#please lets put the mutual in mutual effort. come on ? please ? on another note. going thru something right now
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ooooohhhh you want to give me attention sooooo bad dont you . you want to be so obsessed with me and talk to me all the time . and then we can rip each other apart. you want it so bad. you want me
#dude i just want someone to be obsessed with me too . like yeah i could probably be obsessed with you if it was a mutual effort#please lets put the mutual in mutual effort. come on ? please ? on another note. going thru something right now#constantly saying You Want Me enough that maybe itll be true . and it is true!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 :3#guy leaves for a week comes back becomes worse . well its not that much worse im basically the same . hey where are you going#by the way tumblr followers did you know my chest fucking hurts more often than it should
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There's a lot of reasonably frustrated but ultimately misdirected psa-style posting about how viewers NEED to start reblogging things rather than just liking them because that is the primary mode of post circulation on this site. The modern manifestation of this sentiment seems to miss the fact that, if you've been here for ~15 years, were here prior to, during, and after the exodus to the bird app, you already know that likes have always been more common than reblogs, that many people simply don't want to put your art on their blog, and that guilting end-users into using a microblogging site A Specific Way absolutely does not work. If it did, the trend would have shifted a decade ago. Because this conversation really is that old. Regardless, the modern discourse of how difficult it is to be Seen specifically on Tumblr isn't productive because I think it ultimately misses the reason being an artist online feels so Bad, now.
The social media era has funneled Looking At Stuff on the Internet into an economy of engagement that encourages end-users to treat everything we/they see as quick, cheap, and disposable. This is just another fun and flirty way that capitalism devalues art. It's nothing new. Trying to force masses of users to behave in a way that is healthier for the circulation of art isn't going to do anything to solve the discontent we all feel when we hurl something into the void and it is ultimately ignored. I swear up and down: A higher notes number won't feel better, either. Popularity is just as demoralizing as radio silence, but it manifests differently. Instead of 4 likes and maybe 1 reblog from Old Faithful Mutual, you get a horde of people who treat you like a content machine. You keep hoping for an impossibly Bigger Number. The notifs on the first Big Number Post haven't even settled, and people are already asking when the follow-up is coming. You get anons, but most of them are trying to passively convince you to give them More Content.
It's really, really hard to make people care about art. If there was a silver bullet for making the average person appreciate the enormity of human effort behind every beautiful thing they encounter, we would have found it centuries ago.
The best thing creatives can do for their lives online is to be friendly, or at least kind, with other creators. "Big" artists don't form in-groups because they're snobs. They find each other because they casually showed each other support, and their mutual appreciation for that Thing that wound them up in the same tag becomes a foundation for connection, and in many cases, the ever-illusive Bigger Audience as they introduce themselves to each others' circles. We get more eyes on our work by building community with each other.
Where does that leave people who are just here to look at things, not post them? I think the answer is almost identical: COMMENT!! Please, comment! The first step to engaging with art on a more meaningful level is to point out something you particularly enjoy about a given work. It can go in the replies, it can go in the tags, doesn't matter!! If you notice some symbolism or make some connection, there is all likelihood that OP put it there because they desperately wanted somebody to notice it. Let them know why you like it!
Reaching for the nebulous, impossible goal of better post circulation isn't going to make being a creator online in 2023 suck less. Meaningfully connecting with each other can, will, and does. You can make someone's day just by passingly letting them know that their effort is worth more than a number.
#budgetalks#I got to thinking about this because of fanfic actually#the proportion of comments to kudos ESPECIALLY on popular fics bums me out#especially when you open the comments and half of them are people asking for more
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Spotless: Eco
Chapter Eleven
Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela
Other characters: Bobby, Bela, Dick Roman and Kobe Bryant mentioned (look, he wasn't supposed to be here but I did my research and well, he had to be), Anael, faceless paps
Word Count: 1683 with pictures
Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, tour planning, brunch and shopping with Bela, unbeta'd
Series Masterlist
“Okay, well the official schedule from the touring company arrived, so I have maybe a week to set up the promo interviews before they announce it publicly,” you said over the phone.
“Yeah, with Crowley it’s probably gonna be sooner. Annie’s gotta find someone to step in for the whole year with this so she’s already interviewing. Let me know if you need anything, because I’m just sitting on my hands until we’re actually rolling out,” Bobby replied solemnly.
The give me something to do, please, was implied.
“Check with Benny and his boys, I know the label is supplying some guys too, but I trust you to secure the crew and security schedules,” you said as you made another note on your ever increasing list of to do’s.
Two months may have seemed like a long time, but it was the shortest turn around you’d had for a tour since taking over as publicist for Phantom Traveler and you’d be damned if you fucked it up.
“With the holidays coming up, we’ll be in a pinch to get everything nailed down. But all the commotion with Bela and everything, people will be chomping at the bit to get actual news,” you added, staring unfocused at your computer monitor.
“And he’s got that interview coming up you said, just Dean for that one?” Bobby asked.
“Yeah,” you sighed. “I really hope Meg doesn’t eat him alive. But it’s his chance to give his side of things and for people to see where his head is at now.”
“The sassy little brunette, right?”
“The very one.”
“Is it going to be a tit-for-tat thing? Is Cas gonna be next for a tell-all?”
“Bobby, I don’t think Cas would do an interview and talk bad about Dean even if they paid him. He’s moved on.”
“If you say so, Dean didn’t exactly play nice.”
“He must have had hundreds of offers for the dirt since leaving the band. And everything I hear about him now is just about the kid he’s working with and how they’re creating something unique.”
“I just know how that reporter liked him— the last time.”
“I’m sure she’s going in with the bias against Dean here. Time will tell if she can be swayed,” you admitted. “Plus, Dean won't be alone. We made sure there'll be a few of us there to make it easier.”
“To keep him from making a damned fool of himself you mean.”
“Basically.”
Bobby sat on the other end of the line with his gruff silence before continuing, “you going home for Christmas?”
“Yeah, got the usual stuff with my folks for Christmas Eve then I’m helping Ellen on Christmas day. I’m flying so I won’t be gone more than a few days. Probably end up spending half of it at airports with my luck.”
“Okay, just checkin’.”
“You guys have any plans?”
“Just service on the night before and maybe something with Annie’s cousins. Might just be a train of open houses.”
“Wow, I’m impressed.”
“Hey, I didn’t say I’d enjoy myself.”
You laughed and wrapped it up with a promise to touch base before you left town. The next two days were a whirlwind of emails and phone calls. You put off confirming brunch with Bela for Sunday, but relented from guilt, as she now had regular visits from paparazzi outside her townhouse due to her and Dean’s night club-hopping. You finished up your Saturday errands and plopped yourself onto your stationary bike in a last ditch effort to fend off your restlessness until it was a reasonable enough time to crash.
God, your life was so exciting.
Bela poured you another glass from the endless pitcher of mimosas. “Anyway, I guess Dean got us tickets to the Lakers’ game tomorrow night, like I actually care about baseball.”
“Basketball,” you corrected, taking a sip.
“Exactly,” Bela smirked.
“How good are the tickets? He doesn’t really follow it either,” you continued, worried they’d be in an embarrassing section.
“I think he said something about getting the label’s box for the game?” She tried to play innocent.
You almost spit out your drink. “The entire box?”
“It’s not floor seats’ exposure, but it will be worth it at least. I think he said he called in a favor with Dick?”
“Dick Roman is giving Dean access to his exclusive luxury box at the Staples Center?” You were floored, you opened your phone and googled who they were playing. “Holy fuck, they’re retiring Kobe’s number tomorrow. It’s going to be insane. There’s no way that box isn’t gonna be packed, but at least you can bump elbows with the uppity ups.”
“Kobe Bryant, yeah? He was quite prolific,” Bela seemed pleased.
“Uh, yeah, played his whole career here,” you added, but put your phone away. Unwilling to text Dean a ‘wtf’ text while you still had another hour of drinks and foodstuffs to get through. “What are you going to wear?”
Bela slid her most compelling face on. “I was hoping we could find something together. It’s been ages since we drunk shopped. Plus, it’s the holidays so I will need to be a bit tipsy if I want to deal with the crowds.”
You had literally nothing left to buy for Christmas, but drunk shopping was a time-honored tradition between the two of you. Plus, it was fun watching Bela work her magic and pull a stunning outfit together out of seemingly discordant pieces.
“Three stores and I’m getting my own ride home, missy,” you warned with a firm pointer finger.
“Of course!” Bela chuckled and tucked into her eggs, eyes flitting back to you with conspiratorial delight.
You finished off your mimosa and finally saw to your french toast.
Bela’s driver took you to all of her favorite haunts and naturally she weaseled her way in to see the best stylists, at least those who were actually on hand on the Sunday afternoon before Christmas. At Sister Jo’s boutique, the owner herself greeted Bela with a double cheek kiss and hug.
“What are you doing here? Wait, don’t tell me, you need an outfit asap because your little rocker boy toy needs arm candy,” the woman, who was actually named Anael, teased.
“You know me too well,” Bela replied. “This is my dear friend, Y/N, and we’re a bit on the tilt from brunch, but I simply had to come see you. I need something casual and sexy. It’s for a basketball game.”
You waved as she nodded in your direction, not wanting to break the momentum.
Anael frowned and looked Bela over, with much consideration. Then she hummed before asking, “how do you feel about hats?”
Nearly two hours and a top off on champagne later (to keep your buzzes going), you and Bela walked out of the shop with a bag each and a receipt ensuring Bela would be back in the morning for the alterations on the remaining garments.
“Well, I’d say that was a successful outing,” Bela said with pride, the pink in her cheeks the only hint of her lingering inebriation.
“I’d say,” you agreed, opening the back door of her pre-ordered ride. “I still can’t believe they had something that would work for me for New Year’s.”
Bela waited on the curb until she could slide in the other side, but continued your trail of thought. “Anael is good people, if she likes something, she carries it. Doesn’t matter the size or price, she is all about how an outfit makes you feel,” Bela explained.
“Well, it worked, because I just spent more on myself than I have the entire year because of how good it felt on, so I get it,” you said, patting the bag at your feet.
Bela confirmed your address with the driver and then hers, thanking them for going out of their way in a way that she wasn’t actually apologizing for being a burden.
“You got eyes on you lady,” the driver warned, pointing towards the corner where a camera lens was trained on the car.
“Ignore them, they’ll find someone else before they follow us very far,” Bela promised and you could see her almost glaring at the rearview mirror for the driver to get the lead out.
You sat on the couch in your robe and sleep pants, hair still wet and wrapped on top of your head. You had crashed for a late afternoon nap after shopping and had rebounded with a blissfully long shower and skincare treatment. Now you watched mind numbing television and plotted out your schedule for the coming week. Even though it was cut short with holiday travels, it was full-to-bursting with things to get done.
You sighed and dragged out your suitcase from under your bed, dropped it on the couch and unzipped it to start packing. At least you could watch something while you organized.
Just after ten your phone buzzed with a text message. You ignored it for a minute until you could find the remote beneath your pile of socks and paused your Lord of the Rings rewatch.
You stared at the conversation with the movie still paused, dumbfounded. One, that Dean sent you a goodnight text of all things and secondly that he was going to willingly give Bela his phone to post on social media about them. Because it’s not official until they’re both posting each other, or so they say. This was going to be big for the fan girls. You already knew Becky would be emailing you the second she saw it. But as far as fanclub presidents went, she wasn’t the worst. Then again, she would be more than a little bitter if Sam and Madison were the ones flaunting their relationship.
You put a reminder in your calendar to cover an extra sweep of SM while you were waiting out Dean’s interview Tuesday morning and then you tossed your phone back amongst your clothes. You were done for the night and so you shoved your half-packed suitcase on the floor and restarted the movie.
Tagging:
@deans-spinster-witch
@mrswhozeewhatsis
@cosicas-cuquis
@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like
@suckitands33
@ladysparkles78
@deans-baby-momma
@stoneyggirl2
@sassy-pelican
@leigh70
@globetrotter28
@winharry
@lastactiontricia
@rockhoochie
Chapter Twelve: Hook
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Strength ~ Part 2/2 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)
᯽ Please note that this is an overall part 11 of the series “Growing Strong”. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE. ᯽
Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader
Warnings: Character death, fire, mentions of burns (descriptive), death of unnamed background characters, mentions of someone unaliving themselves, GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, references to past character death, very suggestive themes, and a back-stabbing brother... heck, let’s throw kinslaying on there too while we’re at it.
Summary: Was there strength in honor? … Or could honor come from strength?
A/N: this chapter starts with a bit of spicy🔥 (nothing too wild or anything, but still pretty obvious what’s going on), and then ends up with actual 🔥🔥🔥, so... reader beware.
i don’t think I want to say anything else right now except thank you guys for the all of the support. i’ll put more of a blurb at the end of this.🖤🖤🖤
Deft hands untied the laces of your dress later in the evening.
You sighed from the immediate relief and leaned backwards calmly. As your head came to rest on Harwin’s broad chest, you closed your eyes and smiled in contentment.
Harwin chuckled amusedly at your antics. “Perhaps we should have retired sooner, My Love.”
The merriment of the family dinner continued well into the night. After supper had concluded, Lord Lyonel called for some musicians, which resulted in several singers and lute players providing a few additional hours of entertainment. Only when Derrik and Selwin started to nod off at the table and your own eyes began to feel heavy did you dare to suggest that it was time to retreat to your respective chambers. The Lord Hand tipped the troubadours generously, and everyone retired. The high spirits and mirth elated by the wine shared over dinner was still fresh on everyone’s minds as they departed from the dining hall.
By now, your sons were most likely fast asleep in their own beds.
You had dismissed your handmaiden for the evening, opting for a quiet night alone with your husband instead. Like your sons, the clutches of sleep were calling to you, but now, as Harwin’s hands skimmed across your back in feather light touches, your mind kept drifting to that of another, more tempting, venture.
“That was quite an eventful dinner this evening,” Harwin commented nonchalantly, seemingly unaware of the effects he had upon you.
You opened your eyes and stood straight once more. The pair of you stood in front of a mirror in your shared chambers. You watched him dutifully as his eyes narrowed at your as he concentrated on his efforts.
“That was quite the toast you made as well, Dearest.”
The subject of Princess Rhaenyra, and the Princes, was one seldom addressed between you over the past month. It was almost as though you were mutually afraid of shattering the newfound reverie that life at Harrenhal had come to provide. But Harwin’s offhanded suggestion to the topic during the niceties of the evening meal left you wondering what his intent had been.
“My father was in a good mood this evening,” Harwin prefaced, his focus still on the work that his hands were carrying out. “But… He is still disappointed in me.”
As you watched your husband’s crestfallen look in the mirror, your heart ached on his behalf.
“I am not a fool. I did not think he would simply forget…” Harwin admitted defeatedly. “But I had hoped, if I worked hard enough, and if I proved how dedicated I am to learning about all of the responsibilities and duties of the family seat and title, I might have given my father something else to focus on instead.”
You felt sympathy for Harwin. How could you not? Just as you had carried shame that was not yours to bear, Harwin had been forced to shoulder disappointment from Lord Lyonel. Disappointment that Harwin had not, at least not truly, warranted.
But there was little that could be done about it, for reasons that both of you had delved deeply many, many times before.
You turned away from the mirror slowly. Abandoning his work, Harwin’s hands fell to his sides, and he watched you somewhat apprehensively, as though fearing he had done or said something to offend.
“You are correct,” you agreed, earning a somewhat surprised reaction from your husband. “Your father will not forget the ‘truth’ that he believes in. But he will return to King’s Landing soon, and we will remain here. He will take that shadow of disapproval with him, and you shall feel free of this burden soon, Dearest.”
A small kindness. But, given the circumstances, it was the only one that could be offered. Harwin nodded understandingly.
“Now… are we done speaking of your father?” you pivoted then, your tone light and teasing. You placed your hands on Harwin’s chest, and your fingers settled dangerously close to the buttons of his doublet. “I wish to speak of something else.”
“Ah,” Harwin mused complacently, his eyes lighting up with mischievousness at once. “And what might that be, My Love?”
You slowly undid one button at a time, your eyes never leaving Harwin’s as you did so. Once they were all unfastened, you took the lapels in your hands, and pushed them upwards. Harwin smirked as he assisted you by shrugging the garment up and off his shoulders. The fabric fell down the length of his arms and landed on the floor with a soft thud.
“You’ve caught me,” you whispered coquettishly. “... Perhaps I do not wish to speak much at all.”
Since leaving the Red Keep, all aspects of your relationship with Harwin had improved greatly. A bit of time and distance from the issues that had caused a strain on your marriage had given it a new life.
To put it bluntly- it’d been hard to keep your hands off one another.
“I hope you do not mean you intend to be quiet,” Harwin admitted, his hands reaching up to cradle your face. “For that would not be very enjoyable… and, to be honest, My Love, I do not think that is something you are capable of achieving.”
“Is that so?” you challenged flirtatiously, standing on your toes to put your face closer to his. He drew you nearer, and one of his hands fell to rest on your waist. “Would you care to make a bet then, Dearest?”
“A bet?” Harwin laughed. The sound sent pleasant shivers down your spine. “What do I earn if I win?”
In the blink of an eye, Harwin tucked his chin and leaned down to press a few open mouthed kisses at your neck. The hand on your waist pulled you closer, pressing you tightly against his chest.
You fought to keep your voice level as his ministrations made your legs feel unsteady. Despite the upperhand your husband had, you smirked. “Perhaps I shall only tell you if you are victorious.”
“Hm,” Harwin mumbled into your neck. He tore himself away, looking rather reluctant to do so. His eyes were dark with desire, but you knew you were in no safer hands than his. “I believe that leaves me but with one choice.”
“And what is that?” You kissed him chastly on the lips, relishing in teasing him.
“I must ensure that you are unable to keep quiet.”
You were swept away with pleasant dreams when something stirred you.
As you slowly came to consciousness, you looked around. You were still in the safety of your bed; you’d deduced that much upon your eyes meeting Harwin’s bare chest.
… Perhaps it was nothing.
You sighed tiredly, burrowed further into the sheets, and scooted closer to your husband.
But a moment later, you were roused again.
This time, you could tell it had been Harwin. His whole chest rumbled as he coughed lightly, making him a rather poor makeshift pillow. His eyes were still shut tight; he’d yet to awake from the fit. You decided to wait it out, not wishing to part yourself from him, nor the warmth that he provided.
Although, it was a bit warm in the room already…
However, Harwin’s occasional coughing did not cease. In fact, it yanked him from his own slumber a few moments later.
Your eyes widened, and you leaned back, attempting to give him some space. “Gods, are you alright?”
Harwin cleared his throat and shook his head; a wordless way of dismissing your concern. But when his coughing did not cease, you sat up.
“Let me get you some water-”
Your blood ran cold as your eyes were met with the eerie glow underneath the door across the room.
Flickering lights of reds, oranges, and yellows. Crackling noises too loud and a heat too warm have been caused by the flames in the hearth that would have long since simmered.
Fire.
“Harwin!” you exclaimed frightfully, pointing across the room.
At the sound of your alarm, Harwin shot up straight, and his head whipped over towards the direction you gestured to. You watched as his body tensed with stark realization.
The pair of you scrambled out of bed, finding your night attire with a haste in which neither of you knew you possessed. Harwin looked to make sure you were beside him before hurrying over to the door. Once there, his hand lingered over the handle for a moment, and he touched it lightly, cautiously. He drew his hand back and hissed.
You looked about the room, looking for something, anything. Your eyes landed on Harwin’s discarded doublet. You swept it up and tossed it to him.
Harwin caught it with ease, and placed it over top of the door handle. Now armored with additional fabric, he had a much better time of trying the handle.
The door took a solid few yanks, but eventually, it gave way. The pair of you squinted as the light emitting from the flames hit your eyes immediately. Once you recovered, Harwin stepped out into the hallway first, mindful of his step, and you were right behind him.
Fire lined the walls, and the decor that had adorned them was already reduced to ashes. Flames littered the ground, dancing about your bare feet. But none of that mattered when the pair of you were hit with a moment of dread at the same time.
Derrik. Selwin.
…
“What are children, but a weakness?”
…
Harwin grabbed your hand at once and began to lead you through the fire-kissed corridors.
The chambers that your sons shared- fortunately, they had chosen to share the same rooms for now- were not but a few halls over. But the time it took to reach the door felt far too long.
With the doublet still in hand, Harwin attempted to turn the door handle.
It was to no avail.
Harwin tried again.
Unsuccessful.
…
“A folly, a futility?”
…
Panic settled into your bones more harshly than it had already had. With the nearby flames, the gods only knew how easy it would have been for the metal fixture to start giving way under the sheer heat of the surroundings.
Harwin turned, pressed his shoulder against the wood, and began to throw his entire weight forcefully against the door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The door would not budge.
Feeling desperate, you joined him in his efforts. Although, a cynical part of you knew that if a man nicknamed Breakbones was unable to force open a door, any additional help from your own strength was not likely to make much of a difference.
…
“Through them you imagine you cheat the Great Darkness of its victory.”
…
But you’d heard the musings of a parent’s strength when their children were in danger. You shouldn’t have doubted them.
After a few more tandem attempts, the door to your sons’ chambers flew open under yours and Harwin’s forces.
Derrick and Selwin were awake, but as their hair was disheveled, sleep lingered in their eyes, and their faces had yet to display anything but utter confusion, you realized they did not understand the extent of what was occurring just on the other side of the door.
“Mother, Father?” Derrik asked with a scrunched nose, wiping at his eyes absent-mindedly. You rushed over to him, throwing the covers off of him and helping him out of bed.
Meanwhile, Harwin dropped the doublet and plucked Selwin up and out of his bed with little effort at all, as if your youngest son was still a babe, and not a boy of almost eight years of age.
…
“You persist forever in some form or another, as if they would keep you from the dust.”
…
The four of you made your way through the brightly lit hallways as fast as you could. Heat weighed heavily down upon you, stray flames danced around your feet, and smoke stole the breath of your lungs. You and Harwin kept Derrik and Selwin between you in an attempt to keep them as secure as possible, and you refused to let either of the boys dawdle. Thankfully, your sons gave you little opposition to this.
When you reached the staircase that would lead you to the bottom of the tower, and more importantly, your subsequent freedom, you were relieved. You took a step towards the stairs, but Harwin halted beside you.
“Go on. Take the boys with you.”
You looked at Harwin like he was mad. Maybe he was. “What?”
“My father,” Harwin recalled gravely. “I have to go back for him.”
…
“But for them, you surrender what you should not.”
…
Perhaps the Lord Hand had already discovered the fire, and fled. Perhaps he was a lost cause already. Perhaps Harwin himself would meet a grim fate in his effort to save his father from the scorching flames.
All of these were extremely valid and persuasive arguments, and yet, none of them came to your tongue. As Derrik and Selwin looked frantically between the two of you with fear and confusion plain upon their face, and as Harwin gave you a look of firm resolve, you found yourself at a loss for words.
“Go, Y/N!” Harwin ordered in response to your inaction. His stern tone left no room for argument.
But still, you hesitated, and looked at him with complete dismay. You couldn’t leave him, not like this… And yet, your children could not remain here either.
The look on Harwin’s face was oddly mournful. …Did he know something you did not?
You searched his face despairingly, frantically trying to commit it to memory, despite the precious time ticking away with every passing second.
“Go, My Love,” Harwin commanded again, his voice softer, but no less commanding. “I shall be right behind you, I swear it.”
…
“You may know what is the right thing to be done, but love stays the hand.”
…
Your eyes filled with tears of unknown cause as you ushered Derrik and Selwin out of the castle and into the scene of utter chaos that was the courtyard.
The entire picture before you was grim and chaotic. People were running about- some carried buckets of water, others drew attention to their wounds to anyone who would listen. Some of the more seriously injured sat down wherever they could find, drawing in upon themselves.
A few of the less fortunate laid on the ground, stiff and unmoving.
The sounds of Derrik and Selwin coughing as fresh air finally blessed their lungs garnered your attention. You grabbed them by the hands and led them away, attempting to put as much distance between yourselves and the chaos behind you as was possible.
As you hurried across the courtyard, several of Lord Lyonel’s men rushed past you.
“The Lord Hand!” you plead to them desperately. “He is still inside, as is my husband!”
“We’ll find them, My Lady.”
You wanted to believe that was true, but the tone of the man who responded to you did not sound entirely reassuring. You trudged on.
On the periphery of the courtyard, Maester Briden was in the midst of attempting to triage. Once he saw the three of you approaching, the elderly man beckoned you over hurriedly. You released your sons’ hands, and let him look over Derrik and Selwin to swiftly assess for any significant injuries. As the Maester worked, you turned around, looking back at the tragedy that was unfolding before your very eyes.
Flame covering stone already blackened by previous damage. Dark smoke billowed upwards towards the sky, reaching higher than the towers themselves.
History had repeated itself; Harrenhal was aflame once again.
The gods had a cruel sense of humor.
“The smoke has gotten to them, but otherwise, they seem to be alright, My Lady,” Maester Briden decided thoughtfully. He turned, directing his next order to an assisting servant girl. “Let’s fetch them some water.”
Your eyes remained affixed to the flames as you offered a level reply. “Thank you, Maester.”
You swallowed thickly. The action caused you to flinch at the dryness of your throat. Every passing second that neither Harwin nor his father emerged from the castle wretched your heart tighter and tighter, until it felt almost impossible to breathe.
A loud rumbling echoed through the air as part of the Kingspyre Tower, where the Strong family’s chambers were located, and where all of you had just been a short while ago, collapsed upon itself. Shouts and screams echoed through the courtyard and as the ground trembled.
Now that they’d been given some water, Derrik and Selwin’s coughing had begun to lighten. You watched them keenly, desperately needing to focus on something else other than your breaking heart.
…
“Love is a downfall.”
…
You sat on the ground beside Derrik and Selwin, feeling helpless and completely numb. You had tried to keep them distracted from the madness around you, even though it was futile.
Amidst the chaos, passerbys looked at the three of you curiously, pitfully even. You could practically read their thoughts as they eyed you before their gaze drifted over to Derrik.
Is this Lord of Harrenhal, now?
…
But then, a sudden struggle across the courtyard immediately roused your attention. Your head whipped over in that direction.
Three of Lord Lyonel’s were emerging from their castle. They wrestled a madly writhing figure in their arms.
“Let me go!” the thrashing man shouted at them viciously. “I have to go back!”
“We’re sorry, My Lord, but you know we cannot do that!”
You almost choked on your relief as the man the soldiers struggled to contain threw his upper body upwards in a vain attempt to break free of their hold. The man’s curls flared wildly outwards, revealing his soot covered face.
Harwin.
Harwin. Harwin. Harwin!
The three men marched across the courtyard, and your husband continued to fight them verbally and physically as they did so. When the men were satisfied with the distance they’d put between themselves and the castle, they deposited Harwin unceremoniously at the feet of Maester Briden.
“Stay here,” you instructed Derrik and Selwin hastily as you rose to your feet. The boys still looked ready to run over to their father at a moment’s notice, but thankfully, they heeded your order.
You scurried over to Harwin instead. When you reached him, you ignored his shouts, which continued to throw impassioned verbal insults at the men who had saved his life. You fell to your knees exhaustedly, so that you could be at his level. Then, you grabbed his face in your hands and forced him to look at you.
Upon your touch, Harwin’s shouting ceased immediately. His eyes shot up to meet yours, and your heart broke for the second time that evening when you saw the tears in his eyes. That’s when you knew.
Lord Lyonel of House Strong, Hand of King Viserys, First of His Name, was dead.
“Y/N,” Harwin breathed brokenly, still struggling for air. Despite being restrained in your hold, he shook his head as he tried to find the words. “My father… I could not-”
You shushed him softly and pulled his head to your chest. Tears fell down your face as the front of your nightgown began to be littered with Harwin’s own. You ran a soothing hand through Harwin’s sweaty curls, knowing through personal experience that no words, no gesture, nothing at all would be able to compensate for the loss he was experiencing.
Come the dawn, the scene was just as grim.
Harwin had taken some time to compose himself, and he swallowed down his grief to be dealt with at a later time. Once he was refocused, the pair of you worked together. Water was directed to the strongest points of the fire. There was an accounting of everyone believed to have been in the fire-affected areas of the castle. Maester Briden was assisted with tending to the wounded. Comfort was given in the last few moments to those who were already lost. Those who were gone were moved, clearing additional room for the other wounded to be seen to.
Despite the brokenness you knew Harwin had to be feeling, he stepped up in the time of desperate need. The people of Harrenhal, who were now his people, looked to him for guidance, and he did not fail them. ‘Proud’ wasn’t a world you felt was apt to describe what you thought of him anymore. As you watched Harwin assist the people of his home, which, now, officially was his, with dried tears staining his otherwise smoky complexion, you recalled House Strong’s words.
Strength in Honor…
Was there strength in honor? … Or could honor come from strength?
Only when the final embers began to simmer did Harwin allow Maester Briden to tend to him.
Harwin had some nasty burns on his arms and legs, which were undoubtedly the result of exposure to flames that he’d endured in his attempt to save his father. As the Maester tended to the wounds, Derrik and Selwin sat closely nearby, not wishing to be parted from either of you.
You felt for them all. In the span of a few hours, Harwin had lost his father, and inherited the duties of the family lordship; your sons had lost their grandsire, and had lived through a terrifying ordeal at such a tender age. You grieved the loss of Lord Lyonel as well; your Good Father had come to be a secondary father figure for you. The painful loss of such a presence felt all too familiar.
“Lord Strong?”
The previous Lord of Harrenhal’s steward had approached them.
It took Harwin a moment to realize he’d been addressed, but when he did, he looked to his father’s steward expectantly. It felt like a punch to the gut when you realized it was likely to be a while for him to make that sort of adjustment.
The steward delivered his report solemnly. “After the fire started, a stable boy noticed someone suspicious lingering about. The man was cloaked, and when the cry for help rang out, he did not rise to the call, and instead, retreated to the shadows. When this matter was brought to me, I decided it was best to apprehend him, with the intention of questioning him once things had settled. I sent a few men to find him, and, as of a few hours ago, they were successful, but… I think it is best if you see him for yourself.”
Harwin moved to rise, but before he could get to his feet, he grimaced in pain.
Maester Briden tsked at him in protest and disapproval. However, the elder man was not affected in the slightest, and he continued tending to your husband’s burns dedicatedly.
“I will go,” you volunteered, looking at Lord Lyonel’s- well, now Harwin’s- steward. “Take me to him. My husb- Lord Strong- still needs to be tended to at this time.”
The steward nodded understandingly. “As you wish, My Lady.”
Harwin gave you a grateful look, but it was not needed. He’d always been a pillar of strength for you when you’d needed him to be. The least you could do was to be the same for him.
“Stay here with your father,” you instructed Derrik and Selwin. It was redundant; you knew it would be hard to tear either of them from you or Harwin’s side for quite some time.
“It appears as though his tongue has been cut out, My Lady.”
You scowled at the scene of the deceased man before you.
After the man had been apprehended, the steward had confined him in one of the cells beneath the castle, which had, fortunately, been spared from the fire. In the morning, the guards found the man dead. There were no physical wounds upon him, but an empty vial, which had held a liquid you could only guess the origin of, was resting in his limp hand.
Staring hard at the man’s face, you raked through the many faces you’d come across in your time at Harrenhal. But nothing, and no one, came to mind. You questioned, “And no one else recognizes him?”
“No, My Lady,” the steward confirmed. He nudged the leg of the body with his foot in disgust. “Whoever he was before, he was a coward when the Stranger took him.” He spat on the ground.
That was easy to agree to. Even though the questioning would have been difficult, given his incapability of speaking, the deceased man had robbed you of the opportunity altogether by quenching his thirst with poison.
“Bury him with the others,” you decided after a moment. “Whether he knew something about this travesty or not, I will not have the gods frown upon us even more for mistreating his body.”
“If that is your command, My Lady, then it shall be done.”
You turned to leave, but you stopped when the rising sun caught the glimmer of something on the man’s cloak.
The steward watched you curiously as turned back to face the deceased man. After crouching down, you leaned forward as closed as you dared, and attempted to get a proper look at what had caught your eye.
It was a pin, affixed to the front of the fabric of the cloak. But it wasn’t just any pin- a small jewel embedded in the metal was the culprit that had caught the sun’s rays. You squinted analytically.
The pin was a firefly. How odd, you thought queerly to yourself. You stared at the pin for a few long moments, before the realization struck you.
You had seen something very similar to the pin before. You were absolutely certain of it.
… But where?
“... Best to make your way through life unencumbered, if you ask me.”
Back in the Red Keep, Queen Alicent Hightower was still reeling from the atrocious suggestions that the now presumed Lord Larys Strong had just conveyed to her.
“They’re dead?”
“You’ve heard the stories of Harrenhal, Your Grace,” Larys danced around her question. “Built in hubris by Harren the Black as a monument to his own greatness. Blood, mixed into the mortar…”
Deeply troubled at the man’s apathy, Queen Alicent clawed at her own throat.
“It is said to be a cursed place, that it passes judgment beneath all who pass beneath its gates.”
“You,” Queen Alicent corrected, appalled. “You passed judgment.”
“The Queen makes a wish… what servant of the realm would not strive to fulfill it?” Larys posed flippantly, as if the answer was simple. “I assume you will write to your father now?”
“Larys,” she hissed despondently, not giving a damn at that moment about who was to fill the suddenly empty post of Hand of the King. “I did not wish for this!”
Her own opinion of Ser Harwin Strong, Princess Rhaenyra, and even Lady Y/N Tyrell aside, there had been the couple’s trueborn children to consider. The children!
“Gods, what of the boys? Your nephews? Your own blood?!” As if his father and brother had not been bad enough.
“Ah, yes, what a pity,” Larys feigned regret. “It is rather tragic when the gods decide to snuff out the light of young lives… But, unfortunately, it would not be the first time in history that children pay for the sins of their parents, would it?”
She was shocked speechless.
“I feel certain you will reward me,” Larys informed her as he plucked a flower he’d been toying with from the vase on the table beside him, “when the time is right.”
Queen Alicent clenched her eyes shut tightly in horror, until a rapt of knocks on her chamber doors forced her to open them once more. She was certain her voice was unsteady, but still, she called out, “Come in!”
Her handmaiden, Talia, entered her chambers. “It is a raven for the King, Your Grace. I would have brought it to him directly, but-”
Queen Alicent recomposed herself. “No, no. You were right to bring it to me. Thank you, Talia.”
The girl handed her the scroll of parchment, and then excused herself.
Larys watched with an amused twinkle in his eye as she read the contents of the correspondence. Redundantly, he inquired, “Has something happened, My Queen?”
“There was a fire at Harrenhal,” Queen Alicent relayed numbly, voice still rough with emotion. “... The Lord Hand is dead.”
Larys’ face was neutral. “Truly? That is most… unfortunate. My father was a good, honorable man… But alas, it would appear that the curse of Harrenhal has claimed yet another victim.”
Queen Alicent’s eyes never left the parchment in her trembling hands. Part of her wanted to desperately cling to every word before her eyes; the other part of her wanted to avoid acknowledging the monster across the room.
When she failed to say anything further, Larys decided she needed some encouragement. “And, what else does it say, My Queen?”
Suddenly, Queen Alicent exhaled a watery sigh of relief, and placed a hand on her chest. She read to him, “Your brother, Ser Harwin, his wife, Lady Y/N Tyrell, and their sons are said to have survived… and Harwin has been named as Lord of Harrenhal… Thank the gods!”
Queen Alicent finally lifted her eyes from the parchment.
The smile on Lord Larys’ face was an extremely unsettling one. His eyes were alive and present, but they contained not a single morsel of joy at the revelation.
“I see…” he commented plainly, clearly at a loss for other words.
Larys idly twirled the flower he’d plucked several times. One, two, three, four spins. Then he suddenly crushed the petals in a tightly-clenched fist. The skin on his fingers turned ghost white from the pressure.
“What splendid news, My Queen.”
A/N: I’m so sorry you guys😢🖤 like previous deaths in this fic, Lord Lyonel’s was a necessary evil. at least I spared Harwin and the boys?😰
Anyways, thank you guys for all the love🖤 I’m going to get working on the next part, which I’d like to have out sometime next week, but I may need some extra time to get it prepared. We’re going to do a time jump once again, to the time span of episode 8. Andddddd, since we lost a character this part, I think it’s time we introduce another on this next one...😉
I hope you all have a wonderful weekend🖤🖤🖤
#harwin strong#harwin strong x reader#house of the dragon#ser harwin strong#ser harwin strong x reader#ser harwin strong x y/n#ser harwin strong x you#harwin strong x y/n#harwin strong x you#hbo#ryan corr#hotd#got#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#game of thrones fanfiction#game of thrones fanfic#harwin strong fanfic#harwin strong fanfiction#ser harwin strong fanfic#ser harwin strong fanfiction
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Angstober day 28: Reunion
Worth the Wait, Worth the Trouble
Summer was coming to an end, but things were still incredibly awkward, even two months after the incident.
Ashton sneaked a glance at Phoenix, who was hunched down over some paperwork and completely refused to acknowledge Ashton’s existence. Whatever progress Ashton had made in bringing Phoenix’s walls down over the nine years they’d known each other, had all gone to waste due to a single bastard’s scheming.
Of course, Ashton didn’t hold Phoenix accountable for anything the man had done under mind control. Phoenix resisted for as long as he could; if he hadn’t, Ashton would have died that day. But it was hard to convince Phoenix himself that it wasn’t his fault, that it wasn’t his family’s curse raising its ugly head to destroy yet another thing he loved.
Ashton had always been good with cursed things. He tried to tell Phoenix as much, tried to convince his friend that there was nothing to be afraid of.
Once, desperate, he even put Phoenix’s hands on his neck to show, see, it’s fine, I’m not scared, I feel safe with you, please let me in. That did not go well.
Ashton didn’t freak out. It was nothing like that day; if anything, he was comforted by the skin-on-skin contact and the closeness. Back then, Phoenix barely looked like himself, his eyes empty, mind replaced by hostile will.
No, the pressure on his throat didn’t make Ashton freak out.
The same couldn’t be said for Phoenix.
He stumbled away from Ashton, as if burnt, his eyes wide and horrified. Ashton tried to apologize, but Phoenix suddenly went terrifyingly still and asked to give him some space.
Feeling guilty for crossing the line, Ashton obliged.
He’d left Phoenix to his own devices for the better part of the summer, making do with awkward small talk and occasionally asking mutual friends to check up on him. At least there were other friends – and if their words were anything to go by, Phoenix seemed fine with them, if slightly more reserved than was usual even for him. That stung a little, but Ashton was still happy Phoenix hadn’t shut everyone out.
What hurt more was that before the incident, Ashton had almost gathered the courage to ask him out. He’d sworn to himself, that as soon as the Phantom’s threat was eliminated, he would invite Phoenix over, cook him dinner and ask him if it was okay to call that a date.
He thought wistfully about the pages of scribbled recipes, the years of outings spent figuring out if there were things Phoenix particularly liked – he disliked greens, unless they were chopped small enough and soaked in sauce, couldn’t handle spice but found gentle fondness for ginger, preferred steamed meat over any other kind and discreetly gagged at anything too sweet. Those notes still laid, crumpled, in Ashton’s desk drawer, gathering dust.
The Phantom may have been defeated, but he’d managed to quite thoroughly ruin Ashton’s plans.
Ashton thought of everything Phoenix had lost, and his heart ached. He wanted to make everything better, but there was little he could do when Phoenix refused to even look at him.
Maybe they should ask to switch offices, Ashton occasionally thought. Get some distance from each other, from painful memories. It would hurt, but if that could make Phoenix feel less haunted, Ashton would have done it.
He’d never dared to ask, though.
Phoenix looked up and caught his eye before Ashton could look away. Phoenix ducked his head down, frowning.
“...sorry,” he said softly.
Ashton shook his head, “It’s okay. Really. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
He thought that would be the end of it, as it had been for weeks. But Phoenix balled up his fist and, with obvious effort, continued speaking. “I do though. I keep hoping it would go away, but it doesn’t. I’m sorry.”
“I said it’s fine,” Ashton quickly said.
“It’s not!” Phoenix’s voice was still quiet, but the frustration in it cut deep. “It’s not fine, nothing is fine.”
He took a deep, shaky breath and added, “You’re important to me. I don’t… it’s not fair!”
That was more than Ashton had gotten in a long time. Uncertainly, carefully, he pressed on, “What is not fair, Phoenix?”
Phoenix shook his head, and Ashton pleaded, “Please! I can’t help if I don’t know what it is that’s wrong.”
Phoenix kept looking at the ground, the line of his shoulders tense and hair casting deep shadows over his face, “It’s not something you can help with. My head is… all messed up. Every time I look at you, all I hear is his voice in my head, all I feel is my hands… hurting you.”
He turned away, a note of desperation coloring his voice, “I thought it would go away, but it doesn’t.”
Ashton bit his lip and tried to think of something to say.
He didn’t want to be the cause of Phoenix’s suffering, but avoidance wasn’t a way forward. Ashton could feel the hammering of his heart, the nerves making his whole body feel freezing, a million unimportant thoughts trying to make their way into their head.
No. Phoenix. He had to focus on him, help him come up with a solution. Everything else could wait.
“What if you don’t look?” he asked, and Phoenix blinked, slowly, several times.
“Don’t look?..” he repeated barely audibly, but said nothing more. Slowly and noisily, Ashton pushed his chair back, stood up and took a step closer. Phoenix tensed, but again didn’t protest.
“Like… this?” Ashton took another step and found himself right behind Phoenix’s chair. Seeing only the back of Phoenix’s head made it hard to read his responses, and Ashton asked, suddenly worried, “Tell me, is this… also bad?”
“That’s… okay?” Phoenix said uncertainly. He was half a head shorter than Ashton, but this was the first time Ashton thought of him as in any way small – he usually had a certain presence about him, the reserved confidence that belied his strength. Now though, authority in his voice was replaced with something small and hopeful.
“May I touch you?” Ashton asked, and after a moment received a small nod in response. Gently, he ran his hand up Phoenix’s shoulder, over his neck and to his hair. His second hand joined, and he rubbed slightly over Phoenix’s temples, ran fingers through his thick hair and massaged his scalp in the same way he used to do fo his mother.
After a few moments Phoenix sagged in his chair, eyes closed and completely relaxed in Ashton’s hold.
“Is this okay?” Ashton whispered, afraid to break the harmony of the moment.
“I missed you,” Phoenix exhaled instead of answering. “Gods, I missed you so much.”
Ashton chuckled. “Then you should have talked to me ages ago,” he chided not unkindly.
Phoenix hummed and, eyes still closed, reached a hand up to barely touch Ashton’s fingers.
“We can figure it out,” Ashton continued and stilled his hand to let Phoenix figure it out at his own pace. “Even if it’s slow, it’s fine so long as we keep going somewhere. Okay?”
“Okay.” Phoenix let his hand drop. “Are you sure this is okay with you though?”
Ashton had half a mind to make a joke about using it as an excuse to get Phoenix alone in a dark room, but what escaped his mouth was instead, “For you, I’ll wait as long as you need.”
There were a few moments of awkward silence before Phoenix turned in his chair and, still not looking Ashton in the eye, pressed the side of his head into Ashton’s stomach, an intimate, vulnerable gesture.
“Do you promise?” Phoenix asked, and Ashton used the hand in his hair to press Phoenix’s head closer.
“I promise. You’ve known me this long – surely you know I can be patient?”
He pulled back and leaned down at an awkward angle, pressing his cheek into Phoenix’s hair – not quite a kiss, but close enough.
“Surely you know,” he continued, “how much you mean to me?”
His back protested and he straightened up, and almost missed Phoenix mumbling, “…I’m glad.”
“Huh?” Ashton blinked. “Did you say something?”
“I feel like you shouldn’t… but I’m still glad you’re here.” Phoenix finally pulled away and turned back to his paperwork. “Your company is… always nice. And I can just be quiet together with you, unlike Dillon.”
Ashton smiled. He could feel the burden of that horrible day becoming lighter on his heart, and ran a hand through Phoenix’s hair one last time before returning to his own desk.
“You better get better soon, then,” he fell into his chair with relief. “I will have something to ask you once you do.”
“Oh?” Phoenix jerked to face him but stopped mid-way, still apprehensive. “You can’t ask it now?”
Ashton shook his head, “No, it’s for later. But I promise, it’s something nice.”
“Very well then,” Phoenix replied, and for the first time since that day, Ashton could hear a smile in his voice. “I’ll wait, too.”
-----
Lmao, this is actually pure sap disguised as angst. In my first draft Ashton did make the joke about getting Phoenix in a dark room, and Phoenix replied with a suggestion of blindfolds instead, but I ended up scrapping that exchange because I felt it didn’t really fit the mood...
Masterpost
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This is in reference to the reddit post I reblogged a couple hours ago. Making my own post because this is going to be a very much Christian-ish perspective and since OP of the other post is Jewish I'd rather not clog their notes with this stream-of-consciousness rant.
I'm still trying to wrap my head around how someone can fuck up that badly.
Sure, Peter's vision in Acts 10 allows you to eat otherwise unclean meats, that's one valid interpretation—I recently learned it's not the only interpretation, but it is probably the interpretation that Paul was following when he wrote this to the early church in Rome:
13 Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in the way of a brother or sister. 14 I am convinced, being fully persuaded in the Lord Jesus, that nothing is unclean in itself. But if anyone regards something as unclean, then for that person it is unclean. 15 If your brother or sister is distressed because of what you eat, you are no longer acting in love. Do not by your eating destroy someone for whom Christ died. 16 Therefore do not let what you know is good be spoken of as evil. 17 For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit, 18 because anyone who serves Christ in this way is pleasing to God and receives human approval.
19 Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification. 20 Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of food. All food is clean, but it is wrong for a person to eat anything that causes someone else to stumble. 21 It is better not to eat meat or drink wine or to do anything else that will cause your brother or sister to fall.
22 So whatever you believe about these things keep between yourself and God. Blessed is the one who does not condemn himself by what he approves. 23 But whoever has doubts is condemned if they eat, because their eating is not from faith; and everything that does not come from faith is sin.
(Romans 14:13-23)
TL;DR: In the presence of those with religious/moral/ethical dietary restrictions stricter than your own, follow their restrictions; and above all else, don't be an asshole. Now, I'll admit, I'm not the biggest fan of Paul, but he really hit the nail on the head with this one.
I'm reminded of a few minutes I glimpsed of an episode of The Big Bang Theory (back when I had cable, and before I had gained the common sense to change the channel when The Big Bang Theory was on) in which Sheldon's very much Evangelical mother comes for a visit and prepares food (it might have been turkey? or chicken? [looked it up, it was chicken]) for the protagonists, and she said to the one protag who was visibly of South Asian descent [looking it up: Raj], "I hope it's not one of the animals you people think is magic."
Yeah, it left a bad taste in my mouth, too.
Although it was written in a way that makes clear that this character is coming from a place of ignorance and Christian supremacism, she at least demonstrates a (half-hearted) attempt to be accommodating of other people's religious dietary restrictions (or at least what she assumed might be there; I might be wrong, but if I recall, the punchline was that Raj was an atheist. not going to bother looking it up, this post isnt meant to be an analysis of a fucking tbbt scene). Even though the wording is disrespectful of the beliefs surrounding the dietary restrictions, and even though the question of dietary restrictions (religious or otherwise) should've been addressed to the whole room (and not just the one person whose ethnicity reminded her that foreigners exist), she nonetheless acknowledged and was somewhat prepared to accommodate such dietary restrictions.
All of this to say: Imagine being worse than Sheldon's mom. Imagine not only knowing ahead of time that your guests (in particular, your son-in-law and his children, whom you invited for a meal) have dietary restrictions, and not only failing to prepare a meal that meets those restrictions, but purposely preparing a meal that violates those restrictions, and presenting it to your guests as if it satisfied the restrictions. Imagine being so disgustingly hateful, and claiming to act in love's name. Imagine having the audacity to demand an apology when the clanging cymbal of your hateful acts is met with similarly harsh words.
may god have mercy on your wretched souls, for were i in his place, i sure as hell would not.
If those parents-in-law had actually followed the New Testament guidelines they professed, then there should not have been any pork on the table, at all—not even as a side option for the sake of the Christian side of the family. When you (Christians) invite people for a meal, and all or the majority of your invited guests are Jewish, you don't take the non-kosher food out of the fridge; you prepare a kosher meal for all to enjoy. (Even if they say ahead of time that it's okay, you still do your best to go the extra mile to make your guests comfortable.) And above all, you don't be a fucking asshole.
And that's just the religious aspect of it. Religious aspects aside, the violation of trust, the violation of basic hospitality, the violation of consent entailed in preparing food that contains ingredients your guests have told you they cannot consume—regardless of reason—and serving that food to those guests under the pretense that it does not contain such ingredients... I'm not a lawyer, but I'm pretty sure that qualifies as assault.
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lol hi how about some Idia x Soni? i feel like they would fit the trope of anonymous penpals to friends to lovers, fake dating turning into real dating and just idia pining for soni in general
Oh dang, this is something I honestly hadn't thought of, mostly because of how little I knew about Idia. Idk how to maneuver the whole anonymous pen pal thing, given that her Rotom Phone would just delete sketchy mail on sight and is super high-tech compared to normal Rotom Phones because Champions are highly targeted and are thus spammed loads of crap.
Note: This is a What-If situation, thus is not canon to the fic and written for fun. I struggled writing this tbh 😅 It's less romantic and more platonic/mutual respect for one another, especially because of Chapter 6
Soni and Idia: People Who Deal With Troublemakers Club (Platonic)
Idia would know about Soni from afar. As in, the safety of his room where she can't curb stomp him into the ground. It's super hard for him to talk to people normally. What more for the only girl in school who's got magical beasts and is pretty damn scary?
He's intrigued by the Pokemon. He's a fool if he doesn't think some of them aren't cool, but he's not going to piss them off because of it like some of the other students.
Well, that lasts until Chapter 6 when all hell breaks loose.
Idia, who has heard of the scariest shit from the others as they scream at him, is just terrified when she shows up to STYX, fully ready to beat the shit out of him for all the reasons. Also, Epel and Rook are at her side, being like, "Please don't destroy them. We come in peace."
She's just staring at them all menacingly alkdfjljjs
There's also a part of him that finds the whole thing similar to a badass character showing up at the right time in a movie or TV show, but he's just bluescreening hard because of PANIC WHY IS SHE HERE HOW DID SHE FIND THIS PLACE.
Just seeing her in Pomefiore clothes and looking like she might bitchslap him into Tartarus is his worst nightmare: a mixture of angry righteousness and wearing the clothes of the school's beauty-focused dorm.
Because Soni is literally stomping her way through STYX to pick up her cat monster child (and also picking up the troublesome NRC problem children ig), Idia's like, "Okay, I'll let you in, but she can't be in the same room as me because I'm afraid she might actually kill me with her bare hands."
No one disagrees, given the property damage that she's inflicted on the CHARON robots. How does this happen? Rotom's pissed off and ready to cause chaos. Hacking powers activate.
She's put in a separate room and Idia senses her displeasure like legit chills down his spine.
Skipping past all the Chapter 6 things because I don't want to spoil anyone, Idia gains respect for Soni, having to be the way that she is and for dealing with the gaggle of Dorm Heads all the time.
She is still very unhappy about the destruction of her dorm because of all the time and effort she put into restoring it, so she's pretty miffed still. Although, they just get along better because of the distance and mutually agree to say, "They're all crazy, and I feel like we're the only sane ones of the bunch (most of the time)."
#romantic what ifs#platonic what if#mostly platonic#soni monet#idia shroud#minor spoilers#spoilers for chapter 6
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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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Please could you write one with Grealish where you’re a Chelsea fan so refuse to wear a Villa shirt with his name on, and for bants Mount gets you a Chelsea shirt with his name and Jack gets all pouty?
omg I love this idea!! gets very smutty at the end ;) enjoy!
Villa Boy
A love for Chelsea had been something you adapted and grew to into as a young girl. Your dad was never entirely sure how to bond with his only daughter and your mother told him just to include you in what he loved. And so came your season pass with a little lanyard that still hung proudly in your childhood room right next to a shirt mounted in a glass photo frame with Frank Lampard's signature scrawled along the eight on the back.
It was actually how you met Jack in the first place, which is the only one single reason that he has for liking your club affiliation. Otherwise, it was one of the most annoying things in his world. It was often a source of teasing and taunting, you saying your team was better than his and him swaggering home and gloating for weeks when Aston Villa take a win over Chelsea. It was the bane of his life that he couldn't get you into that claret and blue. Not even to sleep in or wear around the house, you just would not dare put it on.
"I would feel my dad's shame emanate through the walls, maybe it would kill him. And then I'd lose every morsel of self respect I have, so not a chance." You'd snort, not even giving him a window for more persuasion.
His England shirt? that was fair game. You'd wear that with pride, to the shops, round the house, walking the dog and especially at his games but there was just absolutely no chance of getting you into his Villa shirt.
Though Jack may never admit it, it was one of his biggest wants. Seeing you in his England short was nothing short revolutionary - he'd said. It only made him want to see you in the Villa shirt more. That was his childhood club, getting to captain that was one of his biggest achievements and while he knew you were absolutely proud of him. You were the most proud and encouraging person in his life and there were no ifs buts or maybes in that.
But my god he knew you'd look fit in that claret and blue.
No matter how much it annoyed him, he wouldn't get you out of the darker blue home jersey of your favourite club no matter what he did. It was something he had come to accept over the course of your relationship, it was by and large fine.
Until that jersey said someone else's name across the back.
"Awh come on!" He yelps, mouth dropped open as you emerge into the kitchen with your toothbrush hanging out your mouth and only one shoe on. Jack knows you slept in because he switched off your alarm last night in hopes you'd miss the game, but Jack dropped a bowl when he tripped over the dog and woke you up anyway.
You going to the Villa v Chelsea game in a Chelsea shirt was bad enough, but now he's just clocked something that's sent his mind firing a mile a minute.
MOUNT
19
Not a fucking chance.
"Oi, you!" He calls out, throwing himself off the chair at the kitchen island, his feet fumbling over one another to get after you as quickly as possible. "What's up, Jack?" You hum innocently, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you stand in the doorway shoving on your other shoe. "Is something the matter?"
Jack gawks, opening and closing his mouth awaiting words to find his frazzled brain. "Yes!" He squeaks, a tone you'd never heard from a man before, let along your very deep voiced man. "There's no way that you're- what are you doing? Come back." He groans, his feet shuffling after you as you walk back through the house to find your car keys. "We're going to be late if you don't hurry up." You note sweetly, Jack drops his jaw. "We're not going anywhere until-"
"Hi Mason, yeah I got it. Fits like glove actually. Yeah, we're just leaving now. I'll meet you in the car park."
Jack's face was literally priceless. His agape, eye's wild, brows furrowed. A pout settles itself firmly into his lips the second he sits in the car with his arms folded over his chest like a toddler. You have to physically stifle a laugh at him as you beam the entire drive to Villa Park.
"M' gonna burn that." He states. You cast him a glance out the corner of your eye as you pull into the players parking. A snigger escapes despite your very best efforts and Jack resumes his frontward glare at the dashboard with his lips in a firm line. "Gonna win this game, burn that shirt and knock Mount flat."
You know he's not being serious about Mason. He's very fond of the player when they're on the same side. But you had become very close friends with him through the mutual love for the club he plays at and Jack absolutely despised that. He wasn't the kind to be bothered by your friends even to a moderate degree and even here he trusted you, he just fucking hated the concept of another club and another mans name over your back. It ticked him right off.
You know this very well. You knew what you were getting into the second Mason handed you that dark blue shirt. It was all fun and games really. You loved the club but you only wore the Mount shirt to get under Jack's skin. You thought it might even throw off his game a little.
The second he stormed onto the pitch and scored a goal 5 minutes into the game, you figured that might not be the case.
Every opportunity, every goal, every opening and every single tackle, Jack turned to you. He turned to you with fire in those brown eyes, sending you a cheeky wink. His passion, the very serious look etched onto his features and the way he was looking at you was fuelling a very different kind of fire in you.
Jack played the whole 90 minutes and he took Mason Mount down at every single given opportunity in a careful way that just evaded him getting a yellow card. He finished hot, sweaty and with a man of the match trophy for 2 goals and one assist with a majority of the game spent with the ball at his feet.
The 3 nil win should have been a lot more disappointing that it was, but he just looked so fucking good. The sweat stuck his hair to his temples, his muscles tight and protruding through exertion as he walks off the field after shaking every hand.
You're standing just outside the tunnel with Mason and John McGinn standing with you, talking about the match mostly. John makes a joke about you wearing that top more often, seems to be a good luck charm for Villa even if it's the opposing team. Mason scoffs and says; "More like an angry boyfriend wants to murder me charm."
That's when Jack appears and John barely gets his mouth open to greet him before Jack shoulders through the two footballers. His mouth finds your immediately. Hot, passionate, fiery and filled with his dominance.
He pulls back and grabs onto your hand tightly with his back to the two midfielders. Jack twists his body round with a daggering glare.
"Nobody," Jack growls, "fucks around with girl."
His tone, deep and gravelly, only serves to dampen your panties further in a way that makes your clench your legs together.
Jack's done with pouting, the teasing can resume later. For now, he's dragging you by the hand to a darkened conference room. Hiking you up his body before setting you on the table that sits at a miraculously perfect height that places you right against his bulge.
He wastes no time whatsoever ripping down your leggings and panties, his fingers finding you immediately to swirl pressured motions around your sensitive clit. "Ahh, who's got you moaning like that baby?" He rumbles, words vibrating through your lips.
"You Jack, oh god, you!" You pant as his fingers leave you feeling empty and needy. Jack easily tugs down his shorts and pulls himself out of his boxers to line up with your entrance. His victory sex is hot always, but usually there was a dry spell after a Villa v Chelsea game, so it had never been this hot.
"And who am I?" He grunts, pushing himself into you to hear your shuddering squeak of pleasure. He lays you down over the table, hands following you under your shirt to carefully and tentatively swirl his fingers over your nipples from under your bra. "Oh god, Jack," you move your hands to the hem of the blue shirt to lift it over your head, but Jack's hands stop them before you have the chance.
"No, no, no," he chastises with a smirk, "Want to fuck you in their colours," He continues to thrust roughly into you with each heavy breath, mouth and squeak that escapes you only spurring him on. "Want to fuck you with his name on your back, baby. Remind you who you belong to."
You shudder in pleasure with the feeling of his lips attaching to your neck, letting out a shaky, heavy breath as he snakes a hand down between you to swirl those circles around your more pleasureful spot once again. He knows the intricate details of your body better than any man ever has and he always ensures he uses it to his advantage, but nothing like today. His lips on the sweet spot of your neck, hitting and stretching you perfect between your legs with masterful work of his fingers pushing you closer and closer with each second that passed.
"Fuck , I'm so close-"
"Who's making you feel so good, baby?" He pants, skin slapping and heavy breathing echoing around the room. "You, Jack. You!"
"Not a Chelsea boy eh?" He grunts, teeth nibbling down over your collarbone. "Not a Chelsea boy baby is it?" He reiterates, pairing the movements of his hand only until you snap open your eyes again, "No Jack, it's all you. not a- oh god!"
Jack breathes a chuckle into your ear with an appreciative hum to follow.
"Yeah, Villa Captain isn't it? You're screaming out for a Villa boy, ain't ya?" He coaxes, edging you further and further as he speeds up to a pace he's never quite hit you with before. The adrenaline of the match, the irritation of that blue jersey and the passion for the win colliding to give him an energy he's never yet had. Watching your eyes roll beneath him wearing that stupid blue entices him on, only makes him want to pleasure you more if even possible. "Yes! Yes, I am, oh god just don't stop."
"Go on then," he encourages, voice deep in your ear. "Come undone for the Villa Captain baby."
He didn't have to tell you twice, that was for sure. The sight of your eyes fluttering, the feeling of you clenching around him with a steam of, "Fuck yes Jack!" sends him tumbling over the edge of his orgasm right after you, a strangle cry out of your name as it wracks through him.
When he lays down beside you in the table that very surpassingly withstood the pace of your antics, you're both breathless and shining with sweat. Your legs feel like jelly as you still throb from the pleasure. Jack turns his head to you with a lazy smirk, brushing some hair off your forehead as you turn to look at him.
"Well, I certainly do love a Villa boy."
#jack grealish smut#jack grealish prompt#jack grealish imagines#jack grealish x reader#jack grealish imagine#england national team imagine#england national team#footballer fics#football fics#footie fics
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Smut number 40 pretty please 😉
-😈
This wasn't meant to be as long as it was, but here we are my friend. Thanks for the prompt.
40- “this isn’t what i had in mind when i yelled fuck you.”
1.2K Smut drabble- Wanda x reader (18+ only, lots of swearing, use of straps, explicit descriptions of sex)
1K Celebration
You rolled your hips, smirking at the whine that you pulled from Wanda’s lips. You let your eyes rake over her face, taking in the flush that was creeping its way up her neck, the hair stuck to her forehead by the sweat that soaked her skin, the way her pupils were blown wide from lust.
You bent your head towards her, pulling her bottom lip between your teeth and tugging. She moaned against your lips, grabbing the back of your head to kiss you frantically as your hips continued their slow and torturous pace.
“Harder,” she panted against your lips when you finally broke away, your lungs screaming at you for oxygen.
“You’re going to have to beg better than that, sweetheart,” you teased, stopping your movements completely.
Wanda whined pathetically and you just smirked again, holding her hips steady with your hand to stop her from bucking against you in an attempt to get the friction she desired.
“I hate you,” she spat at you, her eyes blazing with fire.
“Don’t worry dear,” you told her, leaning down to nip at her neck and causing her to gasp, “the feeling is mutual. Now are you going to beg or not?”
You pulled back to watch her face again, noting the stubborn set of her jaw and the pout on her lips. You knew she was just putting on a front, you could feel her body squirming underneath you, your strap still buried inside her.
You gave a shallow thrust, causing her eyes to roll back into her head as she let out a whimper. You repeated the action, delighting in the way her hand gripped the sheet below her.
“Come on, Wanda,” you said, tracing your finger along her jaw, “we both know you want this. Just lose that last bit of dignity and I promise I’ll make you come so hard you forget your own name.”
She just closed her eyes, clenching her jaw as you continued the torturously slow pace. You knew she was stubborn but you were enjoying watching her slowly unravel.
If someone had told you this morning that you would have ended the day in bed with Wanda Maximoff you would have laughed at them.
The two of you hated each other, spending most of your time together glaring at each other from across the conference table during briefings. She didn’t enjoy your cocky attitude and you hated how she never followed directions on missions, getting the team into all kinds of issues.
The bickering was constant between the two of you and the rest of the team was sick of it. Today had been the last straw, Natasha dragging the two out of the briefing room after yet another argument had broken out and locking you both in a room with the directive of “sorting your shit out.”
The first hour was spent in complete silence, heated stares cast at each other, both of you not wanting to be the one to break first. Then Wanda had rolled her eyes and it had escalated from there. Snide comments had turned to shouting and before you knew it, the two of you were in each other’s faces screaming profanities.
To say you had been shocked when Wanda had grabbed your face and pulled you into a bruising kiss would be an understatement. You had been even more shocked by your reaction to grip her hips tightly in your hands and kiss her back just as passionately.
Now here you were hours later, buried inside of her and watching as she tried to resist you once more.
You decided to step up your efforts, your hand reaching between you, fingers dipping between her folds. You wanted to moan at the wet, slick heat you felt, your fingers sliding easily along her centre. You rolled them along her slit a few times before finding her clit, pressing firmly and pulling a guttural moan from her mouth.
You started to move your hips quicker now, your thrusts a little harder than before. Your finger was rubbing tight circles on her clit while your mouth moved down to suck one of her nipples into your mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” Wanda cried out beneath you, her hands clawing at your back, trying to find something to hang on to. “More.”
You let go of her nipple, kissing your way up her chest to whisper in her ear.
“Only good girls who beg properly get to come,” you told her, increasing your pace slightly.
You heard her groan and you knew she was close to giving you what you wanted.
“Alright,” she conceded, “you win.”
“I always do,” you replied arrogantly, tilting the angle of your hips just slightly.
“Fuck,” Wanda cried out again, “right there. Don’t you dare stop! Fuck me harder.”
“What’s the magic word?” you asked her, tone teasing.
You expected a snarky comeback but the whimpered “Please!” that fell from Wanda’s lips set something off inside of you.
You grabbed one of her legs, hooking it over your arm as you pumped your hips faster. Her cries increased at the change in angle, your thrusts hard and fast now. You continued to rub tight circles on her clit, feeling the shake in her legs as she climbed closer and closer to the edge.
She was chanting now, a string of pleas mixed with your name that had you feeling warm all over.
“You want to come, sweetheart?” you grunted, trying to hit inside her even deeper.
“God yes,” she mewled, “so fucking close.”
You fell forward, leaning more of your weight on her as drove into her over and over again.
“Good girl,” you whispered, bending your head to suck a bruising kiss on her neck. “Come for me?”
It was as if Wanda had been holding out, waiting for your permission. As soon as it was granted, she let out a loud moan, her thighs clenching as her whole body shook beneath you. You kept moving your hips, helping her to ride out her orgasm, your fingers still working her clit.
After the aftershocks subsided you slowed your movements, rutting into her gently, her body jerking with each shallow thrust. You kissed her languidly, smiling at the soft sigh she let out. Her arms had looped around your neck, holding you in the kiss but her grip was weak enough that you could have broken it easy.
“Wow,” she breathed when you finally pulled away, trailing your hand back up her side.
“Wow, indeed,” you replied, pulling out of her slowly and smirking at her whimper.
You rolled off of her, flopping onto your back beside her and staring at the ceiling. You could hear Wanda trying to return her breathing to normal beside you, her arms limp by her side.
“You know,” you mused after a few minutes of silence, “this isn’t what I had in mind when I yelled ‘fuck you’ earlier.”
“Stop talking,” Wanda commanded, her hand reaching over to cover your mouth. “You’re ruining my buzz.”
You just rolled your eyes as she propped herself up on her elbow to look at you. You caught the smug look on her face and furrowed your brow at her.
“What’s that look for?” you questioned, watching her smirk widen.
“I just realised,” she began, cupping your jaw lightly, “I still haven’t introduced you to my strap.”
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Under the Floorboards
(Technoblade x Reader) link to Pt. II :)
Picking up a bundle of wood you let out a soft breath, you watched as it escaped out your lips in front of you in a small cloud. Trudging through the snow you made your way back to your house, well it wasn’t really your house. A few months ago you ran into Technoblade while he was searching for a new home far away from this place called L’manburg; he told you he was in retirement and was surprised to find another person all the way out here. As a wandering adventurer, you eventually won him over with your charm, wit, and humor.
That was a joke of course.
You both started a mutual trade agreement, on your way back from the adventures you’d always take a pit stop at his place so he could see if you had anything worth trading. It started slow, he realized you would come back very late at night, and very weary. He offered you to stay the night once, then once turned into twice and before you knew it you began to stay at his place after every late-night adventure. As you spent more time together he helped you become a better fighter, and farmer and you helped him learn social skills and how to cook food that wasn’t steak.
He never told you about his time in the country of L’manburg or why he was in retirement in the first place but you didn’t mind. Everyone has their secrets and even if both of you were considered friends at this point you never pried. Not even when you’d catch him mumbling to himself about chat, or the bloodthirsty look in his eyes after he killed an animal. You kept your mouth shut out of respect, you could tell he appreciated the gesture.
You earned yourself a friendship emerald after he introduced you to his oldest friend Philza, the man treated you like you were his family. It made you feel wanted and welcome, Techno had a little smile on his face the entire interaction as the both of you bonded. In his mind he was ecstatic his two favorite people were getting along. Techno walked Philza out of the house and returned holding an emerald out to you, you knew how valuable these emerald were to him. You were in such shock and awe you almost started crying which caused him to panic.
“I’ll treasure it with my life.” You told him kissing said emerald gently, blush spread across his pale face to his pointed ears.
“I’m glad.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “Chat- chat stop I’m not simp.” You heard him whisper hiss softly but you ignored it, choosing to smile at him instead. He noticed and his blush only deepened. You took his hand, it was so small intertwined in his own, and squeezed it softly.
Eventually, the both of you grew closer than just friends which understandably scared the half pigman to death. You caught him mumbling to himself more frequently, especially when you both were out fighting monsters and gaining experience.
Things like: “I’m not a simp” and “Calm down I’m gonna protect her” as well as “I can’t just say that!” Were very frequent mumblings of his, your brow furrowed and after fighting a baby zombie you turned towards him,
“Hey Technoblade you doing okay?”
“Yes!” He sputtered out reassuring you that he was just fine by saving you from a Skeleton.
You two watched the sunset that same day from on top of a snowy mountain and he confessed to you. The confession was a bit rough around the edges but then again so was he, so to you, it was perfect. You took his hands to get him to stop rambling and kissed his knuckles. He made an embarrassed sound and looked away from you, you cooed teasingly at him and accepted. From then on you both were attached at the hip, well as attached as he’d let you be there was still that level of awkwardness that came with any new relationships but it was wonderful. You’d both spent hours by the fireside as he read to you, you’d help him care for Carl and get enchanted books all the while you were in awe of this magnificent and mysterious man before you.
Shaking your head smiling to yourself you trudged back to his house, the emerald around your neck bounced in tandem with your steps. Technoblade never liked leaving you alone, you reminded him constantly that you had a life before he was in it but he still seemed to be on edge. You figured it had something to do with his past so you did your best to reassure him that you’d be safe when he was away; Techo seemed to appreciate your efforts at least. Whenever he got back from what you assumed was visiting Phil (after all, Carl was gone), you were going to run him a bath and braid his hair the way he liked. Maybe you’d make him a nice dinner then you’d both fall asleep together while reading. It’d earn you some soft kisses and snuggles later, you giggled to yourself as you put away the wood. If you told anyone else this giant of a man, who you’ve seen wipe out hordes of monsters like it was nothing, loves to be cuddled at night they’d call you insane.
You wandered down into the basement to feed his cow but the sound of a blocks-breaking startled you out of your daydream. You whipped around pulling out your sword in the way Technoblade showed you and came face to face with a blonde child peeking out from the floorboards.
“What the FUCK?!” You both shrieked at one another, he moved to try and scramble back down the hole. You followed him down his ladder, you weren’t going to let this child get away with living under your boyfriends’ house so easily. You backed him into a corner and took note of his beat-up appearance and his attempts to look brave as he held up his hands. Sweat gathered on his brow but you didn’t let your guard down, before you could open your mouth to question him he began to talk so fast and loud you could barely keep up.
“OI, OI, OI, OI! LADY, LADY, LADY, CALM DOWNNNN CALM DOWN! SEE, SEE WE’RE BOTH IN TROUBLE CAUSE WE’RE BOTH STEALING- BORROWING FROM THE BLADE! THE BLADE KNOWS ME! I AM HIS LITTLE BROTHER, TOMMY, I AM SURE YOU’VE HEARD OF ME! THEREFOR I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING WRONG. YOU-YOU, ON THE OTHER HAND, ARE A STRANGER! YOU KNOW HE’S A BLOOD GOD RIGHT? HE’LL ABSOLUTELY KILL YOU, BUT BUT! IF WE KEEP THIS BETWEEN US I WON’T HAVE TO TELL HIM ANYTHING AT ALL FAIR? SEEMS FAIR TO ME-”
You reached your hand out to cover his mouth, your eyes narrowed into slits, “Start again. Softer and slower. Techno never told me he had a brother.” You watched the eyes of the blonde widen in surprise, assumingly at the notion that you already knew Technoblade. Slowly you removed your hand from his mouth but didn’t lower your guard. He cleared his throat, swallowing tentatively.
“I’m Tommy. We’re not related by blood- who ARE you?” he pressed still completely baffled at the appearance of a GIRL who knew Technoblade. Before you could even respond to him he let out another baffled cry. “DOES HE SIMP FOR YOU!?” He shrieked pointing at you as he waved his finger around. “THERE’S NO WAY- HE DOES HOLY SHIT!” Tommy laughed as you blinked rapidly, how was he able to read all that without you even saying anything? You were trying to process who this kid was while also being stuck on the blood god thing. You felt Tommy’s arm around your shoulders suddenly as he pulled you close. “Well, Miss Blade now that we know who you are maybe we can strike a deal-“
“Absolutely Not.”
“HEY! Come on now.” Tommy whined loudly, “I need your help here! Look I’m sure you know why he’s in hiding and all...and well...I might’ve pissed the same people off and-”
“Actually no. I didn’t know that…” You spoke softly deflating a little, “He’s in hiding? From who exactly.”
A look of shock came across Tommy’s face, “You mean...you don’t know? Like about L’manburg and his betrayal.”
“Does it sound like I know? Look Tommy you seem like a nice kid really, but you need to leave-”
“Nonononnonononono. Look it’s fine, I’ve been living here for weeks now-”
“WEEKS?” You snarled a pink flush coming to your cheeks, you grabbed the boy’s arm and began to drag him up the ladders in Techno’s house. Hee was going to kill you like actually this time. You were about to throw open the door but it swung open in front of you. Techno was standing there completely bruised and bloody and you immediately dropped Tommy in favor of him.
“Oh my god Techno what happened?” You breathed out a worried breath he was about to respond before he noticed Tommy. He grabbed you by the arm and pushed you behind him guarding you with his body.
“Tommy.” He snarled as the boy once again shrieked and booked it back down the ladder Techno turned towards you, “Stay here.” Technoblade commanded you softly the look in his eyes could only be described as desperate. “Don’t leave. Please.”
“I won’t…” You murmured watching him disappear after the British boy, you hoped he was going to explain everything to you after he dealt with the raccoon. You could hear them shouting from down below you, you couldn’t push it off any longer you needed to get answers from him.
~~~~~~
Part II maybe? Lmk if there’s an interest! Cause I love this man with my whole heart! Thanks so much for reading 🥺✨ link to Pt. II :)
#technoblade#technoblade x reader#mcyt#fanfic#fanfiction#minecraft fanfiction#dream smp#dreamsmp x reader#blood for the blood god#technoblade drabble#technoblade imagine#technoblade imagines#imagine#imagines#writing#fandom#techno#techno x reader#techno x you
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#Scream For Me (m)
↳ PAIRING. sub!hyunjin x domme!reader
↳ SUMMARY. It’s his first time. You’re in charge. He lets loose.
↳ WORDS. 3k
warnings ⚠️ spit play, fingering, blindfolds, ribbon bondage, handjobs, casual domination, oral (f receives), slow dick riding, as you can tell by the title he’s very loud, sloppy sex, choking, aftercare
♡ NOTE ➝ surprise surprise, writing for stray kids today! vocal hyunjin is domme candy👌
“I’ll be very gentle,” you hook two fingers down the hem of his jeans. Hyunjin quickly nods: Both your attention lies on just how much his pants are bulging out already. As long as you stay focussed, surely this will be a calm first time for him— Well, we’ll see about that. In fact, if you already knew what is slumbering inside of him? You’d get fucking ready.
“Can I please touch you as well?”
He’s fumbling at your thighs, your dress, and you can feel his nervousness in the fingertips already.
“You can. But first— Mommy unwraps her present. You know how it goes.“
And it’s a big present, I’m telling you. So big, you have a hard time smoothly unzipping him in one go. And since his hips won’t hold still — God is he sensitive to touching, but hey, what’s not to like — undressing him takes some real maneuvering. It’s not easy to whip a 300 feet yacht out of some average harbor.
“Do you like it?”
“Uh-huh. Something I can work with right there.”
A bit of lube distributed in both hands, a deep breath, now you’re good to go. You give it a few pumps to accommodate Hyunjin to your touch. As expected: He’s not very stoic about it. Even though he’s fully reclined on your bed, and it couldn’t be any cozier, he bucks up.
“Ah!“
“Don’t worry. Just teasin’. Here,” you give him access to your dress by lifting it past your hip. His left hand finds its way past your underwear pretty fast. Guess who’s relieved by a distraction from his spike in arousal. Now that you think about it, he might like some casual handjobs in the daytime or while driving. During cuddles, maybe.
How not to touch him all day. He’s all big and girthy, he reacts well. Your fingers fits perfectly around him, too. Hyunjin’s nice as fuck to hold and stroke. Not to mention lightning fast when it comes to reciprocating. He’s shy about a lot of things, and that’s because of having few experience, but not about being mutual. Green flag.
“So wet...”
“Just for you. Go ahead, take a dip.“
Hyunjin definitely looks like he’s having the time of his life just fingering you. Freestyle, no rules, no strategies. He delights in just pleasing you at every angle. Fuck, his hands are so nice. At one point, you resort to ripping off your panties altogether. Easier access. He gets even harder in your palm.
“Is that good?”
“That’s good, babe. Keep on circling.”
Those lips probably make for an even more unruly type of stimulation between your legs. If they’re only half as lawless, Jesus you’ll be spiralling already. They’re so nice and plump. Big cock, big lips, is there some sort of correlation? Anyway. Hyunjin feels like the type to eat pussy obsessively, so. But you think you have to be careful introducing him to it. Knowing him, he’d straight up suffocate himself on first try. Hwang Hyunjin, death by pussy.
“Can I try it with my lips as well, please?“
Fate has its way of doing things, huh. And he knows you’ve been looking at his lips, doesn’t he.
“I’ll only let you kiss and suck until I count to thirty. Wait, let me get on my back.”
“Okay!”
Switching spots lets you feel the warmth where Hyunjin just led his back. He doesn’t waste much time. One blink and he props up his lips at your entrance, waiting for instructions. Well shit.
“Keep it shallow,” you get a fistful of his hair. “Kiss, kiss. Like that. Move it just an inch upward. Don’t touch your cock, I still wanna ride it later. Lay flat on the bed. Put your hands around my thighs. 29, 28...“
At that prospect, he becomes even more obedient. His tongue doesn’t do a bad job at all. Oh wonder, he breathes just fine. First time eating you out: You get the impression that this guy has some serious talent there.
“Tastes really good. It’s all bubbly,“ Hyunjin smiles bright from ear to ear. You’ve just stopped counting by now.
“Ugh, fuck it. Just eat, eat.”
That goes on for almost five minutes, in fact. He licks and services you perfectly. That his lips feel ten times more sensual than they already look has your breath going much shorter and your grip in his hair much tighter. So much about making assumptions. And it makes sense, not having his cock stimulated has Hyunjin cooling down a little. Suspiciously so.
When you were stroking him off, he’d go wild right along. Conclusion: Handjobs and Hyunjin are like pressing a red button. Eating pussy: Chill area. Noted. Complete slobbery wetness: Also noted. You wonder what that’s good for.
“Hyunjin, should we go for it now? I want you inside me. You’ll slip right in so nicely. I’ll take good care of you, you don’t have to be nervous.“
“Can we kiss while we do it?”
Nothing you’d love more. You lay Hyunjin just where he started out, get a soft black ribbon from the nightstand. As promised, you tie his arms above his head, not too tightly or anything. A simple bow tie keeps the whole thing together, making it easy to open. The loose ends dangle at the sides of his wrists, teasing his skin. Goosebumps. It all makes for a nice view of his arms, and his head is brought a little forward, it’s perfect to kiss. He’s practically on the verge of kissing without you moving your lips close to his.
Starting with a little peck on the forehead and nose, you make sure he feels well in his position and get a second black ribbon to tie his eyes. A bit tighter, just so it won’t come off when his head moves. The knot you place on the right side rather than the back of the head, it’d be uncomfortable against the pillow he’s rested on. Hyunjin gets more and more excited.
“I want you to just feel. Do you want me to start?”
“Yes—,” he says. “And, do it slowly. I don’t want you to hurt yourself also.“
He’s so sweet. And he knows his dick is kinda massive. Too many first times ruined because of that.
“Extra slow, Hyunjin. I’ll make this feel really great for us. Come, kiss me.”
Your tongues connect just when you get hold of him with your right hand. The touch has Hyunjin groaning into the kiss—
Pretty fucking strongly.
There he goes again. Your fingers, red button, the whole shebang. Little did you know he’d start whining even more the second you line him up between your pussy lips, and move his tip around a bit. Just to say hi to your clit, and to give yourself a good feel of what’s going in first. Hyunjin is literally falling apart below you already. He can barely keep it in.
And you can’t keep it out: Finally, you point his cock tip between your labia, and his saliva is just perfect to help you glide it past the entrance. Hyunjin’s kisses are getting hungry and desperate, and even louder, with heavy breaths along the way.
“Jesus Christ,” he’ll catch you mumbling, and you can feel his dick throbbing. “Let me hear you!”
“You’re squeezing me! Oh shit, shit!”
Looks like someone’s very passionate to say the least. It didn’t stop with the handjob, then. Any kind of contact with his dick is having Hyunjin’s voice do somersaults. Guess why he’s walking around so noisily all day when he’s just walking and his pants do their thing like, giving him a good rub even if it’s just lightly on the surface.
With reactions like that, Hyunjin’s dick is well inside of you without any further ado. Boyfriend moaning, pussy open. While you’re enjoying the feel of being completely full with him, and imagine how deep his spit is being thrust inside you — oh god, yes — Hyunjin seems to have his own imaginations. The blindfold was both a good and a bad idea. He can’t anticipate your next move, but he also seems to feel you sliding him in twice as much.
“Are you thinking I’m some kind of succubus, huh.”
You tease, wiggle your hips. Causing one loud fucking moan.
“It feels that way, ah!”
“Are you gonna scream your lungs out when I start moving, hm?“
“I can’t control it!”
“Let’s see then.”
You lean back into the kiss, bent forward just enough to change the way his dick is aligned inside of you all over again. A little bounce and the position is perfect.
“Wow, look. This is a good angle. It just goes right in.”
“Hn—!”
It’s amazing how he reacts at your mercy. Your kisses stifle the moans, but they also make him more on edge because he wants to let it out. Congrats, you’ve found the officially best way to torture him.
“So. How about doing this.”
You raise your hips. It takes quite some effort to pull him out that far because he’s so girthy. It’s literally pulling at your walls as if they don’t wanna let him go. You do it slowly, terribly slow, every millimeter has your pussy lips deliciously tracing another facet of him. Moving up means cleaning some more saliva off his shaft. It all goes inside you. God bless his runny mouth while he was eating you out.
Only Hyunjin’s tip remains inside of you. The air hitting what was previously buried inside you makes for a surefire way to make him break the kiss and bite his lips.
“My cock! My, ah, my!”
His hands are all wobbly above his head. As are his legs behind you.
“How are we taking it down there.”
“If you do that hip thing again, I can’t guarantee anything!“
So that’s what makes his heart beat faster.
“I’d be damn cruel making you cum so early, darling. Sooner or later I’ll milk all your semen anyway.“
Well, succubus indeed.
“I’ll just blow up, I can’t!“
“You’re lucky I won’t be riding you full-speed or something. You’re just too big for that. But what if I do the hip thing and you can’t cum?”
“Oh fuck!“
For good measure, you nuzzle him generously, and yes, do the thing. The agony in his expression is not even the full effect of what you’ve done. Hyunjin is screaming out loud.
“And that was with a warning. I’ll do it again and if you can stand it, you get some pussy in your face. Wanna get treated?”
“Please, please treat me!”
“But first...”
To add some extra spice, you push down to his base all over again. Hyunjin arches, his teeth are almost sewn shut from the pressure of his tight jaw. Once he’s balls deep, you flick your hip just a little. A loud moan simmers into a little mewl, the jaw unclenches, his tongue starts lapping out. You’ve truly shut off his brain right now.
“Very well done.”
Pulling out works faster now, but you notice how it’s not as slippery anymore. A lot of Hyunjin’s spit has gathered around the lower third of his dick. It’s a nice sight to have it drip on his terribly swollen balls that are probably going through a whole bunch of things right now.
“Good thing you get something to slurp on. We need more spit. Use your mouth!”
Hyunjin’s cock being untouched right now seems to take the edge off, but his mouth, holy shit. His mouth is on an eager spree to wet you up all over. On top of your own lubrication, Hyunjin provides another ridiculous amount of leakage all over your clit and folds. It’s running all over his face.
The blindfold gets soaked as does his nose. A frantically moaning Hyunjin doesn’t seem to stop slurping and pushing out spit, you swear he’s gonna fucking drown. That method. It’s completely chaotic just like his fingering. You weren’t wrong, then. He might die then, but at least you’re able to remove the blindfold, wearing that is too gross. Hyunjin is excitedly blinking at you through his own spit like the sun is blinding him but he doesn’t mind.
“Mnm—nh!”
“I love you. Amazing. Look at this. You’re so nasty. Come, let’s do this again. Hope that cock can push all that into me. It’s too good to waste.“
You get back to squatting on his dick, admittedly a little wobbly on the mattress now. Hyunjin’s satanic ritual tongue does not go without a notice. Nor does the way you slide back down on him, and back up.
“Oh woah!”
A clean thrust. Your pussy is dripping so much on him, a little stream glosses over the thread of veins on the underside. Before it reaches down and disappears between his thighs, you make sure to collect it with another thrust. Hyunjin stares just right at his cock disappearing in you, framed by your labia stretching out. His jaw is completely dropped.
“Yes, that’s how we’re looking like. You have a great cock. Listen to that sound.”
Smooth gliding and a wet little smack when you touch down.
“It’s, it’s amazing... It feels so warm and creamy.”
“Watch. I’ll be stirring your spit all inside me.“
Slowly, carefully, you ride him again, this time connecting several thrusts. Hyunjin looks adorable with his wide eyes and sweaty face.
“Yes! Oh yes, oh.... That feels so good.”
“Nothing wasted. You’re doing really well. You’re good at this.“
You lean in for a deep kiss. Only after you tongue him down do you realize just how much he’s ruined his mouth. It’s so sticky and wet, and his lips are so exhausted. They’ve been swelling up more than you thought they would, he’s really put them to the test like a champ. Well, they’ve lost their virginity, too. The kiss ends with two wet mouths parting by a thread.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes. I really love it. Thank you, Hyunjin. Can I finish off first? I wanna use my hands to make you cum.“
“You’re the best,“ he becomes flustered, and watches in awe just how you reposition yourself all over again, pointing his cock at his belly flat this time. It’s perfect to just grind right above it. A bit of fluid leaking from your pussy mixed with lube and spit makes for the best slippery help to get your clit some intense stimulation from gliding squarely across Hyunjin’s bit vein.
“Fucking hell, babe. That’s a wonder dick.”
How he throbs and pulsates is the last push it needs to get close. You loosen the tie of Hyunjin’s ribbon and his hands dart around you, hold you, and he winds his hips to give you more of the friction.
But this time, he’s moving faster, and your orgasm arrives quicker than you count from 30, not even that. You get messy on his balls and base, and Hyunjin almost loses it from having you grind on him. That he’s been holding it in until now is a miracle. His hair is nothing but sweaty streaks right now.
As soon as the waves of pleasure become smaller and you can think again, both your and his hand come wrapping around his shaft. No problem moving your palms around, he’s covered in all that honey. Plus there’s more space, he could fit three palms. It feels so intimate doing it together and being in sync. Hyunjin’s broken moans and whines are well accompanied by more hip bucks and a quicker pace. Your two hands squeezing up and down makes Hyunjin start to beg to you.
“Please use the other hand, please, please choke me through this!“
You go for a lighter grip, hell, he hasn’t done this before, but Hyunjin isn’t having it. The protest is all loud and clear.
“Squeeze my throat! Please, harder, do it hard, please!”
You press down at either side of his neck, and make sure to translate that onto his cock as well, still jerking him off. You don’t let go until he’s cumming.
A thick white spurt empties between the intertwine of your fingers. Hyunjin squeals out loud, catching air, almost crying. Another load has him all shaky, growling, and rubbing his own hand around yours to push out even the last bits of sperm. Surprise, there’s more cum leaking out.
“Oh, what to do with all that big dick.”
“It’s, it’s so much!“
“Come here with that milk.“
You lower your face on him and let the last clear bits come up against your puckered lips. They spread his cum all over the tip, kiss it, catch new threads, swirl them around while your hands are pumping the lower half, all the meaty girth. Never missing an opportunity for torture. Hyunjin is screaming and suffering all over again. His semen has been oozing all over your hands.
“Clean it, babe. We’ll lay down in a minute. That’s an amazing icing.”
Hyunjin’s tongue has a last job and it does it well. Your fingers are super clean and well-kissed, his lips are so glorious. You’re both dizzy, but you at least manage to towel down. Because his face is a mess, your lips are dripping, your pussy is a swimming pool of spit, and that ruined dick has seen some things today, oh yeah it did. What better way to leave its virginity inside of you all slicked up and sloppy.
Hyunjin starts freezing very fast by now, and you get a weighted blanket, with you on top of him, in a sweater, just because. Sharing heat is caring heat. You love cuddles after sex.
“Say something cute and nasty,” he pouts, and you think of a good way to summarize the evening.
“I mean look at you. You’re officially a slut now. My slut,” you pinch his nose. “If you want. Let’s have some fun like that tomorrow again. I can’t wait, you know. That’s a really loud boy I got myself.“
“Oh yes, tomorrow!”
“I might be blowing you for more of that icing. It was really nice and sugary.“
“I eat lots of fruit!”
Now that’s a keeper.
“And I gotta say, shit...“
“You came really hard on my dick, right.”
Hyunjin makes an innocent face saying that, but you know very well how he’s been taking you in, he’s learning.
“Yeah.“
“That was that sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He smiles a little, exhausted, but flustered.
“Lot more to come. That’s only the first time for you.”
“I’ve been thinking that as well. Say it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen until tomorrow.“
“Exactly right. That’s the idea,” you kiss his neck now, breathing in the afterglow. “And, by the way. Um. I hope I removed the ribbons at the right timing.“
“It was in the right moment!“
“Should we try more like that next time?”
“I like it.“
“Me too. You look perfect tied up.”
The blindfold did the trick, you know it. Hyunjin has hardly reacted to your touch like that when cuddling. Although, that’s hard to compare, is it.
“And... You really could have choked me a little harder by the way.“
Hyunjin knows just how to mimic you. Another nose pinch for you, young man.
“We didn’t plan it so I thought I’d go easy on you. But if you like it. You want it rougher, don’t ya. You just wanna fucking scream.“
“I’ll admit it,” he nuzzles his face into your sweater. “I’m just very loud...”
“We’ll see what kind of ideas I’ll come up with to get you even louder. Deal?”
“Favorite deal.“
FINAL NOTE. thank you for reading - caro 🐅
© 2017-2021 submissive-bangtan. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed.
#hyunjin smut#stray kids smut#hyunjin#hyunjin x reader#scream for me#skz#hwang hyunjin#sub!hyunjin#sub!skz#sub!stray kids#dom!reader#dom!reader x hyunjin
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Companions React: Sole Breaks Down
Request: “Could I ask for companions comforting a sole that’s usually an emotional rock, that they hadn’t seen this vulnerable ever? Like they come back from being away and just crumble into a sobbing mess. Pretty please?”
Note: *bangs spoon against pot* come get the hurt/comfort.
CW: Mentions of unnamed characters deaths.
The setting:
Upon Preston’s request, Sole took off to a distant settlement to reorganize their resources, set up defenses, and bring them into the trade route. These excursions usually took about a week or two, so Sole could make sure they were fully stable before returning to Sanctuary to attend to their other duties. With this trip, however, they requested their companion stay in Sanctuary; they could handle this on their own, and the companion deserved a break.
Two weeks later, Sole returns, shoulders weighed down by their pack, ladened with goods the settlers had insisted they take with them. It had been a tough week, though that wasn’t really a new thing in Sole’s book, or anyone’s, really. Unfortunately, Sole hadn’t been able to predict the fact that some sort of disease would run through the tiny settlement while they were there, taking several of the members with it as it left.
They scrubbed at their skin in a nearby body of water every morning of those two weeks, rubbed raw and pink as a result of Sole’s quietly hysterical distress. They wanted no trace of settlement on them. There were elements of guilt in their relief to return home, but with returning home came the fact that they were safe enough to reflect on their weeks away from Sanctuary. There seemed to be no hiding from what had happened.
Sole got through the main street of Sanctuary well enough, sending nods to passing settlers, with a brief stop to drop off some of the food they had brought back with them with their local merchant; he would give it away to those that dropped in throughout the day. Once they made it down the road and to the entrance of their home, they felt the dam break. Their hands shook as they pulled the door open and moved inside, doing their best to ignore the tears that began to trickle down their face.
(*Gage’s scenario takes place upon their return to Nuka World’s Fizztop Grille)
Cait:
Cait was waiting just inside, having taken up residence in Sole’s living room with Dogmeat.
She went to make a joke about Sole being late, but when she looked up, she lost the words quite quickly
Sole’s shoulders were shaking, and it was quite obvious that they were trying to hide that they were crying, but it was impossible to not see
She practically tripped over herself to get to Sole, who was acting casual by rearranging the items in their back they had set on the floor
Her desire to comfort and protect Sole overrode her hesitance for physical affection and she found herself hugging Sole far too tightly than she should’ve
But it was partially panic on her end that caused her to grip them so tight
“Christ, what’s a matter?”
The only sound Sole made was a choking whimper and Cait gripped them even tighter
Curie:
She reads the distress in their stance the moment they cross the threshold into their home
Similarly to Cait, she gets up from where she’s sitting immediately, but stops short of Sole
“Oh, goodness. Are you alright?” She reaches out but doesn’t quite touch them, not wanting to intrude
Sole shakes their head, unable to disguise their very obvious distress
“Physical or emotional?”
Sole opens their mouth to say emotional and gets out about half the word before choking on their own breath and curling forward into themself
“Would you like a hug?” Her voice is quieter this time.
Sole nods and she brings them in for a soft hug, rubbing their back
Danse:
Danse is far more emotionally intelligent when it comes to other people’s feelings than people give him credit for
He’s seen it happen before; soldiers compartmentalize their emotions as much as they can, for years even, but everyone has a breaking point
And sometimes it’s over something one might consider small, like breaking a dish, or sometimes it’s loss that brings them to their knees, as it would anyone
Regardless, he’s known all along that one day Sole won’t be able to suppress their emotions anymore
When they come in crying and shaking, looking defeated, he’s unsurprised. Sad in an inevitably knowing sort of way
He gets up and walks over, taking their pack from their hands and helping them shed the heavy jacket that was weighing them down
He requests they sit and takes off their boots before going to get them a glass of water
He doesn’t say much, considering he doesn’t have much to say, but he’d much rather show how he cares via actions rather than words, anyway
Deacon:
He’s somewhat similar to Danse in the fact that he knows Sole’s going to need to break at some point, however it’s in less of a “I’ve seen this before” attitude and more in the fact that he can relate
But Sole has an easier time trusting than he does, so he knows their break is coming at some point, whereas he knows that there’s never going to be a point where he allows someone else to see what Sole is allowing him to witness
So when they stand there, defeated, looking over at him like a lost child, he simply opens his arms
He’s not one for hugs, but he makes exceptions, and it seems this is one of those situations that calls for an exception
When they sob into his shoulder, he pats them on the back and replies with a simple, “I know, Boss. I know.”
Gage:
Gage is chewing at a piece of dried Mirelurk, grimacing at the salty taste.
Sole makes their way across Fizztop Grille, dropping their pack carelessly next to one of the couches.
Similarly, they drop down next to Gage where he’s sitting overlooking the rest of Nuka World, not saying a word.
After a moment, punctuated by a very obvious sigh, Gage looks over at Sole. He chews contemplatively for a moment, “You and me both. Wanna talk about it?”
Sole shakes their head and Gage responds, “Cool.”
He pats them on the back, admittedly, awkwardly and a bit too harsh to be comforting, but it’s Gage
He’s doing his best
Haylen:
Haylen has Dogmeat in her lap chewing at a Radstag bone, her hand running mindlessly over his fur
She doesn’t jump up when Sole comes in, cautious at the idea of spooking them
“Sole,” She calls out, shifting to move her feet flat on the floor
When they don’t respond and instead sniffle, she’s motioning Dogmeat off her lap and stepping towards them
“Everything alright?”
Sole shakes their head and she presses her lips together in worry, “Anything I can help with?” another shake of Sole’s head
She brushes their hair away from their face with a soft, “Oh, Sole.” and brings them into a light side-hug
Hancock:
He really does like to think he keeps his cool easily, but he really doesn’t in this case
Sole’s crying and that’s not something he thought would ever happen
“Whoa, whoa. Talk to me, what’s going on, Sunshine?”
“Bad day.” Sole chokes out
He suppresses nervous laughter, knowing it can’t just be that, but lets it go and instead puts an arm around their shoulders to pull them in for a tight hug, snug and reassuring, with his other arm finding their waist
MacCready:
He’s alert immediately, thoughts jumping to them being hurt, and potentially fatally so
Considering he thinks its an emergency, he’s in front of them and examining them for injuries within seconds
Sole doesn’t protest for the longest time, but eventually they grab ahold of his wrists and shake their head
He stops for a moment and looks them over again before sighing; this is something he doesn’t know what to do about
“Sit. You’re going to collapse if you’re not careful.”
When they’re seated he helps them shrug off their coat and sits nearby, not pressuring, but available if they want to talk
Nick:
Nick’s view is similar to Danse’s, and he isn’t quite surprised when they come in crying
He sets the pen he was writing with down and shifts back in his chair, opening his arms for a hug if they want
When they cross the room he wraps them in a hug and rubs their lower back, trying his best with the awkward angle him sitting provides
“You need to take time for yourself.” He recommends, but other than that, he remains mostly silent
Piper:
The queen of panic, despite her best efforts
She’s used to tears because of her experiences with Nat, but not from Sole of all people
She does something similar to Mac, where she checks them over briefly, before she realizes this isn’t a physical injury that’s hurting them
She’s competing with Cait when it comes to tight hugs, wishing she could protect them from whatever’s bothering them so
A sympathy crier, she has to blink away her own tears
“Let it out, Blue. We can talk about it later, okay? Everything’s gonna be just fine. I swear.”
Preston:
Preston’s not sure how to handle things, considering how used to Sole being a rock he is
He knows it’s not quite right, considering he knows other people view him the same way, and it’s incredibly difficult being the one holding it together all the time, but he’s still genuinely surprised when he sees they’re crying
He knows what to do when he realizes what’s going on, though; exactly what he wishes he could request from someone else
He brings them into a hug and mumbles reassurances; that they don’t have to be the tough one all the time, that their emotions aren’t weakness, and that everything’s going to be okay
X6-88:
A fan of mutual silence, X6 helps them get comfortable and brings them into their room; he’s always viewed quarters as the safest place to be, both in the Institute and when Sole gave him his own quarters afterwards
He helps them into bed, making sure they’re comfortable, before asking if they have any small injuries they need addressed before settling in
If they say yes he cleans and dresses their wounds as gently as possible before settling into bed near them, a respectable distance away, but within reach if they need, and begins reading a book Sole left on their nightstand
He knows it’s hard to be alone when you’re being attacked by emotions, but they don’t seem to want to talk about what’s going through their head quite yet; instead, he rubs their back and encourages them to cry it out
#Fallout 4#Fo4#Companions react#headcanons#hcs#hurt comfort#fanfiction#mild angst#Cait#Curie#Deacon#Paladin Danse#Gage#Mayor Hancock#Nick Valentine#RJ MacCready#Preston Garvey#X6-88#Scribe Haylen
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Too Long
Anonymous requested: Hello, I'm a silent reader of you and I really like your works❤️💗! Can you please write about Doffy wherein he finally found his lost love and actually pregnant when she left him? I know that it looks like impossible considering how evil he is but I just really wanna know how it will goes. Thank you! and Take care. Don't over work yourself! ❤️💗 and sorry if my English is broken.
Your English is perfect <3 and I am so sorry for the long wait, here you go Lovely! I had fun with this since I love Doflamingo despite his evil ways XD
Doflamingo x Female Reader
Warnings: Fluff, slight angst- Doflamingo is probably out of character because I write him with emotions and not as evil lol (if you need another reference just basically imagine him as Klaus from the Originals lafdkafds)
Words: ~1400
First things first- There are three ways I imagine this going
1. (the most likely way) Doflamingo goes a tad crazy, gives no cares, and simply takes the child after deeming his lost love long unworthy of going with them for not telling him she was pregnant unless he can find some use of her or she proves herself rather quickly
2. He keeps tabs on Reader and the child constantly but that is it. Takes no action unless necessary
3. Actually puts effort into coming back into their lives by forcing them to come back to Dressrosa where he can spoil them silly
This scenario is going to be a mix of 2 and 3 because I want fluff lol. Anyway, enjoy:
-
Doflamingo stares long and hard at the piece of paper before him. The pictures that accompany them make his blood boil with anger, but his heart yearns with interest as to what happened. What this is. Why it happened but more importantly… Why he did not know.
The woman in the picture is beautiful… Very beautiful and very pregnant. A shock to him. She will always hold a special place in his heart. She taught him how to trust on a certain level and yes, even in the end she did leave him, the end of their relationship was left on a good note. Even so, he can’t lie about not looking for her.
After the mutual breakup, he looked far and wide for her, wanting the presence of a person he could trust right by him. He would try to persuade her to come back but… He never found her. Until now that is.
So… Why is just now finding out she left him… When she was pregnant? Why is just now finding out he is a dad?
The piece of paper is just the island name of where she is residing. Not too far from Dressrosa but not too close either. It saddens him for a moment. Did she not trust him? After everything they have been through together- All the learning of loving each other, the trusting, did she really not deem him worthy?
Him the King of Dressrosa?
He would like to think that he would be a perfect dad- Nothing like his silly foolish father who stepped down from the royal life he could have had. No, he would give the child everything they could have ever asked for. The mother of his child wouldn’t need to lift a single finger. He would spoil them, protect them, do anything for them…
So why?
It is a question he wants an answer to, and he will get an answer to. No matter what. That is what he promises himself as he looks at the next photo- One of his former lover no longer pregnant but… With the child- A darling little girl that has his blonde locks and her mother’s eyes.
The anger simmers down as he decides he will bring them both home. He will try to because of that little hope he has in his heart for growing a genuine family- Nothing like the one he helped destroyed, it means everything to him the longer he stares at the two faces.
The brief reminder of Corazon… Pains him but it will not be like that. Corazon simply did not have faith in him. These two… He will show them that he has their best interest at heart.
-
Finding them, was rather harder than expected. They were at the island that was disclosed to him by someone who recognized her but… (Name) really was too good at blending in with this island. It was rather busy. Cute for it being a bigger place.
So many families too, Doflamingo notes. The thought slightly irks him. Five long years without her and five long years of missing out on the child they created. He has every right to being mad. He has every right to go on a rampage.
Just as he wonders if he should demand someone to show him where she is- He hears a gasp behind him. One too full of shock that it grabs his attention immediately. However, what he did not expect was to feel tiny arms wrap around his legs- The way Baby 5 and Buffalo used to.
He glances down to see the girl from the pictures staring up at him with a wide smile. Her eyes are so gentle and for a moment… Remind him of only innocence as she stares up with genuine curiosity and happiness.
She even speaks to him- And in that moment he already knows that she has him wrapped around her finger- He would fight and kill anyone who would look at her remotely wrong. Is this what it is like to be a dad?
“Hello! I think you’re my dad!”
A laugh comes from behind him again and this time his heart feels like it is stopping because he knows that laugh so well. It haunts his dreams because he loves it so much- It used to be the sound that he tried to coax out of her every day. It is (Name).
He turns and indeed when he sees her… Doflamingo realizes just how long it has been. Too long in his eyes but… She looks as perfect as the day he first saw her. Those (hair color) locks and stunning (eye color). She has not physically changed in the slightest yet… She is still the most stunning person to him. Her eyes look down to their daughter before going back up to meet his.
“I need to put her down for a nap. She had a busy day at the school. I suppose you want to talk then?”
How is she so calm about this? The rage wants to come out- He wants to lash out but… He also just wants to hear her out. He wants to hear her side to everything. That and the way the little girl is holding onto his leg sleepily.
It just makes him melt. He says nothing as he follows the woman to her house. The place is too small for his stature but… Perfect for (Name) and their lovely daughter. It takes just a few moments for (Name) to put the girl to sleep and come back out to join him.
When it is about to grow quiet, he immediately asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
(Name) knows what he means. She has a sad smile on her face now as she asks back, “Were you ready to be a father? It is not as simple as you would have thought… It… How do I say this gently? You are selfish. Okay… That came out harsh but… You are. You look out for yourself and pull your family in with you.”
The pretty face that he is in love with does very little to comfort him after those words. That is until she continues.
“I was going to reach out when I found I was pregnant. I thought you would have liked to know but then I remembered why I left. I wanted to find myself and I did. Then… Then she was born, and I realized what being a parent is. You- Make all these choices hoping it is what is best for them and that is simply what I did. I thought you would not want to be in our lives, so I said nothing. I did not want you to have to choose between your dream of being the King of Pirates or her because we both know what you would choose,” (Name) says her tone sad now.
Doflamingo’s anger is valid but… So is (Name)’s in this regard because she is right. He does not say so because he knows he could have both. He will prove he can have both but for now…
“How does she know I am her dad?”
(Name) smiles at this. She pulls out a picture of Doflamingo and herself from her pocket. It is a good photo too. One of them hugging each other. He remembers it because the family kept photo bombing all the rest.
“I told her. Everything about you. I could not lie to her about who her father was. How much he did love me and would have loved her, but I also could not lie to her about how big your goals are. Of course, she is a child, so she does not understand. All she knows is that you want to be a bigger King. She has dreamt of meeting you for a while now.”
These words. He can salvage this. He can unite them. He knows he can. So, he will. He will have both the family and his dreams as he desires.
“Let’s give her a proper meeting then when she wakes up… And (Name), it is good to see you. I hope I can manage to convince you that Dressrosa would be a brilliant place for her.”
The way (Name) stares at him. Yeah, he can convince her.
#my writing#doflamingo x reader#one piece x reader#donquixote doflamingo x reader#fanfiction#scenario#one piece fanfiction#one piece scenario#female reader#fluff
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resident healer |n.s.|
pairing: newt scamander x healer!artist!reader
summary: newt’s brother theseus hires you as his resident healer without newt’s knowledge. however, newt has little use for you so you put your other skills to the test as you spend each day falling a little harder for the man who won’t even speak to you. (super super fluffy! mutual pining, enemies(ish/mild dislike LMAO) to lovers, miscommunication, flustered newt!!)
warnings: extremely minimal swearing, injury, mention of blood
guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name
word count: 3.6K
a/n: it’s official y’all i’m in love with newt asjdhsj sorry sorry
Newt gasped in pain, jerking his hand away from the Occamy that bit harshly at his finger. He squatted down to meet its eyes, frowning as he scolded, “Don’t be rude.”
The Occamy simply squawked back. Newt tutted, snatching a snack for the small thing beside its nest and tossing them up in the air. The Occamies in the nest all hopped up, hurrying to retrieve the treats before the others did. Newt shook his head with a chuckle as he moved away from the creatures and onto the next.
“Mr. Scamander,” Bunty called from the top of the stairs which led to his apartment, “Miss (Y/L/N) is here.”
Newt dried his hands off on his pants, brows furrowed in confusion. He’d never heard that name before and he knew he wasn’t expecting a guest, so who was at his door? Newt shrugged his vest back on as he made his way up the stairs, his eyes trained on the buttons he was doing up. He was so focused on the task at hand that he forgot he was in the landing of his apartment, his leg lifted in preparation to take another step which led him to tumble into the wall ahead.
“Mr. Scamander!” Bunty gasped. She ran to his side instantly, checking to see if he was injured. She held his face in her hands, staring into his eyes as he tried to pull away. “You really hit your head, didn’t you?”
Newt blinked in shock, finally wiggling free of her grasp and walking backwards into his den. “No, I’m fine, Bunty, thank you.”
In his efforts to move away from her, Newt bumped into another figure, nearly tipping him over. He steadied himself before turning around, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Scamander,” you said, warmly. You extended your hand for him to shake, which he did so hesitantly.
“Right, yes.” His eyes scoured the room as he gathered his words. “And you are?”
You looked over him with an involuntary cock of your head, your brows knit together. “You don’t know who I am?”
“Not really, no.”
You laughed humorlessly. “And I suppose you don’t know why I’m here, either.”
Newt cleared his throat and stood a little taller, still fiddling with his wand. “I’m sorry, should I?”
You knew he wasn’t trying to be rude, but you couldn’t help but be a little offended at his words. You were there for him. It was quite literally your job. You gave him a slight frown before straightening out your clothing to keep yourself busy.
“I am (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m your new resident Healer.”
Newt began to smile as if you had said something quite funny. He looked up at Bunty, nodding his head towards the door to his basement. She scrambled down as he continued to converse with you.
“My resident Healer?” he repeated.
You nodded. “Yes, I was hired.”
Those words were like a bucket of ice on Newt’s content mood. His smile had dropped from his face and he stopped fiddling with his wand. His eyes slowly drifted up to yours, asking the silent question of who? Who would’ve hired such a thing for him?
You could tell from the irritation swimming in his eyes that he knew exactly who had hired you. From the second you saw Newt, you knew he wasn’t a scary person, but now you weren’t so sure.
“Theseus, your brother, did.”
Newt swallowed hard, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor as he thought. It seemed like forever that you sat in tense silence, hoping you hadn’t done something wrong by telling him. Finally, Newt shook his head, his hair flopping back and forth as he paced around the room, ending at the door and opening it.
“I don’t need a Healer. I’ve been fine on my own thus far.”
You took a step towards him, his eyes still focused on the cold street outside. “Mr. Scamander, I don’t think you understand. I’m a private Healer. I work for no affiliation. I have been hired here and I intend to keep this job.”
“My apologies, Miss (Y/L/N), but I feel your talents would be of better use elsewhere.”
Newt rested a hand on your upper back, pushing you closer towards the door until you were halfway out of it. He refused to meet your eyes as you protested, simply shutting the door in your face. His hand hovered over the doorknob for one minute more as he heard your sighs of exasperation from the other side, a sick feeling settling into his stomach.
When silence finally dawned on the apartment, Newt began to walk away only to hear the distinct sound of ripped paper from outside. He paused and turned just in time to see a note slipped under the door, the sound of your shoes clicking down the stone steps as background noise. Newt squatted to pick up the note, scoffing at your indignant message.
I’ll be here tomorrow at 8 AM, Mr. Scamander.
Best,
(Y/N)
•••
You sat on Newt’s perfectly done up couch, picking at the quilt that sat beside you on the arm of it. Your leg was bouncing and your eyes scoured the room, begging it to give you something to do other than just wait around.
Newt popped out of his bedroom, running a hand through his hair as he ran up and down between his basement and the main floor. You would glance at him out of the corner of your eye every time he did so, wishing he would give you anything to do.
After the fifth time he arrived upstairs, he paused to look at you. You sat at attention, awaiting his useful instructions.
With a limp point towards the room across from him, he stated, “There’s food in the pantry. Help yourself.”
Your hands gripped onto the quilt, balling it up in your fists to contain your anger. You sent a vicious smile Newt’s way and he sent a wary one back before running downstairs.
You had considered yourself to be a person of immense patience, but Merlin was that man testing you. Every day after that you sat on his couch, examining the apartment, hoping that he would come up from his workshop and beg you to help him.
At some point in your weeks of sitting, you stopped dressing the part of Healer. You stopped caring. He clearly didn’t need you but you clearly couldn’t leave, so you took the necessary steps to make that hellish limbo a bit more comfortable. You brought novels and notebooks, blankets and pillows, all so you could sit on Newt Scamander’s couch and pretend you were his star Healer.
Feeling entirely useless one day, you decided to pull out your notebook and sketch a few items around the apartment. If you couldn’t practice one talent, why not practice the other? You ended up drawing a plethora of strange items from where you sat; all of which you assumed to be objects used in his care for his creatures.
You were snapped out of your thoughts as the soft clang of a dinner plate was placed in front of you. You looked up and spotted Newt across the room at his kitchen table as he took a bite of his dinner with one hand and tucked his wand away with the other. You searched the room for a moment, wondering if that was some kind of trap— Newt had never eaten with you before, let alone make you dinner. You picked up the dish with severe caution, carefully taking a bite and smiling softly at how wonderful it tasted.
Your silent dinners became a regular occurrence. You didn’t bother talking to him and he didn’t bother talking to you. You would finish your meal and then pick up whatever you were doing prior until 8:00 when you left.
As you sat on his couch, curled up under a blanket with your sketchbook, you looked over the room to see if there was anything different to draw when your eyes landed on Newt, himself. He was reading a book, splaying the pages open as he chewed on the thumb of his opposite hand. Something about the way he sat was so poetic, and the next thing you knew you were drawing his portrait.
You began to draw his portrait every dinner, a sudden infatuation with the way he looked blossoming within you. After dinner one day, Newt came up to you to collect your plate rather than just charming it to fly to the sink.
“Do you draw?” he asked.
You, so alarmed by his presence, shouted, “No!” and slammed your sketchbook shut, praying to Merlin that he didn’t see his pictures.
“I just thought you were because…” Newt trailed off as he referenced the ink stains on your hands and shapes of objects that must’ve rubbed off on you.
You flushed, finally nodding with a quiet, “Yes, I draw. Not very well, but I quite like it.”
He sunk into the spot next to you, his leg bouncing up and down as he spoke. “I’m sure that you’re a wonderful artist. If you’d ever care to show me some time, I’m sure my opinion will be justified.”
Your cheeks turned pink and you ducked your head to avoid his stare. “Yes, maybe at some point.”
Newt let out a gratified sigh before stalking over to the kitchen, butterflies occupying your stomach. You knew then that you didn’t like drawing him because he was fun to draw. No, you realized that you were quite infatuated with the man who barely spoke a word to you but you had the feeling that you were going to change that.
•••
“Mr. Scamander-”
“Please,” he began, looking at you over his shoulder, “it’s Newt.”
“Right, yes, Newt.” You stood up from his couch with his book in hand, trailing after him as he paced around his apartment. “I’ve been reading your book. It’s quite fascinating, I have to say.”
His steps slowed to a stop and his eyes lit up. “You like it?”
You only looked up from his book when you rammed straight into him. You teetered backwards but his strong arms caught you, holding you flush against his chest. “I-I do.” You wiggled out of his grasp, fearing the increase in your heart rate. “I just, er, find it fascinating that you keep all those creatures in your basement, not more than a few meters below us.”
He shrugged, continuing his pacing until he stopped by the basement door. “Not all of them, but a great deal.” Newt averted his eyes towards the ground, a shy smile spreading across his lips. “I could show you if you like? You could take your sketchbook down and draw some up for me.”
“Are you sure that’s okay?”
“Bunty has the day off and I could use your company-” Newt cut himself off, his eyes wide and blush creeping up his cheeks. “The company, is what I meant. Just some company, is all. Well, that’s not to say I don’t like your company— I’m partial to it, actually— but-”
You chuckled, snatching your sketchbook from your bag on the couch. You passed by the man, stopping to look him once over. “I enjoy your company, too, Newt.”
You spent the rest of the day in the basement with Newt as he explained each creature to you with the glee of a child. You smiled, wondering if he’d ever smile at you the way he smiled at his beasts, but quickly dismissed the thought.
You ended up drawing some of his creatures, particularly focused on the Murtlap that scurried around its cage. After you had finished a rough sketch of the creature, you had turned to show Newt when you were stopped in your tracks by the sight before you; Newt had a Bowtruckle perched on his finger, speaking to it like a friend, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a plethora of scars on his collarbone. Your mouth went dry and you knew then and there that you had to draw him.
You focused on every crinkle of his smile, the sharpness of his jaw, the pure adoration behind his eyes. Newt was encapsulating. Everything about him drove you wild. It was almost embarrassing how he made you feel so mad but you couldn’t help it— you were at the point past no return.
As the day came to a close, Newt cleaned up around his basement as his eyes flickered in between you and the broom he held. You had propped his book up on your leg so that you could draw in some more specific details about the creatures you had sketched, wanting it to look perfect if Newt was going to see. He let out a soft exhale in amusement at your contorted position, alerting you to his presence.
“May I see?” His eyes drifted towards your notebook, just grazing over your body.
You nodded and moved over for him to sit next to you. Fortunately, you had been practicing some charms and learned how to hide some of your drawings— specifically the ones of Newt.
To your surprise (and delight), Newt slid up next to you, your shoulders brushing against one another. You let out a shaky breath and met his eyes with a weak smile as you shoved the sketchbook into his arms. His eyes fell downwards towards the drawings, a pit forming in your stomach as he scanned over them.
Every time he would flip the page, he would mutter a compliment to you. It was always something specific, something targeted, as if to make you aware that he was truly fascinated by your drawings.
“You captured Molly’s tuft of white fur perfectly,” he murmured, running a rough finger across the drawing of the Niffler you did. He flipped to the next page, chuckling to himself. “And the Glow Bugs are just...lovely. That’s Poppy right there, I can tell.”
You beamed at him, unable to control how he made you feel. Newt carefully set the journal down behind him as he scanned your face.
“You’re quite...you have this...well, you…” he stammered as he fiddled with his fingers.
“What is it?” you prodded, your voice no more than a whisper.
“You’re...beautiful.”
You sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes involuntarily flickered down towards his lips. Your hand crept its way over his, tracing the scars on the back of it with your thumb as you leaned in closer towards him.
“Mr. Scamander!” a familiar voice called from the top of the stairs, causing the two of you to jump apart. You both looked up to find Bunty padding down the stairs, a wide smile on her face. “Mr. Scamander! I know you said I had the day off but I wasn’t doing much today and thought I could be of some use here!”
Newt glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not a problem, Bunty, you can head home.”
“But I’m really not doing anything!”
“Well, I suppose you could help me do final bed checks and whatnot.”
Bunty nodded, scurrying around to do her tasks with an eager grin. Newt flashed you a shy smile as he stood up, his fingers still tangled in yours before he pulled away.
•••
Newt appeared out of his bedroom in the same fashion he did every morning: hurried. However, that time, he shrugged on a coat and walked towards the door of his apartment.
“Going somewhere?” you questioned.
“Yes, I’m off to the Ministry for the day. Bunty’s here if you need anything.”
And with that, Newt left.
Things had been strange since you had almost kissed no more than three days ago. Newt kept all your interactions strictly professional, meaning you were back to barely speaking again. It was frustrating, to say the least, and it made you question whether Newt really didn’t feel the same towards you, that you were coming on to him.
You had been stuck in that void of thinking for days. You would find yourself flipping through your sketchbook and landing on one of the many sketches you did of Newt, frowning as your mind began to spin expert lies to break your heart.
“(Y/N)!”
You could practically hear him calling your name.
“(Y/N)! Please!”
That was real. And it wasn’t Newt, either. It was Bunty.
You hopped off the couch, swapping your sketchbook for your Healer’s bag. You knew the voice of an injured person when you heard it and you weren’t about to take any chances that your instincts were wrong.
You made your way downstairs, finding Bunty by the Occamy nest holding her forearm, some blood seeping through her fingers. You ran up to her, wand drawn as you enchanted the necessary items to fly from your bag.
“Keep your breathing steady and your eyes on me, Bunty,” you said firmly. Bunty nodded, looking down at you with tears crowding her eyes. “Did the Occamy get you?”
“Y-yes. He got out of his nest and into another cage and grew quite a bit larger. I tried to take him back but he bit me.”
“Merlin, Bunty, that’s awful. But I can assure you that you’ll be perfectly fine. You don’t have any serious injuries that I can see.”
You poured a few droplets of an amber liquid from your bag, the skin stretching across her arm to heal the wound. She squealed in pain and you slipped your hand into hers, allowing her to squeeze it to deal with the pain.
“It’s almost over, I promise. We’ll get you to St. Mungo’s after just in case, too. You’re doing fantastic, Bunty. This potion, well, excuse my language but it hurts like a bitch.”
Bunty let out a strangled laugh, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. You patted her hand, flashing your signature Healer smile at her as you got to your feet. Your bag magically packed itself as you helped Bunty up beside you, wrapping an arm around her and apparating off to the hospital.
You had settled things with the Assistant Healer at St. Mungo’s and Bunty assured you that she didn’t need you there with her for her tests no matter how many times you protested. She simply thanked you, explained that she felt fine already, and squeezed your hand before shooing you off to apparate back to Newt’s apartment.
You arrived back in the basement, snatching your medical bag and making your way upstairs. Your footsteps slowed as you heard quiet murmurs of appraisal coming from the den, the flipping of used parchment scraping against itself.
Your sketchbook.
You darted out into the den, finding Newt back early from his trip to the Ministry with your sketchbook in hand, marveling at the pictures you drew of him. Your heart thundered inside your chest and you went light headed at the sight, your face overheating instantly.
“Did you draw these?” he asked. In an impossible sense, Newt’s tone was entirely neutral as was his expression. Nothing. You couldn’t read anything off of him.
“Give that back.” You dropped your bag and swung your wand out in an attempt to retrieve the book, only to have Newt throw a countercurse at you. You sucked in a sharp breath before trying again only for the same result to be repeated.
“You drew these,” he stated. He met your anxious eyes with furrowed brows, which only worsened the black hole growing inside you.
“There’s no point in denying it, Newt.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing your hands up and down as your own personal security blanket.
“I think that your drawings are lovely.” Your eyes snapped up to his and he cowered at his statement. “Not because it’s me, that’s not why they’re lovely. It’s because it’s you— obviously not you, it’s me— but you drew them and I’d love for you-”
Feeling rather emboldened by his rambling, you cut Newt off with a defiant statement.
“I like you.”
Newt was silent.
You continued.
“A lot, actually.” You ran a hand through your hair with a wry laugh. “A stupid amount, really. I can’t get you out of my head in a maddening sort of way. And I know that you’re saying you like the drawings but I understand if you’re lying. I think I’d be rather perturbed if I found a journal full of my face, too.”
“Don’t say that,” he muttered with a dismal shake of his head.
“It’s true! It’s odd!”
“No, please don’t say that. It’s not.” With every declaration, Newt’s voice got a little louder
“Why-”
“Because I fancy you!” he shouted, leaving you in a stunned silence. “Sorry.”
You blinked in confusion. Newt fancied you. Newt fancied you. You repeated it over and over again in your head, trying to make sense of his foreign words. You met his worried gaze and whispered to confirm your suspicions, “You fancy me?”
“I-I do.” He laughed to himself, scuffing his foot against the floor. “You’re beautiful and...and witty, and intelligent, and you have this intense gaze like a crow, and it’s just all beautiful. You’re beautiful.” His words tumbled from his mouth like he didn’t have enough time in the world to tell you how he truly felt.
If Newt was going to act like there was no time left, then you were, too. Your wand fell from your loosened grasp as you ran up to him, falling into a deep kiss. His hands hovered in the air for a moment before he embraced you, holding you as tight to his body as he could so his lips could still be connected to yours.
You pulled away, gasping for air as he rested his forehead against yours. He reached a calloused thumb up to rub over your bottom lip before venturing up to your cheekbone.
Seems as if he did need a Healer after all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
general taglist: @pandaxnienke @lunalovecroft @for-bebbanburg
#newt scamander#newt scamander x you#newt scamander x y/n#newt scamander x reader#newt scamander fanfiction#bunty#theseus scamander#fantastic beasts and where to find them#fantastic beasts: the crimes of grindelwald#newton artemis fido scamander#newt scamander oneshot#newt scamander imagine#newt scamander fluff#healer!reader#artist!reader#self insert#fbawtft#fb:tcog
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I just read the newest chapter and I loved it! ♥ ♥ ♥ I was wondering if you had some hcs about the engineer that you could share?
Awww I'm glad you like it! I just spent 5 minutes trying to figure out what "HCS" meant before realizing I'm a tired idiot who can't read lol
But yeah! I got some headcanons for the engineer/Spirits I can share!
These headcanons are a mix of things I generally believe for any iteration of the Hero of Spirits and a few things exclusive to CTB. It's pretty obvious which are which.
Technically this is slight spoilers since most of this is not mentioned in-story, but Warriors is a such a self-centered asshole that I'm not sure when I can get him to explicitly ask about Spirit's backstory lol
This got super long and kind of just became me talking about Spirits's entire backstory, so enjoy:
Spirits is sixteen during the course of Spirit Tracks, mostly because that was the vibe I got from him when I first played the game (I made him younger for CTB)
He's not descendant from Wind (who I maintain disappeared instead of settling in New Hyrule); instead, he's Aryll's great grandson
His family name used to be Outset, but when everyone who originally immigrated from Outset island took on that last name, they changed it to Aryll to reflect the family matriarch
So Spirit's full name is Link Aryll, though there is a branch of his family that uses Macaryll instead
The Aryll/Macaryll family is huge; everyone has at least six aunts and uncles on all sides of the family and they can trace back how they are related to Aryll
"I'm Grandma Aryl's third son's second daughter's fifth child." -someone Spirits is related to, probably
He actually never met his great grandmother; she died before he was born.
Spirit's dad was full-blooded Lokomo while his mother was Hylian; his mother passed a few months after he was born after never truly recovering from childbirth while his father died in a fishing accident when he was eight
He went to live with an aunt and uncle who owned a general store; their relationship was polite at best. The aunt and uncle told Spirits upfront that they intended to give the store over to his cousin when he was older so Spirits needed to come up with his own life plan
Spirits didn't necessarily mind since he never wanted to work in a store for the rest of his life, but the ultimatum made it clear that they didn't care for him like a son
To this day, their relationship isn't strained and he doesn't hate them. But whenever they meet, he's overly polite; they're more acquaintances than family
He's cool with his cousin though. They have different interests so they aren't best friends, but they're okay.
Spirits also always had his spirit-sensing abilities. It's really like a sixth sense to him, as normal and automatic as seeing and hearing; he actually didn't realize this wasn't normal until he was a little older
His abilities at this point are limited to sensing vague ideas of a person's spirit (if they're light or dark, etc.), and seeing ghosts (which are really rare. You have to have a lot of power yourself to become one)
(Note: I'm not the only one who headcanons Spirits as having spirit sensing abilities; if you know who can up with the idea, please let me know so that I can tag/credit them!)
The elder of his village told him that select Lokomo had minor spirit sensing abilities, and those who did were traditionally made elders of their villages; being more of a follower than a leader, Spirits adamantly dismissed that idea and refused to be trained on how to hone his spirit senses. He also never learned any of the religion behind it
Which was a little worrisome since his abilities are way stronger than most
Besides, he's always liked trains and it's been his dream to travel around the kingdom as an engineer; being some town's elder would get in the way of that
Anyway, Spirits had to pass a written exam before being accepted as an apprentice engineer, so he's very studious and has a lot of drive (pun unintended?)
He went to live with his Uncle Niko during his apprenticeship in another town; Niko isn't related to him, but he's been a friend of the family for so long that everyone secretly thinks he's actually related to someone and they just forgot who
Niko is his real family, hands down. Those two are as thick as thieves and bring out the wild side in each other
A preteen Spirits used to think Niko was a little lame and kind of embarrassing, but now that he's older, he's all for Niko's weird old man-ness and has even picked up on some of his weird old man-ness himself
That being said, they're both disasters. Neither can clean or cook or do any kind of housekeeping and their shared house is cluttered with Niko's art projects and Spirit's half-finished tinkering
Growing up, Spirits had no idea he was related to the legendary Hero of Wind; Aryll died before he was born, but even in life she was filled with too much grief over her missing brother to discuss it often. Within the family, being related to the Hero of Wind is a rumor at best.
Of course, Niko knows but keeps it a secret from Spirits; once he got back from his LU-adventure, Wind told Niko about the curse of the Hero's Spirit. Then he went missing post-New Hyrule's founding, which really drove the terror of the curse home. Niko thought he could keep Wind's family from falling victim to it by not inadvertently encouraging them to follow in Wind's footsteps
So Niko kept it a secret
And obviously, that didn't work
Spirits' quest to save New Hyrule resulted in him realizing that he needed to embrace his Lokomo heritage and get a handle on his spirit powers; Anjean gave him a little training during his quest but afterwards he traveled around the kingdom to find as many people as he could with abilities like his
They were all really excited to teach him what they knew, especially the religious aspects of the abilities; Spirits is still not the most religious person, but he at least understands and embraces the cultural significance of what he is able to do
This is where he learned how to read a person's Spirit to get an idea of their life experiences and the kind of person they're like; he can also detect where a person is without having to put much effort into it
At Zelda's encouragement, he also got more sword training from the Castle Guard. She offered him a place among them, but he turned it down in favor of remaining an engineer. He still helps around as a swordsman when he can and will act as Zelda's body guard
Speaking of which, he and Zelda are 100% in love. Their relationship started out as puppy love but over the years as matured into a deep connection built on mutual respect
When he's working on designing new engines or parts for his trains, he occasionally brings his drafting materials to the castle gardens so that he can work alongside Zelda; sometimes she falls asleep leaning against his arm and he has to be careful not to shake her awake as he works
Whenever she need to go anywhere in the kingdom, she rides in his train and teasingly criticizes his conducting; he takes a lot of pride in his conducting, but he lets her get away with it since her critiques are objectively hilarious
He keeps a tiny pictograph of her taped to his dashboard
But there's a bit of a problem with their relationship, and it's that he doesn't know if he wants to be the prince consort or not. He does love her, but that would mean giving up being an engineer in favor of being stuck at the castle all of the time
Plus, he's doing great as an engineer; he's saving up to open his own garage that produces his own train designs
Eventually, he leaves for the War of Eras
His experiences with Warriors leaves him more sure than ever that he doesn't want to be the prince consort, resulting in him ending his relationship with Zelda shortly after he returns home
It hurts for a long time to be around her since all of his old feelings keep coming back, so he keeps his distance for a long time; it takes a few years for him to go back to hanging out with Zelda as friends
But now she's approaching marriage age, and he spends a lot of time when he's on body guard duty super jealous of these princes and ambassadors from foreign kingdoms who try to court her
But again, he knows he can't be in a relationship with her so he respectfully and silently pines over her (I'm just a sucker for pining, okay?)
Okay, more random headcanons that are a little less sad
Spirits likes super spicy food, but since he can't cook to save his own life, he just eats whatever he can get his hands on
He's super dirty all of the time, just the epitome of scrappy; there's always a smear of oil somewhere on his person
He actually really hates bathing and only keeps his curly hair in check to comply with train safety regulations
He's really polite and a little shy, but once he loosens up, he gets talkative and personable
He's also very contemplative; he likes conducting so much because he gets to spend long stretches of time alone with nothing but his thoughts
His trauma/stress response is to shut down; he goes quiet, loses energy, and sleeps for longer periods of time
He tends to gravitate towards socializing with people who are older than him, which gets him labeled as being no fun by his peers (despite having someone as cooky as Niko for a uncle)
Post-adventure, his best friend is Linebeck III. They're drinking buddies. Neither can really explain why they even like hanging out as much as they do
(I just like the idea of Linebeck accidentally getting attached to one kid and his whole bloodline getting forever tangled with Wind's; they're bros for multiple lifetimes)
Not only is Spirits good at designing and building new machinery, but he's great at tinkering; he can fix almost anything and will buy broken things on purpose just to have something to fix
No one really knows he's a hero; he doesn't like the attention and, at his request, Zelda did her best to keep his involvement with Malladus a secret
Because not many common people know about his adventure and records of New Hyrule are very rare, he's considered in Warrior's time to be a forgotten hero; some scholars believe that a Hero of Spirits may have once existed, but if he did, no one really knows who he was or what he did to serve the bloodline of Hylia
#god this got long but i hope you like reading them anon!#I just have a lot of thoughts about spirits#so many thoughts#linkeduniverse#linked universe#lu#lu headcanon#lu spirits#loz st#legend of zelda#spirit tracks link#zelink#ask#anonymous#me rambling#lu ctb#loz
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