass*
however!! there isn't as much inter-group jealously as you'd believe! they actually enjoy having a relationship involving four people.
it feels very secure to them? first off they all feel better in regards to you. they don't worry so much about anything happening to you because you have three over-protective partners who would die and kill for you. they also don't worry about you leaving them because you're so.... you. unlike other, unnamed people they so desperately clung to in the past they know you're not going anywhere. they feel secure enough in their connection with you to be as codependent as possible :)))
(also.... you couldn't leave if you tried lmao. get away from one of them? sure maybe. get away from all three?? *cue clown music* they'd use ginger as a hunting hound and track you by scent alone.)
the four person relationship feels incredible to ginger because it satisfies her need to have a pack? she'd only ever had her sister before and you know how....close, they were. having more than one, single person to be emotionally attached to/invested in really helps center ginger? it also makes it easier to be in a relationship with her? she can be very intense and focused and she puts a lot of energy into her relationship. having that focus and intensity spread out amongst multiple partners is great for her and for them.
jennifer only ever really felt connected to one person, needy. losing her was....a lot. she never thought she'd be close to anyone again let alone to three people. she can't stand the mutt sometimes but she loves you and jd!! and she loves being loved. not lusted after. not admired. not envied. loved, genuinely loved. she may be a demon, she might not have a soul anymore, but she does have a heart, and every day she's with the three of you it feels a little less broken.
since the..."untimely" death of jd's mother (and arguably, even while she was still alive) he's never had any roots. no solid connection. no one to belong to or with. before you, ginger, and jennifer he was just...drifting. when you three came into his life it was like hearing a sudden gunshot in the middle of a calm forest. it was electrifying, and maybe even a little scary. he went from having absolutely nothing to having everything, all at once. for the first time in a long time he has something to be grateful for. he would do anything for the three of you. he'd burn the world to the ground just to see you three smile.
jd goes on several motorcycle rides a week because while you guys have like two cars...he keeps his motorcycle because jennifer, ginger and you think it's hot and none of you are very practical. he must treat all of you to the delight that is the wind flowing through your hair while you're on the back of his bike. jennifer doesn't like helmet hair but she likes the sexiness factor. ginger likes that it's dangerous so jd always speeds when he's with her, you're not sure how they don't get arrested??
date nights are such a nightmare because you guys are all very opinionated?? and particular. you and jd are probably the most easy-going but that doesn't really help because jennifer and ginger are always going to be picky about what you guys wind up doing and they'll say no to whatever the other suggests just on principal. just for their own amusement.
ginger, jennifer and jd are so over-protective of you. you're such a delicate little human?? how have you been surviving without them?? you need them to take care of you.
sometimes you'll be like "why the fuck aren't you two stifling jd? he's a human too!!" and they're like "no he's different" which is such bullshit but also like....jd is fucking unhinged. he can take care of himself. you are their baby.
ginger and jennifer are forever arguing about who is going to transform you and jd. you would think they’d at least agree that one of you is gonna get turned into a demon and one will become a werewolf, at least for the sake of balance, but they literally can’t even agree on THAT let alone which supernatural creature you or jd will wind up as. you two have minimal input in this choice sorry :/ this is werewolf and succubus beef. humans be silent.
you staying human isn't a choice because humans are weak and die so quickly. unacceptable?? ginger is gonna live a long ass time and jennifer is probably immortal. they are not winding up stuck with each other just because you and jd thought you could escape them in death?? fuck you.
ginger needs all three of you to smell like her. yes, even jennifer. but mostly you and jd as you're her two humans and Preferred Mates. jennifer can smell her scent on you all but she doesn't need to smell it?? it's not instinctual?? meanwhile it straight up gives ginger anxiety when you guys don't smell like her. it's just part of werewolf mating. honestly while ginger smells different from humans she doesn't smell like dog, jennifer just likes to say that to piss her off. if she did smell like dog jennifer wouldn't touch her and would gripe any time she touched you or jd.
cuddling is such a fucking nightmare. you guys have the biggest couch in the world and it's still a fucking ordeal. every two person couple activity is fucking ordeal for local poly couple.
it's a debate every time about who's going to sit where or who's going to hold who. oh jennifer likes to sit on the armrest? cool. except she wants to cuddle with you, but you want to sit in the middle today, and jd wants his arms around you, but ginger is laying in his lap and refuses to move cause he was riding on his bike too long today and stopped smelling like her so she'll bite him if he moves.
your life is literally that "man has to get a fox, a chicken, and a sack of corn across a river." riddle i'm so fucking sorry for you.
jennifer likes to buy you and jd clothes. she stopped bothering getting stuff for ginger because the mutt is always so ungrateful of jennifer's taste in clothing. to be fair jennifer only buys a few things that are a bit out of you or jd's comfort range, she tends to buy things that will make you look hot but that you'd also get for yourself.
jd goes shopping with her because he doesn't like leaving any of his partners alone for long. like he doesn't enjoy it he's also not going to bitch about it like other "dutiful" boyfriends who are left holding a few shopping bags and purses. you can't go out with your girlfriend and hold her shit for her for a couple hours?? can't give her a few minimal responses on whether something looks good or bad??? fuck you. also stop looking at his girlfriend before he pulls out his gun.
they all encourage the worst of each others possessiveness. not only because being around each other makes it feel normal because they all agree this is a perfectly healthy amount of possessiveness but also because they all think of being possessive as something romantic. you know they love you because they'll rip apart anyone who looks at you for two long!!!
when you wake up in the morning it's chaos. someone's hair is always in someone's mouth and ginger is a very wild sleeper. especially as it gets closer to the full moon. one of you will wind up on the floor even though you have two king mattresses pushed together. jennifer is one second away from tying ginger up before the four of you go to bed.
you don't really have to worry much about ginger's transformation?? like she won't hurt you and jd during it because she knows that you two are her mates, she's pretty docile around you two (for a werewolf). she knows that jennifer is her...something so she doesn't try to hurt her but she's also not gonna roll over and show her belly.
if anything does go wrong like ginger gets out/away from you all or out of control jennifer can get her back or put her in check no problem. werewolf cuts/bites don't hurt more than any other type of gnarly injury so jennifer is fine with doing it.
that's one of the ways you can tell jennifer gives a shit about ginger actually. even when ginger will fight her viciously when she's a werewolf jennifer mostly just does things to restrain her, not to hurt her. you'd never point that out though because just to prove she's not soft jennifer might break one of ginger's ribs or some shit next time.
the big concern is making sure ginger doesn't get hurt or caught. jd and jen don't care if she hurts anyone else frankly adjkl. to try and keep ginger running off to a minimum (because it's very hard to keep a werewolf somewhere it doesn't want to be) right before a turn jennifer will bring her own.... food, back to the house and her and ginger will kill them together?? it satiates some of the blood-lust and makes the transformations easier.
all three of these bastards will try and kiss you or fuck you while you're covered in blood and it's a nightmare!! somehow one of them is always covered in blood!! even if jd wasn't directly involved in a killing he will come home covered in blood because he made out or had sex with one of the girls while they were covered in blood. he thinks they're beautiful when they're blood thirsty :)))
none of them are great at emotions but all three of them together almost make one-functional human being!! and they are all, to their credit, aware of the fact that they aren't great with feelings so they are already naturally over-compensating to make sure they're always taking care of all your needs.
you: on the phone with a friend complaining about your day, minding your own business
the three of them: *manifest from nowhere because their "you having human contact that isn't them" sense was tingling
ginger: *snatches your phone and hangs up on your friend*
jennifer: *sits in your lap*
jd: *wraps an arm around you* why don't you tell us about your day, darling?
a well-oiled machine anyone?
no friends!!! only them!! you are a pack!! you are mates!! you're a family!!! fuck anyone else.
#jd x reader#jennifer check x reader#ginger fitzgerald x reader#jennifer check imagine#heathers imagine#jennifer's body#heathers#jason dean#slasher x reader#ginger fitzgerald x jennifer check x jd x reader#this got so long adjkl#*posts this after like writing for an hour* FUCK done finally#i hope my soul can rest now that's i've written my ultra poly ship
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𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫
𝐏𝐭. 𝟏- 𝐋𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏.𝟓𝐤
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠
He was a Tsukishima.
The family of successful people.
Scholars, athletes, politicians, the list goes on.
In the Tsukishima family line, academics were essential. Skills were essential. Talent was essential. Foolishness was not tolerated. Weakness was not tolerated. Clumsiness was not tolerated. Everyone was expected to be at tip top shape at all times, both physically and mentally. Manners were a must. Manners make a man, or so do the elders constantly remind. Gold medals were expected to be seen after competitions. Anything below that was worthless. The Tsukishimas were raised to be in a higher class than others. They mingled with the wealthy, frowned upon the powerless and poor. Mental health was the least of the family’s worries. They had money, they had a reputation, they had a talented bloodline, what was there to worry about anyways?
His full name was Tsukishima Kei, and he was the outcast.
His mother averted her eyes from his direction as he treaded down the flight of stairs to the dining area. She’s always done this. The moment Kei was diagnosed with farsightedness, the Tsukishima family knew he was no good. An omen, they said. With those weird, clunky glasses, the family constantly made passive aggressive comments regarding his sight. You thought he would be safe from his parents? Oh no, you would be wrong. Akiteru was hugely favoured over Kei. He was handsome, tall, well built, smart, he had a bright future ahead of him. Kei? He was scrawny, had sight problems, felt inferior to everybody else. The family had deemed him no good as a child, that wasn’t going to change because of puberty.
He sat at the table quietly, munching on his toast. As usual, his mother was preparing breakfast for Akiteru. As the older sibling jogged down the stairs, he was met with a welcoming smile, along with a bowl of steaming hot ramen. “Good morning son! Come over and have some food won’t you?” Hearing his cue to leave, Kei grabbed his bag, wiped the crumbs off his mouth, and headed out the door, but not before giving his older brother a tiny wave, in which he returned with a small grin and a peace sign. Perhaps Akiteru was the one person that didn’t treat him like shit. Maybe it was because if he did, Kei would tell everyone how he lied about being the ace of Karasuno. Although his kindness was fuelled by a shallow reason as so, it felt nice being treated well once in a while, even if it wasn’t truly genuine.
“Tsukki! Tsukki! Wait up!” Yamaguchi yelled from behind him as he jogged towards the blond. “Morning Tsukki!” The two stood in silence, waiting for the next train to arrive. This routine had been going on for years. Every morning Yamaguchi would meet up with Tsukishima at the train station, then they would head off together. Yamaguchi was one more thing the Tsukishimas frowned upon. When Kei beamed about how he defended the poor boy who was being bullied, instead of praises he received criticism. Bucketloads of criticism from everyone in his family. What was supposed to be an honourable act of kindness towards the less fortunate became the butt of a joke for the family to berate endlessly. To them, Yamaguchi was the perfect example of the weak. The weak were not tolerated. Tsukishimas were raised to frown upon them. They were higher than others. They minded their own business and had a reputation to keep. The world saw them as elegant, graceful, and privileged. They didn’t see them as charitable, soft, or weak. However, Kei paid no mind to his family’s stupid, cold hearted, absolutely fucking ridiculous “ideals”. He was an outcast, would forever be an outcast, might as well live on his own terms if his family couldn’t accept him.
“So, what’d you get on the test? I only managed to score a B-, it was so hard wasn’t it?” He stared at his paper, a huge A written and circled at the top of it. “I mean I think I did-”
“Really good? It’s not an A+. You couldn’t get it perfect so try harder next time. This isn’t good enough.”
His mouth hung open as he stopped abruptly at his words. Oh of course, how could he have forgotten? The constant criticism he received was not only from his family, but from himself as well. His grades were the only valuable thing about him, but it was never good enough. He was top of the class, but never the top of the school. Never the best player on the court. Never the best friend. “Eh, not that great. I should’ve done better considering I spent all day studying for the past week. I got the same score last time too, I doubt it’ll get any better than this.” Scrunching his nose, Yamaguchi leaned in, taking a peek of Tsukishima’s test. “Tsukki, you did so good! Ah, but it’s expected from you, always so harsh on yourself! Chill out a little bit, you’ve got the best grades in our class already! You saying that just makes me sound stupid in your eyes...” Realising the impact his words had on his friend, he stuttered, thinking of something to say. “No, I promise Yamaguchi, you’re not stupid. If you were I wouldn’t have let you befriend me. Please don’t look down upon yourself like that, it’s not good.”
Slinking down the hall, Tsukishima manoeuvred around the sea of students trying to get out of the school, mumbling to himself under his breath. The constant shuffling of feet and people pushing him around were enough to make his head spin and his heart race so much so that he had to stop in the middle of the hall, grabbing his head in an attempt to stop the pulsing. “Move it bro, what the fuck?” Stop. “Dude, don’t just stand there, get out of the way blockhead!” Please, stop. Stumbling his way down the hall, his steps were uneven as his sight became hazy. Cold sweat slid down from his forehead, his chest heaving and his breaths ragged. He needed help. He needed help now, but there was no one. Everyone was too occupied trying to get out of the school. Usually Yamaguchi would be with him but he had art club and stayed behind. Panic attacks were nothing new to him. He would experience them randomly. Everything around him would become everything he feared. Death, disappointment, loss, burden. Yet there was not a single time he was able to calm himself down. He would make someone else worry about him all over again. Maybe he was a burden to people, but he didn’t care anymore. His family hated him enough for his flaws anyways, what’s a few extra people hating him gonna do anyways? He was seeing spots now, staggering down the stairs that he finally reached, when something- or rather someone, walked right into him.
“Hey, please watch where you’re- holy shit... are you okay? I’ll bring you to the nurse hold on-”
“N..no.”
“What?”
“Panic...attack...”
Your eyes widened like saucers as the situation dawned upon you.
“Oh... OH um uh I-”
Cmon stupid, think!
Grabbing his arm, you dragged him into a random classroom, almost tripping over air from him stumbling and his height. Shutting the door behind you, Tsukishima collapsed onto the cold floor, trembling as his eyes darted. You were panicking with him. Hell, you didn’t know how to deal with panic attacks. Pulling out your phone, your fingers tapped furiously as you tried to figure out how you could calm him down. “Mmmm cmon cmon something please...” The sobbing in the background did not help your panic at all. In fact, it made you even more anxious. You couldn’t just leave him here, you had to do something. Anything.
“I- uh, do you need anything? Water? A towel? Is there anything I can do?”
“Stay...stay here..”
Shuffling to his side, you waved your arms around him, trying to figure out what to do next, finally awkwardly settling one of your hands on his back. Giving him occasional pats, your read the instructions on healthline for what to do if someone was going through a panic attack. The next part was to give reassurance.
“I’ll stay here until you’re okay, so don’t worry. Are you feeling any better now?”
Feeling Tsukishima shift, you retracted your hand, putting it on your leg instead. His breathing had finally gone back to normal and he wasn’t shaking anymore. Pushing his glasses back up properly, he grabbed his bag from the floor, pulling the strap over his shoulder.
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll be heading out now.”
“Wait!”
He stopped in his tracks, but not sparing even a glance behind him.
“What’s your name?”
“You don’t have to know.”
He left without another word.
Because that’s what Tsukishimas do.
They walk away from others and hold their shit together by themselves.
Tags:
@sunshines-and-tatertots @izzyphantomgamer @tiger1719 @tiredgr3mlin @trashcanweeb @itmekisuu @fandomwriter73 @random-fandomlover @samanthaa-leanne @sneezefiction @bokutokoutarou @skyeackermans @writeiolite @kuroo-thought-of-a-better-un @ewfilthymundane @mariechan123 @saturnmoon @macaronnv @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @artsamber @kaylacinderella @agentvicinity @sakusasgarbage @tchalameme
#haikyuu#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu tsukishima#hq#hq x reader#hq tsukki#hq headcanons#hq imagines#hq scenarios#tsukishima#tsukishima kei#tsukishima x reader#tsukki#lemons and sugar#manga#anime
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all might sucks
Okay so I’ve never posted anything on tumblr before but my friend keeps bugging me about posting shit and I’ve decided organizing this long rant I had with her on discord about All Might was a good place as any to start
I would like to preface this by saying that I genuinely think that All Might’s heart was in the right place when he began, but that doesn’t make him any less of an idiot or his ideas any less destructive.
Okay.
The Symbol Peace was, quite frankly, a stupid as shit idea from the very start and it boils my blood that it’s even framed as a good one.
Let’s start with the obvious: dependency.
By framing himself as this Symbol of Peace that everyone should look up to and is everything good in this world, he doomed society to fall from the beginning. After all, Toshinori Yagi, no matter how powerful, is human. He’s not immortal, he can’t live forever, and his reign would come to an end at some point and when it did, there would be consequences.
Furthermore, he knew that he was going to retire and did absolutely nothing about it, successfully making sure that the world would feel the repercussions of depending on one human being for 35 years, give or take, was a really fucking stupid thing to do.
More than that, he made himself out to be the ideal person, and whether this was intentional or not, that had consequences.
After all, All Might’s quirk is strength enhancement. It is a physically enhancing quirk, regardless of it’s origins, and by framing himself as an unbreakable symbol, he got it into everybody’s heads that that was what worth was. Power. Powerful quirks. Quirks in general.
And yeah, I’m sure he did all kinds of nice charity work on the side; he told Izuku that real heroes do that kind of thing, after all, and I doubt it was just for show. But what was televised and encouraged was the beating up criminals part, and that’s what everyone grew up with. That’s what was prominent and most noticeable to people.
If All Might wasn’t so prominent in this super powered society, Katsuki Bakugou would not have grown up being told that he would be a great hero because his quirk is so powerful. He would have been told to get off his high horse because he isn’t better than anybody else, and maybe he even wouldn’t have told his childhood best friend to jump off a roof.
Maybe Hitoshi Shinsou wouldn’t have been told he was a villain. Maybe he wouldn’t be so defensive and hostile to everybody on instinct because he was used to being told he was a villain.
Also, by framing himself as ideal and perfection and all things good in this world, he worsened mutation discrimination. Because All Might doesn’t have a mutation, and All Might is perfect and the best hero ever and the best person ever, clearly mutations are inherently bad, and it’s okay to leave them out, because they aren’t good.
Another thing is his whole “only villains do that” shtick. It’s funny, sure, as a meme, but it pushes this idea that there are two sides in this world; hero and villain, good and bad, right and wrong. But in the real world, nothing is that black and white. He’s making it out like villains are these horrible, irredeemable people and thus pushing them deeper into the corner they were already in.
He’s also, in addition to increasing the public’s dependency on him, increased their dependency on heroes in general. We can see this in Shigaraki’s backstory.
[minor manga spoilers ahead. i think most people know this, and it’s about to be covered in the anime, but it’s worth mentioning that it hasn’t been yet. at the next bold line it should be over]
Tenko Shimura wandered the streets for god only knows how long, and nobody helped him.
He says it himself; people are content to sit by and do nothing because there are heroes around to help him. The problem is, they never do. It comes to the point where the only person who does help this poor boy is a man who exploits and uses him for the rest of his life.
All For One is the person who helps Tenko when the heroes wouldn’t, because All Might wouldn’t, and that is why Tomura Shigaraki exists.
[okay we’re done]
The thing is that heroes are corrupt. Stain saw this, and though his choice in victims was questionable, he was still right. Heroics is corrupt.
And onto my last complaint: Izuku Midoriya.
Oh boy, do I have opinions on how this man approached Izuku Midoriya.
The first and obvious one: The rooftop.
He told this kid, who is quirkless, that he couldn’t be a hero without a quirk.
But Unicorn, he fixed it later! He helped Izuku become a hero! He helped him!
Um, no he fucking didn’t???
All Might said he could be a hero, yes, but never that he could be a quirkless hero.
And OH MY GOD I hate that.
All Might gave this boy a quirk, and his life turned around. He got into his dream school, he made friends, he wasn’t bullied, he got a good teacher, he got a good mentor, his lifelong bully began to respect him as an actual fucking human being. Life is good. He’s being treated the right way he always should have been because of who he is, a bright, quirky and bubbly boy who’s a little too anxious for his quirk.
But from Izuku’s perspective?
All that happened because he got a quirk.
This boy is going to come to tie his entire self-worth to a piece of hair. To a quirk that, let’s be real here, he only got from a completely chance encounter.
All Might has completely reaffirmed every single thing Izuku has been told his entire life. Before OFA he was worthless, weak, a deku, and nothing important, and the only reason he is now is because of a piece. Of. Hair.
This is another reason I happen to respect Izuku a shit ton, not that it’s relevant. More than once he was willing and able to give up what in his eyes was the only reason his life was good or he was like by anyone; once with Mirio after the Shie Hassaikai, and a second time with Bakugo, a person who tormented him for his entire life, in the Heroes Rising movie.
There are a few other little things that bother me about All Might, namely his abhorrent teaching methods and lack of ability to keep a secret, but those are less pressing than the ones already listed.
And once again, I want to clarify that none of this means that All Might is really a bad person, and despite my better judgement, I don’t actually hate him. I just think he’s an absolute moron who doesn’t think far enough ahead into the future.
And before anybody says anything about Izuku not actually tying his self-worth to a piece of hair, I want to also clarify that that is what would have happened if this was written better or more realistically. Not to say that he doesn’t think like this in canon; he very well might. But I understand that it isn’t presented that way. If we’re considering these people as real, however, then that is what would have happened, most likely.
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Dear author, for the fanfic writer asks, would you consider answering: 3. Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from Star Trek AU? and 28. Is there a part of you’re surprised no one has picked up on yet for Salvation Comes Only in our Dreams?? Either way, thank you so much for writing and sharing your incredible stories with us!! 😍🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻
answers under the cut!
3. Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from Star Trek AU?
OH JEEZ. this is Such a hard question because star trek au is my baby and so many pieces of that series mean so much to me. i also think my answer to this question will forever be shifting as the fic isn’t finished yet (and won’t be... for a while... rip), but my current answer is probably the one-two punch of Those Itachi and Shisui Scenes™ from chapter three of part three:
Shisui had thought that, should he have the misfortune to end up face-to-face with Itachi during this conversation he would find the man infuriated, his expression brimming with the fearsome temper his Vulcan convictions force him to keep up lock and key. But right now Itachi doesn’t resemble a ferocious Vulcan warrior, all snarling teeth and righteous fury. Right now, with his rain-damp face and frantic dark eyes, he’s wild in a way that’s even more frighteningi. “Look at me,” Itachi all but begs him, and Shisui stops breathing entirely. With blood pounding between his ears, he listens as Itachi cries, “ Speak to me. Tell me what it is I have done to wrong you, if there is such a thing, and what it is you want from me.”
And just like that, Shisui’s composure finally fucking breaks. “What I want from you?” he asks with a laugh, the sound caught between disbelief and bitterness. He feels just as crazy as Itachi currently looks, unrestrained and reckless and completely unable to hold back the reply he knows he should continue to keep buried as deep within him as it will go.
“Everything,” Shisui says simply, lips curving into a grin he hates the feeling of. “That’s the whole damn problem, isn’t it?” Just as quick as Itachi before him, he grabs Itachi’s wrist and adds, with a rasp that he can see sends a shiver through the man’s frame, “I want everything from you.”
and
Shisui’s disappointed more people than he can count during his lifetime, but it’s never felt like this. For all the mistakes he’s made and the paths he’s gone down, there’s never been a single thing he’s regretted more than the way Itachi’s currently looking at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, the apology falling from his mouth in a pathetic and frantic display as he reaches out to the man recoiling from him. “Itachi, I am so fucking sorry that I--”
“Don’t touch me!” Itachi yells back, pulling away from Shisui’s outstretched hand. “Don’t you dare try to touch me right now.” Shaking his head in disbelief, he tells Shisui, the words raw and cracked-open, “You stumble in here and confess to lying to my face for months and expect me to forgive you merely because you feel sorry about it?”
To that, Shisui has no response, merely stands there and takes it as Itachi tears into him. “I have trusted you more than I have ever trusted anyone in this life, and in return for my faith you spat on me. We were supposed to be partners.”
“We are,” Shisui argues quietly.
“No,” Itachi insists. “If you respected me at all you never would have treated me like this. You wouldn’t have made me feel like a fool for ever believing in you.” All at once the righteous fire burns of Itachi, leaving exhaustion and confusion in its wake.
It’s then that Itachi turns to him and delivers the most devastating blow of all: “Who are you?”
because i have been waiting for this bomb to go off for 1.5years and i was genuinely so satisfied at how this chapter came out. it was everything i planned and wanted it to be, and watching the reactions from people has been a blast.
28. Is there a part of you’re surprised no one has picked up on yet for Salvation Comes Only in our Dreams
not exactly mostly because, as much as i like the idea of this au, it’s kind of the red-headed stepchild of my projects and doesn’t get updated as much it should/i’d like (which is hilarious, because as far as my stats go, it’s actually my most popular fic for shiita. go figure, lol.)
i’ve said this before, but part of the difficulty of this fic is that, while i have the major plot beats sketched out, in a lot of ways i’m flying by the seat of my pants and making shit up as i go. there’s also a lot more ~mystery to this fic than, like, star trek au for example, so i am curious about people’s theories regarding where the fic will end up and why certain plot points have played out the way they have.
one thing i Will give away is the origin of the fic’s title. like every other person who came of age during early 2010s tumblr culture, i tend to use lines of poetry or song lyrics to title my writing, and massacre au is no exception. the title comes from the song ‘terrible lie’ by nine inch nails, and seemed appropriate since the whole point of the song is basically begging for understanding in a cruel and seemingly random world (and also hating christianity, as most songs from the ‘pretty hate machine’ era of NIN are):
I really don't know what you mean
Seems like salvation comes only in our dreams
I feel my hatred grow all the more extreme
(Hey god) can this world really be as sad as it seems?
it’s also my favorite song off my favorite album, so it was very funny for me to realize just how well it fits this au. i’d recommend giving it a listen if you want to get a better idea of the ~vibe of the story. if i’d consider it to be from itachi or shisui’s pov (or both)... well, i’ll let you guess for yourself :)
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anyways, on a serious note. ya’ll know i’ve been Dealing With Some Shit with some rather. serious comments made about me.
for the record, let me go on the record (and i know the lot of you are monitoring me right back, so i know this’ll reach you people): i don’t regret doing this. at all. i don’t blame any of you for hating me about the things that happened years ago, even a little, fuck i hate the me that existed 3 years ago and i spent all of 2018 trying to. crawl out of cycle i was trapped in, and in turn 2019 was probably my mentally healthiest year in... forever.
but like. yeah. i sucked. but that doesn’t. make it ok to say things like. i’ll be “beaten down” or “have my throat ripped out” if i “try anything.” let alone from a man that lives 20 minutes away from me. beating me with a red-hot blaze. that was a line crossed and i don’t regret bringing it to light because there’s only so much shit that can be said about me.
i was terrified enough i went to the police. i was terrified enough i’m carrying a weapon, pepper spray, on my keychain now and probably will continue to do so forever. it was in my hope in doing this you people would see what you were doing and stop but it is clear that is not the case, and there is clearly not going to be an end about violent comments about me. and at this point it’s just continuing never-ending anxiety that keeps me in physical fear, so i’m going on the public record this is over.
i’ll be moving out soon. when that happens ya’ll won’t know the general area were i live, and then i’ll be able to feel mostly safe, so i guess that’s good enough. to prove this, i’ve removed the urls, fandom tags, rp tags, etc etc from the posts: people can go back into the tags without seeing it. if they use Search then well sucks to be you, but i won’t take these down until i receive just this most basic assurance that nobody is going to try to hurt me because maybe this seems irrational or paranoid or something but this is a legitimate extremely serious concern i have for my well-being, especially with a person whom i have had an extremely negative relationship with who has shown to be genuinely amused when i have suffered as a result of his actions.
i’m not changing my rbf or anything. i’m keeping the posts up until a communication is done in some capacity, and then i’ll be pretty content to literally IM every single person who has RBed it to ask them to delete it all.
but i’m not fighting anymore either. i’m tired, and if all of this wasn’t enough to get some assurance for my well-being, then there’s nothing else to say. i’m bringing it to an end, and unless you people are stupid enough to do another thing that i need to treat as a threat about my health, then it’s.
over. so i’m making a public statement so everyone knows how this is. because the more i dwell on this the more terrified i am and i’m tired of being scared. i really am.
so. yeah.
#drama cw#long post#i feel. tired and defeated but yeah#actually fuck it putting it under a readmore
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Losing a Love
This is the most pain I’ve ever endured so far in the 23 years that I have lived on this earth. I didn’t know something could hurt this bad. I thought I have been a pretty strong person for the most part, but the world has a funny way of humbling you. It really doesn’t help that I’m a sensitive person.
When I say losing a love, in my case I mean that I can no longer love someone the way that I did for a little over 6 months. I can be friends with them and give them support in the future after I allow myself to heal, but I can’t romantically be involved with them. We have no bad blood towards each other whatsoever, but I can’t help but feel a little mad and frustrated about the way that things turned out. There are things I want to ask them, but one of the things this relationship has taught me is that I cannot always seek out answers. Seeking out answers may only cause more confusion or more pain... sometimes it’s truly not worth pursuing. Seeking out answers will not do me any good in this case, because no matter what they are no longer my person. The even sadder thing is that the primary reason why we cannot date anymore isn’t because of something either of us did; it’s because of what’s happening in their life. They’re so overloaded with working towards their future and they’re in the middle of figuring out how to even process something unfortunate that happened towards the end of last year. It’s not their fault that they need this time alone. I’m actually really glad that they were able to figure out that they cannot handle a relationship at the moment and they can see that they cannot control the fact that their personal life will inevitably hurt me. They can’t control the fact that they are sad all the time and that they cannot give romantic affection in any form... Knowing all of this doesn’t make it hurt any less for me though.
“At least you can still talk to them in the future and there’s no ill will”. Sure. That’s true, but is that what I need to hear right now? No its not. The primary reason as to why I am hurting so much right now is because I don’t have the status that I was so proud. I don’t have the status of being their girlfriend anymore, I have the status of being the friend. This is not to say that I think romantic relationships are more important than platonic relationships. However, I’ve only known how to love this person romantically... We didn’t start out as friends. So I’m in between these thoughts of knowing that I’m still fortunate enough to have them in my life as a friend and being upset that I can’t have them the way that I want to. Both thoughts are valid and true, but they sort of go against each other.
This whole experience has been exhausting because I am the type to rip off the band-aid. I burned the six month letter I wrote to them, I burned the valentines day card that I never finished. I threw away a stuffed animal that I gave them, that once represented me being there for them even when I’m not there in person. I deleted all of the photos I had together with them, the only photos I have left are the ones I took of them on my professional camera. I deleted the conversation I had with them on iMessage and Instagram. I did that all in a matter of 5 days. It’s fucking exhausting and draining and reminding and painful and devastating.
I naturally expected, and at the same time didn’t expect, for them to show some sort of sign that a part of them didn’t want to end what we had. I wanted to see that they still had feelings for me and that this was difficult for them. The last day I saw them to return their hoodies/tshirts, they were just happy the whole time. Maybe their intention was to not ruin the mood during the (possibly) last time that we saw each other in person, to make this as painless as possible. But I feel like it really did more damage than it did good, because now I’m left with this feeling. This feeling that the past 6 months meant nothing to them, that everything I put into the relationship wasn’t important enough for to grieve over. But I always have to remind myself that they have been stoic for the past couple of months. They are stoic not because they have feelings, but because they have too much right now. To let themselves feel everything they’re feeling feels dangerous and crippling, so instead they choose to hold it in. Holding it in is their new reality, because once they don’t hold it in they just might lose all the strength they have left to keep going. It’s like a very thin string representing their strength is holding together two mountains: sanity and reality. Some days that string has probably broken and they broke down with it, isolated themselves, condemned themselves for not being able to holding it together.
I wanted to be able to have the status of being their romantic lover, initially because I wanted to take their pain away. This was a mistake, and I realized that instead of taking the pain away, I should instead sit in the pain with them. Give them the escape that they so often needed, help support them on the days that they cannot help themselves. I realized all of that too late, because during the time that I told them about that epiphany, they were already on the road of breaking up with me. I also want to be their girlfriend because I constantly wanted to be updated on how their life is... they replied to me every hour, while with everyone else they replied to them once every other day. Now I can’t have that, and I have to be comfortable with them treating me as a friend... something that I will have to get used to. This shit really hurts man.
I already think about how much it would fuck me up if I saw them dating someone else while they’re still trying to grapple the things that they’re dealing with. It would truly make me feel like I was not good enough, strong enough, understanding enough.. when I really did try my best. It would hurt to know that my best is not enough for someone that I genuinely loved and cared for. How disappointing would that be. I try to not think about it but I really can’t help it.
I have to skip every sad song I hear or else I am literally guaranteed to start crying. The song doesn’t even have to be relationships (though often they are) for me to become upset, it could just be the beat or the sadness of the lyrics. I can’t be on social media because every now and then there are sad videos or even happy videos of couples, they both make me sad. The only songs that make me feel good are songs that talk about feeling powerful or unbothered, make me feel emotions that are the polar opposite of how I’m actually feeling inside.
Speaking of polar opposites... this is how I know I have never felt this intensity of suffering in my life. This emotional suffering is affecting my physical health. I lost 5-10 pounds in the last month and I have no doubt that I’m going to lose more; I’m already a skinny girl so this is pretty concerning. My stomach feels empty and hungry but this sick feeling overpowers it. The sick feeling of losing something I treasured so much and for them to possibly not care about what we had. It makes me lose my appetite. Sometimes I want to eat, then I take a few bites and I can’t eat anymore. I feel like the most simple tasks are daunting, like going outside and speaking to people I’m comfortable with, like doing laundry, washing the dishes, taking out the trash. But it’s funny because I see myself being more kind to strangers and checking up on my own friends... and it’s all because I do not want anyone to feel pain. I feel so much pain that I want to protect everyone from it, and I want to do everything I can to be the opposite of pain. I want to give out so much love because it’s the only thing that’s keeping me grounded on this earth at the moment. It’s comforting to see that I still have love when I’m experiencing so much pain, that I’m choosing to not go down the dark path of casting everyone away because of how much all of this hurts. I can either become stronger from this or I can crumble from it... I already know which once I’m going to choose every single day.
This person will always have a piece of my heart, and I have no shame in saying that... though sometimes I feel petty and I wish that they didn’t. However, I don’t want to harbor any hate or ill feelings in my heart. This is for the best, and yes it still hurts but it could have been worse if we kept going. Part of me hopes that they would want to get together in the future when we are both settled down, but I cannot endlessly hope for that or expect that. I cannot ask them if they’d be down to date later, because they won’t know the answer to that. And frankly, neither do I. Life really goes on, but that doesn’t mean that what I had with them wasn’t beautiful, They deserved every ounce of love that I gave them, and I would gladly give them more but they need to do this by themselves. We never know what the future holds.
Remind yourself that this pain will not be this intense forever. Remind yourself that fortunately you still can have this person in your life as a friend. Remind yourself that you are still special to them. Remind yourself that you have people who love and support you. Remind yourself that everything you feel is okay, and to not judge yourself for feeling whatever you’re feeling. Remind yourself that whoever you end up dating and marrying will be worth the wait and pain. Remind yourself that you are enough... especially remind yourself of that please. You can get through this, you are strong enough and I know that you have yourself.
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