#in another life i would have really liked attending the met gala with you
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Michelle Yeoh, Ke Huy Quan
and Stephanie Hsu at the 2023 Met Gala
#michelle yeoh#ke huy quan#everything everywhere all at once#eeaao#academy award winner#oscar winner#met gala 2023#met gala#slayed#in another life i would have really liked attending the met gala with you#stephanie hsu
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idiots in love - dick grayson
summary: two people who are madly in love with each other but they're both idiots.
word count: 5.8k (lmao sorry)
warnings: lil angsty, cursing, steamy lil makeout sesh, unedited, cursing??
notes: hi hello hi! here is something that has been sitting, more like marinating, in the drafts for a hot minute. btw its not explicitly titans!verse dick, but he's hot so sue me
Saying that befriending Jason Todd changed your life would be a complete understatement. You had gone from being invisible and living under the radar in Gotham to earning an unwanted spotlight from being seen alongside Bruce Wayne’s son nearly every day. To make that matter worse, Jason had once conned you into attending a gala that Bruce was holding because “it is the only way he could manage to survive another one of these things”. That drew a lot of rumors and suspicions from the media in Gotham as they speculated the true nature of your relationship with Jason. That was also the start of a complex and hidden relationship with his older brother.
Dick Grayson remembered the first time that he saw you like it was happening right in front of him all over again. You were standing next to Jason in a floor length black dress that shimmered blue when the light hit it just the right way. You were, albeit unknowingly, wearing his colors next to his brother and it instantly attracted him to you. He could tell you felt out of place by the way your body was turned towards Jason and your eyes kept darting around you. Trying to get you away from Jason was a much harder task than he had anticipated, but what ensued once he had made it all worth it.
Meeting Dick was something Jason had tried to keep you from for as long as he could. He knew that Dick had a less than honorable reputation when it came to women, and you getting tangled in that web was the last thing he wanted for you. Despite his efforts, your attraction to the detective was stronger than he would have guessed and you managed to fall into the hole anyway. Jason, the ever so protective friend he was, tried to keep out of it, but his brother made that increasingly harder the more often you showed up at his apartment defeated and confused.
You had initially tried to keep your relationship with Dick a secret. You really did. But being friends with someone like Jason made that impossible. He was able to find out anything and everything he wanted. When he tried, and miserably failed, to subtly ask you if you were seeing someone he knew, you came clean about everything. You told him about how the night you met Dick, he had taken you back to his apartment and you two talked for hours and hours. Jason had been slightly thrown off that he didn’t try to sleep with you, but you assured him that that didn’t happen until nearly two weeks after you had met.
You also divulged the true nature of your feelings for Dick that night, and Jason had suggested that you tell him or it was going to ultimately cause you pain and heartache. “I tried to bring it up once,” You had said, “But he kind of shut it down pretty quick. Said that we’re just friends who hook up sometimes. He just- he acts like it’s more than that when we’re in bed and it’s so confusing, but I don't want to give it up. If that’s all I can have of him, I’ll deal.”
That was nearly four months ago, and nothing had changed. Dick would call you at random times day or night and you would go running every single time. It was pathetic how desperate you were to have a piece of him, but you were too scared to ask for more. He was too closed off with his feelings to ever let you get even an inkling of how he felt about you outside of physical attraction. Jason had been right about this bringing you nothing but despair. Nonetheless, you stayed at his mercy.
Your body was hot and sticky with sweat as you lay on Dick’s chest, fingers tracing along the scars that littered his skin. You often asked how he managed to obtain so many, but he, much like Jason, said the same thing every time. “Job’s just dangerous”. You’re not quite sure how being a detective and security guard would get one in situations to earn such wounds, though you never pressed too hard. His arm was tight around you, making sure that you stayed tucked into his side as his fingers delicately grazed your waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind in their wake. Moments like these you both despised and cherished. They made your heart swell with hope and want, but they also made your stomach turn with uncertainty.
“You going to the gala tomorrow,” Dick’s asked, his grip slightly tightening.
You peered up at him through your eyelashes, “Yeah. Jay always makes me go with him since he ‘can’t handle it alone’. Are you, or do you have to work?”
Dick’s not sure why hearing that you would be attending the event with his brother hit him the way it did. It made his throat close up and his chest burn with jealousy. You had always attended Bruce’s events with Jason, and he knew that. He knows that it was purely platonic, but a part of himself couldn’t help but think there was something else there. He knows his brother is an attractive guy, and God you are the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. It only made sense for you two to be attracted to each other, and that’s what he has been running with.
“Yeah, I’m bringing a girl from work actually,” His voice was flat as he loosened his grip on you so that he was barely touching you now. It was a total lie, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.
It was as if Dick punched a hole into your chest and ripped your heart out with his own two hands. Your movements froze as you blinked back the tears that instantly pricked your eyes, not wanting to give away the effect his words had on you. He was always good at reminding you that you were a disposable secret to him, but it hurt all the same every time.
Composing yourself, you flattened your hand on his chest and used it to push yourself up into a sitting position. You avoided looking at Dick as you slipped out of his bed and began putting your clothes back on. He watched you, trying to piece together what was going through your brain. He shamelessly wanted to believe it to be jealousy; that you detested the idea of another woman on Dick’s arm, but he knew better than that. He assumed you were in a hurry to get to Jason’s apartment, which is where he knew you went every time after you left his place. He had followed you one night to make sure you stayed safe, but he wasn’t prepared for his own heart to be put into danger.
That was the night he realized just how deep his feelings for you were, and it scared him to no end. He thought he was doing good at guarding his heart, but then he met you. You had effortlessly and entirely captured him. Dick craved everything about you. He craved your touch. Your smile. Your laughter. You. He would do whatever it took to have a part of you no matter how much it hurt him to know your heart would never belong to him.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” You spoke through the awkward tension in the air, “I should probably go home to sleep before tomorrow. Don’t want to look like a walking zombie, you know.”
Your idiotic attempt at a joke hung in the air as you slipped your socks on, and you mentally slapped yourself for saying that. Wanting to get away from the now uncomfortable situation, you rushed out of his apartment without another word to the man who held your heart in his hands. Typically, you would walk to Jason’s and mope about your unfortunate situation, but you opted to go to your own apartment instead. You made sure to let Jason know of your plans so that he didn’t quite literally break into your house to make sure that you were alive. His “u ok?” text went ignored as you fell into your bed and begged your thoughts to quiet themselves so you could sleep in peace.
You woke the next morning with a new sense of determination, and a little bit of retaliation on your mind. You quickly sent Cass and Steph a text asking them to come do some last minute shopping with you, which they were more than happy to agree to. They both met you outside of your apartment an hour later, questions tumbling out of their mouth as soon as they saw you. You brushed off their interrogations with a laugh and started towards the nicer part of Gotham.
“I thought you already had a dress,” Cass pointed as you walked into one of your favorite dress shops in the fashion district.
“I do, but I always wear some variation of black and blue and I wanted to switch it up,” You shrugged as you filtered through some of the dresses on the rack.
Truthfully, you knew that the colors you always wore matched the colors that Dick wore as well. It was something that he mentioned drove him crazy whenever he managed to pull you away to have his way with you. You started wearing those colors for him specifically, but something inside you switched this morning. Today, you were going to wear something else and prayed to anyone that would listen that it would get underneath his skin. You knew it was childish, but if he was going to bring someone else, you didn’t care.
The two of them shared a knowing look with each other before diving in to help you search. They were aware of your situation with Dick and how you felt about him, but unlike you, they could see the way he felt about you. They knew that if you showed up wearing something other than the colors he wore to protect the city, he was going to be absolutely furious. However, they secretly hoped it got under his skin enough to ignite the fire he needed to tell you how he truly felt.
You had gathered a decent amount of options, so you decided to move over to the dressing room area and try what you had on. You had tried on a variation of styles and colors; none of which you liked. The girls of course gave their honest opinions, and you got rid of the ones they made faces at almost immediately. Your last pick was a long-sleeved red dress with a slit on the right side and a plunged neckline. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice the way the color looked slightly off, but it still made you look damn hot.
You opened the curtain and slowly stepped out, catching the girl's attention. “Now that’s sure going to piss Dick off,” Cass laughed, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing something.
“You look absolutely breathtaking, but she’s right. If your goal is to make him mad, that dress will sure make that happen,” Steph agreed as she nudged Cass to calm down, “Is that what you want?”
“Honestly, I don’t really know. At first, yes, but now I just- I’m not sure. I don’t think he’ll even notice,” You sighed, casting your eyes to the ground as you lightly pinched at the satin.
“Oh he’ll notice alright. He might beat the shit out of Jay, too.”
Your eyes darted back towards them, wide and alert. The last thing you wanted to cause any sort of fight between your best friend and man you were in love with. “Why would he do that over a dress,” You rushed out, hands nervously gripping the fabric.
“It’s not the dr- He won’t, hon. It was just a joke,” Cass recovered as she glared at Steph, “I’m sure he won’t do that. You’re just going to look really good and he’ll probably be a little jealous is all.”
You ignored Steph’s quiet snort and went back to change, making the decision to go ahead and get the dress. It was as if it was tailored specifically for your body, and not getting it would almost be criminal. You knew you were going to have to dip into your savings a little to afford the dress, but the way it looked on you was worth it. Once you had changed and went to go pay, but there was a woman standing outside the dressing room with a dress bag.
“We paid for it,” Steph peeked her head around the woman, a smile beaming on her face, “And no you can not pay us back!”
After a failed attempt at trying to get the girls to at least take some of your money, they took you back to the manor to get ready with them. Cassandra called Bruce who had Alfred ready one of the larger rooms for the three of you to get ready in. Steph put on some music as you took turns showering in the biggest shower you had seen in your entire life. You had stayed in there a little longer than you intended, getting lost in your thoughts about Dick Grayson.
You could tell that the girls were itching to ask you about why your sudden change in outfit happened, but were keeping quiet in case it was too sensitive of a topic. It was clear to them that you were trying to get back at Dick, but they couldn’t figure out why. They were both capable of asking the right questions in order to gain the information they wanted; it was a practice they put into use nearly every day. However, they felt guilty using that skill on you.
The closer the time for the event to start came, the harder it became to breathe. Knowing that Dick was bringing someone else made your entire body ache as you wondered why you weren’t good enough. He had told you before that he never liked to bring dates because people would speculate, and he only wanted them to speculate if it were true. Now, he would mingle and flirt all he wanted, but he had never kept it to one person the entire night. This girl had to be someone special if he was okay with rumors flying around.
Nearly an hour later, the sound of someone knocking broke through the intense concentration you had from doing your makeup. Steph, who was already done getting ready, pulled the door open and Jason came barreling in. He was dressed in an all black suit, but the tie he was sporting was the same color as the dress you had bought today. You internally smacked yourself for not remembering that red was Jason’s color, and that’s why the girls said what they did about Dick.
“What do you want,” Steph huffed, quickly closing the door in case anyone passed by.
“I’m bored,” Jason groaned as he fell backwards onto the untouched bed.
“So go bother someone else,” Cass spoke over her shoulder, giving Jason an annoyed glare. If you hadn’t known anny better, you would have thought she was being serious.
“Y/N’s in here and she’s my friend so why don't you go bother someone else. Anyways, we need to be down there in like twenty minutes so you two better hurry.”
“I just need to get my dress on and I’m done,” You called out as you let the setting spray settle on your face.
You heard Steph whisper something to Jason, but you were too far away for it to be understood. You went back into the bathroom where your dress was hanging on the back of the door, leaving their whispers behind. Nerves spread through every inch of your body as you slipped the dress on, the urge to throw up growing with each second. A large part of you wanted to back out and just not go, but you knew that Jason would physically drag you if he had to.
Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you pulled the bathroom door open and walked back out into the room. Initially, Jason cast you a passing glance, but he nearly broke his neck swiveling back to you, sitting up so quickly the momentum almost threw him off the bed. The girls had the biggest smiles on their faces and you couldn’t help but blush at the attention.
“You’re right. He might kill me,” Jason laughed as he stood and strided over to you, “You look beautiful, but if you’re trying to get under Dick’s skin. I think you’re going to accomplish that.”
“Yeah, I didn’t realize we’d be matching. I wanted to make him mad, but I don’t want to make him think this is happening,” You gestured between you and Jason as you grimaced. The thought of ever being involved with Jason like that made you uncomfortable.
“You wish it was, sweetheart,” Jason rolled his eyes, “Why do you wanna make him mad anyways?”
“Uh, he uh- Fuck,” You groaned, throwing your head back in frustration as you let the truth out, “He told me he was bringing someone else and I know it shouldn’t be a big deal but it’s just- you know why it bothers me..”
The girls looked both confused and shocked, but Jason. Jason was absolutely fuming. He already hated the way his brother treated you, but knowing that he would do something that childish made his blood boil. He knew that Dick never brought a woman to any events because he hated the rumors that accompanied that, and if Dick was willing to put up with that just to spite you? That was enough to make him see red.
“Jason,” Steph tried, sensing that he was about to boil over.
You watched as the two girls shared a look with each other as Jason tightly clenched his fists. You felt guilty for making Jason so angry, but you knew it wasn’t you that made him mad. It was his brother and his idiotic behavior, but a part of you wished that you had just kept that to yourself. You knew that he hated the way Dick was treating you and this only added fuel to that already blazing fire.
“I’m fine,” He let out through strangled breaths, “I’m good. Let’s just go downstairs.”
Dick had been downstairs for the last thirty minutes, his heart beating harder and faster the longer he waited for your arrival. Bruce could tell that he wasn’t all the way there, but chose to not ask his son what was on his mind. In fact, he already knew the answer to his own question. Dick paced the floor, eyes glancing to the door every few seconds in case you chose to make your entrance then.
He was nervous to see you after what he had said to you last night. He had no intentions of making that lie a truth, but he still felt the guilt eating away at him ever since you had left. You hadn’t texted him when you got home, and you also hadn’t texted him all day. That was how he knew that he had struck a nerve, but he was still naive as to why. He had convinced himself that there was no way you felt the same way, so why were you suddenly so distant?
You had attempted to soothe Jason’s anger by telling him it wasn’t a big deal and that you didn’t care if Dick brought someone else, but he saw right through your lies. He curtly brushed your comments off as his eyes stayed set on the path in front of him; one thing staying at the forefront of his mind.
Your heart was bound to beat out of your chest the closer you got to the party, you’re sure of that. The combination of having to see Dick and Jason’s anger towards him was not helping ease any of your already bubbling anxiety. You wrung your fingers together as you tried to calm yourself down, but it wasn’t doing much. You wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave and pretend like nothing ever happened.
Steph and Cass kept glancing at you, passing you sympathetic gazes as they walked ahead. They could practically feel the nerves radiating off of you mixed with the pure rage off of Jason. It put them on high alert, and they knew they were going to have to keep a close eye on their brothers in order to maintain some sort of peace. A silent agreement was made to keep the two of them apart until Jason got his emotions in check.
“Jason,” You tried again as you entered the party, hand instinctively gripping Jason’s bicep “Please don’t do anything stupid. It’s fine.”
Several eyes watched as you descended the stairs on Jason’s arm and you knew whispers were being thrown around thanks to the accidental matching outfits. You had, of course, been seen with Jason countless times before, but now the public had all the proof that they needed to confirm the relationship they had created in their heads.
“I never do anything stupid, sweetheart. Everything I do is calculated and on purpose,” He teased, his anger fading for a fleeting moment.
Dick found you as soon as you stepped foot into the room, but he immediately wished that he hadn’t. Your dress was a deep red color that not only matched Jason’s tie, but the helmet that adorned his head as he prowled the streets of Gotham. Dick could feel any hope that he had shatter with each step that you took, and he hated himself for it. It was his own fault.
“Dick,” Bruce’s gruff voice pulled his gaze away from you, “If there’s going to be a problem-”
“There won’t be,” He interrupted before turning on his heels and heading straight for the bar.
Cass made a beeline straight for Dick while Steph stayed relatively close to the two of you. Jason had taken a glass of champagne from the first waitress that passed by, not even letting the poor woman get four steps away before he needed another one. Your hand stayed glued to his bicep as an attempt for comfort while also keeping him near you. Just when you thought you had grown accustomed to the scrutinizing stares of Gotham’s most elite, it was ten times worse now.
“Good evening Mister Todd,” A man you recognized from The Gotham Globe approached, his annoyingly bright smile plastered on, “I see we have made the relationship official?”
“Piss off,” Jason grumbled, dragging you away from the obnoxious reporter.
Stares lingered longer than usual and whispers were present anywhere the two of you went. You tried to tune everything out, but the ache in your heart remained. You had only seen the back of Dick as he spoke with a woman; you assumed she was his date. You barely managed to fight back tears, but the thought of Jason seeing them made it a little easier to control. Despite your current suffering, you didn’t wish him any harm.
Dick didn’t mean to find you every chance that he could. He really didn’t, but it was like his own subconscious was trying to torment him. Forcing him to watch you throw your head back with laughter as you clung to his younger brother. It lit the sort of rage within him that was different from the one he got when he was dealing with the scum of Gotham. This rage was based out of fear. He needed to get out of there, at least for a moment.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom, Jay,” You had leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I might be a while, though. I just need to breathe for a little bit.”
You slipped your arm out of his own before making way towards the stairs. You had spent enough time at these events to know where and how to escape unnoticed. You were essentially being guided by pure muscle memory as you snuck into one of the rooms that was in an area off limits to guests. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you turned and leaned your head against the dark wooden door, letting out a deep sigh.
“Are you okay,” A voice you would recognize anywhere cut through the silence. You let out a startled yelp, opening your eyes to see Dick sitting on his old bed. You had, unintentionally, guided yourself to the one room you were trying to stay away from.
His eyes dragged over your body for the thousandth time tonight, but now he was able to really admire you. You looked breathtaking. Though to him, you always did. To him, you were the most beautiful woman to exist in any world, but he couldn’t help but feel annoyed. He had come here to escape the aching in his chest for a moment, but it seemed the universe wanted him to suffer.
“I’m sorry,” You finally managed to speak, albeit quietly, “I didn’t mean to come in here.”
“It’s fine. I was just leaving,” He avoided eye contact with you as he stood.
“No, don’t,” You rushed out, taking a few steps towards him, “This is your room. I’ll leave.”
The sound of your heels clicking against the hardwood floors made Dick look up and meet your gaze. Dick had spent countless hours observing you and getting to know each and every part of your body that he could tell you were nervous. He could sense the apprehension from the way you struggled to maintain eye contact to the way your fingers pinched at the fabric of your dress. He wanted nothing more than to kiss away any anxiety you had, but he knew he couldn't do that. Not anymore.
Dick’s hair was untamed in a way that looked as if he had been pulling at it, something you knew he does when he’s frustrated. His cheeks were tinged red and eyes slightly bloodshot and tired. Every nerve in your body was screaming at you to reach out to him. To let him know that you were there, but you couldn’t let him back in again. You had endured enough pain from him.
“You look beautiful,” He quietly spoke, gaze unwavering.
Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes darted across the room, “Thank you. It was a last minute change and I accidentally ended up matching with Jason, which is only fueling those stupid rumors. I should have just worn the dress I originally bought, but I-”
“Y/N,” Dick cut off your rambling, knowing you would keep going until you couldn’t breathe, “You mean that you and Jason aren’t…”
Your gaze snapped to his own at the implication, and you could see the desperation and defeat swimming in his eyes. “No, Dick. No,” You squeezed your eyes shut as you shook your head, “Nothing has changed on that front, and it never will. But even if it did, why do you care? You brought a date.”
Your voice was thick with emotion as you mentioned his alleged date, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from brimming with tears. You hated that the simple thought of him with someone else made you break, but there was no stopping that now. He took a few steps towards you and took your face in his hands as you attempted to blink back tears.
“I lied,” He whispered, thumbs wiping away at the tears that managed to break free, “I never had a date. I only said I did because I was hurt and confused. I was hurt because I’ve convinced myself that Jason is the one that you want. That he’s the guy you want to be with; not me. I know that you spend a lot of time with him so I just thought...”
Your breath caught in your throat as his words settled; your skin burning in the places his fingers pressed against. You wanted to cling onto the hope that he meant that the same way that you wanted him to, but you’re scared. You’re scared to let yourself believe the one thing he had convinced you wasn’t true. Your eyes were a tell all for Dick, and he hated the painful look in them now. He could tell you were holding back, and he knew he was the cause of that.
“I don’t want to be with Jason,” You began, voice wavering, “I spend a lot of time with him because he’s my friend and he’s there for me. He listens to me and he comforts me because I’m an idiot in love with someone who doesn’t love me back.”
Every nerve in Dicks body was telling him to let you go. He would never forgive himself if someone were to find out who he was and used you to hurt him. Jason would never forgive him. Bruce taught him that keeping someone you love far away is what will keep them the safest, but what good has that done him? He’s a gloomy man who hides his feelings with a veil of indifference. A veil any person could see through if they looked hard enough.
His silence was unnerving, so you were quick to add, “Dick, it’s okay that you don't feel the same. I’ve known that for a long time.”
“I do,” He hurried as his fingers pressed slightly harder, “I love you, and that scares me in more ways than you could ever know. I thought I knew what it was like to be in love, but then I met you and I realized that nothing has ever compared to the way I feel about you. I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes. I can’t let that go.”
The tears you were desperately trying to keep at bay flowed down your cheeks as he confessed. You had been waiting to hear him say he loved you for so long that even now, it doesn’t feel real. If it weren’t for the pressure on your cheeks from his fingers, you would have convinced yourself that you were hallucinating. That he wasn’t truly there and the few glasses of champagne you had got to your head.
You lunged forward, quickly capturing his lips with your own. He let out a low groan as he dropped his hands to your waist, pulling you into his grasp. You knotted your fists in his undoubtedly expensive button up as the two of you kissed each other like your lives depend on it. Obviously, you’ve done this particular dance with Dick before, but this was different. This was the kind of kiss that splits the sky in two and opens it up to the heavens.
You can taste the alcohol on his lips as he gently turns and guides you backwards until the backs of your thighs come in contact with the obnoxiously large desk. One of his hands moves to fumble around with the various objects scattered across the desk. His struggles cause you to lightly break away and let out an airy giggle as he works to clear the top.
“I haven’t touched this thing in years I don’t know why there’s so much shit on it,” He mumbled against your lips, “Oh fuck it.”
He shoved everything onto the ground and hoisted you up onto the now empty desk, and you couldn’t help but throw your head back in laughter at how cliché that was. “Calm down, hotshot. You’re going to attract an audience with that noise.”
He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his dark, lustful gaze, “Let them watch then.”
The pool between your legs grew, aching for any sort of friction to ease the desire that had blossomed inside of you. You were desperate for a release, so you pulled him in by the back of his neck and met his lips in a blinding kiss. Dick gripped the underside of your thigh, pulling you flush against his body. Your fingers pulled and tugged at his hair and suddenly he's kissing you harder with a fervent desire that left you utterly breathless.
“Dick,” You pulled away, “If you don’t stop kissing me like that, you’re going to have to fuck me.”
Dick was slightly stunned at your bluntness, but it just made him even more attracted to you; something he did not think was possible. “Not that I don’t want to, but I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you,” He whispered, his eyes dancing all across your face as if he was memorizing every inch of it, “Trust me, I really really want to. I also want to do things right with you and I know I’ve been fucking it up for the last few months.”
“Who knew you were such a softie,” You teased, “But now is not the ti-”
You were cut off by Jason’s voice bouncing off the hallway walls as he called your name. You instantly shoved yourself off of the desk and began to straighten your dress. Dick let you push him away from you, his heart constricting as he let himself go back to what he thought previously. You looked behind you and you could tell that he was upset.
“Hey,” You started, cupping his cheek in your hand, “Don’t do that. It isn’t like that at all, okay? I just know that he is extremely pissed off at you right now and I want to do a little damage control first. I promise you I will come over later and we can do whatever you want.”
“Can you stay with me tonight,” He pleaded, taking your other hand in his own, “Stay with me as my girlfriend.”
He felt cheesy saying that, but he didn’t care. Not when it came to you, and especially not when he got to see the most beautiful smile that came after it. You heard Jason’s footsteps getting closer, so you have Dick one last kiss before quickly leaving his room.
“Y/N,” Jason called out, “Were you in Dick’s room?”
“Can we go talk somewhere? I need to tell you something and I don’t think doing it in public is wise.”
let me know what you guys think! if you want, you can also send in some requests ;)
#dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#nightwing#nightwing x reader#titans!verse dick grayson#dc imagine#dick Grayson imagine#dick Grayson angst#nightwing imagine#nightwing angst
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:{{Rachel zegler x female reader😋😋}}:
Summary: Rachel gushes about Your relationship with her on live tv.
Warnings:None just fluff.
:{{{{disclaimer}}}:
This is my first ever imagine so please ntm on me😭😭🙏🙏. I haven't seen a lot of Rachel fanfics so I decided to make my own. So enjoy this and if you have any suggestions or advice please tell me😭😭🙏. Also I will never write for a "male reader" or a "female reader x a male actor/model", if you want that please go somewhere else. THIS IS FOR THE GAYYSSS!!
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You turned on the tv as you sat In your comfy warm bed. If it weren't for you being sick you would have to attend the met gala with your girlfriend, but thankfully you were. You really never even liked big crowds or going into big public spaces anyways. But you were forced into it as a kid as you were a child actor, now a very popular one.
You kinda felt guilty for not going with you're girlfriend but she reassured you that she would be fine and that you needed the rest anyways.
So here you are, watching tv as you see all the actresses and actors getting interviewed. You really were just waiting for you're gorgeous girlfriend to show up on the tv.
You're relationship went public a week ago when there were pictures leaked of you two kissing at a restaurant. So to make things less harder you posted a tweet about you dating Rachel and explaining things.
It didn't make things less harder.
It lead to most of your questions in the interviews about the newest movie you starred in "The Hunger games Songbirds and Snakes" to just be about you're relationship, Making you,Rachel and both of you're cast mates annoyed. So you weren't surprised if someone asked Rachel about your relationship.
You scrolled through tiktok until you heard your girlfriends voice on tv, which made you snap you're head up towards the tv. Your hands scrambling to find the remote, which magically disappeared. You were certain you missed half the interview because it took you so long to find the remote. You finally found it and turned the TVs volume up.
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The interviewer smiled at Rachel as she answered one of the questions the interviewer just asked. Rachel thanked god that she didn't get a single question about the relationship she had with you. Not that it wasn't bad that she was dating you. She was just annoyed that every single interviewer wanted to get in her business about HER relationship.
She thanked god way too soon.
The Interviewer read another question from her paper which made Rachel's smile drop but she quickly put the smile back on. But this time it was fake.
"So people have been wanting to know more about you and Y/n's relationship. I mean yes Y/n is a very popular actress starring in lots of movies and shows like yellow jackets or Hawkeye with hailee steinfeld. But we want to know more from the gorgeous, amazing woman that she is dating." The interviewer says making Rachel blush and smile nervously.
Rachel didn't really know what to say. She looked directly at the camera for a quick second knowing that you were watching so she just spoke from her heart.
"All I really have to say is that I love her a lot. I mean she's so caring and loving and that just makes me want to spend the rest of my life with her really." She says with a nervous laugh. "And I mean she was defending me a lot when of the hate was coming at me so I'm really thankful for that." Rachel says softly.
"And how come she isn't here tonight if I may ask?" The Interviewer says.
"She was sick so she couldn't come and even if she wanted I wouldn't allow her to come because she would probably get everyone sick and probably get more sick herself." She says with a soft laugh. "She's probably watching this at home right now." She looks to the camera. "So if you are, I love you so so much." She says as she smiles at the camera and looks back at the interviewer continuing the interview.
You smile to yourself as you watch the interview playing with you're fingers, blushing to yourself.
Even on tv she still finds a way to make your heart flutter.
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:this was actually my first fanfic that I posted and I feel like I did good:). REMEMBER IF YOU HAVE ADVICE OR ANYTHING TELL ME PLEASE😭😭🙏🙏🙏:
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TFP Optimus x human!fem!reader
"ROSE I'M FREAKING OUT AAA I LOVE YOUR WRITING!! I am currently watching Prime so reading your Optimus fluff made my heart skip a beat! May I ask for more Optimus x reader (in a female perspective) fluff, and in a common situation like preparing for something humanly important (a ball perhaps)?? I don't got too many ideas but I would love to read anything coming from you! Please stay well 🌹❤️" - requested by @weaksall
Thank you so much!! This was such a cute idea! I found this amazing dress that I think is just gorgeous for this fic -> https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/706713366535507663/
I also didn't specify any hairstyles too because not everyone has long hair that they can style <3 I hope this is satisfactory!! 💕
Warnings: None! Just fluff
Word count: 1618
Today is a rather important day for you. Your work is hosting a gala ball to raise money for charity, and you are required to attend. You had never been to a ball and the thought of picking out grand outfits to wear and accessories has always excited you. Miko, of course, wanted to help you go shopping at the small selection of boutiques that Jasper has to offer. She may be into the alternative type of fashion, but the young girl has a passion for all types.
“Oh! What about this one, (Y/n)?” Miko drags you by the arm towards yet another boutique. You almost stumble as the stacks of boxes you’re holding pretty much blind your vision.
“Miko!” You laugh, “I think I have enough dresses to last me the rest of my life.”
“Oh, come on! You never know when you need…” She pauses to count the boxes in your hand, “Four, five…. eight outfits!”
You roll your eyes as you let her drag you into the boutique. Looking around, you don’t see anything that catches your eye. However, Miko is practically running around the joint pointing at different dresses and sending your mind for a spin.
“Miko, let’s just go.” It was your turn to drag her through the shop, as much as you love her, if you spent another hour dress shopping with her you were sure you would lose whatever brain cells you had left.
Before you could drag a sad Miko out the door, you spotted a gorgeous navy-blue ball gown that sparkled like the night sky. It had a heart shaped neckline with lace trimmings around the edges that tapered off to create a small off the shoulder sleeves. And by the all spark, you had to have it.
Miko followed your eyes towards the gown, and she grinned, “Do you want to try it out?”
-
It had been a week since Miko accompanied you to the boutiques and today was the gala ball. You had set up a small makeup station in the human area of the base, Miko of course going through it all trying to find the best shades of eyeshadows and lipsticks to use and making a mess.
“Alright, (Y/n),” Miko held out two sticks of lipsticks, “Purple or blue? Oh! What about GLITTER? OR- “
You wished you could rub your eyes in frustration, but you didn’t want to ruin your foundation, “Miko, sweetheart, how about a nice neutral shade? It’s a gala not a drag show.”
Miko dramatically tosses the lipsticks back into the makeup bag, “Yeah but you would look so cool!”
As you were applying your contour, blush and the colours of the eyeshadows that Miko picked out for you (they were colours you liked thank goodness), Optimus Prime had walked over towards the human area, curious about the commotion.
“(Y/n),” He looks around at all the different things that are scattered around on the floor, “May I ask what this is all for?”
You froze. You had not expected the boss bot himself to ask about makeup, Arcee maybe, but not Optimus. It doesn’t help the fact that you have been in love with Optimus since you first met him, but the way his eyes fill with curiosity as he asks the question warms your heart a little bit. You exhaled and placed the makeup brush you held in your hand down.
“Today is a really important event for my job, they’re hosting a huge charity gala to raise money to help sick kids.” You explained as best as you could to the bot, but you could read his face and tell that he was still a little bit confused.
“A… gala?” He raises an optic ridge.
“Yeah, it’s like a really fancy party.” You smiled, “You get to wear nice clothes, socialise with other people and- “
“And there’s LOTS of fancy food!” Miko butted in, “I’m talkin’ seafood, barbeques and sooooo many desserts…”
Optimus glances towards the young girl, then back to you.
“So, this gala,” He begins, “It is a culturally significant gathering for humans?”
You nod your head, picking up the makeup brush again, “Yeah, it’s a way for humans to come together for a cause, or just to have fun and make friends!”
Optimus hums and that makes you seem to think that he is satisfied with your answer. He watches as you delicately swivel the brush over your eyelids, admiring the movement of your hands. Your focus may be on the mirror, but you can feel his eyes on you.
“You mentioned nice clothes,” Optimus says, “Are you planning to wear something… ‘fancy’?”
“You don’t get to see that yet!” Miko perks up, she then grabs two lipsticks and holds them out to Optimus. “But you can help (Y/n) pick a lipstick colour, she doesn’t like MY choices."
You can feel your face heat up as you watch Optimus’s optics flicker between the two lipsticks with a raised optical ridge. You really do hope that Miko knows what she is doing.
-
It was noon, you and Miko had just finished the last touches and adjustments to your gown. You had brought a large mirror to the base so you can fully see yourself in the reflection, safe to say that you looked like a literal princess. Miko jumps up and down as she admires her work.
“(Y/n)!! You look so beautiful!” Miko squeals as she pulls you into a hug.
“Thank you, Miko.” You laugh at her energy, hugging her back. One would think that you were getting married by the way she reacts to you.
“I can’t wait to see what Optimus thinks of you.” She grins. You pull her out of the hug and give her a confused look.
“What do you mean?” Your heart is racing fast, “Why would Optimus care about how I look?”
Miko gives you a dead-panned stare, dropping her arms to the side, “Are you kidding me? Have you seen the way he looks at you, (Y/n)?”
Of course you have, but you’ve always thought that those were a different kind of stare, not because he… likes you.
“No," You lied, staring at yourself in the mirror again, “Even if he did, I doubt that he would have time for me, he is the leader of the Autobots… he has enough on his plate as it is.”
Miko rolls her eyes and leans against you, “Don’t sell yourself short, he is gonna faint when he sees you.”
She then takes your hand, dragging you out of the room, “Come on, it’s nearly time to leave anyway.”
You let her drag you out, what Miko said is now engraved into your brain and is now on a constant replay. Have you seen the way he looks at you?
Whilst you were distracted by the thoughts in your head, Miko had stopped you just before the door to the main area of the base, “Wait here, I’m gonna go and make sure that everyone is ready.”
“Ready for what?” You tried to question her, but she shushed you as she ran off. You’re awkwardly standing there now, occasionally fluffing your gown. You haven’t the slightest clue on what she is up to.
A few moments later, Miko calls out, “Ok (Y/n), come out now!”
You take a deep breath as you walk out, holding you gown to keep it from dragging on the floor. Your heart is practically jumping out of your chest.
You walk out to a crowd consisting off all of team prime, some are stunned to silence, and some are cooing and gushing about how beautiful you look. You decided to give yourself a boost of confidence and give them a twirl, the base of the gown flaring out as you do so.
“Wow, you clean up real good, kid.” Wheeljack nods with folded arms. Bumblebee and Bulkhead (with Miko perched on his shoulder) are practically swooning, Arcee is admiring your hair and makeup, Smokescreen is telling you how amazing you look, and Ratchet is scoffing about how silly this all is, but secretly he thinks that you look nice. Jack and Raf are also enamoured.
Optimus, however, is simply stunned to silence. His dermas slightly agape and a blue hue ever so slightly creeps onto his face. He loves the way the gown flows and the small intricate details on your torso, and he thinks the colour of the dress suits you perfectly. The lipstick he picked out for you was a classic red lip with a slight tinge of purple. And he now understands why humans were obsessed with the stuff; he could not stop staring.
You shyly thanked everyone for the compliments and noticed that Optimus had stepped closer to you and leaned down. You stiffen up a little bit as he held out a servo towards you, he touches the dress very gently.
“You look absolutely exquisite, (Y/n).” Optimus says, optics now staring into your eyes. Your cheeks flush at his words. You then gently took the digit that was toying with your gown and gave it a hug.
“Thank you, Optimus.” You smiled, you were sure that he could feel your heartbeat against his servo, “Do you think the lip colour ties it all together?”
His face flushed as you winked at him and then he smiled, knowing that he was the one that picked it out, “Indeed.”
Off to the side out of view while you and Optimus are sharing a sweet moment, Miko is holding out her hand so that a defeated Bulkhead can hand her an imaginary dollar bill, “Told ya he had the hots for her.”
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Adore You 2 (Suagr Daddy! Yandere! Mingi x Black! Reader)
Warning: Extreme Violence, Racist/Misogynist comment, Non Consensual kiss, Non consensual touching/holding
Sorry for any mistakes
You sit on your bed reading a random book you had picked from the bookshelf in the living room. It had already been a week since you got picked up by Mr. Song and became his sugar baby, to say it’s been easy was a complete lie, Mr. song is a intimidating and stand offish. He either hides in his office in his penthouse or he’s off to a meeting, you felt like you were living with a ghost...or you were the ghost. The only time you would see him was at dinner where he made it a requirement to eat with him.
However you couldn’t really complain either, your life had taken a complete 180 as you were no longer wandering the streets of Seoul looking for food or a comfy place to sleep. You now stayed in a lush and lavish penthouse, you were served hand and foot, you got to go shopping as much as you please and even where you pleased, you were the happiest you could be. A knock came from your door as you allowed the maid to enter, “Mr. Song requests for you to meet him in his office” she said. You were shocked, Mr. Song’s office was off limits unless he called for you. You timidly walk to his large in home office as the black and gold doors loom over you, you knock twice “Come in” a gruff voice answered, you entered the office.
Large Oak bookshelves lined the walls, a large window gave a fantastic view of Seoul, a couple of movie posters laid framed against the wall notably Star Wars, Jurassic Park, and Train to Busan. At the center of the room was Mr. Song sitting at a large black desk doing paper work, his reading glasses sat on the tip of his nose, his lips curled downward, his forehead crinkled in a frown. “You called for me?” you speak up, “Rule #3...speak when spoken to” asshole. You stayed quiet till Mr. Song looked at you, he folded his hands together and said “You’re attending with me to a gala tonight” Mr.Song pulled out one of his many money filled bank cards “get a nice gown, not too flashy, and get your nails and hair did...I don’t care how much you spend” You walk up to him and take the card.
You hop from dress shop to dress shop looking through various gowns, you finally pick a sapphire blue dress adorned in jewels a low cut revealing heavy cleavage. You get your nails and hair fixed as you head back to the penthouse, you spend almost a damn hour getting the dress on as you tried to keep your hair in it’s best shape. You slip on black heels as you walk out of your room to see Mr. Song in a all black suit his hair combed back, he was fixing his silver cufflinks. “Is she re-” Mr.Song looked at you his eyes widened at your image as you look to the floor blushing. Mr. Song cleared his throat as he looked away “Right let’s go” he said.
The gala was a giant fancy meeting between rich old men and young heirs, Mr.Song ignored you mostly as you latched on his arm and were dragged around from business man to business man. It wasn’t until you met his actual friends that you were acknowledged “Mingi who’s this gorgeous women you have with you” one of them asked, he was the same height as Mr.Song and had a puppy aura around him “She’s my fiance” you froze, he didn’t mention anything about pretending to be engaged. “Really? The Song Mingi is settling down?” another cackled his laugh similar to that red monster from a children’s puppet show. “Hush now Wooyung, I’m happy to see Mingi engaged after...his last one” the third friend with bird like features said. “To properly introduce ourselves, I’m Seonghwa Ceo of Shinestar makeup, this wooyoung Ceo and founder of Wommy entertainment studio, and this is Yunho heir to Jeong financial group” You smile and nod at the men “Where are the others?” Mr. Song asked.
“Hongjoong is in Japan for a meeting, Yeosang is celebrating his anniversary with his wife, San is in the Bahamas, and Jongho just didn’t show up” Seonghwa explained. “If I told them about Mingi’s new plaything they would be here no doubt” Wooyoung smiled eyeing you up and down, you felt self conscious as you remember your cleavage was showing heavily. Mr. Song picked up at your body language and cleared his throat. “Go get us some drinks” Mr. Song ordered as you nodded and left. You reached the bar and ordered, as you were waiting for your drink, you though back on what Seonghwa said, there was another sugar baby before you...is that why Mr. Song is so thorough on you knowing everything about him.
You shake your head as a man stands next to you “Are you alone?” he asked eyeing you up and down, biting his lower lip. He made it no secret he wanted something from you, you stiffen up and give him a cold look. “No...I’m here with my fiance” you answer. The man laughs at your remark “Fiance? You? No man in his right mind would propose to you...you’re not....the right image” he said. You were offended, so what if you’re biracial, you were just as much a native Korean as anyone else. The drinks were plopped down next to you, you eye the man and grab the liquor. You turn to walk away but the man grabs your waist, “Hold on now, how much are you getting paid? I can pay you more, just meet me in the private room in the back” the man’s hand slid up your waist as his fingers slipped between your breast, your hands were full and you didn’t want to cause a scene.
He placed his lips on your neck his hot breath itching your skin. You grimace as the man displayed this disgusting display, and no one helped you. “Let me go” you snarl at the man. His liquor scented breath burned your nose as he breathily laughed “You have no say in what I do”.
“But I do” Mr. Song growls as he walks up to the man, “Let my fiance go...” Mr.Song says lowly his eyes dark and unreading. “This thing is your fiance?” Mr. Song clenched his fist “She is now let her go” the man scoffed and shoved you away. “Do yourself a favor and have her get some breast implants, too flat” Mr. Song grabbed one of the drink glasses and dumped the drink on the floor. Mr. Song grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him out of view. You nervously walk back to Mr. Song’s friends as they notice your frightened look. “Where’s Mingi?” Seonghwa asked, “He dragged this guy who was harassing me some where...I’m not sure where” you explain.
Yunho picked up on the issue and excused himself as he wandered the building looking for his friend. Yunho checked each empty room till he heard muffled yelling. Yunho ran in to see Mingi pressing his foot on the guy his face bruised and bloody. The man had a glass cup in his mouth as it look like it would break at any moment, “Mingi...” Yunho sighed, Mingi held his hand up “You really thought it was a smart idea to sexually harass my girl? Even if I didn’t catch it, I would have found out one way or another” Mingi snarled pressing harder on the guys face. “Mingi let him go...” Yunho said easing himself closer to his best friend, “This prick was touching what belongs to me” Mingi snapped, Yunho knew too many people were around to clean up this mess he needed to get himself and Mingi out of there.
“Listen your girl-” “Y/N...her name is Y/N” Yunho sighed in frustration “Y/N...is by herself scared right now...you need to go and comfort her...I’ll take care of this prick” Yunho negotiated, Mingi stared at the man before scoffing and stepping off him. Mingi wiped his bloody shoes on the man and fixed himself walking away. Yunho look back on the man and sighed “Dumbass”
You sit in the car quietly as Mr. Song looks out the window, you wanted to say something...anything but you were too scared to do so. “Never wear that dress or any similar type dress again, do you understand me?” Mr. Song said, you nodded silently. Mr. Song banged the window next to him “Speak” he commanded “Yes Mr. Song” you say lowly.
You walk back to your room your head down in shame as you strip yourself of the dress and heels, you sit in the shower the memory of that pervert lingering around, his gross grimy hands on you, his disgusting breath filling your nose. You whimper as you scrub your skin clean of that filling, you take in deep breaths of the vanilla scented body wash to clear your sinuses. Your whimpering turns into sobs as you can’t escape the feeling and smell. Outside Mingi listens to your crying his heart wrenching at the sound but his blood boiling with anger. Mingi placed his hand on the door “Don’t worry my baby...I’ll fix it”
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part 3 of playing pretend alsoooo i am currently scrounging through my tumblr to see what i've posted and publishing those fics on ao3 so i don't end up double posting. so if you see me spamming ao3... i apologize in advance (´ ∀ ` *)
__
Catherine looked out into the crowd, a donor rambling about something to her left. She noticed the trauma surgeon dancing with one of the many men who were eyeing her tonight, but she didn’t see her son. Scanning the room, she searched for her child on the dance floor. Then, by the food. When she didn’t see him, she turned her attention towards the darkened bar. There she saw Jackson nursing his drink, eyes trained back out to the center of the room, to April.
She tried to hide her smirk behind her glass. She had really outdone herself.
The two landed in Boston earlier this morning, after spending the night in Ohio. They would have flown out immediately after April’s reunion if the Kepner matriarch hadn’t spotted Jackson waiting for her daughter outside as she grabbed her luggage. Karen had brought the plastic surgeon into her home, sweet as ever, and killed him with a little midwestern hospitality.
Catherine had met the two on the tarmac, waiting for them in her limo. They had stumbled off the plane weary from the hectic events of the day prior, not knowing what they were about to walk into.
April smiled warmly at Catherine despite the anxious energy radiating off of her in waves. She took in the moment and absorbed her mentor and icon’s presence as Jackson kissed his mother’s cheek and mumbled something about always being trapped in her antics. By the time Jackson asked her why she wanted the two in Boston, the driver pulled up in front of the Avery estate. Jackson stepped out of the car, expecting the two women to follow, but the car sped off leaving him alone in the dust. Her phone vibrated, surely Jackson complaining over text, but Catherine trusted that her assistant could handle him.
With her phone on silent and the man in question out of the car, Catherine dragged his best friend off on a bit of retail therapy. There was no way she would let the trauma surgeon attend an Avery Foundation Gala without the proper attire. It didn’t hurt that when she pried and asked all the intrusive questions Jackson griped about, April tried her best to answer, and even when she couldn’t, Catherine could read the young doctor like an open book. The questions were just for fun. All it took was just one look for Catherine to confirm what she knew this whole time. From the way April looked at her son, she knew he had a chance.
Now, illuminated under the floor lights, the normally shy surgeon glowed brightly. Her hair flowed down to her back in loose, fiery waves. The delicate diamonds in her jewelry caught the lights and flickered back to the audience. The black dress Catherine had chosen fit April perfectly and showed a little skin. It was sleeveless and tight, something she knew would drive her son crazy.
Slowly, she approached Jackson at the bar, effortlessly ending the conversation with the man droning on about budgets as she walked. He didn’t notice her presence, too busy mentally strangling the promising surgeon who had the pleasure of dancing with April.
“Are you going to do something about that?” she asked into the lip of her champagne flute. Jackson stopped staring daggers into the man for a second to look at his mother. Realization flitted across his face.
“Wha-”
“I always know, Jackson. I’m your mother.” Jackson huffed beside her, peeved his mother was inserting herself in his love life again.
“I can’t. She’s…” he hesitated, “April.”
Catherine rolled her eyes. When has Jackson Avery not chased after a woman he liked? The two returned to watching the dance floor and back out at the redhead dancing in another man’s arms. April smiled at the blond, leaning in to say something and blushing as his hands dropped to the small of her back. Jackson clenched his fist, resisting the urge to pry the surgeon’s hands off his best friend and off the place where he had his hand last night.
“If you don’t do anything, Jackson, you’re more of an idiot than I raised you to be.” His brows pinched, a frown etched into his face as his mother patted his cheek. Catherine sauntered off, a donor quickly joining her side as the two discussed one of the foundation’s many projects.
Jackson tightened his grip around his cup, fingertips turning white with the pressure. Taking a deep breath in, he chugged the remaining amber liquid and made his way to the dance floor.
He avoided the other couples dancing to the song the live band was playing, sidestepping every couple of seconds. He heard her giggle, her tiny frame hidden away behind the blond’s broad shoulders.
Jackson cleared his throat, shaking off the jealousy that started surging its way through his veins. She caught sight of him first, feet stopping as she met his gaze.
“Jackson,” April sighed breathlessly.
It was now or never.
“Can I steal my girlfriend away for a second?” Jackson sent a poisonous smile to the other surgeon. The man April was dancing with quietly apologized to Jackson as he stepped back. Confusion flittered across the trauma surgeon’s face, hazel eyes meeting his blue ones.
Her hands slowly dropped to her sides, stepping closer to her best friend under the bright lights that illuminated the dance floor. Her voice dropped to a whisper, words exchanged for just the two to hear. “This isn’t my reunion, Jackson. You don’t have to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
“I know that.” He brought his hand to her wrist, thumb brushing against the thin metal bracelet encircling her wrist. Sliding his hand into hers, he raised it and placed the other on her waist. April resumed her position, placing her hand gently on his shoulder as she followed his lead.
April stood back, gasping as Jackson pulled her closer. Bodies pressed together, she tilted her gaze away from him, scared that the rosy blush of her skin would betray her.
He dropped his lips to the exposed crook of her neck, taking her breath away. Jackson took a deep breath in, the faint perfume she sprayed on earlier filling his lungs. Swallowing, he gathered the courage to ask.
“And what if it wasn’t pretend?”
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https://twitter.com/sapphiretears17/status/1777716991152857121?t=G6jKjabkUnGGj6BHW4ehHw&s=19
You mentioned gorgeous was written before met gala. Could this be why? I saw many responses mentioning she had met him before that and had connections to gigs as well.
I did a post on this the other day, but it was buried at the end of one about 29 April, so copied here, with a comment on the Met Gala ticket below.
Joe Alwyn, the Bowery Gastropub & Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk "reshoots"
A Reddit and Toe-Tumber version of this story is:
Joe was in LA for BLLHW reshoots and was with co-star Garrett Hedlund, who's friends with Caleb Followill who is married to Lily Aldridge who was at Gigi's party where we know Taylor was. There is a pub named the Bowery Gastropub on Sunset and Vine so of course Taylor met Joe there because 6 degrees of separation. It somehow makes sense that Tayvin continued and Hiddleswift happened and that she wrote in the lover journal that Toe started dating 3 months before January.
Issues with this story:
This story hinges on a screenshot from an office assistants LinkedIn claiming to have worked freelance on reshoots for the film for 2 months March and April 2016. If you search the words in the screenshot the Linkedin profile does say that. However if you look at profiles for editors, videographers and producers on the film they all ended mid-2015. Perhaps the freelance office assistant was working on a different film, or listed the wrong task.
Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk had no reshoots. They had no budget for them and shot specifically to avoid them. It was also not shot in LA.
Footage for the film had already been debuted on 16 April 2016. They were definitely not still shooting a low budget film 2 weeks later when it was being screened and was released in November
Joe was in London on 20 March 2016. There is no reason to think Joe was in LA.
Joe and Garrett Hedlund did attend the Met Gala - however as a C/B lister Garrett would not have a plus one, more likely he was Lily's plus one!
Caleb Followill, and his brother and bandmate Nathan Followill go way back with Harry - Nathan has a matching tattoo of the other half of Harry's broken heart tattoo! Harry (and Taylor) were last seen together at a Calab Followill's 2015 birthday party. If the Followill connect/ Bowery gastropub is true at all, it was not a no-name friend of a friend who was in London! 😂 It was a BFF who was in LA and flirting with his ex-GF.
This story reminds me of this quote Taylor gave Rolling Stone in 2014, about the snowboarding accident and OOTW:
"People think they know the whole narrative of my life, I think maybe that line is there to remind people that there are really big things they don’t know about."
How did Joe get a ticket to the Met Gala
Firstly, Joe was already modelling, had been at fashion week and appeared in a few films, he was from a wealthy family, his father was also a filmmaker. He may have just bought his ticket and been approved by Anna Wintour as a model. In 2016 that was $35,000 USD. Kate Upton paid to attend for the same reason Joe would have - to build their profile.
Another possible scenario is that he was part of the Tom Ford table. At the end of the year he was working a lot with them and later became a brand ambassador.
I think any scenario where Taylor paid or he was a plus one of a C-lister co-star are bogus. Only A-listers get plus ones, who are vetted. Taylor using Anna connections and paying for the ticket at that stage - then leaving with Tom Hiddleston, who she was at Anna Wintour's house with the night before the Met Gala is far fetched from a romance or PR POV.
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Another Way to Fly-[P.P.] | Chapter Four
Pairing: TASM!college!Peter Parker x female!college!reader
Summary: You've been dating Harry Osborne for three years. You love him...but maybe not as much as you once did. Maybe not enough.
AU Where Norman isn’t as sick- he’s just an asshole- and Gwen didn't go to Oxford. Harry is functioning as an apprentice at Oscorp (He graduated with a master's in two years because of his studying abroad). You, Peter, and Gwen are all seniors at ESU. Because Peter isn't Spider-Man and Norman isn’t dying, the whole “Goblin” thing is scratched from the record, so Peter and Harry are besties.
Prompt: Based on an ask for my 200 Follower celebration
Word Count: 5.3k
Content Warnings: Swearing, Implications of sex, marajuana use
Previous | Chapter List | Next
A/N: thank you guys for all the love on this series. It really means the world to me <3
On the car ride home, all you dreamed about was curling up on the couch with Harry to watch a movie. You felt tired and stressed, and you just wanted to unwind with your partner.
The car eventually came to a stop, and the driver opened Harry’s door, who then reached out his hand to you. He continued to hold your hand as you walked through the lobby entrance and waved to Paddy. Harry led you through the lobby and into the elevator, where he placed a gentle kiss on your temple, once behind closed doors. You melted into his arms, feeling safe and loved there.
When the doors opened, you untied your shoes, toeing them off. You felt Harry’s hands on your shoulder as he moved to remove your jacket, like he always did in the rare instances you were wearing one. But then his hands stop, only pulling it off your back a few inches.
“You didn’t leave with this on, did you?”
“Oh, it’s Peter’s. I spilt some coffee on myself, and he let me borrow it.”
You frown as the words come out of your mouth. There was no reason to lie about why you had Peter’s jacket- and it wasn’t a complete lie- but it’s not like you could correct it now. You said it for whatever reason, and now you felt even grosser.
“That was nice of him,” Harry says with a warm smile. One that twists your stomach, with the trust and pride oozing from his teeth.
Harry was always proud to be friends with Peter. He looked up to him in a lot of ways. Growing up and around the one per cent, Harry had met a lot of men who would easily commit horrors against women and never lose an ounce of sleep over it. He worried about you in his world, but he liked to think he surrounded himself with good people, like Peter Parker. Someone who you could hang out with and be safe. Someone who took care of you when Harry wasn’t there to do it. Someone he trusted.
“Yeah,” You say as you watch him hang the jacket up, “it was.”
You already miss the warm cotton you were surrounded in. You miss the comfort the jacket brought you. But you push away the thought, convincing yourself you only missed the jacket, and not Peter.
A few hours later, you're curled up with Harry watching Finding Nemo. You have a list of movies that were staples in your childhood, but Harry hadn’t seen a lot of them. He was robbed of his youth, and you liked to work your way down them so Harry could have some of these experiences at least.
Marlin is scooped up in the pelican’s mouth, and Harry laughs beside you. But you can’t even focus on that. Your mind is, instead, thinking about how you’re gonna break the news to Peter that you won’t be in attendance at May’s Dinner- all because of another stupid gala. You want to ask if you have to go at all, but you already know the answer. Even if it’s the weekend before finals- even when it collides with life events- you know you have to go.
You decide a text would be sufficient, lessen to blow. That way, you don’t have to see his puppy dog eyes and broken heart.
To Peter: Hey! I’m so sorry, Harry and I have a fundraiser gala next week. We can’t make it to the dinner :((
You tuck your phone away so you don’t have to see his upset response. You don’t want him to try and convince you to go because you want to more than anything, and it would just break your heart to refuse him.
What you don’t expect is for your intercom to go off fifteen minutes later. The buzz echoes around the space, bouncing off of each hard surface and startling you. Harry chuckles when you jump, and you swat his arm.
“Mr Osborne,” Paddy’s warped voice says through the crackling speaker, “There is a Peter Parker here to see you. Shall I send him up?”
Harry looks to you for an explanation, but you have none. He shrugs before telling Paddy that’s fine. When the elevator doors open, Peter marches through with purpose.
“Harry!” He blindly calls out to your boyfriend, not seeing you both peaking over the back of the couch. “Where you at, ya butt muncher?”
This was a common bit between them. They often would pretend to be very upset with each other for no reason, exchanging harmless playground insults between them.
Harry’s face lit up when he saw his friend, and you thought it was adorable as he stood up on the couch cushions, almost falling over. “I’m right here, you tit!”
Peter whipped his head around, his smile grand as he laid his eyes on his best friend. He set his backpack on the floor and marched over to Harry, finger out and pointed at his friend’s face. It was quite comical to see. Peter is usually one of the tallest in the room, but to see Harry towering over him and Peter craning his neck upward to address him was amusing.
“Get down from there this instance!” Peter scolded, “And join me on the balcony, so we can split a joint.”
Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, not expecting the proposal. Harry didn’t smoke often; he preferred a good bourbon or whiskey to wind down. He looked down at you, silently asking if you were okay with this. You shrugged, saying you would make some snacks for when they came back. Peter thanked you, then extended his hand out to his friend. Once Harry grabbed it, he yanked him towards him, and Harry nearly toppled over as he tried to vault over the back of the couch. They giggled as they made their way outside.
You start on sandwiches and can’t help but chuckle at the pair outside, especially when you catch Peter’s eye- he sends you a wink. Harry is holding the joint like an old friend, smoke spilling from his mouth as he speaks to Peter. After about 10 minutes, the boys come back inside. Harry is leading, his shoulders sagging and his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry, Parker. There’s nothing I can do.”
Peter’s eyes are glassy, and his eyelids droop.
“Oh, come on, Hare Bear, surely you can do something,” He tries as he strolls in behind his friend. “Maybe you would be okay with going solo?”
Harry plops dramatically on the couch, spreading a leg and arm over the back. “Well, that wouldn’t make much sense. Gwen can’t make her dinner party either, so it would just be you and (Y/n). Can’t we move the dinner?”
Peter seems to think it over, then flops down next to Harry. You think it’s funny how sometimes straight men are the gayest people out there. (Although Peter told you a few weeks ago that he may be bi, but that’s a different thing entirely.) They lay long ways on the couch, chest to chest, sharing each other’s air. And this is a very typical way to have a conversation with your good buddy. You snap a sneaky picture and send it to Gwen, knowing she’d get a kick out of it too.
“I guess it makes the most sense that Gwen’s there to celebrate Gwen.” Peter says very slowly, like he’s thinking through each word. “I’ll ask May if we can move it.”
They’ve seemed to reach a resolution, so you decide now is the time to reannounce your presence.
“I’ve got your sandwiches!” You call from the kitchen and burst out in laughter as they try to untangle themselves and trip over the couch to get to the kitchen as quickly as possible, like a bit in The Three Stooges. You half expect to hear the sound effects as they knock things over and trip over their feet.
As you eat, Peter and Harry catch up for a bit. Peter, of course, tells Harry that they wouldn’t miss each other so much if he wasn’t always at work. They go back and forth for a bit, tip-toeing around any real anger. Some arms are slugged, but mostly laughter is swapped between them.
Peter suggests you guys watch a horror movie, and you think it’s a wonderful idea. Especially when he says he’s “got more grass to pass around.”
You feel great right now. Your body is softly buzzing, and your brain feels lighter. There’s a slasher on the tv, and you’re too mellow to even flinch. You’re leaned against Harry’s side as he plays with your hair, and your legs are stretched out over Peter’s lap as his hands skate across your tights. You didn’t change out of your outfit from before, but now you felt comfortable. You felt like nothing could bother you. Not even Harry passing out early when he promised he wouldn’t.
You only notice when he starts snoring softly above you. His head is resting on the back of the couch in a way that will definitely make itself known in the morning when he complains about the crick in his neck. His blond hair is fanned across his forehead, and his lips are parted. Peter chuckles beside you, noticing Harry about the same time you did.
He was mesmerised by the glow of the tv illuminating your face, how the shadows dance across your cheekbones, but then you turned your head away, and he followed your gaze to his best friend.
You laugh as well, “He owes us fifty bucks.”
Peter leans forward, over your legs to grab his phone from the table. He checks the time and beams.
“Hell yeah, he does. He said he wouldn’t crash before nine.” He shows you the time on his lock screen. “It’s barely eight thirty.”
“What a loser,” you joke.
You sit up carefully, so as to not disturb him and climb out from under the blanket you share. You readjust it so that he’s covered and comfortable. You try to give him some space, knowing he’s not the biggest on cuddling, and that brings you closer to Peter. Peter who lifts his blanket up without even thinking, scooting over to make room for you as if it was second nature. Maybe first.
You don’t hesitate to take him up on his offer, enthusiastically scooching over to tuck yourself into his side. Peter throws the blanket around you, then moves his arm to rest on the back of the couch, so you can get closer.
“Weed always makes me so cuddly,” You comment as you curl yourself up, resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his waist.
Peter brings his other arm around to give you a tight squeeze, “Me too.”
Texas Chainsaw Massacre is still playing on the tv; you watch the rest of the film from the comfort of Peter’s arms. When the movie finally ends and the credits roll, neither of you moves to turn it off. You look at the table, littered with Chinese takeout ordered earlier and decide that was a problem for the morning. You were much too tired to clean. Peter’s heartbeat was dancing in your ears, and the melody was soothing. He’s comfy and warm. He smells great. Curling up with Peter is like the comfort of his jacket, but better. But it was getting late, and you knew you would have to leave your hovel soon.
“You’re welcome to spend the night,” You whisper, “If you want.”
“Thanks,” Peter whispers back, “I think I will.”
“The guest bed is already made up, you're welcome to sleep there. Unless…”
You didn’t miss the way his heart rate accelerated at your cliffhanger.
“Unless, what?” Peter whispers.
“Unless,” You say, walking your fingers across his chest, “you wanna hop in bed with me and Harry.”
Peter swats your hand, and you choke on your laughter. In the low light, you can see the red spreading across his face, but he laughs too. Enough that you move with the rise and fall of his chest.
“Well, it’s not every day that you get invited to a threesome with your besties,” He jokes, “but I think I’ll have to decline this time.”
He pats your back, signalling to you that he’s going to get up now. You begrudgingly pull yourself away so he can stand.
“There’s gonna be a next time?” You ask with a mischievous twinkle in your eye. Peter reaches over to smack you with a pillow from the couch.
“There better be.” He warns.
Your laughter isn’t as quiet now, unable to keep it from rising as you joke around with Peter. Harry stirs, and you remember you have to go to bed too. And bring him with you.
“Such a lame-ass,” Peter jokes, following your gaze once again.
“That he is,” you chuckle, “but he’s a lame-ass who needs to make it up to his bed.”
You pull your eyes away from your sleeping boyfriend and see Peter still standing in front of you. He towers over you, and there’s a soft smile on his face. You feel your own cheeks warm at the affectionate gaze.
“Do you want help?” He asks sincerely.
You shake your head, waving your hand around, “Nah, it’s fine. I can handle ‘im.”
“Alright then,” Peter leans down and kisses your cheek. “Goodnight, Heartbreaker.”
He turns to the staircase, slowly disappearing into the shadows the light can’t reach. You feel sad, watching him walk away, and can only tear your gaze away when you hear the bedroom door close. You sigh, knowing you have to get up. There was nothing keeping you on this couch. Certainly, not the childish hope that Peter would come back down- that he would change his mind and lay down with you again.
You turned, poking Harry’s cheek. “Hare, come on, get up.”
He wipes groggily at his face, his head finally lifted, and his eyes nearly closed. “What time is it?”
“Late,” You reply.
Harry groans again before finally standing. “I’m sorry, babe. I know you wanted to hang out.”
You reach for his hand, offering comfort. “It’s okay, Hon. I know you work a lot. You had a big day today; you must be exhausted.”
“Thanks, babe.” He stretches, then looks around. “Where’s Ole Pete?”
You tell him he’s crashing upstairs, and Harry says, “Good,” through a yawn. “I don’t want him on the train this late by himself.”
You chuckle, standing to grab Harry’s hands and kiss him on the cheek, “You’re such a sweet boyfriend.”
“Thanks,” Harry smiles down at you, his thin lips tugged up at the corners despite his woolly-headedness, “I’m glad you think so.”
The next morning, you rise with Harry, though you get to skip the grooming routine on account of not having to go out today. Instead, you head downstairs to make breakfast. Harry, surprising no one, took his father’s “advice” and started eating healthier. He usually had a smoothie or a yoghurt bowl for breakfast now. But today, since you had the time to spare, you decided you would make something a little nicer for you and Peter.
When whipping some eggs, you got distracted by a loud yawn that sounded a lot like a shout, a loud declaration of hate for the mornings. You knew who it was before looking.
“Good morning, Pete,” You sang.
“Mornin’.” You heard him grumble over the sound of heavy feet dragging down the hall. “Your stupid blender woke me up.”
As he collapses on the island, you fix him a glass of orange juice, lightly smacking his head so he would raise it from his folded arms. You place it in front of him- a warm smile on your face.
“Sorry, bub, here’s some juice. It’s freshly squeezed, and the french toast will be done soon.”
Peter perks a bit, “You’re making me breakfast? And freshly juiced juice?”
“Of course.” You say as if that were a completely average thing. Like it wasn’t one of the kindest gestures Peter’s been offered. As if your food isn’t always incredible. As if you don’t pour your heart and soul into everything you make.
His voice is heavy with what you perceive as sleep, “Thank you.”
The morning is peaceful. Down below, the city drummed on as you hummed along to a song that only your heart knew. The quiet sizzle of egg frying in the pan joined in with adjoining harmony. The sweet melody flitted through the air.
Then a door creaking shut, and light steps on the stairs. Your body moves faster than your brain, your spine straightens, and your shoulders roll back. Your voice stops, and your hips no longer sway to the music made.
“It smells amazing in here! Whatcha making, babe?”
Peter watched the change and wasn’t sure what to make of it. Your smile remained and grew as you greeted your boyfriend. You seemed happy. But stiff.
“I’m making French toast,” You chirp.
He slides in behind you to wrap his arms around you, while you stand at the stove. For some reason, it doesn’t sit right with Peter. But it should. Because you lean into his touch, kiss his cheek, and call him a sweet pet name. And it’s then that Peter realises there’s an odd painting on the wall that he’s never truly appreciated, but then he remembers his phone is a lot more entertaining.
“It looks great,” Harry compliments, “but I think I’ll have to scrounge around for something else.”
You don’t notice, lost in Harry’s tender embrace, but Peter rolls his eyes.
“Well, lucky for you,” you say with a smug-ish tone, breaking away from him to grab something from the fridge, “I already made your smoothie.”
Harry beams at you, and you tap your cheek. He chuckles at your antics and pays his “tax”
“I love you,” He says against your cheek, then turns to Peter, “You too.”
Peter throws an orange peel across the room that he found on the counter, and Harry laughs as he dodges it, then takes a seat next to his friend.
“Mornin’ Pete!”
“Good morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Great,” Harry says between slurps, “What time did I crash?”
“Pay up o’clock,” Peter says, not missing a beat.
“That early, huh?”
“Yep.” Peter says, popping the “p”, “about eight thirtyish.”
The conversation is paused as you serve Peter his plate, pushing little bowls of topping towards him to enjoy and Harry digs around for his wallet. He slides a fifty across the counter, shaking his head.
“Weed always makes me pass out.” he sighs, clapping Peter on the upper back, then stands. “I’ve gotta go if I don’t wanna be late. I’m sorry. I know you wanted to hang out.”
Peter stands as well, opening his arms to hug his friend. Harry immediately takes him up on the offer.
“It’s all good man, I get it.”
Harry smiles, pulling away to fix his suit jacket, “Alright, well, you’re welcome to stay- hang out with (Y/n).” He goes to call the elevator, and as he steps into the door, he points at Peter, gathering his full attention, “I’ll see you for the Dinner.”
You both wish him goodbye as he disappears behind the closing doors. When you hear the gears begin to whirl, you look to Peter, who was already looking at you.
“Do you have any plans today?”
“Nothing much.” You shrug, taking Harry’s seat. “I need to study for finals, but I’ve got nothing else going on.”
Peter slides his phone towards you, with an Instagram post pulled up.
“Dog Water’s doing a show in Harlem tonight.” He says. “They just posted this- And look!”
You follow his fingers as he zooms in, “They’re not even announced on the posters. Totally a last-minute, ‘yeah, we’ll do it’, show. Do you wanna go?”
You tell him it’s a great idea and start figuring out the schematics of the plan as you eat your breakfast. You don’t notice the little happy dance you do after your first bite, your fork pointed in the air, your head bobbing side to side as you chew. The brightness in your eyes as you try to figure out what you wanna wear, and the glow in your cheeks as you decide when you should stop studying to get ready on time. It’s adorable, really.
There’s hair falling in your face, and Peter wants to brush it away, but nothing is worth disturbing the sight in front of him. The morning sun comes in from the floor-to-ceiling windows and bathes you in angelic light that makes Peter’s heart flip; then sink. He tears his gaze away, suddenly not hungry anymore.
He announces that he’s finished, and you rise from your half-eaten meal to clean his plate before he stops you. “I can do it; you’re still eating.”
You didn’t notice before, but Peter wasn’t in pyjamas, just the T-shirt from the night before and his green and blue, plaid boxers. Your heart warmed at the thought that he felt so comfortable here that he could do dishes in his boxers and not bat an eye. You took in his form as he stood at the sink, the way his arms flexed as he scrubbed. When he turned around, arms holding him up as he leaned against the counter, your eyes trailed down- noting where his clothing hung and hugged.
“I’m gonna go, I got some stuff to do, and I don’t want to interrupt your studying.”
He goes upstairs to change, then returns downstairs. You give him a big hug before he leaves, soaking in whatever it is that makes Peter’s hugs the best, knowing you wouldn't get another for at least ten hours.
“Pick you up at eight?” He asks, his chin moving against your skull.
“Hmm,” you hum, “7:30 gives us time to eat.”
Peter rubs circles on your back, and you try your best not to melt more, but then he pulls away before you can. He doesn’t go far, manoeuvring more into a side hug with his arm still around your waist as he calls the elevator.
“You’re so right,” The doors open and he beams at you, “See you later, Heartbreaker.”
He bends down and places a kiss on the crown of your head. You freeze with a smile on your face as you watch Peter disappear behind the same doors Harry did.
You felt…weird. Or like you were acting weird. Your heart bangs in your chest and your lungs struggle to work around it.
It’s not weird that he did that. He’s done it before, like once. You were both really drunk and giggling at the gag gift you got Peter. It was a pair of novelty socks. They were blue and white, with an image of Santa Claus holding a manora. He kissed your forehead very dramatically, showing his appreciation.
He’s never done it so casually. But casual affection was not uncommon amongst your friends. You all hugged, held hands, and dogpiled on the couch. Harry kisses Gwen’s cheek in greeting. And it’s not weird because you’ve kissed Gwen’s cheek too, and Peter’s cheek. And Peter kissed your cheek last night, when you were too tired to make it a big deal. Which it isn’t, and it’s not weird that your heart does a little flip in your chest when you realise you can still feel where his lips touched you.
Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @andrews-lovr, @barbecuetiddy @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @preciousbabypeter, @princesskittycatofmeowland, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @supernerdycookietrashblr, @tayswiftlovebot, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz
#Rancid Writes#peter parker imagine#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you#spiderman x reader#andrew garfield#andrew garfield spiderman x reader#andrew peter parker#peter parker fic#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker fluff#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm imagine#tasm!peter x you#tasm peter parker#tasm 2#tasm!spiderman x you#tasm!peter x y/n#tasm!peter imagine#the amazing spider man#spiderman#tasm#peter Parker imagines#spider-man imagines#spiderman x y/n#spider man x reader#spider man x you#spider man x y/n#best friend peter parker
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thank you for the tag @thatgirlfromhotelcalifornia!!! luv u <3
1. If you were to attend a costume party tonight, what or whom would you go as?
could do lydia from beetlejuice but prolly the cartoon version, maybe misa from death note? or lidl grimes met gala 2018 x)
2. What are your choice of toppings on a hamburger? And do you prefer gas or charcoal grilling?
don't mind the ketchup and mayo, last time i cooked burgers i also added fresh garlic and some curry powder,was delicious. Also love the sauce in tasty cheese from mcdonald's!!Any veggies go for me (i do love some pickles), i don't think i have a preference in grilling but i don't like burger king one's, it feels like fake smoke
3. You are chosen to have lunch with the President. The condition is you only get to ask one question. What do you ask?
i would ask my president how he's doing honestly, he's been through a lot with the war, can't even imagine the stress he has
4. It’s your first day of vacation, what are you doing?
def trying out some food and it would mostly be a chill day,just look at what i have around the area i live
5. What is your concession stand must-have at the movies?
mandatory salty snacks!! can't go through a movie with just sweets and i do prefer more chips or popcorn
6. Which do you dislike most: pop-up ads or spam email?
pop-up ads esp if they are in the middle of my screen or mess with the reading
7. What do you think Captain Hook’s name was before he had a hook for a hand?
captain annoying, i kinda hate looking at him dunno
8. Rock, paper, or scissors?
rock
9. How long was it from ‘the first date’ until the proposal of marriage? How long until the wedding?
not there yet
10. Which is worse, being in a place that is too loud, or too quiet?
too loud especially if those are primarily kids' noises
11. What is one quality that you really appreciate in a person?
honesty but not the one where they are being an asshole about it
12. At the good old general store, what particular kind of candy would you expect to be in the big jar at the counter?
tbh i see it not as the candy but those small chewing gums
13. What is the most distinguishing landmark in your city?
in my native city it's def Cossacks Sich, love this place <3
14. Everyone hears discussions that they consider boring. What topic can put you to sleep quicker than any other?
mostly any that i'm not interested in and don't care to be interested in, could even be fandoms of my friends, i don't mind hearing about them occasionally bu i can't hold the convo for more than 5-10 mins
15. How many times did it take you to pass your drivers test?
never done any heh
16. If you had to have the same topping on your vanilla ice cream for the rest of your life, what topping would you choose?
peanut butter and maybe salted caramel, but peanut butter alone would be enough
17. What food item would need to be removed from the market altogether in order for you to live a healthier, longer life?
chips because i'm addicted to them
18. You are offered an envelope that you know contains $50. You are then told that you may either keep it or exchange it for another envelope that may contain $500 or may be empty. Do you keep the first envelope, or do you take your chances with the second?
hm, i'll keep the 50 i think but also depends on my gambling mood :D
19. If you had to choose, which would you give up: TV, or internet?
def tv, don't have any already
20. Who is your dream girl or boy from movies/tv?
not from live action stuff is obviously matt from death note and i don't even wanna elaborate on that
don't think i even have any dream char from any live action stuff
21. Have you ever met a celebrity?
yes c:
22. What kind of lunch box did you have as a kid?
just a translucent one with the green lid c:
dunno who to tag honestly, if you see this and want to do this feel free to put me as the one who tagged you <3
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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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Can I please request Omega Shouto Todoroki with Fem Alpha Reader headcanons? I love your writing and ABO is my fave AU so thanks for writing about it!! ❤❤
Omega Todoroki!! Love that for him
Pro hero!todoroki x alpha!reader
Little tiny bit nsfw! Send in a request if you want more nsfw!
-Shouto is one of those people everyone expects to be an alpha, because of the whole Endeavor’s-heir-perfect-successor thing, and because of how he acts in general
-so when he eventually presents as omega, it’s kind of a shock. A young pro-hero, who rose to the top of the polls so quickly, with two extremely powerful quirks? A lot of people just didn’t buy that he wasn’t an alpha
-he’s still super popular, of course, especially with omega fans who look up to him
-he’s always quiet and aloof, though, acting like nothing ever bothers him
-even when alphas try to come onto him in the street, he just steps around them and goes on his way. He’s never really in any danger, considering how strong he is, so he doesn’t worry the way that other omegas might
-it makes you worry, though.
-you met because of your job with the hero commission, and the second you caught his scent, you were head over heels.
-sandalwood, blackberries, and a hint of something else that you couldn’t quite name...the smell of steam created when fire meets ice
-you tried not to seem pushy, or even interested. He was a top pro hero, a prodigy, and you just worked for the hero commission. He had probably already been promised to a rich, powerful alpha, and you shouldn’t get in the way of that (even if you were better than all the rest of them combined, in your humble opinion)
-you end up getting together because one day Shouto comes up to you out of the blue and informs you that he would now like you to court him so that you can date
-you’re absolutely flabbergasted, both at the suddenness and the forwardness, but who are you to refuse?
-he doesn’t really need a courtship. He just wants to spend time with you so that the two of you can get to know each other before he goes into heat
-because of course he planned this so that you’d be there for him when he does
-dating, and then eventually being mated to him, is nice and calm (for the most part)
-lots of galas and press releases to attend
-a nice big house, thanks to his hefty paychecks and also his inheritance
-you may be the alpha, but he’s the real breadwinner
-honestly, if you want to, you could very easily never work another day in your life. Shouto is more than happy to reverse your societal roles, so to speak, and be the one providing for you.
-he likes to act very stoic and mature all the time, even while you’re out on dates, but all you have to do is purr or rub your cheek against his and he melts into a little puddle of goo
-this boy loves to snuggle at night too
-and he makes a neat little nest that he very carefully and precisely maintains
-you can always tell when he’s going to go into heat because he runs like clockwork. He has never once been early or late or unpredictable
-hes always very matter of fact about them, too—he’ll just walk into the room and blankly inform you that he would like to copulate now
-when/if you do eventually decide to have pups, Shouto will still try to keep working at first...but eventually he’ll realize that he doesn’t want to be the same as Endeavor was to him, and he’ll be a super attentive and caring parent 💕
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The Judge’s Daughter (Part One)
Featuring: Tommy Shelby x Virgin!Reader
Words: 8,700
Warning: Angst, Blood, Gore, Mention of Suicide, Mention of Miscarriage, Drugs, Racism, Smut
Tag List:
@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @chrisevanshoeee @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @captivatedbycillianmurphy @fookingshelby @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x
………
Challenging Times
In early 1930, times were hard. The Wall Street crash in 1929 caused many men to lose their fortune. Your family had also lost money on the stock exchange. A lot of money.
Your father was a wealthy judge and now, he was just a judge. Your family home had to be sold and your father moved into a medium sized apartment in London with one of his maids.
Since your mother had passed away in 1920, your father had often sought comfort in his employees. There was one maid in particular who was of interest to him. Her name was Catherine and she was 10 years your father’s junior.
You accepted his relationship with her but soon felt uncomfortable to live with them in the London Apartment.
But your father wasn’t the only family member who lost his fortune in the stock market crash. Your brother had also lost a lot of money. So much money that he could not repay his gambling debt to one of London’s most notorious criminals.
As a result, your brother committed suicide. His mental health had always been troubled ever since he’s been to France, fighting for England in the First World War. Your brother was much older than you and it was almost a miracle when your mother fell pregnant again and gave birth to you after three miscarriages.
Your brother adored you and protected you whenever necessary. He was kind hearted but, unfortunately, got himself involved with the wrong people on several occasions which is when he began gambling.
Following your brother’s death, your father struck a deal with the man to whom the gambling debt was owed, releasing three of his gang members from prison.
The debt was forgiven and you inherited your brother’s small cottage north of London. Regardless of your father’s actions, he began to despise criminals who involved themselves in illegal gambling activities. Your father was known to be particularly harsh when it came to offences of this kind.
He once told you a story about a man who used to be a prominent criminal who made his fortune through race fixing and illegal gambling activities. That man was now a member of parliament and your father despised him.
Being Jewish, your father’s hate for this man increased even more when he became the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists.
The man’s name was Thomas Shelby and you met him once at a gala organised by the socialist party in Westminster. He was a smart man but he was also extremely rude and insulted your father at the gala following a dispute they had earlier in the day.
Your father threatened him and told him that, one day, he will ensure his downfall. It was your father’s mission and it was dangerous.
With that threat in mind and heated political events unfolding around the country, your father asked you to move to the countryside. Take up your brother’s cottage and lay low until things were taking a turn.
It took you quite some time to build up the courage to move into the house where your brother took his own life. But, you eventually did, taking up your brother’s work at the property while attending nursing school every second week.
The cottage was free standing but behind a larger house owned by wealthy Londoners. Their wealth seemed to have been unaffected by the stock market crash and, just as your brother did, you attended their yards and animals on the small farm in exchange for a wage and free food from the produce.
You also spent some time renovating the cottage which was rather dated.
The cottage had two bedrooms, one of which you converted entirely to a studio for your paintings. You enjoyed painting and you were quite good at it.
The other bedroom you redecorated with your own furniture.
The downstairs area consisted out of a small living room with a fire place and a small kitchen and bathroom.
It wasn’t much, but it was a place you could call your own. It was home.
Initially following your move, you would travel to London occasionally to visit your father and his mistress. You wondered when he would finally propose to her. She had been waiting for years.
When you visited, you would often sit in one of his open hearings. You were quite interested in the political and legal situation in the country especially following recent events.
Notably, it has been six weeks since the assassination attempt on Oswald Mosley, the leader of the British Union of Fascists.
Being Jewish yourself, you, just like your father, despised fascism.
The event at which the assassination attempt occurred was visited by many Jews, protesting against the establishment of the party and their obscure ideas. Despite your father’s instructions not to get involved, you were one of the protestors on the day and, although not openly, you have been associating yourself with the communists.
Your newfound friend Jesse Eden had since led several more protests you attended. Being only 20 years young, you believed that you could make a difference and convince people that their support for fascism was wrong and immoral.
The problem was that your father was at the centre of it all.
Following the assassination attempt on Oswald Mosley, two Jews were arrested and appeared in your father’s court. The prosecution didn’t have enough evidence for a conviction and the men walked free.
No one really knew who was behind the assassination attempt. There were no witnesses and everyone who may have witnessed the attack had since been found dead.
Regardless of this, for some reason, the leaders of the British Union of Fascists seem to have believed that a Jewish man by the name of Alfie Solomons was behind the attack. But there was one little problem, Alfie Solomon was dead. Or wasn’t he?
The men that were arrested used to work for Alfie Solomons and took the fall until your father set them free for lack of evidence.
A week after this decision, a Jewish owned factory was bombed. The factory was owned by the men who were set free by your father and a company owned by a Trust.
Ten men were killed and, following some arrests, it became evident that Jimmy McCavern was behind the attack.
Jimmy McCavern was the leader of the Billy Boys and, over the course of another week, your father was able to make a connection through some documents admitted to evidence between Jimmy McCavern, Alfie Solomons and a man named Thomas Shelby who was the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists.
An arrest warrant was issued against Jimmy McCavern and Thomas Shelby by the London police following your father’s advice to them. Since, apparently, Alfie Solomons was dead, no arrest warrant could be made against him.
Thomas Shelby was the first member of parliament who was subject to such warrant and your father may have just, like this, gotten himself a lot of enemies.
The men he had against him now were not only the Billy Boys but also the Peaky Blinders and it was too dangerous for you to continue to visit him in London.
Unfortunately, little did you know that the danger was about to lurk just in front of your doorstep.
An Unexpected Visit
It was a Wednesday evening at 8pm that you heard a rather loud knock on the front door of your cottage.
You didn’t expect anyone and approached the door with your loaded gun. It’s not that you had ever shot a gun, but you bought yourself one two days ago just in case you needed it.
‘Who is it?’ you asked from behind the closed door.
‘It’s Jesse Eden’ you’ve heard from behind the door and you immediately recognised Jesse’s voice.
You put the gun aside and unlocked the door.
To your surprise, Jesse wasn’t alone and your chin dropped as you saw the man standing right in front of you. You remembered him. He was the man who stood beside Oswald Mosley during his speech in Birmingham and you had met him before at a gala at Westminster.
His name was Thomas Shelby.
‘I think we have met before Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.
‘Yes, we have Mr Shelby’ you said nervously and frightened at the same time. You immediately wondered whether Jesse was under duress by him. Why otherwise would he be here with her you wondered.
You invited them both inside after Jesse made the request to come in. She wasn’t sure whether they had been followed.
To your surprise, Jesse soon told you that she required your help. According to her, Thomas Shelby had to lay low due to the arrest warrant issued by the London police.
If Thomas Shelby was to be arrested, he may be killed in prison before a hearing could be conducted.
Accordingly, Jesse asked you to hide him at your house until the charges against him are dropped.
‘You mean until the chief of police has been bribed enough to drop the charges?’ you chuckled in response to her request.
‘I wish it would be that easy Love’ Tommy said as he looked at the pictures on your living room wall. His hands were in his pockets and he almost looked unbothered by the situation.
‘You cannot be serious Jesse. You seriously want me to hide this man at my house?’ you said in disbelieve.
‘I am afraid I am serious Y/N’ Jesse responded.
‘Well, a fascist hiding at the house of a Jew, how ironic’ you said angrily, still unsure why Jesse was helping him.
‘I know we have gotten off on the wrong foot at the Westminster gala Miss Rosenberg, but I would greatly appreciate your help’ Tommy said, recalling his argument with your father in your presence in late 1929.
‘You think Mr Shelby?’ you chuckled. ‘You insulted my father and my entire family’ you said.
‘And for that, I apologise’ Tommy said politely but firmly.
‘Jesse, you need to explain to me why you are helping this man. I do not understand it’ you said.
‘I cannot give you more information Y/N. You just need to trust me on this, alright?’ Jesse asked almost fearfully.
‘Alright, but why me?’ you pondered.
‘Because you are the daughter of the judge hearing this matter. No one will think to look for me here, at your house’ Tommy explained.
‘Jesus’ was all you could respond with to Tommy’s comment.
‘Y/N, trust me, please. It’s for the cause’ Jesse said.
‘I find this hard to believe, but alright, he can stay’ you responded.
Not long after you agreed to house the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists, Thomas Shelby, Jesse made her way back to Birmingham. It was a three-hour drive and she had to hurry before anyone became suspicious.
‘You will have to sleep on the lounge. Please help yourself to any food, water and drinks’ you said while you walked into another room to fetch a blanket, pillow and change of clothes for Tommy.
You still held on to your brother’s clothes which should have fitted Thomas just fine.
‘I thank you for your hospitality Miss Rosenberg and I apologise for intruding your space. I should be out of your hair within the week’ Tommy said as you came back to the living room and handed him everything he needed for his stay.
‘I am doing this for Jesse, not for you Mr Shelby. Although I do not quite understand why she is helping you’ you said just before you sat down in one of the arm chairs.
‘Let’s just say, we had a thing once, eh’ Tommy smirked.
‘I didn’t think that she would fall for a man like you’ you said.
‘A man like me, eh?’ Tommy chuckled.
‘Yes, a socialist turning to fascism. It’s rather disappointing’ you said.
‘Sometimes we do what we have to do Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.
‘Yes, if we didn’t, you wouldn’t be staying here, trust me’ you said before excusing yourself.
You made your way to your studio, painting and drinking wine. It was what you enjoyed most and you wanted to space from the stranger now living with you in the small cottage. A man you had literally nothing in common with and who you despised.
While you were painting, Tommy made use of your telephone and enjoyed some of your late brother’s whiskey.
It was obvious to you that he was struggling with being cooped up in your cottage and, just as your thoughts got lost in your paintings, you heard some a cracking noise near the door of your studio.
‘What are you doing?’ you asked as you noticed Tommy walking into your studio, looking through your many paintings.
‘You are talented. These paintings are extraordinary’ Tommy said.
‘Thank you, Mr Shelby’ you said with surprise. Had he really just complimented you?
His presence and closeness sent shivers down your spine. It wasn’t that you were frightened but you were clearly intimidated.
‘What are your plans, Miss Rosenberg?’ Tommy asked as he kept looking through the paintings.
‘My plans?’ you asked.
‘Your plans for the future? What are they?’ Tommy asked.
‘I am studying to become a nurse. Perhaps, one day get married and have children. The usual’ you said shyly.
‘Well, let me tell you, marriage is overrated’ Tommy chuckled before he asked how old you were.
‘I am 20’ you responded.
‘Still young with a life of opportunities ahead of you. Don’t waste them on the cause’ Tommy said.
‘Coming from a man who wastes his political career on fascism’ you said, causing Tommy to chuckle.
Your comment instantly sparked a political debate between you and Tommy which soon erupted into a heated argument.
During the argument he told you that you were too young to understand, ignorant and naïve and you were keen to throw him out of your house right then and there.
But, you bit your tongue and reminded yourself of the promise you made to Jesse.
You couldn’t stand him and his arrogance any longer and went to your bedroom, leaving him to debate about politics with himself.
Things Must Change
The next morning, you woke up early to attend the garden, ignoring Tommy as you left the house.
But, it wasn’t long until Tommy joined you in the garden. It was obvious to you that he was clearly bored.
‘What happened to the people who lived at the large house over there?’ Tommy asked as he walked outside to have a cigarette. You didn’t allow him to smoke inside the house.
‘They are in France for their annual vacation. Apparently, their fortune was unaffected by the stock market crash’ you responded.
‘Lucky them eh’ Tommy grinned as he grabbed some of the leather gardening cloves and a bucket from the side of the house.
Wearing his expensive suit and with the bucket in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth he walked over to the berry bushes where you were standing.
‘I might as well make myself useful eh’ he said jokingly as he began picking some berries.
‘Uhm yeah…but these aren’t ripe’ you giggled as you observed Tommy picking off some of the raspberries.
‘Right. Well, I usually don’t garden’ Tommy chuckled.
‘I couldn’t tell’ you laughed, causing Tommy to smile back at you.
This was the first time you noticed him smile. It was a gentle smile and it suited him.
Tommy helped you in the garden for the remainder of the day. It wasn’t like he had something else to do other than make phone calls to his brother and someone by the name of Kent.
You managed to keep your arguments to a minimum and you started to worry that you were slowly beginning to enjoy his company.
Later that evening, following dinner, you even sat down together in front of the fireplace in the living room to drink whiskey and wine and make some conversation.
‘I have been checking on your calls, contacting the directory because I wanted to make sure that I am safe with you being here. I have been told that the last call from my number was made to the Crown Investigations Office’ you said with surprise as you poured Tommy a glass of whiskey. After everything that happened in the past, you still didn’t trust him.
‘That’s correct’ Tommy said.
‘The only reason I could think of as to why you were talking to an officer of the Crown while you have an arrest warrant against you is if you were working for the Crown yourself. Otherwise, you would be mad tipping them’ you said.
‘I was just trading information that might be useful. In exchange, I am hoping for the arrest warrant against me to be dropped’ Tommy explained.
‘Mr Shelby, do you actually believe in fascism? I have not heard you speak about your party’s ideals since you’ve been here. We spoke about politics but you still seem to be a socialist at heart. So tell me, why do you follow this mad man Mosely? I am curious’ you said.
‘The thing about political parties is that they take the course into the direction in which they are steered. Much like a car. But just like with a car, if you fill it with the wrong fuel and the engine breaks down as a result, you will be going nowhere’ Tommy said as he took a drink.
‘And you are the fuel Mr Shelby?’ you asked with curiosity.
‘Yes, I am the fuel Miss Rosenberg’ he said.
‘Your intention is to undermine Mosley on behalf of the Crown. Jesse knew and this is why she helped you, isn’t it?’ you said after pondering on about what Tommy had just told you.
‘And now that you know this as well, it makes you my accomplice. I might be able to use your help Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.
‘If it helps to end fascism, perhaps I am willing to give it’ you said with a smile. ‘But I am curious now Mr Shelby. Was it you who initiated the attack on Mosley?’ you asked.
‘I rather not answer Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.
‘I understand. Also, you can call me Y/N now that we aren’t enemies after all’ you said.
‘Alright Y/N, then I insist that you call me Tommy’ he responded.
After some more conversation you decided that it was time for you to make your way to bed. It was late and you had to get up early to attend the animals.
Nightmares
Falling asleep that night was easy. You felt much safer now despite Tommy’s presence. You knew he wasn’t going to harm you.
But just as easy as you had fallen asleep, you were woken up by a loud noise coming from the living room at 1am.
‘Tommy, are you alright?’ you asked worryingly as you walked downstairs in a haste, wearing nothing but your silk nightgown.
‘My apologies, I didn’t intend to wake you’ Tommy said as he sat on the lounge, covered in sweat.
You initially thought that he might haven gotten sick until you saw a small empty bottle on the living room table. Your brother used to have one just like it which he carried around everywhere. It contained Liquid Opium and helped him sleep. He took it every night until, one day, he stopped. The withdrawal was barely manageable and his addiction soon rebounded.
You knew what this was. You had seen it before.
‘I will make you some tea to help you sleep’ you said kindly as you observed Tommy’s struggles.
‘I don’t think that tea will help me sleep Love’ Tommy chuckled.
‘My brother used to have nightmares after France. When he returned home, my mother made this for him and he managed to get at least some sleep. It’s worth a try’ you said with a warm smile. You knew Tommy had been to France. You had spoken about it when you spoke about your brother earlier that evening.
‘I suppose why not, eh’ Tommy said as he walked to the bathroom to clean himself off with a cold wet flannel.
After you put on the kettle, you walked to the studio and grabbed some more of your brother’s clothes.
‘These should fit you’ you said shyly as you handed Tommy a clean plain shirt and pants.
‘Thank you, Y/N’ he said as he took the clothes.
This was the first time you saw Tommy without a shirt and, despite his level of exhaustion, it was quite a sight. He certainly was a very attractive man.
After Tommy had gotten himself changed, you sat down next to him and handed him the cup of tea.
‘Do you want to talk?’ you asked.
‘It’s the middle of the night Y/N, you should get some sleep’ Tommy said.
‘It’s alright. I am not tired’ you said with a warm smile.
That night Tommy spoke with you about everything. About France and his late wife Grace who visited him in his dreams. He didn’t know why, but he felt as though he could talk to you and trust you.
At 4am, you eventually fell asleep on the lounge next to Tommy which is where you woke up the next morning covered with a warm blanket.
The fire was lid and there was a note on the coffee table as you woke.
‘Borrowed your hunting rifle, will be back by 8’ the note said.
You didn’t know how to hunt and had been telling Tommy how your brother shot bucks whenever you came to visit him at the cottage from London. You would then prepare it with veggies from the garden just the way your mother had shown you.
You thought that, perhaps, Tommy was better equipped than you when it came to hunting. You struggled enough even just to slaughter a chook from the farm and your intake of meat was clearly lacking as a result.
Attacked
With Tommy gone, you decided to attend to the horses. Grabbing your shovel and rake, you walked into the stables.
But, just as you walked inside, you could hear a loud noise from behind the barn.
You wondered whether it was Tommy and approached the back area of the property carefully. After all, he had a loaded gun and you certainly didn’t want to get shot accidently.
Just as you walked to the side of the property, you saw a strange man.
‘Hello Love’ the man said, cocking his gun.
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ you asked holding on to your rake tightly.
‘We’ve got a dispute to settle with some Jews Love. Now be a good girl and put down this rake would you’ the man said firmly.
You obliged and the man approached you slowly.
‘Now Love, we will be having a good time and then we will visit your father’ the man said just before he called for another man who was at the back of the barn.
Within an instant, the man grabbed your wrists and pushed you against the outer wall of the barn.
‘Such are pretty thing aren’t you’ the man said as he aimed to cover your mouth while moving away your skirt.
But, just when the man’s hand reached your mouth, you bit him firmly just before yelling for help.
‘You fucking bitch’ the man said as he reached for his gun.
In this moment, you heard a shot. The other man was hit, but barely and went to check out where the shot came from.
With both men distracted, you ceased the moment and pulled out the gardening scissors you were carrying in your thin jacket. Within an instant and without thinking, you rammed the scissor into the neck of the man who was still standing right there in front of you.
This was all it took for the man to fall to the ground. You couldn’t help it but scream as your hands and blouse were covered in the man’s blood.
You were besides yourself, sitting on the ground next to his dying body in shock, unable to do anything.
After what felt like an eternity, you saw Tommy approach you, making his way through the veggie patch carrying your hunting rifle and covered in blood himself.
‘Are you alright Y/N?’ he asked as he kneeled down next to you, comforting you.
‘There is another man Tommy, he walked to towards the berry field’ you said.
‘I know. He’s dead now and so is the third man who was driving them here’ Tommy said.
‘Did you kill them?’ you asked.
‘Yes, I did’ he said and, just in that moment, you threw his arms around him.
This is when you realised that he had been injured and was in agony himself.
‘Tommy, you’ve been shot’ you said with worry as you saw blood staining through his white shirt.
‘Yes’ was all he managed to say at this point as he was losing blood.
‘We will get you to a hospital’ you said in a haste.
‘No hospital Y/N. I will be taken into custody if I set foot in a public place like this until the arrest warrant has been dropped’ Tommy said.
You could see the agony on his face as he held onto the side of his chest. He was in pain. A lot of pain.
‘You are nurse, aren’t you?’ Tommy asked, breathing heavily.
‘I am a student nurse Tommy. I have not practiced on a life person’ you said worryingly.
‘Well, it’s about time then eh’ Tommy chuckled.
‘Tommy, you can’t be serious’ you said.
‘I am serious Y/N. I need you to do this, please’ Tommy said.
‘Alright, common’ you said nervously. It wasn’t like you had a choice. Tommy was bleeding a lot and his wound needed attention immediately.
With haste, you walked inside with Tommy and placed a towel over the lounge and got your first aid kit as well as a bottle of vodka from the dining room. You then went to the bathroom quickly to get a bowl of clean water and more towels.
While you were getting everything ready, Tommy made a phone call to his brother Arthur, giving him your address. By that point, Tommy was barely able to stand up.
As you returned from the kitchen, you helped Tommy to remove his blood-soaked clothes.
You gasped for a moment. You weren’t sure whether the blood or the sight of his naked body took away your breath.
‘You’ve got whiskey?’ Tommy asked.
‘Tommy, I don’t think it matters which alcohol I use to clean out your wound’ you said as you got everything ready on the table.
‘To drink. Trust me, I’ll need it. I am out of Opium’ he said, his breathing still laboured.
‘Yes, of course’ you said before you poured him a large glass of whiskey and handed it to him.
He drank all of it in an instant before lying down.
‘This is going to hurt’ you said as you cleaned your hands and the tweezers from your first aid kit with some of the vodka.
‘I know’ he said, taking in a deep breath.
‘You have to stay still’ you went on as you reached for his wound which was still profusely pouring blood.
‘I know’ he said again before closing his eyes and holding on to the edge of the lounge in anticipation.
As soon as you entered the wounds with your fingers and the tweezers, all that you could hear was a loud grunt.
‘Fuck’ Tommy screamed as your fingers went in deeper, retrieving the bullet from his wound. By this point, you were breathing as heavily as him.
‘I’ve got it Tommy, don’t move now’ you said as you carefully pulled the bullet out of his flesh.
Tommy took in a deep breath and, with another loud grunt, you dislodged the bullet.
It was intact and you sighed with relief while Tommy opened his eyes, looking at you in agony.
‘Now I will clean up the wound and stitch it, alright?’ you asked, causing Tommy to nod.
He let out another loud grunt as you poured some of the vodka over his wound before handing him a clean towel to apply pressure to the wound while you prepared the stitches.
His face was expressionless when you placed the stitches. You knew that the worst pain was over but, nonetheless, you were surprised by how well he had handled it.
This was when you noticed several large scars across his chest and arms. Almost too many to count.
‘You have been shot before, haven’t you?’ you asked while Tommy looked almost relaxed when you placed the sixth stitch.
‘Just a few times’ he smirked.
While you placed the last stitch, you could hear a car pull up in front of your door.
You opened the door quickly before applying a bandage around Tommy’s chest.
‘Fucking Hell Brother’ Arthur shouted as he walked into the living room with Isiah.
‘Arthur, this is Y/N’ Tommy said by way of introduction.
You quickly shook Arthur’s hand by which he was rather surprised.
‘Who the fuck did this?’ Arthur asked.
‘The Billy Boys. But they weren’t after me. They were after her’ Tommy explained.
‘Why?’ Arthur asked.
‘Because she is the daughter of the judge hearing the McCaven matter. I assume they wanted to send a message’ Tommy said.
‘Did they see you?’ Arthur asked.
‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter. They are dead’ Tommy responded.
‘Alright, what do you want us to do with the bodies? Send a message?’ Arthur asked.
‘Burry them behind the property. This never happened. They just disappeared and never made it here. By the time McCaven finds out the arrest warrants will be dropped and I can deal with the situation and Mosley’ Tommy instructed.
Arthur and Isiah attended the bodies as instructed by Tommy. You were surprised how quickly and efficiently they made the bodies disappear without any evidence whatsoever. It was clear to you that they had done this kind of thing before.
Before they left, Tommy gave Arthur a note to give to Jesse Eden and a note to give to a person named Kent.
In return Arthur gave Tommy three guns, a change of clothes and a bottle of opium.
After Arthur and Isiah had left, you made sure that Tommy was resting. After all, he had lost a lot of blood and you didn’t want him to pull a stitch.
Tender Moments
‘Do you have any more of that tea?’ Tommy asked as he held on to the bottle of opium that Arthur had given him. He starred at it, but didn’t open it.
‘Yes, sure. I will make some’ you said.
You were surprised by Tommy’s request but didn’t dare to argue.
You sat down next to him to have some tea while he placed the bottle of opium on the table in front of him.
‘Tommy, don’t’ you said.
‘Don’t what?’ he asked.
‘The opium, don’t take it’ you said.
‘Well, then put it away somewhere I cannot find it eh’ Tommy said as he handed you the bottle and you obliged with his request.
Tommy knew he would be regretting this soon, at night when his nightmares would wake him once again. It wasn’t the pain he couldn’t handle, but rather it was Grace’s visits in his dreams and dreaming about France hat destroyed him.
He was afraid of going to sleep but he needed sleep badly especially after today and so did you.
‘Are you not going to sleep?’ Tommy asked as clock struck midnight and you were still there with him talking about matters which he never talked to anyone about. He felt like he could confine in you and, despite your young age, you understood and you cared.
‘I don’t think I can. Not after what happened today. Not after what I have done’ you said as tears were building up in your eyes for the third time that evening.
‘Y/N, listen to me, alright?’ he said, caressing your face gently.
‘What you have done saved your life. These men were here to hurt you and now they can’t. You are safe now’ Tommy said as tears began to run down your cheek.
‘I killed someone Tommy’ you said in disarray.
‘You killed a bad man’ Tommy said as he used his thumbs to wipe away your tears.
‘It’s still a man Tommy’ you said before pressing your head against his chest. ‘Will the picture of him ever leave my head?’ you asked.
‘No Y/N, it won’t. But your guilt will, that I promise’ Tommy said. ‘Now, let’s get you some rest, eh?’ Tommy said.
‘Will you come with me Tommy?’ you asked nervously, knowing that your question was somewhat unusual.
‘Come with you? To bed?’ Tommy asked with surprise.
‘Yes, just to sleep by my side. I am scared Tommy’ you said.
‘I never had a woman ask me to join her in her bed simply for the purpose of sleeping, but alright, I suppose I can do that’ Tommy smirked before he followed you upstairs.
As Tommy lied down next you, bandaged up and wearing not much more than his white undergarments, you could feel something unusual. It was almost like some sort of warmth which was flowing through your chest.
‘Do you want me to turn off the light?’ Tommy asked as he got comfortable on the large white pillow, facing you and starring into your dark eyes.
‘Not yet. Perhaps we could talk for a little longer’ you said as you looked into his comforting blue eyes.
‘Alright, what you want to talk about?’ he asked and this is when you brought up his current wife Lizzie and his children.
‘What about your wife and children, where are they?’ you asked.
‘They are in Scotland, where, apparently they are safe from all this and from myself’ Tommy said with some disappointment.
‘From yourself? But they are your children’ you asked with some confusion.
‘They are, but they are indeed safer without me until I sort things out’ Tommy explained.
‘Do you miss your wife’ you asked.
‘No, I do not miss my wife. She filed for divorce six weeks ago’ Tommy said.
‘You do not seem upset about it. Why is that?’ you asked.
‘Because I know that it’s the right thing to do, to keep her safe. Our relationship was never one made of love. I never loved her the way a husband should love his wife. But, she is mother of my daughter and she cares deeply for my son. I trust her. She’s always been loyal to me and to the Company’ Tommy explained.
‘That’s nice…to have someone like this in your life’ you said.
‘It is indeed. Now you should get some rest eh’ Tommy said as he turned off the bedside lamp.
To his surprise, as soon as he turned off the light, you leaned over towards him carefully and rested your head on the uninjured side of his chest.
He let you and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close until you drifted off to sleep.
This was the first time for Thomas Shelby since he came back from France that he shared a bed with a woman other than his wife who didn’t have any sexual interactions with. To his surprise, despite the pain after having been shot, he slept better than he had expected. In the absence of nightmares, he was well rested until, after five hours of sleep, the next morning you heard a loud bang on the door.
Taking a Turn
You walked downstairs again with your loaded gun in your hand.
‘Who is it?’ you asked as you approached the door carefully.
‘Jesse Eden’ the person said and you quickly opened the door while Tommy came walking downstairs, out of your bedroom.
‘I actually just came here to make sure you didn’t kill each other but it looks like you’ve managed to become acquainted’ Jesse giggled.
‘It’s not what it looks like’ you said as Tommy walked out of your bedroom wearing nothing but his undergarments.
‘I assume Tommy has informed you about our past relations. But, for the record, I no longer have any interest in the man, so it’s quite alright with me if it is what looks like Y/N’ Jesse laughed.
‘You are no longer interested, eh?’ Tommy said to Jesse with a cheeky smile.
‘Unless you have forgotten, you ended up marrying someone else’ Jesse said.
‘Should I give you two some privacy?’ you asked as you felt uncomfortable being caught in between their conversation about old times.
‘No Y/N, there is no need eh Jesse?’ Tommy said with a laugh.
‘No there is not. Arthur came to see me last night to give me your note. But he hadn’t said anything about you having been injured’ Jesse said.
‘It’s alright, she’s a nurse. I got lucky’ Tommy chuckled.
‘Well, I am glad because I have information from one of my informants that will be of interest to you now that you are still alive. The Crown prosecutor was removed from the case and so was the chief of police. Apparently, it was found out that they both involved themselves with illegal prostitutes at some of your brothels’ Jesse said.
‘Now that is interesting, isn’t it?’ Tommy smirked.
‘You obviously knew and blackmailed them. The man in charge of the matter is now your friend Lawrence Staghill who, I believe, is filing for a motion to dismiss for lack of evidence in front of the judge who still owes you a lot of money. So, it looks like that everything is going to plan for you once again Thomas Shelby OBE. You should be free to leave after the next three days. The case is to be heard after the weekend’ Jesse said.
‘You hear that? Three more days and I will be out of your hair Y/N’ Tommy said.
‘I can’t wait’ you said cheekily and with a hint of sarcasm.
Jesse stayed for a little while longer before heading back to Birmingham and you made sure that, for the entire day, Tommy rested.
It was hard for Tommy to rest. It was almost like he needed to do something at all times. He wasn’t a man who could ever just sit still and, say, read a book. His mind had to busy constantly and he loved to be challenged.
For you, the day went by quickly and looking after Tommy was almost like looking after a child who refuses to listen.
Gone Too Far
‘I see you made yourself a bed on the sofa again’ you said as you noticed Tommy putting the blanket and pillow on the sofa.
‘Whilst I enjoyed our pillow talk, I figured that last night was an exception. Unless you think you might have difficulty sleeping again’ Tommy smirked.
‘I think I just might’ you said with a smile as you finished brushing your hair.
‘Alright, I will take my pillow and blanket upstairs then eh’ Tommy said.
‘Alright, see you up there’ you smiled, causing Tommy to chuckle.
This was strange indeed, but he figured that, at least, the bed was more comfortable than the lounge.
‘So, what do you want to talk about tonight, eh?’ Tommy asked as you walked into the bedroom with a glass of water and two white pills.
‘I went to the chemist today. This should prevent infection’ you said you said as you handed him the glass and the tablets.
‘Thank you’ Tommy said as you lied down next to him.
He swallowed the tablets and waited for you to say something, start a conversation of some sort.
But you didn’t. You lied there quietly, your dark eyes gazing over his half naked body.
In this moment, he didn’t know what came over him but, just as he leaned to lie on his uninjured side, he ran his hands through your hair and his eyes met yours.
‘I haven’t met anyone quite like you’ Tommy said.
‘Why is that?’ you asked.
‘I am not sure. There is something about you that intrigues me. That doesn’t happen very often’ Tommy said and, just as he did, you leaned forward and your lips met his.
His lips were soft and still tasted like whiskey.
Reluctantly at first, he returned the kiss, gently but passionately.
It was a short kiss and your tongues never touched by the time you lips drifted apart.
Once your lips separated you starred at each other, questioning in your mind what had just happened between you.
With embarrassment, you pulled away and turned around quickly.
‘Goodnight Tommy’ you said after you turned around. You turned off the night light and pulled your blanket over you tightly.
‘Goodnight Y/N’ Tommy said with a slight chuckle, still facing into your direction.
Despite the fact that Tommy had been on your mind now for days, you were surprised by your own actions and wanted to pretend that the kiss between you just moments ago didn’t happen.
You knew about his past, the killings, the illegal businesses, everything. He was a man you knew you shouldn’t get involved with. He was also still married and, at least in the eye of the public, he was a fascist.
You tried very hard to ignore the fact that he was lying next to you, half naked. The fire was lightening the room slightly and you simply couldn’t close your eyes, starring to the other end of the room.
For ten minutes you tried to lie still, but couldn’t. You fidgeted and kept starring up and then to the side again.
‘Do you want me to help you go to sleep?’ Tommy asked as he noticed your restlessness, which instantly broke the silence between you.
‘Help me go to sleep?’ you asked with some confusion and without turning around to face him. You were still to embarrassed to look at him.
‘Yes’ Tommy said as, suddenly, you could feel his body moving closer towards yours but still separated by your individual blankets.
‘What do you mean by that Tommy?’ you asked with some ignorance and, just when you did, you could feel the back of your blanket lift slightly.
Within seconds, Tommy’s fingers trailed over your bare shoulders downwards over your small breasts which were covered by nothing but your silk nightgown.
Your nipple turned hard instantly at his touch and you let out a deep sigh.
‘Tommy, I have never been with anyone before’ you said, allowing his touch but worrying about what he was intending to do to you.
‘Don’t worry Love, I am not going to fuck you. At least not in the conventional way’ Tommy chuckled as his fingers circled over your hard nipples.
You had no idea what he could possibly mean by that. Did he not find you attractive? What was he going to do to you then if not that?
‘So, you don’t want me?’ you asked curiously while small moans escaped your lips as the tips of his fingers continued to run circles over your nipples.
‘I want you alright. But I am not keen on tearing my stitches’ Tommy said as his hands began to take hold of your breasts harder.
You moaned at his touch and felt a strange and unfamiliar sensation build up in between your legs.
It wasn’t long until you felt his fingers move downwards over your stomach until they finally began teasing the top of your mound through your panties.
‘Tommy, I don’t think I will be going to sleep with you touching me like this’ you said with heavy breath. You wondered how on earth this was actually going to help you go to sleep.
‘I hope not’ Tommy laughed quietly. ‘But once I am done with you, you will sleep very well, that I promise’ he whispered into your before biting your earlobe gently.
You took in a deep breath and moaned quietly. The feeling of his hot breath was intense.
‘So do you want me to continue?’ he whispered.
You couldn't say yes. But you also couldn't say no. Instead, all that escaped your lips was another soft moan.
‘I need to hear you say it Love. Tell me you want me to keep going’ he said.
You whimpered under his touch, your hips now rocking to meet his hand. But he held firm.
‘I...it feels really good’ was all you could manage to say.
‘And you want me to continue?’ he asked as his fingers moved a little lower, over your panties, expertly brushing over your clit.
‘Yes Tommy, please continue’ you moaned and, just like that, Tommy slit his hand beneath your panties, running his fingers directly over your wet slit, dipping only the top of them into you gently.
He then began to rub his wet finger tips over your clit, circling around your hard nub with light pressure.
‘Oh my god Tommy’ you moaned as you never felt anything just like that.
After a minute or two, Tommy gently slid one finger into you, looking out for any cues from you to ensure that he didn’t hurt you now that he knew that you were a virgin.
You were so tight, it was almost too much to start and he could feel the resistance of your hymen within you. But he kept going, carefully and gently thrusting his finger in and out of you at a slow pace.
You moaned softly and Tommy loved pulling a reaction out of you. It was almost like it was his goal to break your normally stoic composure.
Tommy wanted to know that you were enjoying what he was doing.
He began sliding his finger in and out of you all the way slowly at first, but not long after he started to build speed.
You enjoyed the alternating feeling between emptiness and fulness inside of you and were making the most delicious noises now. Your eyes were completely closed and you were moaning louder.
Suddenly Tommy slipped a second finger inside of you just to give you a little extra jolt and you reacted better than he could have expected.
It was slightly painful at first but the mild pain soon subsided and turned into pleasure.
‘Tommy, oh god...fuck’ you moaned as you began squirming just slightly and moaning a bit louder.
As his fingers kept thrusting in and out of you, your breathing became heavier and your legs began to quiver.
His thumb soon gave extra attention to your clit while he kept up with the movement of his middle and index finger.
Your moans kept getting more frequent now and you were certainly getting wetter too as Tommy kept going faster and harder.
You couldn’t believe how good he was making you feel with his fingers but you also didn’t know what to expect when an overwhelming sensation of warmth and tingling overcame you slowly.
‘Tommy, I don’t know if this is right. It feels strange’ you moaned as your legs began to shake and you couldn’t control your movements.
You tried to squirm away as the feeling was too unfamiliar to you. But Tommy persisted, pushing his hand firmer against you and his fingers even deeper inside of you.
‘Does it feel good?’ Tommy asked, knowing already what your answer would be as he could feel your walls tightening around his fingers.
‘Yes Tommy’ you managed to let out in between moans.
‘Then its right Love’ Tommy smirked. ‘Just relax and let go eh’ Tommy whispered.
You moaned once again, louder than before, and gave into the sensation.
It was intense, so intense that you had to clench onto the sheets and, just like this your orgasm washed over you.
You were a shaking mess and Tommy kept up the speed with his fingers until your orgasm slowly began to subside.
‘Fuck, what the hell just happened?’ you said once you began to calm down and while Tommy still stroked the outside of your now soaked mound.
‘Did you never have an orgasm before?’ Tommy asked surprised and with curiosity.
‘Like this? No. Never’ you said. Of course, you pleasured yourself before but the sensation was different, way less intense than what Tommy just managed to do to you.
As Tommy removed his hand from you, you turned around, your cheeks flushed. It was almost like you were embarrassed to look at him after what had just happened.
‘Feeling relaxed now?’ Tommy asked with a grin on his face.
‘Yes…uhm…thank you’ you said shyly.
‘It’s my pleasure’ Tommy said with a smile before giving you gentle kiss. You could have spent all night just kissing him. He was good at it and his lips were full and soft.
‘You should get some sleep now, eh’ he said after your lips drifted apart and he caressed your face.
‘Is there anything I could do to return the favour?’ you asked shyly, feeling somewhat guilty about the way he made you feel with nothing in return.
‘No, not tonight Love’ Tommy said as he pulled you closer. Whilst he had the desire to be with you that night, he was still not well enough after his injury and felt as though he should give you time. You were inexperienced and this was new territory for you, possibly overwhelming. Just like this, you had awoken the soft and gentle side of Thomas Shelby and that, in itself, brought him out of his own comfort zone.
He did not know what to do or how to act. The only woman who had managed to do this to him after he’s fought in France was his late wife Grace and he was certain that he would never meet another woman like this again. A woman he would care for in the same way he cared for Grace. Having met you changed everything for him that night and he struggled with the idea to accept his fade, especially with a woman half his age and who was the daughter of the man who tried very hard to bring him down.
Thus, as you leaned your head against his chest carefully, making sure that you didn’t lean against his wound, he couldn’t help but stare at you and ponder about what had brought him to you. Perhaps it was meant to be.
‘What’s wrong Tommy?’ you asked as you began to notice his eyes being fixated on you as he ran one of his hands through your hair gently.
‘Nothing, just enjoying the moment’ he said.
‘Me too Tommy’ you responded before closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep.
Change of Heart
The next morning, when you woke up, Tommy was not by your side. His side of the bed was empty.
But, when you walked downstairs you could see him, sitting in the dining room area with a pen and paper.
You weren’t sure what he was writing and you weren’t sure how to approach him after last night.
You decided to go with a kiss and, just after you said good morning and leaned in to kiss him, Tommy pulled away.
That was unexpected and you looked at him, full of questions.
‘Last night was a mistake Y/N for which I apologise. I should not have been temped’ Tommy said.
‘A mistake? Right’ you said as you walked over to the kitchen bench to boil the kettle. Small tears were running down your eyes and you tried hard to hide them from Tommy.
You had begun to care for him and you most clearly were developing feelings for him.
‘Y/N?’ Tommy said as he noticed you being upset.
‘Tommy, please just give me some space alright’ you said as you walked into the studio with your cup of tea.
You were embarrassed and you felt weak. Yet you wanted to be strong.
Were you too naïve, failing for a man like him?
#Tommy Shelby#tommy shelby smut#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby imagine#thomas shelby#thomas shelby smut#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby imagine#tommy shelby x y/n#tommy shelby x you#thomas shelby x you#thomas shelby x y/n#Peaky Blinders#peaky blinder imagine#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinder#arthur shelby#peaky blinders smut#smut
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A Failed Betrothal /Betrothal AU: Take Two
So here is the second part of the betrothal AU that I decided to name "A Failed Betrothal. This takes place before Part 1 which in hindsight should have been done first. Part 2 got too long so I cut it and started Part 3. I have no idea and nothing planned on how long this will go. Hope you enjoy ❤.
[Masterlist]
(Part 1)
PART 2
Marinette also wasn't having a good day or a good week.
Lila Rossi had been up to her usual tricks. You know, spewing lies from her mouth. How she met these awesome celebrities during this trip and they worship the ground she walks on for her amazing and humbling help. There were stories of these charities, trips and galas that she had been to or was invited to. She has problems with her wrists and can't do simple stuff like carry her own bag or do her homework. She has tinnitus in her ears so she needs to sit in the front where the only seat available would be next to Adrien.
And for the finale.
The desert after feeding the class a banquet of lies.
"Mari...nette..has been bullying me, she...told..me not to tell anyone..*sobs*..that she would kill me if I did.."
Lila dramatically gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Turning on the waterworks for a more dramatic effect. They all ate it up, jumping on the ‘let’s hate Marinette, a bad person’ train.
"She is going to kill me now and I am so scared." That snake managed to snuck an evil smirk past her glaring, oblivious classmates.
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Marinette, at this point of her life, had frankly given up caring for them due to the class's lack of brain cells and Agreste's spineless 'High Road' Approach.
For Kwami's sake, she went through a brutal torture that was training in some jungle temple in Asia before Sabine Cheng, former mercenary/assassin, kidnapped her (Little Marinette took a risk. She ran away and followed her around until Sabine begrudgingly accepted that she was now the 6- year-old girl's mother because screw it, Tom said he wanted children.) to raise/train as her own while she settled down with a baker whose mother may or may not have ties with the Mafia and other illegal activities.
(Mother-daughter bonding days became much more fun once she had Guardianship of the Miraculous. Sabine was ,at first, furious at Master Fu for dumping everything on the girl and losing his memories before swearing to help protect the jewels. Adopted or not, Marinette is her daughter and no one should let a child, even one with training, fight a war. A good thing to come out of her reveal was that her mother was a great tiger to have as back-up. But now, her training regime had become harder and challenging.)
The point was that Lila Rossi would be dead and body missing since that first time she threatened Marinette in the bathroom. The Italian was in perfect health despite what she claims otherwise, because Marinette didn’t want to be the person she was raised to be and also she didn’t want to disappoint Tikki, she was fond of the little red kwami. But sometimes, she just wanted to give into the urge to kill.
She had met and dealt with unsavory characters of all types and she can safely say that Lila Rossi was a manipulator that thrives on attention and like a parasite, latches herself onto the fame of others. None of the unsavory people she had met get under her skin like Rossi had.
Marinette had enough self-preservation to drop the nice girl act and sometimes let the dragon underneath to surface. She stopped doing last-minute favors and giving away free stuff which Lila uses to her full advantage to further destroy her relationships with her ‘friends’. It was better than sticking her neck out for classmates that were no longer worth her time. Attempts to expose Lila had backfired due to the denial they are in, believing the liar to be a sweet, nice girl living the high life.
Adrien with his rose-tinted glasses firmly stuck to his eyes was not happy at all with her decision. That may also have to do where she suggested he shove his advice after he tried to reason her to take the high road for defending herself for the umpteenth time. She felt like the biggest idiot to ever have a crush on him. Every time, Rossi blames Marinette for a problem, he would shoot disappointed looks in her direction.
Alya being Lila's biggest guard dog tore into Marinette for her newfound 'bad' behaviour. The rest of Lila's supporters backed her up with "How could you do that to Lila","I can't believe you changed." Nearly all her so-call friends had turned their backs and lost all common sense to the Italian's manipulations.
(Alya was supposed to be her best friend, aren’t you supposed to listen to your ‘bestie’ over a complete stranger)
The designer took it all with a bored expression on her face, used to the lecturing which was a waste of time because her behavior isn't going to change, no matter what, Lie-la will keep up the act of being the bully's (*cough*Marinette*cough*) victim.
Her heart that cracks the tiniest bit at the accusations. A small part of her, she admits, is hurt that they think so low of her.Was she really that worthless to them? All those times and efforts helping them out on last-minute favors and giving them free treats. Were they not enough to earn their friendship? Their trust or at the very least, a benefit of doubt?
The only ones who didn’t join the berating to 'correct' the raven-haired girl’s attitude were Chloe (who had proven herself to have changed after the miracle queen incident and Lila stole the spotlight and Sabrina. There were a lot of apologizes, gifts and ‘making up to do’) Alix (she came to her senses when the supposed bullying started) and Nathaniel (Lila blatantly claimed to be the artist for the Ladybug comic to his face).
“Girl, Marinette, are you even listening to me?”Alya demanded.
“Maybe. Did you say anything that doesn’t have to do with Lila or how I did her wrong or how I am no longer the person you knew?”
Marinette knew that being sarcastic would backfire but nothing she does or says will change what they think of her. One word from Lila and they will turn back on her. As much as she hates to admit it, Lila’s threat has fallen through and she was alone. Mostly.
She still had Chloe, Nathaniel, Alix, Luka and Kagami as friends. The trust-worthy and loyal kind.
“Girl,” Alya says in a disappointed tone, shaking her head,“when I look at you, I don’t see that girl who stood up to Chloe the bully-”, Chloe snorted, she had changed but they were too blind and prejudiced against her to notice her efforts, “-Picking on Lila, threatening and harassing her. This isn’t you and you know it. Just get over your jealousy on Lila being close to Adrien and apologize to her.”
If Alya had talked to her in the past 12 months other than demanding things that took away her time or anything relating to Lila, she would know that her infatuation had turned into annoyance.
Marinette sighed, too tired of this routine, tired of trying to knock heads so the brain cells can work again. Apologizing would mean that Lila had won. She was petty and stubborn enough to allow that to happen. Lila said she will take the class and Adrien. Fine, she can have them but Marinette Dupain-Cheng will not admit defeat. Bigger men had fallen to the ravenette for lesser offences. A year has passed since the expulsion and the class still hasn't regained common senses, so they can deal with the consequences after the inevitable downfall of Lila and Marinette will be there to see them lay in the grave they dug.
Steeling herself for the pain that will come with the execution of her plan,
“What if I don’t. I won’t apologize to her because I have not done anything to her or even interacted with her. If I apologize, it would be insincere and a lie. And I hate liars.” The former assassin said evenly.
“Lila is not a liar. I don’t know why you are like this.” Alya said, frustrated.
Marinette knew there would be a small chance of an akuma with Gabriel Agreste having an important meeting to attend on this day that would last for the next hour. This was the small window of opportunity to start the plan and also further confirm the identity of Hawkmoth. Killing two birds with one stone.
“Alya, this has always been me, you just never took the time to get to really know the real me.”, she replied, the last part with an icy tone.
“Well-... I- ..You-, fine, then if you can’t say those simple three words, we can’t be friends. I clearly don’t know what a selfish bitch you are. God, I can’t believe I wanted to be best friends with you. You are now replaced by Lila because unlike you, she is genuinely nice and selfless.” Alya declared. The rest of Lila’s supporters murmured in agreement.
Phase 1, complete. Lure the Lie-la into a false sense of security by making her think she won.
Marinette tried not to show how hurt she was, to be replaced by the scheming bitch. But at the same time she felt relieved, she no longer had to walk on eggshells in fear of losing the friendships of people she used to care about. It felt final as she maintained her stoic expression, hoping they didn't notice the glassy sheen her eyes had.
“Then, it is official. We are no longer friends.”
They haven’t been friends for a long time.
Mme. Bustier finally walked into the classroom to start the afternoon classes, signalling the end of the conversation. After class, Marinette resolves to inform them that she was resigning as class president which she was sure the class will be glad for. She was right.
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Ladybug was, as the Americans say, pissed at Hawkmoth which was nothing new. He had sent out another akuma just as Marinette was back home and trying to relax after the stressful day. The akuma was not any of her ex-friends which she wasn’t sure to be thankful for or not.
Louise Martin was a boy about Luka’s age and mad at his friends who had blamed their fifth loss-in-a-row on him despite the fact that it was his skills that were getting them any progress. They were playing one of those recently released 5V5 skills and strategy battle games. (League of Legends or Mobile Legends. Take your pick, I am going with the latter)
He was akumatized into Hayakuma as proof of Hawkmoth’s lack of creativity. Hayakuma was a bleached out version of Louise’s chosen hero avatar, Hayabusa whose outfit was basically what the media portrays ninjas to look like with some samurai aspects.
Unfortunately, he also had the hero’s ultimate special powers which were making four shadow copies of himself and being able to switch positions with them. Thanks to Rattlesnake’s Second Chance, they know that he can only make a switch once every two minute. Hayakuma also wields a sword, showing off his skills.
Just lovely.
Hydra and Ladybug were the only ones able to counter his attacks with Hydra’s sword and Ladybug’s summoned one. (Let’s go with that headcanon(?)/trope that she can summon weapons for plot convenience and the others can too but just don’t have enough practise yet.)
The others managed to dodge and shield themselves from Hayakuma’s really sharp sword.
The shadows themselves were annoying as they would distract or hinder the miraculous users by grabbing them by their shadows and making them unable to move. Until Bunnix had the brilliant idea of shadow boxing which gave the heroes gain more even ground.
With how strong and handful the akuma was, it was code ‘all hands on deck’. Ladybug, Stinger, Rattlesnake, Hydra, Bunnix, Trickster. Well, nearly every hand. Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was busy with the bakery. Chat Noir was nowhere to be seen or very late which had been the norm for the last year ever since Ladybug wanted to form a new miraculous team consisting of permanent heroes.
(He didn’t show up for the first few months because the first permanent member was Ladybug’s mother who did not like his attitude towards her daughter. He ran away with his tail between his legs once he found out how she was related to Ladybug. His face when he realized it, was something Marinette will cherish forever)
At least when Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was around, he would not dare act out of line. When she is gone however, he is back to his old ways.
After saving one of Louise’s teammates from Hayakuma’s sword, they gathered the rest of the team and hid them someplace safe. Using Trickster’s illusions to trick all the shadows and the original to one place, the heroes were going to surround and ambush them and get the akumatized item. The plan would have been a success if it weren’t for Chat Noir hugging Ladybug from behind, making her miss her cue.
“Hey~ Bugaboo~ Did you miss me~? Your Chaton~?”
Thwack! Smack!
Chat Noir was on the rooftop, groaning pitifully in pain. Especially his crotch area. Ladybug glared at him and looked to the ambush point to see the illusions had disappeared and everyone else gone from their hiding place.
She sighed and turned on the comms, (Thank you, kwamis)
“Sting, did you venomed the akuma?”
“No, he escaped before I could. What happened, LB?”
“A certain cat got me delayed. What’s the status update?”
“Hydra is holding him off and Bunnix found that an umbrella is a good substitute for a sword. The rest of us are keeping track of the shadows. They split up but none of them are getting near where we hid the targets.”
“Where are you? I will meet you later with back-up.”
“Near Notre Dame and tell Mama Tigress I said hi.”
“Tell her yourself.”
She looked down at Chat No-, no he is not worthy of being a hero anymore with the amount of times he had derailed and hijacked the plans to defeat the akumas just so he can ‘earn’ Ladybug’s heart.
She looked down at Adrien Agreste, who was sitting and sulking like a child that was unfairly punished. (Once she got over her crush and started looking at the right things that she managed to piece together her ‘partner’s’ identity by accident. Tikki’s confirmation sealed the deal.)
“Chat Noir, this partnership of ours,” she said, gesturing to the two of them, “ is going to change tonight. Meet me at the ‘spot’ at 11 sharp. Now, go home.”
He left with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes at her words. She felt a little bad about the subtle manipulation but with the way things were now, it can’t go on. He was hindering more than helping and the people of Paris that weren’t shipping ‘Ladynoir’ saw that.
As she jumped towards Notre Dame, she called the bakery with her yoyo.
“Mama, are you free now? I need a little help with the akuma and can you bring the horse miraculous.”
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Chat Noir waited excitedly at what they both dubbed at their ‘spot’, in the good old days when it was just the two of them. Maybe Ladybug was finally open to the idea of dating. Or maybe she must have seen what a great hero he is and was going to get rid of the team. Or realized that having her mother on her team was a bad idea. Parents are the worst and they both can be two rebellious teenagers in love. Like Romeo and Juliet. So romantic~.
He was so deep in his daydream that he didn’t hear his lady land.
“Chat Noir.” Startled, he nearly fell off the roof. No, don’t make a fool of yourself in front of Ladybug.
“Yes, Bugaboo.” Hoping she didn’t know that he was very distracted. His attention will always be hers 100%.
“Don’t call me Bugaboo. Tikki wants to talk to Plagg about Kwami stuff. So you go over and hide behind that chimney. Then, we can talk about why I told you to be here.” Adrien frowned and then smiled. His lady must be very embarrassed about her mistake that must be why she is taking her time. He tried listening to what they were saying but the kwamis were talking in their special Guardian Language. Was it him or did Tikki’s voice sound more like his lady’s voice?
Whizz!
Adrien was tied up with Ladybug’s yoyo. “M’Lady? Bugaboo!? LADYBUG! WHAT IS GOING ON?!! PLAGG-”
Ladybug cut in, “Adrien Agreste, you have been slack in your hero duty and choosing your own feelings over supporting your partner, me, the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous and current Grand Guardian, in the efforts to defeat the enemy of Paris, Hawkmoth. Due to those reasons, you are no longer worthy to be the Holder of the Black Cat Miraculous” in one swift motion, she took the ring off his finger, “As such you are hereby revoked of Plagg’s Ring.”
“NO, YOU CAN’T. YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! I LOVE YOU AND I KNOW YOU LOVE ME BACK. WE ARE SOULMATES, WE ARE MEANT TO BE-”
Adrien went slack at Lady Tigress’s pinch on his pressure point.
“I don’t what you ever saw in the boy.”
“I don’t know either. I think I dodged a bullet here. Can you carry him back to his home? I think I have dealt with enough of him tonight.” Ladybug muttered, as she erased Adrien’s memories of being Chat Noir.
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Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe.
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(Part 3)
#maridami#maribat#damian x marinette#mlb x dc#Betrothal AU: Take 2#A Failed Betrothal#sorry. No Damian this chapter#there is salt#Alya salt#Adrien Salt#Lila salt#class salt#I don't know if it is mild or not#Marinette is an assassin
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scenario: you start seeing Jon which leads to the two of you having to hide it from your family and especially Damian.
pairing: jon kent ( superboy ) x fem! reader
note: not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes / can you tell my kent family hyperfixation hasn't left yet? i swear it's becoming an issue lmaooo but this might actually be the longest fic i've written for this blog.
you talked with your friends who you had snuck into the gala with. Rachel had begrudgingly agreed to come to meanwhile Cass and Steph were the only other ones who agreed to come on their own accord.
"Damian, your only friend is here," Dick said, earning a kick from his younger brother before getting up and leaving you and Raven alone. you knew it was a rare occasion that she even decided to show up so you didn't want to leave her alone. "we probably won't see my brother for the rest of the night. whenever his friend comes, it's like everyone becomes a background character. for him being my adopted 'twin' brother, I have yet to meet this friend."
Raven laughed as you saw the wine that the couple on the dance left on your table drunkenly. the bottle was little more than half-filled and you gave one quick look to Raven before pouring the wine into both of your glasses and discarding it right away.
"to not having fun for the rest of the night," you giggled as the two of you chugged the wine down in a mere few seconds, "drier than I thought it would be but it beats having to pay for it," Raven muttered as you agreed to sneak another bottle from the bartender so you wouldn't have to pay for it. even with your dad paying for all your necessities, the drinks at his galas were far too expensive for you to even willingly pay for them yourself. the only reason why he even paid for all your expenses was because you agreed to skip out on college to help run some parts of Wayne Enterprises with your brother.
another reason why you couldn't exactly go and pay for it yourself was because Bruce was not one to exactly be chippy at the idea of you getting plastered drunk at one of his public galas. "I got one of two ideas. one: I'll go flirt with the bartender and you can sneak behind him and get the other bottle or two: I can flirt with the bartender for enough time to see if he'll just willingly give it to us," you told Raven as she nodded with option two.
the bartender happened to be in his younger 50s. you recognized him from previous WE events and although he was familiar with your family, you doubted that he would say anything to your dad about you flirting him with. all you had to do was push the top of the dress down a bit and hike up the bottom to get his attention.
"hey Martin," you said, leaning up against the bar table and smiling, "enjoying the night?" you asked as you saw him flinch back in surprise. he nodded, trying to divert his eyes from looking at you in anyway you could have felt to be disrespectful.
"I was thinking, how much does the bottle of Lafite Rothschild go for?" you asked, giving him a pouty face. he gulped nervously, "almost ten grand ma'am," he replied, grabbing it from the wine stand, "even for me? I mean, my dad must've paid for it so does it even go for that much considering I am his child?" he asked.
you could tell that you had caught him in a predicament, "I would assume not, I assume you're twenty one, right?" he murmured, handing you the precious bottle. you smiled (a fake one that anyone could see through) and nodded before giving the old man a light kiss on the cheek, "thanks Martin, I appreciate it," you said, giving him a wave before leaving.
Raven perked up seeing the bottle in your hand, "snagged a ten thousand dollar bottle," you said excitedly as you waved it in your hand. Raven stared at you in shock, "you got a ten thousand dollar bottle in less than five minutes?" she exclaimed.
you giggled before whispering in her ear, "the benefits of being a child of Bruce Wayne is that you can practically get away with anything. especially when you're the daughter." you popped open the bottle as you handed her the wine glass and poured the drink with care. you gave her a slight cheers before taking a small sip and being pleasantly surprised that it wasn't as dry for a wine with a huge amount of alcohol percentage.
as the night progressed, you and Raven got actively more drunk. you hadn't realized how hard the wine had hit you until Raven was drunkenly getting pulled home by Gar as you sat at the table with a little less than the bottle still full. you hadn't seen your dad or brother all night and you figured they must've been pulled into doing Batfamily work at some point and left you alone with Steph or Cass. hell, maybe even Dick if he was still around.
you weren't actively apart of the vigilante work all of your siblings did but you did help them out with the technical parts of it when Tim wasn't available. you didn't really like fighting or risking your life so after you graduated, you interned at Wayne Enterprises under Tim's orders while Damian worked under your dad.
at the age of twenty-one, you still hadn't met most of the league for the exception of Wonder Woman and The Flash. the rest were strangers in your head and much to Damian's luck, he wanted to keep it that way. at least in his case with Jon.
"ow, I am so sorry," you slurred as you managed to hit someone on the shoulder. he chuckled seeing as how you were not attempting to get up, "you okay there ma'am?" the man with a southern accent asked. you giggled as you attempted to get up, "I'm ( your name ) and you are?" you asked.
"Jon Kent, pleasure to meet you," he said, kissing your hand. you blushed as you heard one of your favorite songs come through the speakers, "would you like to dance?" you asked, not even caring that you had met this just a few mere seconds ago. he nodded, figuring that since Damian left him stranded at the gala, he had nothing to lose.
the song 'telepatia' by Kali Uchis played throughout the ballroom. Jon immediately took the reigns as the lead as the lights got dimmer and you danced against Jon sensually. "what got you dragged here?" you asked Jon. "my best friend invited me as his plus one. you?" he whispered in your ear, "I work for the company so I kind of had to attend," you managed to say before turning around and facing him.
you looked at Jon with drunken yet loving eyes, "you're handsome, you know that?" you said with no hesitation in your face. Jon laughed, placing his hand on your cheek, "right back at ya, darlin'," he replied as the song switched to another one of your favorite songs.
side to side by ariana grande started.
you shrugged, feeling as though you had nothing to lose and got up on your toes gave Jon a kiss on his lips. he was slightly taken back but played it off by returning it. the two of you remained kissing through the entirety of the song until Jon felt a familiar tap on his shoulder.
"I gotta go but if you're up for it, I'd love for ya to give me your number," you nodded excitedly as you practically snatched his phone from his hand and typed it in as quickly as possible with your name having a hundred emoji's next to it, "text me in the morning!" you screamed.
Jon laughed before following Damian from behind, "you suck, you know that!" Jon exclaimed, "I meet one girl I actually like and you drag me away!" Damian rolled his eyes, "please, you act like there isn't more girls out there to hit on." this time, it was Jon's turn to roll his eyes, "I got her number so I guess that's a plus."
you woke up the next morning with a pounding headache but to a few messages on your phone. you smiled realizing that it was the boy you had met the night before.
"good morning...or actually good afternoon!"
Jon laughed from his side of the phone.
"good afternoon darlin'. I hope you had a good sleep."
you were texting your way down the stairs, greeting Alfred and Bruce before grabbing a plate of lunch and sitting down on the bar top. "what time you'd make it home?" Bruce asked, sensing the hangover you had. "a bit past midnight. drank a bottle of Lafite with Raven before dancing with a boy you invited," you said honestly.
Bruce felt himself go stiff at the admittance of you drinking the Lafite bottle but remained silent as Alfred placed Advil and one of your Gatorades next to you. "yeah, whoever must've danced with you last night must've been drunk too because you'd want to dance with you?" Damian said coming down the stairs.
you threw him a fork, Damian dodging it with ease, "I'd shut up if I were you. I'm actually getting coffee with the guy in like an hour," you replied, chugging down the rest of the food before getting up and going to your room, "yeah and I pray for the man who now has to deal with you," Damian screamed loud enough for you to hear.
you pulled on a skirt and tights before slipping on a sweater and fixing your hair and quickly doing your makeup. you grabbed the keys from your bag and took the back entrance to get to your car. one of the benefits of getting paid so much was that you were able to afford cars that were out of price range for a lot of people your age.
the coffee shop you decided to meet Jon at was a few blocks into the heart of central Gotham. you got a table farthest from the crowd as you didn't want any attention on you and your potential boyfriend. you saw Jon approaching at the front of the coffee shop and pulled on your sunglasses so no one outside could see who you were.
"nice to meet you, this time with me not being drunk," you told Jon, giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek, "pleasure is all mine sweetheart," he replied, putting his arm around your shoulder. you got up to the front of cashier and scanned the menu.
"I'd like a venti mocha with oatmilk, what about you?" you asked Jon as he scanned the menu nervously before muttering that he hardly orders coffee. you smiled, "and an order of a grande peppermint hot chocolate," you added on as you took your card out, Jon's eyes widening at the black American Express card.
"wow, Wayne Enterprises must pay you really well," he exasperated, "yeah, I guess you could say that," you said as hesitantly as possible. after the two of you got the coffees, you got back to the table as you took off your sunglasses in a sigh of relief.
"do you really wear sunglasses everywhere you go?" Jon asked. you debated on telling him the actual reason but decided on a vague answer, "eh, it's more for secrecy. I guess if I get another date, I might tell you the real reason," you winked, making Jon blush.
+
through the weeks, you decided to keep the biggest part of your life a semi secret to Jon still. he knew vaguely of a few things but one mistake on your end managed to throw all of that away in more ways than one.
you were walking downtown with Jon, his hand grasping yours as the two of you roamed an area of town that you knew didn't have major significance to WE. you were holding a coffee in one hand as you walked about a few things that happened to you that week to Jon. it wasn't until you walked towards a busy street that your heart fell to your stomach.
a huge billboard, like signs you would see on highways, of you and Damian representing Wayne Enterprises stood in the middle of an intersection. you stared at the ground, your one secret given away as Jon stared down at you, a look of shock in his eyes.
"wait, you work with Damian Wayne?" he asked as he could tell that you did not want to look at him. you sighed, a bit scared, "work partners might be a little too far from what we are," you gulped, finally realizing that you had to admit to your family ties.
Jon looked at you, now more confused than shocked.
what you didn't know was that at the same time that you were about to confess everything to Jon, a paparazzi had taken dozens of photos of you and Jon that were immediately uploaded to various Twitter accounts and gossip magazines.
"Damian Wayne is my adopted brother. Bruce Wayne is my adopted dad. that's why I have a lot more money than any regular Wayne Enterprise worker."
Jon immediately stumbled to the ground, not expecting that answer coming from you. you immediately felt tears hitting your eyes as you figured that maybe Jon didn't want to be with someone so rich and famous. someone's whose family was always in the spotlight.
"DAMIAN WAYNE IS YOUR BROTHER?" Jon screamed, catching you off guard as this was the first time Jon had ever screamed at you. you nodded, trying not to look at him in the eyes, "he's going to kill me. your entire family is going to plot my murder. I'm a dead man. Clark is going to find me in a ditch," Jon started talking to himself.
it was now your turn to look at Jon confused, "wait, what?" you asked, wiping your tears. "YOUR BROTHER IS MY BEST FRIEND. Damian Wayne is Robin and I'm Superboy!" he whispered the last part, "I've been dating my best friends sister this entire time without realizing it!" he screamed.
you finally connected the dots. every time Damian said he was going on patrol with Superboy meant that he was going to hang out with Jon and every time Damian said that Jon turned down a patrol session usually meant that you were going on a date with him. both of you stared at each other, not knowing what to say.
"small world, eh?" you asked, trying to defuse the tension, "guess we better figure out a way to tell them, huh?" Jon replied as you both heard your phone going off with texts and calls. you opened it to see that Dick, Bruce, Tim, and even Jason and Alfred were frantically calling you.
"hello, what happened?" you asked, picking up Dick's call. "GET HOME NOW!" he yelled through the phone as you heard Damian's screeching voice from the other side, "why? what happened?" you asked, staring at Jon now in fear.
"SHE'S DATING JON? I'M GOING TO KILL HIM BEFORE I KILL HER!" you heard Damian scream before something broke, "pictures of you kissing Jon came to the public on Twitter and he saw them," Jason said, half annoyed.
both of your hearts fell to your stomach as you realized it was now or never. everyone knew of your relationship and it wasn't even something both of you tried to do intentionally. you grabbed Jon's hand, yours shaking in fear as you got into the passenger side of his beat up red truck. he could tell you were beyond scared to go home and he now knew it was time. he had to man up before it got worse and you attempted to break up with him.
once you arrived to Wayne Manor, you sat still, not moving an inch. "it'll be okay darlin', I promise it won't be too bad," he murmured as he opened your door. you nodded as you hopped off and started walking towards the door.
you could hear Damian's yells still going on from the other side door as you opened it. you grasped Jon's hand and walked into the living space, Damian's eyes immediately looking at you before charging to Jon with every ounce of strength he had. Jason quickly grabbed you as Jon dodged him and Damian went straight to attack him again. you couldn't bare to look at the sight and felt tears spring to your eyes as you hid your face into Jason's side.
"hey, you okay?" Jason asked. he could see the tears in your eyes which instantly made him a bit upset. "enough," Jason screamed, catching everyone's attention. Jon and Damian saw the hurt look on your face and as soon as Jon realized you were upset at the fight he was having, he kicked Damian off of him and walked towards you.
he grabbed your hand and whispered an apology into your ear as he stroked your cheek lovingly, "I'm sorry dear but I wasn't expecting Damian to do this," Jon said as Damian watched the way Jon was treating you. a part of him knew that Jon would treat you right. Jon wasn't like your typical average boy but the fact that neither of you told him is what set him off and seeing you being so lovingly with Jon set him off again.
Damian ran towards Jon again but this time, you shielded him which made him stop immediately, "Damian, stop, please," you croaked. Bruce saw you trying to neutralize the situation and stood next to Damian, hinting at him to quit it, "I'm sorry we never told you but the reason why we never did was because we had no idea who the other was. I didn't know Jon was your best friend and clearly didn't know that he was Superboy and he had no idea I was even related to you nevertheless your sister. please, if it's anyone's fault, it's mine," you explained.
Dick, Jason, and Tim stared at Jon who grabbed your hand and pulled you to the side, "and I would have never made the move if I knew she was your sister but we fell in love and it was like a soulmate connection. we were meant for each other and I want her to be in my life. she's it for me," Dick sighed mesmerized as Tim and Jason gagged at the cheesy confession.
Damian growled, "if you even think of hurting her, Clark will be down one son and I mean it. that's my sister and no man will ever be good enough for her. you are my best friend and she might be a pain in my ass, she means the world to me. I will not hesitate to dig your grave and bury you alive if I see one tear of sadness coming down her face," Damian stated before hitting Jon on the shoulder purposely before walking away.
you smiled, your heart swelling at Damian's speech. he never once said anything like that about you and in his Damian way of being, you knew this was his way of accepting your relationship with Jon. you smiled at Jon before giving him a huge kiss on the lips, making your dad and all of your brothers gag at the sight.
"okay, save that shit for privacy, no one needs to see that," Jason said as he walked away. Bruce gave you one look before turning to Jon, "your father knows in case you were wondering but feel free to stay for dinner if you'd like," Bruce said before walking away with Tim and Dick walking away with him.
"I love you," you whispered to Jon as he let out a laugh against your lips, "I love you too and I'm all of this was cleared out." you nodded in agreement as you grasped his hand, "wanna come up to my room? I figured we should catch some sleep before Alfred calls everyone for dinner and Damian starts another fight," Jon agreed, giving you a kiss on your head as the two of you walked up the stairs.
#dc comics#dc x reader#dc imagine#dc#jon kent x y/n#jon kent x reader#jon kent imagine#superboy x y/n#superboy x reader#superboy imagine#damian wayne imagine#damian wayne x reader#robin
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Yes captain
Note - this is part three of corrupting a good boy but it's mostly porn so can be read as a standalone as well. Sorry about all the jealousy stuff its just what the muse calls for sometimes. Comments/reblogs are really really appreciated🙏🙏 Dividers by @whimsicalrogers.
Summary - You ask Steve to keep it on while doing it 👀👀
Warnings - 18+ only explicit sexual content, uniform kink, captain kink, daddy kink, roleplaying, jealousy, insecure reader.
Pairing - CEO!Steve x reader
Word count - 4.5k
“Ooo,” you yelped, trying to run away from his firm grip across your hips.
It only made him hold onto you tighter, his nails digging into the flesh of your hips. “There’s no where to run, babygirl,” he chuckled at your misery, delivering another harsh slap to your naked bottom.
You shrieked in pain as your flesh burned in agonising, but delicious pleasure. As if you’d ever want to actually run. “I’m sorry, daddy.” Since you were allowed to call him daddy now, which seemed to always make him forgive you, but you added your princess voice just to be safe and not make it any harder on yourself.
“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to make fun of my team, but you had to be a dumb baby and run your mouth,” he scolded you, slapping you twice before slipping a hand between your legs, the squelching noises of him gathering your slick on his fingers made your ears burn.
You had gotten too bored of him watching the game and not paying attention to you so you might’ve said some mean things about his team, but the jokes on him since your diabolical plan seemed to have worked.
You had gotten too lost in slight tinge of pain in the roots of your hair, that he was pulling, and his fingers teasing your core, you yelped forward when he slapped your pussy, gasping as you throbbed for more of it.
“Honey,” Steve shook your arm causing you to jolt awake.
You had a habit of talking or mumbling nonsense in your sleep and since he was a light sleeper it usually woke him up. He found your incoherent rambles and the little faces you made in your sleep cute, they were particularly intense tonight for some reason, and while he loved you with all his heart he was not about to let you talk nonsense about the Yankees.
“What? Where?” you sat up, rubbing the soft sheen of sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand.
“You were talking in your sleep, sweetheart,” Steve said, rubbing his hand up and down your back, “Come here.” He circled a hand around your waist, pulling you down and back against his chest, kissing the back of your head, “What were you dreaming about, hm?”
“Um...” you blinked, “How much of it did you hear?”
“You think your so clever, don’t you,” he teased, pinching the side of your hip as you giggled.
“Yes, I’m very smart.”
You shut your eyes, ready to go back to dreamland and to your daddy, who was just a version of Steve who liked being called daddy. Which was something Steve would never be into. Not that you’d ever admit to having such a shameful kink.
But you felt Steve grind his excitement against your ass, “You wanna go back to sleep, or...?” he asked, biting the shell of your ear before snaking a hand up your cami to grope your breast.
“You woke me up with such debauch intention?!” you gasped in fake incredulity. Deciding to indulge him and that any time spent with normal real Steve was much better than being with dream daddy Steve.
***
You fixed his tie, tightening it just a bit around his neck. His golden hair was smoothed back, your eyes caught a glimpse of his rosy pink lips. So pouty and perfect. You could spend hours just looking at them, his smile was what truly made you fall for him. But you pulled away when he tried to steal a kiss from you.
“Gloss,” you argued, puckering your lips. Instantly feeling guilty as his pink ones pouted, giving you his sweet puppy eyes.
“Come on, doll, just one kiss? Don’t you wanna wish me luck?” He bent to capture your lips but you moved your head away at the last second, making him groan as his nose bumped against your cheek.
“I spent over two hours getting ready for this!” you huffed, smoothening a hand over your puffy tulle dress, finally having a chance to wear it out in public.
“Did you just smudge my blush?” Gasping, as you looked into the mirror, picking up your rouge and patting it on again.
You loved the dress Steve had gotten you for Christmas, it was so pretty and princess and you felt like Cinderella wearing it.
But it was too... girl-ish, Steve had insisted that you wear it. So he could show off his beautiful new wife.
Tonight though, you had to look like a woman.
A strong woman.
Who is not to be fucked around with. And not someone who is vulnerable and weak.
Because you knew she was going to be there.
“You always look gorgeous,” he mumbled, looking in the mirror and patting his hair to make sure it was in place.
You had convinced him to grow it out. Having more courage to express yourself since the Christmas gift mishap a couple of months ago.
Tucking a loose golden strange behind his ear, you wondered how someone as breathtakingly as beautiful as him could be yours.
But as beautiful as Steve was, he could also be naive. He wanted to see the best in people, which often didn’t let him see what was right in front of him.
How his ex Peggy had been trying to cause problems between you two from day one.
At first she had welcomed you with open arms, with a treacherous smile her red lips had told you that she wanted to be best friends with you. Taking you to the MET museum, of which she was a board member, asking your help in organising a couple of galas and the fundraisers. Shopping with you to make you more presentable to be a CEO’s wife
You were prepared to be wary of her. The fact that Steve was still good friends with his ex, who he had dated for more than five years, didn’t exactly sit well with you, you knew you’d face some troubles there, but then you met her and spent time with her you knew that you did had nothing to worry about.
That was until she, and Steve’s mother, had tried to get you to sign a pre-nup before you both got married.
While Sarah was always nice, you could always sense a tinge of hostility, your intuition told you how she preferred Peggy over you and would much rather have her as Steve’s wife.
With a heavy heart you had told Steve you couldn’t do it. That there was no point in getting married if you would end up divorced eventually. You were ready to cut your losses then, to pack your bags and go home, preparing for the worst. But he understood and said that he wouldn’t be marrying you if he didn’t trust you.
You were glad to have worked out everything, but decided to play nice with ‘Judas', whom you learned had infamously betrayed Jesus from a mass you attended with Steve and Sarah, and pretend that you didn’t know anything about her betrayal.
You shook your head, there was no point in letting her ruin your night, or dictate what you wore. The dress was what you liked and who you were, there was no reason for you to pretend to be like her. Steve liked you because you were nothing like her,
....probably.
You looked over to Steve, tugging his pants up and securing them, you had never once thought you’d be someone who’d have a thing for men in uniforms, they were simply doing their jobs, what the fuck was sexy about uniforms anyway, but that was until you saw your Steve in his...
He really could pull off any color, even something as boring as army green, his chest and built looked almost too broad. Numerous medals adorning his chest. He certainly looked the part of a soldier.
He kissed your temple when he caught you staring at him and you only hoped he couldn’t decipher what was going on in that horny brain of yours.
Steve rarely ever talked about his days in the army. If he did it was about the friends he made and the good times he shared with them. And how army whipped him in shape, made him the man he was.
He had been honorably discharged a couple of years ago, all his army friends only ever spoke highly of him--which wasn’t really surprising.
***
“Hello, darling,” she smiled to you in her classy British accent, kissing your cheek before hugging you, “How have you been? Haven’t seen you since new years!”
“I’m good and you look amazing.”
Which wasn’t a complete lie, she did look elegant in her uniform, a lot similar to Steve’s but her coat had flares at the end which gave it a more feminine feel than that of Steve’s.
“So do you,” she beamed, “Oh, you have a little something,” she gestured to the corner of your mouth before wiping some white frosting from your cupcake off with her thumb as you tried to keep your face from cringing.
So far the strong woman act wasn’t coming along so well...
“So...how is married life?”
Wouldn’t you like to know. “It’s very good. You know Steve, he’s just amazing. I’m lucky to have him.”
“Oh, I did heard about your little goof with your erotica from Natalie, and the gift slip up!” she laughed, hooking her arm around yours, she walked with you towards your husband. “And here I was thinking you are a good girl,” she winked.
“I... guess I’m not...”
“I must say though, unfortunately for you I don’t think Steve would like any of that. He’s always been so traditional,” she rolled her eyes, “He has an old soul.”
Yes, you knew that. You knew that he was traditional and an old soul. Of course You did, he was your husband. Why she felt the need to point out the obvious was beyond you. “Well, you know people can be unpredictable,” you countered.
“Yes, well you’re free to explore of course, I just didn’t want you to get your feelings hurt,” she put a hand over yours.
“Peggy,” Steve greeted her.
“Oh don’t mind us. We’re just gossiping about you,” she smirked.
“Really?” he looked over at you with a quizzical face, “All good things I hope.”
“I don’t have anything bad to say about you,” you said giving Peggy a side eye, “Can we dance? Please?”
It didn’t take a lot of convincing because he loved dancing. After a couple of dances it was time for him to give his speech.
Seeing your husband up on the stage, hearing everyone talk about his accomplishments made your heart swell in pride. You really couldn’t believe you were married to someone like him.
You suppose that you understood where Sarah was coming from. It would make sense for someone like Steve to fall for and marry a classy worldly lady like Peggy. There really wasn’t much you could offer him.
***
“Steve,” you huffed, trying to yank on the zipper for like the tenth time, while you loved the dress you needed to get out of it and breathe for a while.
“Yes, doll?” he called for you, entering your closet, smiling at your struggling form. “How can I help?”
“You can get me out of this thing!” you said, turning your back to him.
You were really feeling yourself tonight, you had gotten a facial and a manipedi, a blowout, spending hours on getting ready for battle. You thought you looked good and fierce. But then you took off your makeup and your extensions and were reminded of how Peggy was much more effortlessly beautiful than you. She had often been dubbed as a ‘natural beauty’.
“Y/N?”
“Hm?”
“Is something bothering you?” he asked as he unzipped you.
“No. Will you let me change now?” you turned around, to politely ask him to leave.
“You’ve changed in front of me before.”
“Yes, well I can’t right now.”
“Why not?” he frowned.
“Because...” You couldn’t stop your eyes from turning misty, “I’m ugly...”
“What? Who told you that?” His face instantly flushed with anger as he held onto your forearms, and when you didn’t push him away he pulled you in closer to his chest.
“No one needs to. I know it because I’m not blind,” you confessed, the cool metal of his medal digging into your cheek.
“Then maybe we need to get your eye sight checked. Because you’re the prettiest girl in this whole world. I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.” He stroked your hair, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.
“You’ll have to fight the whole world then.”
“If it comes to that then I will.”
You couldn’t help but smile at how protective he was. Propping your chin up on his chest you blinked at him. “Why didn’t you marry Peggy? She’s so much more beautiful.” Your heart was heavy with so many emotions, usually you wouldn’t give in and ask something so dangerous--a question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to.
Judging by the frown on his face, you were afraid that you had upset him, but then it softened as his pale baby blues twinkled at you, “Why would you say that, doll? Peggy is beautiful, but I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I could never even dream of marrying anyone else.”
“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I know I shouldn’t be comparing myself to others.”
“You really shouldn’t. They don’t measure up to you anyway,” he teased.
“It’s just...” you gulped, not being able to hold his gaze you played with the olive green buttons on his coat, “I heard at the party from Tony, that she will be working with you from now on. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“You don’t trust me?” his voice cracked.
You whipped your head up, frantically shaking your head from side to side, “No no of course I do! I’m just saying it’s a risky game. To be around her so much... what if old feelings resurface?”
Your heart almost broke as he let go of you, putting some distance between you both, “You know all I ever ask for is that you trust me... and love me. I don’t think it’s a lot.”
You scoffed, “Yeah well, I don’t think me asking you not to work with your ex is a lot. No woman would be okay with her husband spending that much time with her ex.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Why can’t I get through to you?”
“Maybe try speaking at a fourth grade level. Then I’ll understand. Since I don’t have a masters in literature from Sorbonne,” you rolled your eyes. Maybe he was intimidated by how smart Peggy is and decided to go for someone younger and dumber.
“I’ve never... been in love with Peggy or anyone but you really,” he told you, his broad shoulders hunching as he let out a sigh, “Not the way I’m in love with you. We were always more like friends than... lovers.”
“Is that better or worse?” you wondered out loud. Isn’t it important for husband and wife to be friends as well? Was that supposed to be a compliment?
“It’s much better. We would go months without seeing each other, and I didn’t miss her. Like I miss you when I’m at work. I can’t wait to get away and come home to you. Peggy is amazing, and I’ll always have a special place for her in my heart, but I would never even think about cheating on you.
But... I understand where you’re coming from. Maybe I would react the same way if you were to work with an ex. So I can just tell her that she’ll have to work with Nat, or someone else.”
“No,” you blurted.
Absolutely not.
Because A - You really did trust Steve not to stray. He wasn’t that type of man. And B - That would be admitting defeat. Admitting to her that you are afraid of her.
“I do trust you, Steve. I think... I just need to work on myself. If we don’t have trust then we don’t have anything right?”
“I trust you too, honey,” he kissed your forehead. “Just talk to me about this stuff okay? You can’t keep it bottled up.” You nodded as he worked on loosening his tie.
“Um... is that uncomfortable?” you asked, watching him pop open the first button of his shirt.
“The uniform? A little. It’s been a while since I put it on.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t wear it at our wedding.” You smiled. Maybe it was a good thing that he didn’t. While he looked so handsome in the black tux he had worn, the uniform would’ve made him irresistible. You would’ve spent the whole evening swooning over him.
“It didn’t feel right, I just wanted to be myself. Uh... doll,” he quirked a brow as he caught you staring at his crotch, “Hey,” he snapped his fingers, “My eyes are up here.”
“Yes, um, of course,” you whipped your head up as soon as you heard him, since you were too busy trying to make out the outline of his johnson, “And what beautiful eyes you have!”
“Tell me something. What is your obsession with this uniform?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” You decided to feign ignorance.
“Really? You’ve been staring at me all night. Do you not like it? Do you like it? Sometimes I think I don’t understand women at all.”
You probably would’ve appreciated his suit even more so if you hadn’t spent so much time festering in your jealousy. “I think... it’s... kinda hot,” you sighed dreamily as he blushed a crimson red. “You’re like this big strong Captain, and I’m like this small woman, like a damsel in distress type of thing.”
“Oh.” Was the only thing that he said. He never believed you would be into something like that, not from all the feminist rants you tend to go on.
“Oh god. You think I’m a weirdo, don’t you?” You put your hands over your face to hide it from him.
“No no, hey, don’t be like that,” he cooed, pulling your hands away so he could look at your pretty face, “I can be your... big, strong Captain. And you can be my damsel in distress.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah. So... how would it work? Do I save you from a burning building or something?”
“No, sweetie. You’re thinking of a fireman.”
“Oh, right,” he blushed, scratching the back of his neck, “We can do the fireman thing if you like. I can... be a fireman.”
“Steve, we don’t have to do anything.”
“I know. But I want to. Come on! Give me something to work with.”
“Okay,” you cleared your throat. “How about... you keep the suit on?”
“On for how long?” he tilted his head like a cute confused puppy, looking down at his suit, “Oh! You mean on while we’re...”
“Yes. And I could, I don’t know, thank you for serving my country.”
“Yeah. I mean medals and all are nice, but I want a special kind of thanks from you, doll.”
“Ooo,” you felt up his biceps through his coat and shirt, he really was strong. “Do you have anything specific in mind?” you asked, batting your lashes.
“Um... yes.... You get on your knees, miss... I mean ma’am, shit,” he cursed as he awkwardly stumbled over his words. “What do I call you? Are you my wife in this scenario?”
“You can just call me doll, captain. I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” you smiled, cheekily pressing your lips to his in a quick peck but he held onto your waist before you could pull away. Sliping his tongue inside your mouth.
“Alright then, doll. Show me how grateful you are,” he puffed his chest out, so he could appear a bit more dominant.
You only giggled, taking your dress off because there was no way you could kneel in so much tulle.
Standing before him in just a strapless bra and a nude thong, you were vulnerable, but not scared anymore. He was your captain, he’d never ridicule you.
“I’m already feeling appreciated,” he said as he ogled you.
You dropped down to your knees, unbuckling him with some help from him, “It’s so big,” you gasped when you looked at his length, pretending to be seeing it for the first time. Although, you were still always surprised with the sheer monstrosity of it.
“We’ll make it fit, doll. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” he smiled, tapping on your mouth, “Open,” he commanded.
You’re a natural, captain. You took a deep breath before opening wide. You’d been having sex regularly for the past three months or so, he had gone down on you more times than you could count, you felt as if he could live between your legs if he could. But he had never once asked you to return the favor, you didn’t have it in you to be the first one to bring it up either.
Licking your lips, you tasted someone of the preejaculate leaking out of his tip before wrapping your mouth around his head, moaning at the salty taste and the essence of him.
“That’s... ugh,” he groaned, “That’s good. Keep going,” he spurred you on, a hand on the back of your head giving you the slightest bit of push.
You took as much of him as you could, stopping halfway through when he hit the back of your throat, you pumped the rest of his length with your palm, holding onto his thick thigh for support, you bobbed your head, increasing your pace when he started moaning loudly.
Rubbing your thighs together to relive some pressure, your throbbing core desperate for some attention and friction, you knew your panties were ruined.
You had read your fair share of cosmos, and the many sex tips they offered, you knew they’d come in handy someday. You swore you remembered reading something about balls... to suck them? Bite them?
You fondled his balls, feeling him tightening in your palm, you were ready to swallow all of you. That was the only proper way of saying thank you.
“Wait,” he growled, pulling you off of him.
You looked up at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, doll,” he heaved, “But I gotta come in your pussy.”
Your jaw dropped, to hear the golden boy using such filthy language. “Whatever you say, captain,” you rasped.
Gasping when he yanked you up, pulling you over his shoulder and carrying you to the bed before throwing you down on the mattress.
Although Steve had always been dominant in bed, it was somewhat lowkey and subtle, he was never rough with you, he treated you as if you were made of glass, right now he was treating you as if you were literally a ragdoll.
“Take off your panties,” he ordered you.
You followed quickly, desperate to have him inside you asap, rolling your thing down your thighs and then getting rid of your bra before he even had to ask. You looked at him through your lashes, waiting patiently for his next command.
He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Now touch yourself.” It had always been a wet dream of his to watch you, instruct you as you got yourself off. Since your intention was to please him... he might as well make most of it.
You blinked at him before nodding, “Yes, captain.”
Fondling your breast you pinched your nipple, pulling on it before hissing exaggeratedly, smirking when you saw his hand twitch to touch you.
“What do I do?” you looked up at him with big doe eyes.
He shook his head, circling a hand around your wrist he shoved two of your fingers inside your mouth, “Suck,” he told you. “You like having your mouth stuffed, don’t you?” he asked as you noisily suckled on his fingers.
You shamelessly nodded, hoping that you’d get more opportunities to suck his cock from now on, he pulled your fingers out, bringing them down between your legs, pushing them into your willing channel. His own thumb rubbing on your clit working you up even moreso.
You threw your head back as you felt your climax approaching. “So close... captain.”
But he pulled your hand away from your pussy, tutting at your disobedience, “I didn’t tell you you could come.” He shook your head, giving you a minute to catch your breath before pushing two of his, much larger fingers inside you, “Gotta get you ready, doll. Since you’re so small.”
“Oh! It’s too much...” you moaned, holding onto the bedding.
“How're you gonna take my dick then, doll,” you watched as he licked your slick off of his fingers, “You taste like heaven, honey.”
“Thank you, captain.”
He unbuttoned his coat, he would be much freer without it and fuck you properly like you deserved.
You rolled your eyes when he folded his coat setting down on the floor, when you were literally lying naked before him with your legs spread wide, waiting as his tie and pants followed, “Really?” you scoffed.
“Can’t have them getting dirty, doll.” He knelt on the bed, now only in his shirt, spreading your legs a bit further so he could make room for himself, nudging your intimate lips apart with his length before slowing sinking into you.
He stayed like that for a bit, inside your heat, it felt as if he would explode then and there but he had to savor the moment. To have such a pretty girl wrapped around him.
Hovering over you he placed his elbows on sides of your head so he wouldn’t put too much of his weight on you, and so he could look at your as he fucked you.
He moved his hips against yours, rocking slow and steady, “You like that, doll?”
“Yes,” you nodded as he pulled on your hair to bare your neck to him. Biting your neck to mark you as his, “Do it harder, please, captain.”
“Harder?” he spoke against your neck, pinning both your hands above your head as he started rigorously pounding into you. “That hard enough?”
You were too fucked out to give a coherent answer, or to do anything but nod pathetically and take whatever he gave you.
“Ima come...” you clenched around him as your orgasm washed over you, rendering you immobile and weightless.
He thrusted into you a couple of times before filling you up to the brim - just as he had promised.
“Thank you, doll. That was really nice,” he smiled, laying beside you and pulling you closer to him, he kissed your forehead.
“Thank you, captain. You sure know how to treat a lady right...”
“Maybe we can do this more often,” he suggested as you nodded in reply.
Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm.
Shout out to my friend lizzygal (you can find her on ao3) who gave me the idea of Steve folding his uniform. It was too hilarious to leave out! Thanks for reading.
Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!
#corrupting a good boy#steve rogers fic#steve rogers x reader#chris evans x reader#steve x reader#captain america x reader#steve rogers x you#marvel x reader#avengers x reader#chris evans x you
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i didn’t have a back-up plan | bucky barnes
summary: reader x bucky break-up but nothing one of tony’s infamous galas can’t fix ;)
pairings: bucky barnes x female reader
warnings: 18+ only pls!! (smut, unprotected sex, public sex), angsty, little bit of fluff, jealous bucky, cuss words
You’re sitting at the kitchen table with your head cradled in both of your hands. Your cheeks are stained from the hour's worth of tears and for a second you are so glad you didn’t put on any mascara this morning. You hear the screeching sound of a chair pulling out across from you and you refuse to look up. You’ve been going at it for hours now.
He just got back from a three-month-long mission, and everything had been fine until he told you how long he was going to be gone this time. You couldn’t do another three, four, maybe even five months without seeing him. You’ve been together for almost two years, yet it seems like you’ve only physically been with him for maybe 4-5 months. You didn’t expect much from this relationship. You knew when you met him it was going to be hard, and if you’re being honest, you didn’t think it was going to last this long…but there was something about him you couldn’t get over. You fell for him hard and now you are dealing with the consequences. You weren’t accustomed to his lifestyle, and you knew you’d never adapt to it. Being an Avenger isn’t something you just sign up for and it’s certainly not for everyone. He didn’t force the lifestyle upon you, he never forced you to Tony’s lavish parties even though he wanted you to but he knew you’d be too uncomfortable. He loved you. You knew that. You loved him. He knew that. But you knew he deserved more, someone like him, and you deserved someone more like you, with nothing too special about them.
“You want to yell at me some more?” You ask.
“Doll...” His tone is cold and emotionless. You know where this is going. You both have known where this is going.
“Do you think we need to break up?” the words escape his lips, and you finally glance up at him.
“If that’s what you want.” You state.
His shocked response is not what you were expecting.
“What do you want? Do you want this to work? Do you love me?” His tone now filled with sincerity. Where the fuck has this been the past two hours you think to yourself. You could’ve sworn you were taking the words out of his mouth, you wanted to beat him to it. But his puzzled look is telling you otherwise, telling you he doesn’t want this at all.
“Bucky, we haven’t been doing well for so long. It’s just... it’s just not working. Our lives do not mesh together anymore. You are all over the place and I can’t drop everything when convenient for you.” You explain your decision and he sits back in his chair.
“I’ve never once expected you to ‘drop your life for me.’ Jesus fucking Christ.” His tone back to irritated. There he is. There’s the Bucky that you’ve been dealing with for the past few hours and the past few months.
“We fight all the fucking time! That’s all we’ve done for months! When you’re gone it’s over the phone or in text, when you’re here it’s in person. Nothing has changed. Nothing helps. It’s not fucking working.” Your voice cracks and his eyes begin to water.
“I... I love you, I don’t want this to end. We can work on this. I can work on this. I can tell Sam I need a break and take some time off.” He attempts to save himself and you shake your head.
“Buck – I love you but I’m holding you back. You need to be with someone who understands your world and I- I’m just not that person.” You try to fight back the stream of tears and he drops his head in defeat.
He attempts to save himself one more time as his mouth opens but nothing comes out. You stare deeply into his piercing eyes. Trying to memorize his face. Trying to memorize him.
He stands up from the table and stops beside you. He reaches down and squeezes your hand. You squeeze back and glance up at him one last time. His eyes fill with tears once more and he takes off to the door. You sit there and force yourself to stare at the now empty seat across from you. You hear the door shut and the floodgates of emotions hits. You sit there for the longest time. Tears and tears flow down your face. Your heart has found a new home in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes eventually dry up and you know that this was the right decision. It was never going to work…
You are pulled out of your poorly timed reminiscing when your date reaches out and grabs ahold of your hand,
“Ready babe?” He asks.
You force a smile and step out of the car.
You find it oh so incredibly ironic that your work is co-hosting one of Tony’s infamous charity galas. After you and Bucky broke up you landed a big-time PR job which involved working the one and only…avengers. You haven’t seen Bucky since the breakup but he had to know that you were practically working for the team by now. You had wondered how long you two could avoid each other, it was bound to happen eventually.
Nevertheless, 8 months post break up...here you are. The guy you’ve been seeing, a stockbroker on Wall Street was more than eager to be your date to this event. He wouldn’t shut up about the networking opportunity, and a chance to “meet the avengers.” Eyeroll.
You, on the other hand, didn’t want to go. You’ve been staring at the guestlist for weeks, well, you’ve been staring at one particular name on the guestlist for weeks. You’ve been racking your brain on why he would come to this event. He usually never goes to these stupid gala events, but yet he is attending a random gala…that you are in charge of…come on. You also find it convenient that he had a plus one beside his name. Of course, he does. He’s Bucky Barnes, why wouldn’t he have a date.
You and your date walk the imitation red carpet that’s laid out. You are the chair of this event so you have to pose for pictures and stop for questions. You hated this part of your job, you just wanted to be behind the scenes but unfortunately, people love you and your work, so they want to know all about you at all times.
You make it through the interviews and pull your date inside. He is enjoying this publicity a little too much. You find some co-workers/friends and push him off on them, and quickly head to the bar to get the strongest drink possible.
You order a dry martini with extra gin and take a sip.
“Some things don’t change, hm doll?”
You stand there frozen. The accent. The beautiful Brooklyn accent that you miss every fucking day. Those six words send chills down your back. The way “doll” flowed off his lips. This fucker. You take a deep breath and pray your makeup has remained in tack and your hair looks good from behind.
You slowly turn around and are met with those deep blue eyes. His hair was much shorter than the last time you saw him, but still so damn handsome. The scruff along his chin almost makes you drool because you miss the feeling of it against your skin. Your eyes make their way back up to him and he is smiling.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.” You say back.
“You look...fantastic,” he smirks.
You bought this dress specifically for tonight. For this moment. You got it in his favorite color because you wanted him to see you and admit you looked good. You give yourself an internal high five before responding to him.
“Thank you, so do you.” You gesture at his tux. One of your favorite looks on him.
“I-uh-I hope that it’s not weird that I am here,” he says as he takes a step into you.
“Oh, no. Not at all. I am glad you’re here.”
You quickly realize what you said and try to recover,
“SO you can take part in the donations! The more avengers the merrier!” You laugh nervously
You idiot.
He chuckles at you and shakes his head.
“Is there somewhere more private we can talk?” He asks.
“Uh-I shouldn’t. I have to-“
“Oh right, yes, of course, you’re working. Well, maybe we can meet up before the night is over? I would love to catch up,” his voice is almost a whisper as he is only a few centimes from you. You can smell his unique scent. You used to joke that if he could bottle it up and sell it he wouldn’t have to run off and save the world every other day.
“Yeah, mhm, enjoy your night!” You respond and walk off.
An hour or so passes as you get caught talking to other donors before you can make your way back to your date. He is completely sloshed and making a fool of himself. Great. You call him an Uber and tell him he has to leave. He doesn’t take this very well and begins yelling at you. You and a few co-workers manage to get him outside as you wait for the Uber but he continues yelling at you.
“You’re just a fucking bitch! Get over your fucking metal-arm freak of an ex and you will be happy! I could make you so happy!” He says as he points a finger in your face.
Before you can respond a man quickly jumps in between the two of you and slams him into a wall
“Call her a bitch again and I will kill you, yeah?”
Your date's eyes go wide, and he runs off to the Uber as it pulls up.
“Bucky, what in the absolute fuck is wrong with you?” You yell and he chuckles.
“Really? I just helped you with that fucking asshole and you want to yell at me?”
Without thinking you take ahold of Bucky’s hand and pull him inside and off to a side room. You slam the door behind them both of you and he takes a few steps inside before turning around to face you. You cross your arms along your chest and tell yourself to be calm, give him a chance to explain himself, but as he opens his mouth you cut him off.
“What the fuck are you doing here, James?” You question
A smile splays across his face as you use his first name. He takes a few steps towards you, attempting to close the gap. You slowly take a step or two back still allowing the distance between the two of you. He smirks as he realizes what you’re doing.
“Well doll, if you must know. I needed to see you He says. His accent was thicker than before, which is a clear indicator he’s been enjoying the open bar or some Asgardian liquor or both.
“What about your plus one? Where is she, hm?” You question.
“You mean Sam? Yeah, I’m sure he’s having a great time in there.” He chuckles.
Of fucking course it’s Sam.
“Why was Sam not on the – oh forget it, we aren’t together anymore Buck, you don’t get to just show up and call me doll and pretend that everything is normal.” You sigh.
“Why not?” He asks playfully.
“We broke up, Bucky.” You sigh once more.
“Yeah and?”
“And!? And YOU walked away” You scoff
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me, doll?” His voice irritated.
“No, I’m not fucking kidding ‘you.” You tilt your head and mock his accent. His eyes narrow and the muscles in his jaw clench. You forgot how fucking sexy he is when he’s mad.
You two stare at each other for a few seconds as if you’re having a contest. Your emotions begin to overwhelm you and you feel the tears swelling in your eyes. You look down in defeat and you hear him let out a small sigh.
“Love.” His voice cracks. Fuck. You can’t hold the tears back any longer and you feel them fall down your cheek. You look back up at him and his eyes are bloodshot too.
“I fucked up, doll.” He mutters.
“Yeah. You did.”
“I know I did! I know! I should have stayed and fought for you. I know that now. I am sorry. But I’m here now. I’ve been working on this little plan for weeks now, to see you and –“
“No! No, no. You can’t do this. You don’t get to do this.” You interrupt, you wipe a tear away, and turn around to leave.
“It wasn't just me, doll! What about you, huh? You couldn’t adjust to my lifestyle yet you’ve been parading around all the other avengers for the past 8 months. Helping Tony with these bullshit galas!” He challenges.
You spin around and narrow your gaze at him.
“It’s my job.” You defend yourself.
“Yeah? I was your fucking boyfriend, not a lot of effort given there though?”
“Oh, fuck you, Bucky. Fuck. You.” You ridicule.
You both stare at each other down. Waiting for the next one to say something. You are soon questioning why you were so excited to see him tonight. Why you picked out this specific dress. Why you enjoyed it when he defended you against your douchebag date. You feel another tear fall and you quickly wipe it away.
“I should’ve tried harder. I’m sorry. I couldn’t handle the distance and I gave up on us too easily because I was scared and I’m sorry.” You finally confess.
He stares at you. Contemplating what you just said. His jaw is still clenched, and both of his hands are stuffed into his pockets. The silence is almost deafening, and you turn to leave as your heart can’t take this anymore. 8 months later and you’re still not over him. You’ll never be over him.
Bucky grabs your hand as you begin to turn and spins you back around to face him.
“Doll, I miss you. God, I fucking miss you.” He croaks.
Before you can speak his lips crash against yours. He quickly has you pushed against the wall as he deepens the kiss. You moan as you feel his tongue enter into your mouth. You wrap your hands in his brown locks and attempt to pull him further into you. He slides a leg in between yours and you moan as he grazes your sweet spot.
“Buck, we’re in public-“ you let out a raspy moan.
“I need you, please.” He groans.
And with that, you’re gone. You give in to whatever he wants. He slips off the straps of your dress and you step out of it, he takes you in as if it was the very first time seeing you. You attempt to cover yourself up, you haven’t been this exposed since the last time you were together.
“Don’t,” he demands.
He lifts your chin with his finger and places the sweetest kiss on your lips.
“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers.
“Buck, I haven’t- I haven’t been with anyone else.” You admit.
“Me either, baby. I couldn’t bring myself to think about anyone but you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Let me show you how much I've missed you."
This time the tears swelling in your eyes were happy ones. He smiles as he finally renders you speechless. He wipes the tear away and kisses you once more. The kiss goes back to heated and passionate. You reach for his belt buckle, and he groans as your hands brush up against his erect member. He pulls his bow tie off and quickly unbuttons his shirt. He slips off his pants and underwear and once again has you pushed against the door. He begins kissing down your neck as he slips off your bra. He hooks a finger into your underwear, and you moan as his hands slide down your thighs.
“You ready?” He asks
All you can do is nod as the sight of him is enough to make you come.
He hoists you up against the door and you wrap your legs around him as he slips himself inside of you.
“Fuck, baby girl.” He groans.
“Buck – Jesus.” You cry out as he fills you up. He stills as he thinks he hurts you and pulls away to check on you,
“Move, please.” You giggle and he nuzzles his head into your neck and begins peppering kisses along your collarbone.
He thrusts himself in and out of you at an unrelenting pace. Anyone else would probably be embarrassed with how quickly you’re about to fall apart but you don’t care. You’ve missed this touch for months. You’ve craved it for months. You knew you needed him again. You just needed to realize it.
“Y-you close baby? I’m so close. Fuck.” He moans.
You attempt to speak but all that comes out is a loud moan of his name. He smiles at how easily you fall apart for him. He’s always loved this effect he’s had on you. Even though you held your own, there was something about Bucky that made you putty in his hands. He knew he had to get that feeling back. He knew the second he walked out he wanted to come back. He almost did. He stood outside your door for the longest time but couldn’t bring himself to knock. He knew you’d come back to him. He knew he’d find you again and you two couldn’t help but get back together. You were meant to be.
“Fuck, I’m-“ is all you get out as your orgasm takes over.
“That’s it, doll. Let go. Fuck. I love you. I love you so much.” He praises you as you clench around his cock.
Your head spins as you see stars. With a few more sloppy thrusts, Bucky is moaning your name as he lets go inside of you. He slowly places you back down on the ground and kisses you all over.
“Are you okay?” He asks.
“I love you.” You say as you lean up to steal a kiss.
He smirks against your lips and wraps his arms around your waist. You two stand there in each other’s embrace.
“Can we make this work? Can you be mine again?” He whispers
“Yes.” You smile.
“Good, I didn’t have a backup plan if you said no.” He smirks and you laugh.
“Let’s get dressed. I’m sure everyone heard us.” You roll your eyes.
“Hey that’s never bothered you before,” he teases.
#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x yn#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes one shot
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