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#kirby#daily kirby#my art#digital#hal laboratory#nintendo#he's excited to go to the craft store#(I have only left the apartment 3 to 6 times since we moved here in june)#(depending on whether parking lots count as 'going somewhere')#(but I get to go to the craft store tomorrow and the grocery store the day after. hopefully. assuming I can handle it.)#(since our other partner is here and can wheel me around the store and stuff that makes it a lot easier for me.)#(*the apartment complex that is not just our actual unit)#(I have had to walk to the leasing office so many friggin times)
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heyyy I saw you're answering asks so i wanted to give you one of my own:: how exactly does juuzou feel about physical touch? how does he like it? is he into pda at all? how does he feel w people touching him in general or in a friendly way? at what point of a romantic relationship he feels comfortable w a partner surprising him with cheek, nose and forehead kisses? in what point does he feel comfortable seeking phisical comfort?🥺
Hey! Haha, yeah, I just don't get asks that often, so I can see how it might seem questionable whether I'm answering them at any given moment or not, but I can assure you I always am. Hope this one gives you the insight you're looking for!
how exactly does juuzou feel about physical touch?
Suzuya strikes me as a really touch-happy person trapped in the body of someone with debilitating tactile defensiveness and a long history of that touch-happiness getting him in trouble. His most natural way to show affection is through physical touch. He self-soothes primarily with things he can touch and feel. And, though we don't see as many examples in :RE as the original series, he was prone to solving perceived problems with more destructive forms of touch. His hands are an integral part of how he interacts with the world, and touch is up there with taste among his most important senses.
At the same time, I can see a lack of innately understanding what's considered normal and acceptable when it comes to physical contact getting him in trouble, especially when he was first rescued and integrated into human society. He has learned through bullying and people only seeing the worst in him that he touches things he's not supposed to, whether that be picking up and examining a pile of entrails with his bare hands or grabbing a highly decorated ghoul investigator for their attention over an idea that just popped into his head. That's not even counting the times in canon that he's physically lashed out at people.
I see the same indiscretion being taken advantage of by people like Big Madam. Snuffing out any inklings that something isn't right in their mother/child relationship with a treat like cuddling up together and reading about giraffes, or how her whole system of torture and corporal punishment worked so well with a young Suzuya to begin with. Of course her rewards are affectionate and good; it's some of the closest contact she gives him. So physical touch is something he craves strongly and often, but how he acts on it is somewhat tempered by his experiences as the series and his life go on.
On the purely physical side as well, anyone who explores my blog enough will know I strongly headcanon him as autistic, and think that while it might have affected and been affected by his past with Big Madam, his indifference to pain is one of his many sensory hypo and hypersensitivities that he has always had and would have still had without her influence. Some sensations, he will barely notice at all unless it's to an extreme that would be unbearable to other people, and he seeks some of those ones out both for self-regulation and enjoyment. Others, it doesn't matter how positive the context or how beloved a person they come from-- to him they feel more noxious than pain and may push him into sensory overload, if not a shutdown or meltdown depending on what it is, how much/how long it goes on, and the day he's having. Different kinds of touch fall into one of those extremes or the other.
how does he like it?
He likes deep pressure and firm touches, like a tight hug, being wrapped in a heavy blanket, or having a cat in his lap. Even things like falling from somewhere he likes to climb/perch, taking a hit in battle, or parttaking in extreme body modification can feel kind of good, because a lot of the sensations that would be masked by pain in most people are resistance and pressure. I think if he got to go to one of those trampoline parks with crash mats and foam pits everywhere, he would probably keep throwing himself at stuff until the place closed or he passed out from exhaustion.
When it's something he does to himself, like body stitching or self-injurious stimming, there's also the feeling of doing the act itself, such as the sinking of his needle into skin, which can also feel soothing or satisfying. Between liking the feeling of doing a lot of these things and not being sensitive to the consequences himself, this is also why he can sometimes squeeze too hard or be a little rough when he's on the giving end of affectionate touch, which is most of the time now that it's up to him. It's also why he likes throwing Hanbee so much.
Textures are also very important, even in everyday things like the foods he eats and the clothes he wears, so of course they're important here too. He's definitely a soft, plushy, and fuzzy things autistic. If you don't think he collects plushies to squeeze and snuggle with, you're simply wrong. He enjoys playing with someone's soft hair or squishing his cheek against a fuzzy animal or piece of a person's clothing, but trying to hug him while you're wearing one of his trigger textures is going to be a very disappointing experience. You might even get shoved away.
is he into pda at all?
Oh yes. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perspective) Mutsuki is absolutely petrified of having attention drawn to him in public, and PDA sure feels like drawing attention to him in public. For Suzuya, however, it would be another layer of something he enjoys on top of a fun day or night out, and who doesn't want to double up on things they enjoy? There are rare occasions where PDA makes Mutsuki feel safe and protected, and Suzuya gets to indulge in it, but for the most part, it's a want that Suzuya keeps to himself, despite the name.
how does he feel w people touching him in general or in a friendly way?
When someone in his inner circle of people figures out how to do it right, he will pester them for more, but the former is a requirement. If Amon or any other macho man at the CCG gave him a stiff, half-assed clap on the shoulder because he did something cool and for a second they forgot he wasn't one of the guys they like, they're going to get their hand swatted away, or grabbed and twisted until it hurts if he doesn't like the person either. However, a clap on the shoulder from Shinohara, firm and hearty and committed to giving him that pressure he craves: he'll keep coming to Shinohara over and over to solicit an annoying amount of claps on the shoulder. He can't stand going to a hairdresser and cuts his hair himself to avoid it, but that doesn't stop him from bouncing up to Akira to see if she'll style his hair.
As much as he enjoys the sensory aspect of touch, there is an emotional aspect too, and I think once he gets used to living his own life and not being Big Madam's pet, he would learn that he really likes personal space just because it's his. Having the choice is just so different and reminds him in a good way how free he is now, so when that control of his own space is encroached on, it might even surprise him how protective he's become of that space. Also, if you don't know him well, chances are you're not going to touch him right.
at what point of a romantic relationship he feels comfortable w a partner surprising him with cheek, nose and forehead kisses?
Probably not ever, honestly, because who knows what kind of day he's having or if he's one small push away from sensory overload and can't even handle things he would normally like. It will always be the safest to ask, verbally or by giving him the chance to meet the other person halfway or choose not to. As much as he would enjoy being on the giving end of surprise kisses, that doesn't mean he has to want the same for himself. And besides, why bother trying to surprise the master of surprises when you can just enjoy his surprises?
in what point does he feel comfortable seeking phisical comfort??
Opposite of the last one, pretty early on. Having something that's a good kind of different from the many ways he self-soothes would be a big motivator for him to let someone else into his life when he's just fine on his own. If they don't hug him better than he can squeeze himself in a nice blanket, why even humor the idea of compromising with someone else's needs and rules? He likes his freedom, after all.
#answers#anon#that said i am working my way through an influx of asks i got super close together at the moment#and they're taking time because I want to but thought and detail into every last one
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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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utopic desire I — jjk
Plot: Under an elist system of Vampires, Jungkook is torn between his old values and the lowest ranked Vampire he begins to fall for.
Pairing(s): Vampire!Jungkook x Vampire!OC
Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+
Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Series
Genre: Supernatural/Vampires | Angst/Fluff/Smut
Tags & Warnings: discrimination, explicit smut, angst, coarse language.
Authors Note: this is a repost after my break since I’m not really going to convert this one to original fiction. So enjoy to those who missed it! I’m doing it in parts cause posting big posts on Tumblr sucks.
“Glasses, five o’clock.” Yoongi muttered mostly under his breath but enough for the group to hear before taking a small sip of his reddened whiskey.
Belle felt a light rumble in her belly at his words, turning her head a little to see the male sitting quietly at the bar counter. Blue sweater with some light wash jeans, thin rimmed glasses and slightly long messy locks hovering over his temples. The tiny pout on his bottom lip only added to what an adorable specimen he was. “Jeon?” She smirked.
Yoongi shrugged mimicking the little curl on her lips as his eyes flickered to the side to get another look of him. “Hangs around with the pure bloods a lot. Must be a favourite source.”
Jungkook was the quietest whenever Belle noticed him in the pure blood crowds and with the way he held himself, it didn’t seem like he was much of a power in the group. One of the vampires who she knew was called Vira always clung to him which she could only assume meant he must have been her human.
“Could be fun annoying the shit out of Vira.” Belle mused.
“Or dangerous.” Jimin spoke up, finger tracing the brim of his glass with the drink barely sipped on. “Pure bloods don’t like us meddling.”
“They don’t like it when I meddle.” She corrected.
Pure bloods had no issue with other pure blood vampires. Even Taehyung, they tolerated despite their dated views on humans. With her though, a spawn of an original vampire and a human was downright blasphemy in their eyes. Belle still wondered to this day why Jimin, Yoongi or even Kiku thought about including her into their group, tainting their name in the academy.
Yoongi nudged Jimin’s arm harshly. “For a Park, you’re a real buzzkill, you know that?”
Jimin rolled his eyes in response, raking through his blue hair before murmuring a small apology towards Belle.
“Do we have a deal or not?”
“What’re you willing to give me when I get him?” Belle leaned in, elbows rested on the surface.
A smirk plastered across the man’s lips. “If you get him to sleep with you, I’ll give you my Lamborghini.”
Belle scoffed. “Which one?”
“The Centenario.”
“Nah—I want the Veneno.”
“If you were less hot maybe but everyone wants you so…the Centenario.”
“Oh come on—”
“If it helps I’m pretty sure Yoongi came on one of the Veneno seats one time.” Kiku spoke gesturing a toothpick towards Yoongi who stammered a little.
Belle grimaced lightly. “Fine, the Centenario.”
“That’s only cause someone decided for the first time they weren’t going to swallow.”
“You literally begged me to let you come all over my face.” Kiku parted her lips in slight offense while Yoongi shifted in his seat.
“Okay now I’m really going to go.” Belle chuckled climbing off the stool and fixing her deep red, ruche dress fitted to her curves before walking to the bar counter.
Jungkook still had his eyes fixated on his drink taking one sip almost every hour while he was somehow deep in thought. Though as he noticed a figure walking his way, his head shot meeting two beetle orbs with shining ruby flecks scattered across. It glimmered in the night light resembling a dark faery of some sort though he knew she was no faery.
“Do you always sit around alone in the college bars?” Belle asked sitting down on the stool next to him, ignoring how her dress rode up her thighs when she did.
Gaze flickered down to the heavily exposed skin, body exuding a thick, warm scent flooding his nostrils and filling his lungs. Jungkook felt his head spin from the sweetness but found himself taking more in anyway. “I don’t like a whole lot of company.” He mumbled.
“Do I count as a whole lot of company?”
“Not really.”
Belle smiled, that tiny spark of accomplishment lingering in the pit of her belly but she knew not to get too excited. “I don’t like much company either.”
“You seem to have a few friends.”
“And I love them.” She nodded. “But I also love...more intimate company.”
Jungkook’s lips twitched briefly as he gripped onto the glass a little tightly. He watched her move forward with her arms folded under her chest, making them pop beautifully in the dim lighting. “What kind of intimate company?”
“Just two people. Me and them. Taking a walk, going to eat, having sex…” Belle let a small moment of silence linger between the two people before shrugging. “Intimate moments where it’s only between the two of you.”
Jungkook couldn’t help but feel a little tingle. How it was easy to just fall into her careful words and drown in her whole aura. “Do you get to do it a lot?”
The corner of her lips curled up a little. “I haven’t for a while.”
“That’s not good.” The scent grew thicker around him again and Jungkook sought it as a good sign enough to shift closer. A layer of ice melting between them with a new brewing heat.
She hummed sadly.
“How much did he bet?”
Belle peered up at him curiously, tilting her head. It didn’t really matter whether Jungkook knew it was a bet or not at this point. She already had him close enough. “A Lamborghini Centenario.” She smiled.
Jungkook raised a brow tempted to glance over at her group but he stopped himself. Not that it was too difficult when he started unintentionally counting the little ruby flecks in her eyes. “High price for little old me.” His voice descended into a darker register as he leaned closer, feeling a strange heat radiate from her skin. “You sure you want to take it?”
“Depends…how little are you?” Belle’s eyes flickered down his body momentarily.
He chuckled, licking the inside of his cheek as he glanced down at his drink. Now more than ever in this entire night, Jungkook lost full interest of filling himself up with alcohol that won’t even intoxicate him. He needed something sweeter. “Well I can’t confirm anything to you here.”
-
Hunger never tugged any stronger than a bad cramp with Belle. She found decent satisfaction in food but it was almost like strong, uncontrollable cravings when her body wanted to feed properly. A type of craving that needed to be satisfied for her own health and wellbeing. While Belle could take it more than any other vampire, refusing to take blood could still kill her just as easily.
Jungkook’s hunger was a basic need. His hunger panged and pulled at his gut, spread exhaustion through his limbs, head spinning uncomfortably. The last time he fed was on one of the history students in his group project. It was consensual but he couldn’t take much before the boy fainted. There was something different pumping through Belle’s veins, radiating with so much warmth and smelling so sweet that he made him a little dizzy.
Public bathrooms were not an ideal place for a feed but the dark purple walls and black marble floors allowed for less traces and easy clean ups. Door clicked as it locked. All Belle did was turn around before her whole body was engulfed with another, lips locked with his as he pinned her against the door. It was icy at first until it started meshing in with her own warmth allowing her to melt into it.
Somewhere deep in the thick lake of his thirst, Jungkook knew he should stop and go back to the bar to prevent any issues. If anyone found out who he was with in the bathroom stalls, they would give him hell beyond belief. But the thought drowned as quickly as he grabbed onto her hips and moved them to the sink counter.
Jungkook whipped her around until she bent over the marble counter a little, a smile curling at her reddening smudged lips. Looking into the mirror Belle admired the way his forehead knitted when she felt her dress push up to her hips. He brushed away her long hair to expose her shoulder and the crook of her neck.
Leaning in, he pressed wet kisses along her shoulder while his hips harboring a mind of its own ground against her plump bottom. His gut gripped at whatever satisfaction he could get from her smell. That thickly sweet smell just calling out to him. How was it possible? She wasn’t supposed to smell this warm. He wasn’t supposed to feel this hungry tasting her skin.
Belle tilted her head to give him more room waiting for him to get as riled up as possible before she took her own feeding. His large palms exploring every inch of her body, reaching up to her breasts and kneading them to light squeeze before trailing down her hips again.
Tongue traced across one particular spot, soft and sensitive. Fingers gripped at the roots of her hair to expose more skin before his fangs bared, white shining in the light before it sunk in. His whole body trembled in glee. The burst of warmth trailing down his throat, tasting so fucking delicious on his tongue that he kept taking in more. Jungkook moaned against her skin, one palm moving between her legs as he rubbed himself on her curve.
Her first instinct was to protest when Belle felt an intrusion on her skin. She held onto the edge of the counter so tightly that one of her nails could have cracked off. Except the words died on her tongue and the only sounds forming out of her were whimpers…pleased whimpers. The warmth that exploded through her was so thrilling, so intoxicating that her knees began to wobble.
Jungkook could feel himself getting full right to the very limit but he still took more. A slight tinge of concern sparked inside him. He was taking too much. Forcefully he pulled away and pressed his tongue against the injury to heal it quickly before taking deep breaths like they had already done the deed. He usually was really good at holding back. What was wrong with him?
“You’re a fucking trickster.” Belle breathed out with a light giggle. She really should be mad but her body felt far too satisfied to be angry. Though she still felt something stiff rubbing against her. With a cheeky smile, she swayed her hips against his causing the vampire to hiss and grab onto her.
“You wanted to do the same to me.” Jungkook spoke in a low growl, his eyes flashing back to his original red except it darkened in seconds with his ever growing lust.
“Except I can’t, can I?” Belle mumbled a little lazily, allowing him to dig his nails as much as he wanted into her skin but she still wasn’t going to stay put.
Jungkook buried his fingers through her hair and gently pulled her back so he pressed right against his torso. “You can’t tell anyone about this…” He whispered in her ear, lips brushing against her soft earlobe. “And you’ll still get your Lamborghini.”
Belle had it coming. The secret promise. Every pure blood or turned vampire asked her the same thing right when their moment of clarity passed through them after a night of heated movements and sinful noises.
‘ Don’t tell anyone I touched you. ’
‘ No one can know we were together. ’
She was never allowed to speak a word but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hear them jabbering how the failed breedling begged for it with their other friends. “I promise.” She muttered like a familiar song.
Jungkook searched her eyes for a moment, the ruby flecks losing their usual twinkle when she spoke those two small words. His expression softened, grip on her hair loosening before moving his hand down to fix her dress gently as if it could somehow cushion on a blow he didn’t know he caused. But it was there. He could feel the way her skin chilled slightly disallowing him to melt into her again.
Before he could truly understand what that feeling was, Belle shifted away from his hold a little, setting up her hair again in the mirror. Not a single confused twitch on her features.
Then why was he confused?
He was the one who asked to keep it a secret so that was it. It would be selfish to expect some kind of argument when there was no way around the matter.
“I’ll have to go first.” Belle broke through the momentary silence. “Yoongi won’t believe something happened if you went out before me.”
“Why not?”
Another grin tugged at her lips even though the flecks were still dull and unexcited. “I usually tire out the ones I’m with. They have to take a break or at least look really out of it afterwards.” Belle walked over to him and patted his cheek.
Jungkook scoffed lightly though a little relieved he caught the tiniest cheeky glint before she walked out of the bathroom.
-
Two mornings passed and it left the pure blood emptier than he wanted to admit. Jungkook opted to take this particular dawn to cage himself in the gym for a few hours before classes started rolling. It was the best time when the whole building was empty save for the security guards. Eventually when he tired himself out enough not to think about those ruby flecks again and have the smell of sweat instead of that sweet, warm aroma, he started preparing for the library.
Apparently Vira and a couple of others wanted to get some readings done and it was getting too sunny outside for their liking.
The academy library was vast filled with books ancient to modern adorning shelves so much taller than him he could barely see the top. Jungkook had a simple black long sleeves draped on him as he walked over to the corner table and found Vira with an empty seat to her.
Deep red lips curled up into wide grin as she patted the seat and the male didn’t really respond much before doing as she silently asked.
Jungkook never found a whole lot of interest in the conversations his group mumbled towards each other and simply opened his books to skim through readings like he thought they were supposed to do. Though even with their words tuned out a little, his eyes still flickered up to scan the shelves, a few of the tables with quiet students curling on themselves. Except one figure glowed so bright near a few tables forward.
Her hair was not as black as he imagined it was in the bar lighting. It was almost a chocolate brown, a little messy and wavy with a small clip loosely placing back on side of it. Lips in a lighter pink tinge while wearing lilac thin sleeve dress with small peach flowers scattered across from what he could catch. Jungkooks’ lips twitched a little seeing her smile so easily with such a genuine aura when a blond haired girl next to her muttered something between them.
“Kook.”
He felt a harsh nudge on his arm causing him to shake back into reality and look over at Vira again. “What?”
“We saw you sneaking in with a certain someone back at the party.” One of the other pure blood vampires, Hoseok spoke with a wide smirk tugging at his lips. “The failed breedling.”
“I thought we called her a failed experiment.” Vira commented with a ghost of a smile over to Hoseok who chuckled in response. “Some kind of deformed rat in the lab.”
Jungkook curled his fingers against the table trying to kill the words that were desperately attempting to escape through him. “She’s definitely not deformed. I mean…we’ve seen Doyoung’s nose.”
A turned vampire, Doyoung shot a glare at the male while the rest of the group laughed in full agreement though quiet enough not to echo through the room.
Hoseok then turned back to Jungkook with his eyes flashing red. “How non-deformed is she exactly?”
Nails dug deep into his palm until the skin almost ripped. Jungkook was glad he had a good ability to hide his abilities otherwise his eyes would have been permanently red from anger. “She’s…kinda perfect physically. I fed from her.” You fucking dumbass.
“You did?” Vira didn’t care to hide her grimace, hand pressing to her chest. “God, aren’t you sick?”
“It tasted good.”
“Really?” Hoseok’s eyes faded into red for longer than Jungkook was comfortable with. That same faint smirk appearing back on his lips. “How good?”
Jungkook wanted to look back at Belle. As if there was this intense pull at his belly wanting to watch her smile so genuinely again and tune this conversation out again. “Better than a human.”
“Fuck, seriously?” Doyoung’s eyes widened so much his eyes could have popped out if he wasn’t careful.
“Maybe we should tell our original masters to take in more humans to breed.” Hoseok nodded down at his open and ignored book rested there for show.
Jungkook actively ignored the comment and gathered a bit more confidence to look over at Belle’s table again. His stomach jumped to his throat when he noticed those dark orbs meet his own. He held onto it, expression softening to admire how beautifully they sparkled, how her chest rose and fell. The way her lips curled up before she leaned into whisper something in her friend’s ear.
Vira scoffed without any care for volume. “They’d rather feed on animals than do that. One abomination is enough.” Every word was harsh and cut, not a single ounce of regret in what was spewing out of her mouth.
He heard the words but paid no mind to them when Belle stood up from the chair, giving him another smile before walking over to the other end of the library where the last, abandoned aisle was.
“If you ask me then they should’ve killed her along with her dirty parents.” Vira shrugged looking down at her long deep violet nails.
“I need to find a book.” Jungkook got up from his chair and walked through the library on the other side of the shelves away from the tables. He didn’t share a single glance to Vira when she called his name.
It was almost like a pull. Dragging him across the floor like a sorry but happy puppet, running to the one who controlled his strings. She shouldn’t be controlling his strings. But Jungkook still let her.
Finally he reached the last aisle, pausing in his tracks for a moment when he saw Belle leaning back against the wall shelf with her arms crossed over her chest.
“What happened to not telling anyone?” Belle asked with a faint smirk plastered on her lips.
Jungkook walked to stand right in front of the girl, the morning sun brightly shining through the window but thankfully high enough not to beam on the floor. “Who says anyone’s going to know?”
The cute smirk stretched into a mischievous smile. “You owe me a little.”
“How’s that?”
“You fed from me.” Granted, Belle strangely enjoyed the feeling far more than she would like to admit. “Yet I haven’t gotten anything from you.”
“You don’t think it’s a little selfish?”
Without a reply, she hooked her fingers on the frilly hem of her dress, pulling it up enough for him to see those thick thighs again. “Depends on how badly you don’t want to give me anything.” Belle couldn’t help but dive deep into her gaze when looking at the male. Thin black sweater with the sleeves rolled up to show off the veins popping from his arms after his morning workout, long tresses naturally curled and touching his brows. She could just imagine those fingers gripping at her skin.
Gaze darkened as he watched her plump, pink painted lips curl up into a smile while the rubies in her eyes disappeared almost completely turning into a blackened red. “Do you enjoy making a scene?” His voice grumbled, stepping closer until once again he was met with that beautiful heat radiating from her.
“It’s not a scene if no ones’ looking.” Belle murmured, breath hitting his lips almost magnetizing him to dip his head down further. “Besides—I already know your little quiet shy boy is just a façade now. Don’t expect me not to have a little fun with it.”
Hand grabbed onto her hips like his life depended on it, pads of his finger squeezing her until he heard a light gasp. “I’m not like your other sweet humans that you tire out, darling.”
“Well I wouldn’t know much from experience, would I?” Belle tilted her head, her nerves awakening with the way his fingers deliciously dug through her clothes into her skin almost forming permanent dimples.
Jungkook walked forward letting her stumble back so she rested further against the last shelf of books. Her scent filling her nostrils again and he sniffed in letting it flood his lungs and thicken right up to his throat. His hands latched off her hip and trailed down her short dress, rough fingers tracing her soft thigh. Sliding up thin clothing between her legs, his hands paused where he felt heat. Wet heat soaking through a thin soft fabric, almost soggy when he pressed his fingers against it.
Belle let out a shaky breath, gently caressing his rising chest. As the male pressed harder she could feel her erect nub throbbing out for him. The light spark of pleasure caused her to close her eyes. What a mistake that was. Almost instantly the pressure on her panties stopped and another hand grabbed onto her chin.
“Look at me.” Jungkook growled under his breath. Eyes flashed red when their gazes met again causing Belle to smile albeit a little shakily.
A soft hum emitting in her throat, Belle felt his rough fingers sneak into her panties. Rubbing straight against her nub jolting sparks of pleasure through her veins. It was too tempting to close her eyes and fully relish into the sensations but she kept her gaze on him. His eyes faded into an extremely deep crimson.
Fingers caressed circles on her delicate clit before sliding down her dripping slit. Spreading her nether lips, he slowly pushed in his middle digit, curling up deeper as he hungrily watched Belle part her mouth and throw her head back against the shelf. Jungkook dipped in latching his lips onto her jugular to get more of her taste. So warm. So fucking sweet. He tried to muffle out the groan against her skin. Jungkook pulled his finger out and slid back up to her clit, increasing his pace into a mild assault of pleasure.
Belle brushed through his slightly cold hair, giggling lightly as he gently grazed his teeth on the side of her neck before kissing her jawline. She tried soften her moans with her trembling breaths but tiny noises of desperation still escaped. The rush tightened in her lower belly. Warmer. Hotter. Her hips jerked against his movements, almost standing on her tiptoes.
Then her ears pricked for a moment. Footsteps echoing a little closer than normal.
“Someones’ coming.” Belle whispered in a shaky tone, trying to push Jungkooks’ hand out of her panties but he didn’t budge.
“I thought you liked making a scene, baby.” He swirled his finger around her clit in a tantalizing pace again forcing her orgasm to move to a distance again.
“Jungkook—”
As the footsteps grew closer, Jungkook whipped her around so she faced the shelf. The librarian appeared at the aisle giving them a quick glance as Belle pretended to pick up a book.
It only took a few minutes of her gazing around, looking for a book rather than watching them directly but it thickened the frustration between the couple. Belle cupped her core gently trying to gain more friction to keep her pleasure driving closer though it was hard not to move too fast.
Once the librarian disappeared, Jungkook dipped his hand back without a single moment of hesitation, rubbing up and down her slit to spread her arousal before torturing her clit again. Head buried in her shoulder he viciously rubbed her bundle of nerves as she held onto the shelves for dear life while the book she held dropped to the ground.
Belle leaned her forehead against the shelf feeling the tightness in her lower belly. Calling out to her and yearning for more of his touch. Fingers wrapped around his forearm as it moved at a lightning pace. “J-Ju—” Heat surged through her body spreading across her limbs, knees shaking causing to almost stumble onto the floor but Jungkook kept her steady. She let out a clearer whimper as he continued to drawl out her orgasm, rubbing at her sensitive nub at a tantalizing pace.
Jungkook pressed roughly against her clit causing Belle to whine and giggle breathlessly. He couldn’t help but grin at the sweet sound, relishing in the aroma of lust mixing in with her natural scent. He turned her around more gently, taking his fingers into his mouth and suckling off her delicious release. “Is that good enough?” He brushed and fixed the light tresses hovering over the girl’s face.
She grinned brushing down the creases in her dress. “Much better.” Belle reached out and absentmindedly caressed the neckline of his shirt with a softer expression across her features, padding closer until her forehead was almost touching his chin. She had a light hum under her breath as she nudged her nose against his jawline.
“What’re you doing?” Jungkook asked, immediately regretting his words when he felt her comforting touch leave him making him feel empty.
Belle stammered stepping back a little and avoiding his gaze. He won’t care for you. “Nothing.” She mumbled quickly picking up the book from the floor, placing it back on the shelf. This was all you were meant for. “Sorry.” Was the final word uttered before she rushed to disappear out of the aisle.
Jungkook took a deep breath to call her back but the words died on his tongue. He had a feeling why she did it. That needy feeling to just cuddle into a warm body after coming down from a high. The little want to be taken care of. The knowledge of it all only caused a squeeze in his chest. I’m sorry.
NEXT PART >>
#jungkook#bts fanfic#bts smut#jungkook fanfic#jungkook angst#bts angst#jungkook smut#bts fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#smut#angst#vampire au#bts vampire au#jungkook vampire au#tw: smut
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When the Stars Align [05]
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader
Word Count: 3930
Warnings: lots of crying (again, sorry), alcohol consumption, minor language, smut
Summary: Soulmate!AU– Everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their wrists. You and your cat are living a normal life in Fort Collins, Colorado when three men come bursting through your door, completely changing your life. Reader-insert story. Starts around S06E08, but Sam has his soul, and it doesn’t really follow the series from there
A/N: sorry it took so long !!!! i’ve had a long week, but i’m glad i was able to get out another chapter plus that little one shot from earlier ! enjoy my loves
Masterlist | When the Stars Align Masterlist
A couple of hours passed, and eventually the rain eased up but your tears did not. You were grateful for your sweatpants and hoodie. Not only did they keep you warm, but they also brought comfort. Having stolen the hoodie from Thomas months before, you swam in the fabric, two sizes too big for you. The scent of his laundry detergent was long gone, but it still felt like you were enveloped in a warm embrace.
At one point, Sam called you back, but you had denied his call and immediately shut your phone off, not wanting to have to deal with anything related to Dean Winchester at the moment. You had no idea what became of Dean and the blonde woman he was with, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he had continued his night with her, as if nothing had happened. You shook your head. Of course a man like him wouldn’t want someone like you. Why would he, when he can have anyone in the world?
You wiped at your face with tear-soaked sleeves, convinced that you had wiped more tears onto your face than off. The ache in your chest was unlike anything you had felt before, not even when Dean left the first time. You had read somewhere that when elephants lose their mate, they can die from a broken heart, refusing to eat, drink, or move. You had thought that you understood how the elephants had felt the first time Dean left, but as you sat in your car, you knew that this was rock bottom.
Even if you were able to stop the flow of tears, you weren’t sure if you’d care to. You didn’t care that your head was pounding, or that you couldn’t breathe through your nose. You didn’t care that you could barely see out of your swollen eyes, or that your breathing was uneven. All of it was secondary to the pain and hurt that resonated throughout your body.
It was nearing dawn by the time you turned your car on. Your head was empty, all thoughts gone from your mind as you drove home. You had probably run a few stop signs, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Nearing your house, you noticed the sleek black car parked out front, shiny from the rain. Rather than a wave of anger sweeping over your body like you had expected, you felt nothing. You weren’t upset, sad, or nervous. You were just existing.
His head was pressed against the window, mouth open and arms crossed as he slept. You drove right by him, pulling into your driveway. You weren’t trying to be quiet or loud as you exited the car, making your way to the front. You ignored the slam of the Impala’s door and the sound of your name being called. There were heavy footsteps nearing you, but you were able to make it inside and lock the door before they could reach you. The pounding on the door was nothing compared to the pounding in your head, and you grabbed a bottle of tequila, wanting the numbness to stay, before going to your bedroom. You threw your purse in the direction of your dresser and kicked off your shoes, continuously gulping from the bottle, not even feeling the burn of the alcohol.
Your empty stomach made you a cheap date, already feeling the effects of the alcohol as your back rested against the headboard of your bed. You chugged the tequila like your life depended on it. Your vision was blurry, whether it was from tears or the alcohol, you were unsure. You weren’t even sitting there for a full minute when Dean burst into the room, one hand on the doorknob and the other holding what looked suspiciously like lock picking tools. Had you not chugged nearly half of the bottle, you probably would have come up with some witty remark, but unfortunately for you, that was not the case.
“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” you giggled drunkenly, knowing for a fact that Meatball would never do such a thing. The friendly feline wouldn’t even track down flies, let alone approach a grown man— except for Sam, the gentle giant. The cat in question raised his head slowly from the floor, seemingly unbothered by the commotion happening in front of him.
“If it isn’t Dean Winchester, the soulmate who wasn’t meant to be mine,” you slurred, hiccuping at the end. You took another long sip before waving the bottle at him, almost like a greeting. He took in your drunken state and haphazard room. He stepped towards you, but stopped when you wagged a finger at him.
“Nuh-uh, Winchester. Stop right there,” you started, “You don’t get to touch me. Not after you did God-knows-what with that other woman. You know, the one with the fuck-me eyes and wandering hands?” You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. Fuck, how did you still have tears left?
“When you showed up at my door today, I thought you wanted me. Your whole story about our daughter and the white picket fence, I can’t believe I fell for that. You had me convinced with the makeup wipes and the hand holding, or the way your face fell when I didn’t lean in to kiss you. God, what a fool I am,” you whispered to yourself before taking a long pull from the bottle. This time, you felt the harsh burn of the alcohol against your raw throat. Dean stood there, frozen and unsure of what to do. You were about to tell him to leave when you felt your stomach churn and bile rise in your throat.
You flew out of bed and ran to the bathroom, heaving over the toilet. There was a gentle touch pulling your hair away from your face, and a soothing hand rubbing your back. You leaned against the toilet bowl, hot tears streaming down your cheeks, as you expelled the contents of your stomach. Spent, you sat back, flushing the toilet and wiping at your mouth. The pain in your heart had returned, and it was back with a vengeance. Tears fell from your eyes, and all you wanted to do was lay down. Too tired to walk to your bed, you made yourself comfortable on your bath mat, the soft cotton rubbing against your cheek.
You felt Dean leave, his shuffling footsteps disappearing down the hall. You remained on the floor, crying harder. At this rate, you’d cry yourself sick, forget the tequila. A minute later, he came back into the bathroom. He set a glass of water in front of you and pulled your hair back with a hair tie. He sat behind you, pulling you to his chest. You melted, sniffling into his shirt. Dean raised the glass of water to your lips, and you took a couple of sips before nodding your head, signaling that it was enough. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was a soothing lullaby. Just as your eyes began to close, you felt his chest rumble.
“I do want you, Y/N,” you heard him whisper before he placed a kiss on your forehead. You snuggled closer to his chest and drifted off to sleep.
Fur brushed past your leg and you squinted in time to see Meatball settle down next to you. You were expecting to wake up on the cold floor, but were pleasantly surprised when you were warm, your head resting on what you realized was Dean’s chest. You snuggled closer to him, and his arms tightened around you, his even breathes lulling you back to sleep.
You were greeted with a pounding headache and were disappointed to find yourself in an empty bed. The sun glared through the curtains, leaving you a squinting, dehydrated mess. You sat up, groaning at the action, and noticed a glass of water along with two painkiller pills on the nightstand. You quickly downed the pills, the water quenching your thirst. The bedroom was a mess, your clothes from last night strewn everywhere and your shoes in a small pile on the floor. Meatball was nowhere to be found, which was odd, considering he always slept with you.
As you wandered out of the room and closer to the kitchen, you were hit with the smell of bacon and your stomach growled. You heard sizzling from the pan and, if you strained your ear, Dean humming Metallica. You stood in the doorway of the kitchen, admiring the way Dean moved around the room. He had two pans going at once, bacon in one and eggs in the other. He moved seamlessly, switching between the two. You heard the ding of your toaster and saw two pieces of bread pop out.
“I hope it’s as good as it smells,” you teased. He turned around from the stove and smirked at you.
“Sweetheart, I’ll have you know, I���m an excellent cook,” he retorted and opened your cupboard, filling up a mug of coffee. He handed it to you and began plating up the food. You sat down at the table, cradling the cup to your face, loving the warmth. A plate was set before you, the wafting smell going straight to your heart. Dean sat across from you, and you both dug in.
“Oh my god, this is amazing,” you tried to say through a mouthful of food, unsure if Dean understood. He let out a little laugh.
“I told you I was an excellent cook,” he winked at you as you shoved another fork full of food into your mouth. The meal continued in silence, and you knew he was waiting for you to say something first. You didn’t know where to even start.
“Thank you,” you said, five minutes later, “I was a mess. You really didn’t have to stay for that.” He sighed, putting his fork down.
“Y/N, we have a lot to talk about,” he started, but you interrupted before he could say anything else.
“I know, but can we just enjoy breakfast right now? We can talk about it after,” you offered, wanting to be less hungover for the conversation. He nodded and took a sip of his coffee.
“Have you talked to Sam?” you asked, curious about the younger Winchester.
“Yeah, he called me last night. He was worried because he said tried calling you back but you didn’t answer?” Your face flushed.
“Yeah, it was a bit of a mess…” you trailed off, “but did you tell him I was okay?”
“I talked to him this morning. He’s just laying low in Sioux Falls right now. He deserves a break,” Dean said, and you nodded.
“You deserve a break too,” you replied sincerely. He shook his head.
“Nah, I’m good. Its not like the monsters take a break. Someone’s gotta be out there saving the world,” he winked at you and you giggled. Breakfast continued in a comfortable silence. By the time it was over, your headache was mostly gone, reduced to a light throbbing. You took another painkiller before bringing all of the dishes over to the sink.
“I got that.” You shook your head.
“You made breakfast. I got the dishes. It’s not like I’m going to hand wash them anyways, I’m just loading the dishwasher. Why don’t you go make yourself comfortable on the couch and when I’m done we can have that talk?” you suggested. He let out a sigh, but did as you asked. You heard him disappear through the doorway and you started the water. You absentmindedly rinsed all the dishes, putting them in the dishwasher, your head miles away.
You were unsure how this conversation would go and what would come out of it. Hopefully it wouldn’t be like yesterday’s conversation. Should you even bring up the blonde woman from the hotel? What about previous lovers? I mean, sure you had kissed one or two guys in college, but you didn’t go all the way with them. But between the motel room, his half-naked state when he opened the door, and the blonde woman calling him baby, you were sure he was more experienced than you were, which led to your next problem.
If this did work out, did he expect you to be experienced? How many people has he been with? Is it rude to ask him to get tested? You weren’t even on birth control. A million thoughts were running through your mind, but you took a deep breath. Calm down Y/N, you don’t even know where this conversation will go.
The dishes were loaded and the pans were washed in no time. You stalled a little bit, sweeping your eyes around the kitchen just in case there was something else that you could do. You wiped the table and filled up Meatball’s bowl, but after that, you knew that you couldn’t delay the inevitable conversation any longer.
You walked into the living room to find Dean sitting on the couch, his back hunched over. Confused, you neared him, and were surprised to see Meatball’s body curled up in Dean’s lap. Dean had a content look on his face as he gently stroked the cat and Meatball’s purring resonated throughout the room. While Meatball didn’t really take kindly to strangers, it seemed as if he had a soft spot for the Winchesters.
“I’ve never seen him do that with anyone else except for me,” you said, and Dean looked up, smiling.
“Well, he has excellent taste,” Dean joked. You rolled your eyes but smiled and sat down next to him on the couch.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” you said, looking down at your hands in your lap.
“I would like to start by apologizing for last night. I shouldn’t have stormed out of here like I did. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you when we were just becoming comfortable with each other. I shouldn’t have brought that girl back to my room. I did a lot of things I shouldn’t have because I was angry and stupid, and I know that it’s going to take more than an apology to resolve this, but I am sorry Y/N,” Dean said, taking your hand in his. You looked up at him and gave him a reassuring smile.
“I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you. I really wanted to, but it wasn’t the right time,” you said and he nodded in understanding.
“I’m not angry that you met up with that woman. I was hurt— I still am a little bit— but I know that I wasn’t exactly being all lovey-dovey and cuddly. I’m tired of being upset at you and crying over you. I meant what I said last night, Dean. I want to be with you,” you said, staring into his eyes. His gaze softened and he squeezed your hand.
“I want to be with you too, sweetheart, and I’m an idiot for making you doubt that.”
“I know it’s going to take more than a conversation to solve everything,” you started, “but I want to solve everything together, if that’s alright with you.”
“Sweetheart, that’s more than alright with me,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Can I ask you a question?” he said quietly, and you nodded, curious as to what he was going to say.
“Is now the right time?” he asked. You were confused for a second but then you understood. You nodded again, and he smiled. Your eyes slid closed as he gently pressed his lips against yours.
It was unlike any other kiss you had experienced. His lips were soft and warm, and they moved against yours in a way that left you breathless. You were never really one for kissing. In your experience, they were always too sloppy and wet, too much tongue and everything was happening at once. But kissing Dean felt right. It felt perfect.
Your lips parted slightly when you felt his tongue, and allowed it to slip inside, deepening the kiss. He was in the process of pulling your body closer to his when there was a loud screech and Dean abruptly pulled away. You opened your eyes and saw Meatball leap off Dean’s lap and run out of the room in a frenzy.
As you took in Dean’s slight pout in disappointment, you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.
“Meatball ruined the moment,” Dean said, and you shook your head, clasping your hands behind his neck and pulled him closer until you could feel his breath on your lips, less than a fraction of an inch away.
“We’ll just have to create another moment,” you said, before leaning in to kiss him. It was more hurried than the first one, full of emotion. He shifted you into his lap, never breaking the kiss, and you were more than happy to oblige. However, when you felt something harden under your thighs. You pulled away this time, and Dean’s green eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide with adoration. Your heaving chests were pressed against each other, and he went to kiss you again before you stopped him.
“Dean,” you whispered, and he pulled away, his eyebrows ruffled in confusion and worry.
“I’ve never done this before,” you admitted, looking down in embarrassment. You felt his fingers on your chin, tilting your head up so you could meet his soft eyes.
“We don’t have to do this now,” he suggested, and your heart melted. Here was this man, whose want you could literally feel against your thighs, telling you that he can wait. You shook your head.
“No, I want to do this. I just didn’t want you to be disappointed when you realize I have no experience,” you said, and his arms wrapped around your body, pulling you impossibly closer to him.
“Sweetheart, I don’t care that you don’t have any experience. I know that you’re going to be amazing. You’re perfect,” he said, before pecking your lips and standing up. He carried you in his arms bridal style as he walked towards your room. He laid you down on the bed before turning to close the door.
“Just so that giant ball of fur doesn’t interrupt us again,” he joked. He walked towards the bed and laid on top of you, crashing his lips against yours with bruising force.
His hands made their way under your hoodie, his touch leaving tiny sparks that electrified you. He let out an appreciative hum when he realized you were naked underneath and he cupped your breasts, brushing his thumbs over your hardening nipples.
Heat pooled to the middle of your thighs and you squeezed them together in hopes for some friction, before Dean’s hand brushed the inside of your thighs. You instinctively parted them, feeling his fingers rub against you through the cotton of your sweats. You moaned into the kiss, and he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Your hand traveled down his body, finding him incredibly hard, straining against the stiff material of his jeans. You lightly squeezed and he groaned, his lips leaving yours, leaving tiny kisses going from your neck down to your belly button. When he reached the waistband of your sweatpants, he slowly slid them down, throwing them on the floor once they were completely off.
He placed gentle kisses on the inside of your thighs, and came back up to kiss you once again. Your hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he took the hint, breaking the kiss to remove his top. Your eyes raked over his broad shoulders and defined abs. There was a strange tattoo of what looked like a star in a sun near his collarbone and you made a mental note to ask about later. You helped him pull off your hoodie, leaving you exposed. You were nervous as his eyes explored your body. You weren’t wearing expensive lingerie nor did you shave, not having expected this happening today.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out before slamming his lips onto yours with an intense fervor. His fingers dipped under the waistband of your modest cotton underwear and easily slipped through your folds. His thumb rubbed your clit as his long fingers pumped in and out of you, and you couldn’t help the loud moan you let out. He took his fingers out and you whined at the emptiness. He moved down your body, and you felt his hot breath against your aching core.
“Please, baby,” you begged. His mouth was against you in an instant. His tongue teasingly dipped in and out of your folds before his lips wrapped over your swollen bud, little flicks of his tongue causing you to moan. He slowly increased the pressure of his lips. You could feel your orgasm building closer, but he pulled away before you could.
Dean kissed his way back up to your mouth. You immediately began to unbuckle his belt, needing to feel him inside you. His pants slid down easily along with his boxers and his long length stood proudly. When you realized you were both naked, you became nervous.
“Hey, we can do this another time,” Dean said, sensing your hesitation but you shook your head.
“I want to do this now,” you said, hoping you sounded more confident than you felt. He nodded and you reached out to take him in your hand, slowly pumping up and down. You weren’t sure if he expected you to go down on him as he did you, but when he pulled out a condom and began rolling it on, you knew that he didn’t.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, and your back sank into the mattress. He lined himself up and carefully began to enter you, his eyes searching yours for any discomfort. There was a slight stretch as you adjusted to accommodate his large size, but there was no pain. You had thought it would be worse, but Dean made sure that you were as comfortable as possible. Once he was fully inside you, he stopped, giving you time to adjust.
“Are you okay?” he said, concern filling his eyes.
“Yeah,” you breathed out, before experimentally rolling your hips against him, eliciting a groan from Dean.
“You feel amazing,” he said before his lips claimed yours once again. He began to move, the timing of his thrusts steadily increasing as you both reached your peak. The sounds of both of your moans bounced off the walls and his fingers rubbed against your clit.
“Dean!” you came with a cry, feeling yourself clench around him. Your orgasm slammed into you, intense and powerful. He continued his movements as he helped you ride out your high before he also came with a loud moan.
He kissed you sweetly once again before rolling off. You were in a happy daze, your lips swollen and hair tangled. You felt him leave the bed, and he came back with a damp towel, gently cleaning both of you up before laying back down.
His arms circled you, and you reveled in the way his skin felt against yours as he pulled you against him. You tilted your head upwards and shared another kiss.
“Thank you, Bean,” you whispered against his lips.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said and placed a kiss on your forehead. You cuddled against him, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.
Taglist: @akshi8278
#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x female reader#dean winchester x soulmate!reader#reader x dean#reader x dean winchester#dean winchester series#supernatural series#female reader#reader insert#dean winchester angst#dean winchester fluff#dean fluff#dean angst#mufflinbeliever
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Well, I’m already behind. Gonna be honest, this does not bode well for the rest of the month. In my defense I was sick. Anyway, here’s day two on day four.
No Vacancy
Claire is no stranger to sleeping in a car. Plenty of times she comes into a town late and is greeted by neon “No Vacancy” signs in all directions. She sucks it up. It’s part of the job. Better than sleeping on the street.
Still, after a hard hunt it’s not all that fun to try and get cozy in a parking lot.
Claire tosses and turns. She hurt her hip this time around; the injury’s not too bad, but it’s making it hard to get comfortable. She sighs. Maybe she should just drive through the night.
The only problem is, she’s in Bumfuck-Nowhere, Wyoming, and she doesn’t have anywhere to go next.
She contemplates pulling out her phone to search for another hunt, but she’s hurt, and she’s tired. She doesn’t want to keep pushing.
At the very least it’s summer. She doesn’t have to waste gas keeping the car on through the night so she doesn’t freeze. Small mercies, and all that.
Claire falls in and out of sleep. Sometimes it’s aches and pains that wake her. Sometimes it’s good old fashioned nightmares. (Too often it’s both). Eventually, though, the sun does rise, and Claire reluctantly gets up to start towards… somewhere.
She’s driving vaguely north when she spots the hitchhiker.
Claire doesn’t pick up hitchhikers as a general rule. It’s dangerous, and usually a waste of time that could be better spent saving lives. But she doesn’t have a destination right now, and she needs one.
If he tries to hurt her, well, Claire always has her gun.
So she pulls over and rolls down the window. “Where you headed?”
“Sturgis,” the guy says gruffly, and Claire raises her eyebrows.
“Shouldn’t you have a bike?”
The dude scowls. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“And you’re still going?” Claire isn’t sure whether to be impressed or disturbed.
“Think that depends on you now.”
Claire sighs. Why is she doing this? “Yeah, alright, hop in.”
The biker without a bike gets in the car. Claire makes sure he can see that she’s carrying a sidearm. She hopes she won’t end up needing it.
She doesn’t.
The guy’s name is Chris, and while he’s not great company, he doesn’t seem to be a rapist or a serial killer, so Claire counts that as a win. She drops him off just outside Sturgis in the late afternoon.
And now she’s right back where she started, with a car full of weapons and nowhere to go.
The thought comes to her then, unbidden, that she’s in South Dakota. She could stop by Jody’s. She could go home.
It’s around five hours from Sturgis to Sioux Falls, and the entire drive Claire tells herself she won’t stop. She won’t even go into town. She’s just headed in that general direction, that’s all. No reason for it.
The fact that she finds herself idling on the curb outside Jody’s house shaking with anxiety is entirely a coincidence.
Claire parks the car and turns it off, only because gas is expensive and she doesn’t want to use it if she’s not going anywhere. She grips the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white. It’s late. She should have called. She shouldn’t have shown up at all.
But she’s here now. And Claire Novak may be many things, but a coward she is not.
She doesn’t take her bags out of the car yet, but she walks up to the door and she knocks.
Jody opens it.
“Claire?”
Claire is frozen.
There’s a long beat where they just stare at each other, saying nothing, and then Jody pulls her into a hug and Claire crumbles.
“Hey,” she whispers, and her voice is absolutely not watery not in the slightest. “Hope you didn’t rent out my room to any other strays.”
Jody squeezes her tight. “There will always be space for you here, Claire. Always. No matter what.”
Claire laughs a little bit. She doesn’t know what else to do. “Sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming.”
Jody pulls back to look her in the eyes, hands firm on her shoulders. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Yeah,” Claire nods. “Yeah, me too.”
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Sometimes 13 just poses as a student and attends rivers lectures.
Hellooo! I’ve been saving this prompt for a long time cause I love it so much and now finally did something exciting with it! This is actually a little collaboration I did with @serawalkerwrites. She keeps getting asked to write for DW and never has, so we decided to do a little thing together! Basically, we took turns writing paragraphs! She's written the River bits and I wrote for 13. Really fun thing to do because our styles are quite different but it worked :D Apart from the fact that she made me write in present tense which I hate lmao! Also, if you like American Horror Story or Ratched, check out her stuff!
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2300
Read on AO3 or below
Like The First Time
“I might be younger and far prettier than the other Professors at this University, but that doesn't mean I don't expect the same level of good behaviour from my students,“ Professor River Song barks up the rows of lecture hall seating, slapping her papers on the desk. She tosses her bouncing curls of hair and brings her hands to her hips, watching the chatting students in the back row and waiting for them to take notice. That blonde girl seems to whispering at some speed, with enthusiastic hand gestures to boot. “That means you in the back row!“ She raises her voice again, finally getting the young blondes attention.
The Doctor hadn’t been able to stop herself. When River had started talking about the Venusian tomb she’d visited not long ago, it had been a perfect opportunity to tell the other students about the time she’d been invited to a funeral service there. It’s an incredibly stupid thing to do, of course. She isn’t meant to interact with anyone - as strictly speaking - she isn’t meant to be here. For a start she isn’t actually a student at Luna University; for another, she could very well be causing some damage to the fabric of space and time. Visiting her wife earlier in her timeline is risky… but she hasn’t been able to stay away. Sometimes, when the Doctor misses her a lot, she sits in on her lectures, right at the back. She knows River won’t recognise her and she never speaks to her… there’s no harm no foul is there? However, a slip up is bound to happen eventually.
Now, as she looks at River, who is shooting her piercing glare from the front of the auditorium, the Doctor realises she’s messed up. The Doctor looks left and right to the other students, hoping it’s one of them River is scolding.
“Yes you, don't act like I cant see you -“ River lifts her eyebrows at the petulant student. “Forget it, I’m not shouting at you from down here, stay behind after class. Then we’ll talk, and believe me you won’t like what I have to say.“ River rolls her eyes away, a taut huff tumbling from her lips to find her inner calm once again, before continuing. “Now where were we…“
The Doctor shrinks back in her seat, her neighbouring students giving her sympathetic smiles. Others just snicker and smirk. River has a reputation for strictness, no-one messes with her…The Doctor’s made a big mistake. She glances to the exit; she can still escape this situation. But if she does, she’ll never be able to come back. Perhaps it’s time to face her wife at last. She gnaws her bottom lip anxiously and tries her best to sit still for the remainder of the lecture.
As a shrill bell rings out, signalling the end of class and an end to the Doctors torture, River watches the troublemaker while she packs her things. Students rise to their feet, stuff their bags with books and file out in an eager swarm, heading into the midday sunshine. But not this student. She’s bouncing down the steps to the front, an epic grey coat and too-short trousers have her piquing River’s interest before they start talking. “Ah, good. At least you decided to be smart this time and not run-off out the doors. I would have found you,“ River informs the girl, whose swinging her arms and looking guilty. If this were any other circumstance, then River might have bought her a drink. But as it is, she's her student, however adorable she is. “Care to tell me what is so pressing you had to take time out of my lecture to talk about it?“
“Ah well, you know, the whole thing about the Venusian tomb, just brought back some memories to when I was learning Venusian aikido. There was this one time when I was invited to a funeral at one, which - you know - is a big deal for any outsider and…“ The Doctor starts rambling, unable to stop herself. A grin spreads across her features, hoping to entertain River with her story, as she had done so many times in the past. River always liked to listen to recounts of her adventures.
“Venusian Aikido?“ River folds her arms, skeptical. “They don’t teach that to just anyone. I happen to be a black belt myself.“
“Oh I know.“ The Doctor grins.
“It’s not on my resumé,“ River parries, her eyebrows lifting into an arch. “So someone told you. Perhaps at this funeral, you supposedly attended?“ River laughs doubting the girls claims. “No-one just gets invited to a Venusian funeral, or a wedding, or any kind of ceremony unless you’re a honoured noble. Which you clearly cannot be, no offence Sweetie but -“ River pauses. She stares at the blonde and her mismatched clothing, then bunches her lips. “What did you say your name was?“
The Doctor doesn’t answer immediately. This is it, the moment of truth. She could just tell her… surely there’s no harm in it. This is River Song after losing her parents in Manhattan, and before Darillium; there is no real reason to keep her identity from her. Apart from the fact that she isn't sure how she will react. They didn’t see each other for so long in between Manhattan and Darillium, enough for River to come to doubt if the Doctor had ever truly loved her. Her words still echo through the back of the Doctor’s mind now. The Doctor doesn’t and has never loved me. - But you are the woman who loves the Doctor. - Yes I am. I never denied it. But whoever said he loved me back? Those words still haunt the Doctor, even after spending 24 years with her in which she’d done everything she could to convince her of just the opposite.
“Jane Smith.“ The Doctor answers at last with a thin smile.
River lets out a loud chortle. “Jane Smith? Of course it is,“ River replies not believing her for a second. Who has the most standard name of all names like that? River postures a little, shuffles her papers around into a neat pile already thinking of the lunch that’s waiting for her in the refectory, because she's not getting any truth from this girl. “I don't recall your name on my student register; so…how about you tell me the truth.“ River hooks her bag over her shoulder and takes a long stride forward, claiming the podium as her space, the lecturer to the student. River examines her, because if she’s not her student, then who is she? All beautiful round eyes and choppy blonde hair, River certainly doesn't recognise her. Should she, recognise her? “Or you can come to my office and explain yourself there.“
“I uhh…“ The Doctor swallows hard. Of course she doesn’t believe her, people rarely do initially; but usually she can use her psychic paper to back up her identity. She knows River would see right through that if she tried it, so that isn’t an option. “Well, I’ve actually got somewhere else to be. A really very important…thing. A thing that can’t wait, so…it was really nice talking to you, brilliant lecture. Slightly exaggerated in some parts but - you know - got to keep the students engaged…“ Her eyes flick to the door. She’s parked her TARDIS in a supply closet, so it’s not far away.
“Are you calling my stories embellished?“ River trails after this Jane Smith towards the door, flabbergasted. She’s a bone fide time traveller, she knows her subject matter better than anyone in the known universe, except - “It’s not as though you can possible know better? How old are you anyway, twelve?“ She carries on trying to get under the girl’s skin, who is clearly hiding something. “Where on earth are you going? You realise that’s the closet.“
“Why are you following me?“ The Doctor had hoped to simply shake her but River seems to have different ideas. She doesn’t dare open the supply closet door, River would see the TARDIS and she would be done for. But where else could she possibly go? She looks around anxiously for a way out.
“Mmm it seems you might be trapped…“ River drops her voice to a knowing whisper. She smirks, delighting in watching the girl fret.
“I just… forgot which way I… uhh…“ The Doctor struggles for a response suddenly aware of how close River is getting to her. And that smirk… She knows it all too well. Like a lioness stalking her prey. She can’t even think of a credible lie to get her out of her predicament.
“Which way you meant to go?“ River bobs her finger on her lip pretending to think hard about it. “My office is this way, if you didn't get the hint earlier.“ River ghosts her hands over the girls hips, rubbing into her hipbones with her thumbs and sucking her lips and humming. “Jane Smith. I appreciate the code name. You can slip me your paper later, I’ll be sure to mark it up a grade, well, depending on your performance of course.“ River winks coyly.
“I…“ The Doctor’s mouth suddenly feels really dry, she can’t speak. Flirting and reading innuendo isn’t exactly her forte but River can’t possibly be more obvious with her advances. Is this what River is like when she isn’t around? The Doctor isn’t sure whether to be flattered or hurt. They’re not exactly exclusive but she doesn’t like her nose rubbed in it like this. But at the same time, perhaps this is an opportunity… She could be with River without having to reveal her identity… but is that something she wanted to do under false pretences?
“Good talk, come along!“ River grins and leads the way across the lecture hall to the staff door, and unlocks it with a quick key-twizzle, then presses the door open wide to wave ‚Jane‘ through. River uses the opportunity to loop her arm around Jane’s waist and scoops her in the right direction down the hall towards her office.
The Doctor doesn’t know what to do. Things are moving fast, River doesn’t even give her a chance to protest. Her hearts seem to skip their beats when River pulls her along.
Once inside, River tosses the door shut and wastes no time in pushing Jane against it, roaming her hands up and down her sides and snapping the elastic braces. “These are retro, but I can go with the flow, off they coooome…“ River sings as she yanks them off Jane’s shoulders, then the coat, and where is the edge of this t-shirt? River is keen to feel her hands up Jane’s abdomen, and the flush of her skin. River knows her hands are rough - years of archeological digs will do that to a girl - but Jane is young and sweet enough to need a little roughing up.
“River…“ The Doctor tries to protest, this was moving too fast. Her breath catches when River untucks her t-shirt. The Doctor is still getting used to this new body and she suddenly feels very hot.
“First names already? My my…“ River tosses her mane of hair out the way as she leans in to kiss Jane on the neck, biting her and enjoying teasing her far too much. “Sweetie you do give yourself away, even in this body,“ River tickles her teeth along the Doctor’s collarbone searching for the next spot to bite. “I mean, I like it darling, but give me a heads next time -“ River explores the Doctor’s petite body with enthusiasm. “My apparatus is your apparatus and all that, got to get my head around it.“
“You knew?!“ The Doctor blurts out and pushes her off, holds her at arms length. “And you just played along?!“ She’s breathless from River’s kisses but her outrage overshadows her arousal.
River unbuttons her shirt confidently, tearing the sides apart and presenting her body to the Doctor once again, even if it’s all new for the Doctor, River is still River. “Well what did you think? I do this with all my students, Jane Smith?“ She smiles a broad, proud River smile and holds her hands out for the Doctor to take. “I’m married, remember?“ Mutually exclusive is…a bit of stretch, there might be other husbands here and there, but there is only one Doctor. “So, wife, how about a little ride on the merry-go-round with this new body?“
The Doctor just stares at her for a moment. It’s been a while since Darillium but she still recalls every moment, and River is just as beautiful as she remembers. And just as much of a temptress. She bites her lip, suddenly feeling very insecure. It would be her first time in this body…and it’s her first time being a woman as far as she can remember. That’s a lot to be anxious about.
Softening the come-on, River takes the Doctors hands and steps closer to her, squeezing her hands in reassurance. “I knew it would happen eventually, a wife and not a husband. It’s okay, you know.“ River takes a deep breath, and kisses her wife properly for the first time. Her lips are thinner softer and taste of cinnamon, but she kisses back just like her husband did. Her Doctor. “I love you. This adorable new body is just a bonus,“ she says gently, then kisses her nose for extra effect.
The Doctor can’t help but chuckle as she looks up to her. This was new. She is shorter than her! Though only due to River’s ridiculously high heels.
“I love you, too.“ She whispers nuzzling into her crook of her neck as she wraps her arms around her. River smells exactly the way she remembers, like sunshine on a spring day. “I’ve missed you so much.“ She confesses.
#Doctor Who#fanfiction#collaboration#prompt#river song#thirteen#thirteenth doctor#river x thirteen#thirteen/river#space wives#teen#It's professor song to you#Jodie whittaker#Alex kingston#femslash#fluff#flirting#otp#yes this was the secret project lmao
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Mouse please forgive for the load of questions I'm about to request for the OC ask thingy. ☝️😃 Can I get a 8, 9, 10, 13, 15, 20, 21, 25, 32, 34, 41, 50, 51, 55, 60, 65, 68, 74, 89, and 99 all for Randy ✊😊. I'm really sorry I just really like Randy 🧍♀️
That's completely ok, this was fun to answer!
Putting it under the cut because it's long though 👀💦
8. What does their dream house look like?
Not a moldy cabin in the woods
Psdfj ok serious answer. I’d say somewhere that’s somewhat secluded, but is still close to a town or big city. Somewhere near a lot of people so he can keep eating without people getting suspicious. Ideally, the house also has electricity and running water, and hopefully wifi and cable. There also has to be a lot of storage, and maybe a giant freezer so he can keep more food for longer periods of time
9. If they could change one part of their appearance, what would it be?
I’m kind of split on two different parts. I think he would probably choose his teeth, just because if he had normal looking teeth, it’ll be easier for him to blend in and to not wear a gas mask all the time to hide them
But also, he might just want to be smaller or thinner, that way he can actually wear the clothes that he steals
10. What’s a simple thing that brings them joy?
Human meat
13. How forgiving are they? What do they consider unforgivable?
He’s very forgiving. He doesn’t care what you do or what you’ve done, as long as you don’t try to kill him. That’s the only thing he can’t forgive. He will turn on you immediately
15. How good are they at conversation? Are they a small talk master, bad at initiating, etc?
I want to say that he’s pretty good in a conversation. He definitely doesn’t have any problems initiating one, but if you’re talking about something he doesn’t know anything about, he might say something stupid and make everything awkward
Although, he doesn’t know how to make himself seem less intimidating. Like if he’s talking to someone and they’re surrounded by lots of people, it’s easier for him to just seem like a cheerful guy. But if you’re talking to him all alone and there’s absolutely no one else around, his cheeriness might seem kinda creepy
20. Are they easy to wake up in the morning, or grouchy and sleepy?
You might have to put in some work to wake him up, like just shake him a bit. He’s definitely going to be groggy though. Just very lazy. He can become slightly irritable if he never gets the chance to fully adjust, like if he wakes up and finds out that his captive escaped, so he immediately has to run after them. He’ll definitely be mad after that, it’s not a great thing to wake up to
21. What’s their ideal date like?
Anything fun, and anything that’ll give him a good laugh. Basically any quality time with his date. This can range from anything, like if you’re watching a movie and don’t mind him making stupid comments, or if you go to an amusement park. Or even just committing a crime
25. What are their dreams like?
They’re kinda weird and childish. Plotlines won’t make sense and things will happen randomly, but they’re also very blurry too, so he can never remember them when he wakes up. Sometimes he does dream about hunting random people down, but it would mainly go on forever and he just keeps barely missing them
32. What are they like at parties? Party animal, or awkwardly sitting in the corner drinking punch and reading?
So this depends on whether or not he’s looking for someone to eat. If he is, he will be off to the side, but not awkwardly. He’ll look like he belongs at the party and that he’s waiting for someone to approach him. If he isn’t looking for a target, he’s definitely a party animal. He’ll just let loose and have fun
34. What’s their favourite drink? (Coffee, tea, juice, hot chocolate, soda, etc)
Randy really enjoys sodas
41. What would they dress up as for Halloween?
I don’t think Randy would dress up for Halloween, mainly because he doesn’t know what he would dress up as in the first place. This doesn’t mean you can’t convince him to dress up though. If you want to do a group cosplay or something, even if he doesn’t know the character, he’ll definitely join you
50. Why would they be a good partner for a road trip?
He’s very fun to be around if you’re alright with someone who’s chaotic. He’s funny in his own way and will try to make sure everyone else is having fun too
51. Why would they be a BAD partner for a road trip?
You’re going to need to keep him on one of those baby harnesses. He’s going to want to explore everything. And he might get annoying in the car by asking too many questions and how long it’s going to take to get to the destination
55. Choose a vine you think perfectly encapsulates their character.
Ok so it’s not a vine, but this video
60. What sappy thing will they cry at? (romance movies, cute cat videos, etc) Would they deny crying about it later on?
I think he’d probably cry at found-family tropes, like just seeing all of these people bond together over a shared experience and find a place where they all belong
65. Do they give people a lot of nicknames?
Randy’s not the best at giving nicknames, so he usually calls people by what they tell him to
68. Are they easy to fluster? What would you have to do to truly fluster them?
Although he’s easy to compliment, it would be harder to fluster him. He’ll gladly take compliments, but most of the time, he’ll just get giddy. If you wanna fluster him, the best way to do that is to start by complimenting his teeth, then continue from there
74. What’s their guilty pleasure?
Does eating people count?
If that doesn’t count, then I’d say it’s just walking through town and going sightseeing
89. What would they get into a petty argument over?
He’d probably argue over how to eat a person 👀💦. Like he’d get heated and talk about which parts of the body are the best and how you would go about eating them
99. What would they wear to a formal event? Describe their outfit!
I will draw this instead, but I’m going to have to do it tomorrow 👀
#emi bunni#randy#my oc#mouse speaks#i cant draw right now but ill try to do it tomorrow#i just wanted to post these now though to answer them#oc question meme
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Information on Amy.
(Be warned it's a ~little bit~ long, any other pieces of information you want to know I'll gladly answer if you ask.)
~General Information~
Fandom: Toy Story.
Name: Amy the Ragdoll.
Nickname, if any: Amy, Ames, and Doll-Face(usually by more villainous characters or used in a joking manner).
Gender: Female.
Sexuality: ??? (I mean I know the gender of who she has a crush on, but I'm unsure on what her actual sexuality should be tbh)
Age: Mentally, mid-twenties in the first story second movie, thirties to forties in the third and fourth. Physically, she doesn’t have an age, but in regards to when she was made (the 1950’s) makes her fifty to sixty.
City they currently live in: San Francisco, apparently that’s where Toy Story takes place.
Any pets: Would Rex count? He just follows her around like a nervous puppy.
Current occupation: I mean she’s practically a therapist, but she’s a toy and she only treats Rex so it probably doesn’t count lol
~Physical Appearance~
Height: 10 inches.
Body type: Stocky, but a bit gangly too, similar to Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas.
Eye colour: Black.
Skin tone: Light.
Clothing style: Pale green/turquoise shirt with short puffed sleeves, with a denim dungaree dress with a daisy print in the centre over it. She wears yellow rain boots.
Hairstyle: No style, it’s just there. It’s messy and gets in her face easily and is made out of dark brown thin string.
~Speech/Language/Communication~
Amy speaks quietly and politely, rambles a bit if left without a reply or under pressure, very nervous in front of intimidating characters.
First language: English.
Learned languages: A bit of Spanish (Ya’ll remember Toy Story 3!)
Accent: American.
Pitch of voice: High, but soft, not quite annoying, unless she’s stressed, then it gets very pitchy and shrill.
~Behaviour/Habits~
Amy tends to just stand there when she can’t find anything to do, and will immediately try to find Rex, Hamm, Buzz or Jessie if surrounded by strangers (Though she’s not sure if it’s for their comfort or her own) Amy is very polite.
Spending habits: She doesn’t like to be made a fuss of at all, the very fact of someone giving something to her is unnerving (even if the thing never costed anything at all) and she feels compelled to give the giver something in return.
Morning routine: She gets up same time as the others, but wishes she could stay in bed a bit longer though. Before she came to Andy’s room, her sleep pattern was all over the place.
Bedtime routine: Similar to above, now she goes to bed the same time as the others, but before she just slept and got up willy-nilly.
Nervous habits: Amy will try to find Rex if she’s nervous, and she’ll pretend it’s because she’s worried for him, which is quite true, but she also just feels most safe with him. Speaking of, Amy will let Rex hold her hand and squish it whenever he or Amy is nervous, it’s calming to the both of them.
Bad habits: Not a very good exerciser, but then again, she’s spend basically half her life in a small attic, so I’ll give her a break.
Skills/talents: She’ very logical, mind-over-matter, (mostly, very good at calming others down and/or convincing them. She’s very good at spelling and knows quite a lot of words, some of which others haven’t even heard of.
Hobbies: Reading, talking (especially with Rex, Jessie or Hamm), and generally just lazing about or walking around somewhere, on her own or with a friend.
~The Past~
Amy’s first owner was a little girl called Alice. Alice loved nothing more than to read Amy stories (Mostly fairy tales), but of course, Alice grew up like all kids do, and she left Amy in the attic for someone else to have her.
Amy waited for many years, and all that time she’d never given up that someone would find her.
She thought she’s hit the jackpot when Andy and his family move into Alice’s old house, but they don’t go up into the attic to collect her. Some weeks later, though, Andy’s mother brings a set of boxes filled with junk into the attic and leaves. Woody, Buzz, Slinky, and Rex were trapped in one of the boxes (Call me a cheater but this part was actually inspired by a Toy Story comic, where those four toys get stuck in the attic that way and have to escape. It struck me odd that they never met at least one new friend there, so I made one. It was also my first story, I needed some inspiration!)
Amy, in a fit of panic, goes and hides.
But then she’s found by Rex as he and the others try to find a way out.
They then decide to let the strange, dust-covered ragdoll come back to Andy’s rom with them. (well, Rex did, anyway.)
Home town: Would Alice’s old room count? But it’s now Andy’s Room, so it won’t count will it?
Happy or sad childhood: Pretty normal to be honest, as normal a life as a toy could have anyway. And as for sadness, having spent all that time on her own for all those years, having missed out on so much, is a little sad. But Amy made sure she never became bitter over it or used it as an excuse for anything.
Earliest memory: Waking up in her toy store, with a friend of hers for company (a ragdoll Prospector, a much as she remembers) and as she gets bought by Alice’s Auntie, she says she hopes he gets picked up by a kid. (Unbeknownst to her, she would meet him again in a while to find out he never got to experience it)
Saddest memory: One, being left by Alice, yet being so happy for her and how much she’s grown up, if she could cry tears of joy for her owner, she would. Two, some (or most) of the days she spent waiting for a new owner to arrive. And three, watching Rex have a mental breakdown of anxiety.
Happiest memory: One, the time she and Alice went to the park, (Amy absolutely adores nature) Two after sliding down a drainpipe to get to Andy’s room, and three, having known she’d helped her friend out.
Significant events: Being bought, being left in an attic, being rescued from the attic, while gaining some new friends.
~Family~
The entirety of Andy’s room, whether they like it or not, they’re all in this together and are some kind of mish-mash, found family in a sense.
Siblings: I’ve been thinking of giving Amy a brother (since I based her on Raggedy Ann, a matching bootleg Raggedy Andy seems reasonable) bur I’m unsure about it, since I’ve already mapped out Amy’s entire series of stories (Around six or seven all together, so far I’m currently writing only the third) and I can only fit him in the fifth or sixth if I can.
~Relationships~
Romantically? I’d like to say she has a crush on Rex, I don’t know why I thought of it, I was contemplating it one day as I sketched a rough (and terrible) sketch of her, and I drew Rex too because he’s just so fun to draw and I wanted to make a scale for Amy’s size, and one of my friends (who had been watching me) immediately said “I ship it!” and well, the rest is history, I made the decision to ship it too.
Friends: Jessie, Hamm, Buzz, and Rex are her closet friends, but she’d like to say that all the Gang are her friends. Later on she becomes good friends with Mr. Prickle Pants, Buttercup, Trixie and Totoro, and she absolutely loves the peas and Forky.
Best friend(s): Hamm, Mr. Prickle Pants, Jessie, and Rex.
What do people like about them? Amy’s pretty easy to talk to, she’s polite and attentive and will sit in companionable silence with someone if they need it. But she won’t hesitate to give hard truths and advice if it’s needed.
What do people dislike about them? Amy is quite a doormat, if someone is rude to her or breaches anything she just lets it happen, and sometimes she’s too indecisive about her own stuff, unsure whether she’s going to offend others or not over the smallest things, which annoys others quite a bit.
~Mentality/Personal Beliefs~
Amy is a toy of logic, and though she believes others can do it if they set their minds to it, she doesn’t quite believe in herself. She believes she must follow the rules of being a toy at all times, no matter what.
Phobias: Dust. She hates it. It took a good five weeks to brush all the dust out her hair and clothes, and even so there’s still some in her pockets and places she can’t reach. And being alone, too. Now she can’t be alone for more than an hour before she starts to get antsy and nervous. And for a short time books gave her a strange tiredness, after reading them for so long and for so many years she couldn’t even stand the sight of them.
But of course, not for long, since Amy found out Andy had a copy of Red’s Dream by a Mr. William Reeves.
Optimist or pessimist: Depends on the situation really, if her mind can’t come up with a solution, then there’s no point in trying anymore. Unless someone else can think of something, that is.
Personal philosophies: “You are here to make good things happen. No person here is made for one reason only, or even only one. There’s no point in pretending to be someone you’re not just for the attention of others, no matter how cool they are. We should find are own meaning, as we’re the only ones who have control of it.
It’ll take a while, but I swear, it’ll be worth it.”
Biggest dream/wish: Amy wants nothing more than to find meaning for herself, but finds it rather hard to do so. Of course, that doesn’t mean she’ll settle for someone else’s meaning. As cheesy as it sounds, she just wants an adventure. She doesn’t necessarily want to be the hero, though, she’s just happy to go along with the ride so long as it gets her out the house for a few hours. She also, above all else, wants Rex to find meaning too, even if she never does, it would be nice to know that he had.
Greatest strength(s): Persuasion, story-telling, logic, and good grammar.
Biggest flaw: Despite being a ragdoll, Amy can’t sew because of her fingerless hands, which are just soft mittens in shape. Amy is also quite a doormat, as I said before, so if her calm persuasion and reasoning doesn’t work, she’s left to be walked all over.
Regrets: Staying in that dratted attic too long, the window was open, she could’ve just climbed out, but no, she had to stay there for some mind-rotting decades. But if she had just escaped, she would never have met her new friends. Amy just wishes she had met them a lot sooner.
Achievements: Escaped the attic, slid down a drainpipe, leapt onto the windowsill (though nearly knocking Woody and Buzz over in the process) stopped her friend from having a panic attack, and managed to remember the entire Dictionary and is able to recite it down from A to Z, and even Z to A.
Secrets: Not much, just strange feelings for one of her friends, but it’s not much of a secret, Bo knows, and Mr. Potato Head and Hamm could see it from a mile away, and the others have their suspicions.
Goals: Read the entirety of Andy’s (and later Bonnie’s) bookshelves, become more confident in herself, have her own book-worthy adventure, and figure out what those strange feelings for her friend is.
~Likes/Favourites~
Favourite colour: Even before meeting Rex, Amy’s favourite colour was always green. Every time Alice had taken her to the park, Amy adored watching the sunlight pour through the leaves with a golden-green glow.
Favourite book(s): Because it’s sentimental to her, being her owner’s favourites, she loves Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Peter Pan, and The Wizard of Oz. They all hold similar plots (a little girl in a blue dress goes to a fantasy land, has a few adventures, and then leaves said fantasy land to go home to her family and responsibilities) but it reminds Amy of her old owner Alice (who was actually named after Alice from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland) and their playtimes together.
Favourite Book Quotation(s):
“Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.”
“There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is facing danger when you are afraid.”
Favourite movie: Amy does much prefer books, since they allow her to imagine the setting and characters in her own way, but doesn’t mind movies, and isn’t picky on what they watch, though she does quite like horror films.
Favourite song: Amy likes any kind of music, new or old.
Favourite game: Amy never really cared for games, the competitiveness always bothered her and stressed her out. But she’s more than happy to watch Rex play his video games and cheer him on.
~Relationships with other characters~
~Rex~
- Hit it off pretty quickly.
- Amy helps him with his anxiety, and helps him find confidence in himself, she acts as a certain therapist to him.
- Both become very stressed without the other around.
- Rex will hold and knead at Amy’s hands sometimes; it calms him down.
- Rex will let Amy ride on his back if she’s tired or needs to see something (Because she’s so short).
- One of them can basically be talking about the most boring-est things ever, yet still the other will hang on to their every word.
~Jessie~
- Became friends pretty quickly.
- Will drag Amy along anywhere.
- Get along fairly well.
- Jessie does the talking and Amy does the planning.
- Jessie always pranks the other toys and makes Amy tag along (along with Hamm).
- Introvert/Extrovert dynamic for sure.
- Both were left in alone for years so like to find solace in each other.
~Hamm~
- Hamm begrudgingly warmed up to the timorous ragdoll.
- Surprisingly good pals.
- Have full conversations without saying anything.
- Like to sit and look out of the window together.
- Hamm makes Amy laugh when she really shouldn’t (mainly when he makes fun of the other toys, mainly Woody).
- Hamm makes fun of Amy having a crush on Rex every once in a while, though he doesn’t mean any harm.
~The Potato Heads~
- Mr. doesn’t really interact with Amy much, but finds her surprisingly tolerable, if a bit high-strung and annoying.
- Like Hamm, Mr. makes Amy laugh at the most wrong moments.
- She and Mrs. Are quite good friends, and she sometimes lets Amy take care of the aliens if she and her husband are busy.
~Woody~
- Are aquianteces.
- Don’t exactly interact much, even though the whole room practically revolves around him, in Amy’s opinion, though she would never say it to his face.
~Buzz~
- Amy thinks he’s super cool (then again, he is Buzz Lightyear, he practically invented coolness)
- Both are just as clueless as one another when it comes to social cues and interactions.
- Amy helps him with vocabulary and spelling every once in a while.
~Mr. Prickle Pants~
- Are absolute BFF’s.
- Go back and forth with book quotes to the point of driving the other toys insane.
~Bo Peep~
- Amy's not exactly sure if Bo has befriended her or not.
- (She has)
- They later become good friends.
- Amy misses their talks, Bo was one of the only toys she could talk to that could keep a secret.
#amy the ragdoll#toy story#oc#toy story oc#character information#original character#oc's#ocs#character development#fan character
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Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Three): Maybe God Is Just A Cop We Can Fast Talk
Notes: I’m trying to test out not stockpiling chapters and just post whatever I got when I got it. So, we’ll see how it goes. Additionally, apologies in advanced if my work is a bit more fucky on spelling and grammar from now on out. They use to have some degree of beta reading, but now it’s the wild west. It all depends on my brain, which is smooth.
Word Count: 13,335
Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, death, entirely too on the nose foreshadowing, f/f sex scene, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, masturbation, sex toy use, nipple sucking, dirty talk that may or may not be cringe (I had fun)
If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~
V takes a deep breath as they pull into the parking garage of a large apartment building complex, her nose wrinkles. August has settled into Night City, air humid and thick, the stink of trash filling her lungs at every breath. The smell of NC in summer and a landfill are only a few degrees removed from one another. Jackie is in the passenger seat, nearly pressed shoulder to shoulder. Wakako is paying them to rescue some corpo chick, a gig V would usually roll her eyes at, but the apartment is a known Scavenger hideout. Without someone stepping in, the woman will be ripped apart, organs and cyberware chopped out to be sold. Corpo or not; no one deserves that.
The merc covers her lips with chapstick and a little above, so she smells the balm and not Night City, then dabs some on the inside of her mask as well. The trick reminds her of when her mother would have her and Eira smear homemade balm under their noses before going to pick through landfills; telling them stories of old plague doctors who’d shove cloves into beaked masks to avoid the stench of death. The chapstick isn’t quite so strongly scented as the mash of camphor, menthol, and coconut oil her mother would use. But it strikes that nostalgia bone nonetheless.
“Still not used to the smell?” Jackie taunts her, grin pulling at his lips.
“God, no,” she quickly signs, her choker translator off as she pulls on her mask.
“It grows on you.”
“Six months in and the only thing that’s grown on me is you.” Her mask takes over translating her signing, though she’ll have to shut it off when they get in.
“Was that almost a compliment?”
“A compliment? From me? Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Pff, real funny,” he rolls his eyes, “chick we're looking for's somewhere in this building. Probably crawlin' with the pendejos that kidnapped her. Eyes and ears open, all right?"
“Opening my ears isn’t gonna help much, but alright.”
“You’re real close to my last nerve, chica,” he says but he’s smiling.
“Love you too, Jack, now, the fixer give you any tips?”
“I’m not your mother,” he tries to mimic the older woman’s voice, “just do what I pay you for, it’s easy work. Sh, yeah.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
With that Jackie and V leave the car, stepping out into the garage. The taller of the two checks his two pistols, ensuring the gold emblazoned weapons are loaded and ready for the mess that surely awaits them. There’s no telling how many Scavvs are here, the body hacking gangers the equivalent of cockroaches. She checks her own .50 caliber pistol, it’s loaded and she has a knife strapped in a holster on her thigh.
“Elevator. This way.” Jackie nods towards the elevator in the parking garage, leading the way as V follows behind. Dirty elevator doors open for them, the words NO FUTURE scratched across the stained metal. The two mercs step inside, V leaning against a graffiti covered wall, leg shaking with anxiety.
A digital interface, T-Bugs avatar appears at the elevator button panel, flashes of code as the runner quickly hacks through it without needing an apartment key. The doors close and the rusty elevator lurches into movement, heading up.
“Target's Sandra Dorsett. Target's biomon went mute a couple hours back. Suspected abduction. Target could've possibly flatlined already. Not sure you're in time,” Bug’s voice comes through V’s hearing aids, subtitles on her mask for good measure, as the runner delivers her warning. That’s always a risk with rescue jobs, but they have a decent track record for getting to people in time.
“We're in time, Bug,” Jackie corrects her, “ we. Sure, you're on phones, but… that don't make you any less a part of this squad.”
"Squad… Charming.” V can nearly hear the Bug rolling her eyes.
“Awww, c’mon Bug, you know we need you.”
“No arguments there, without me you gonkbrains probably be shot to death by turrets or sitting in jail by now. “
“And without us, you’d have to step foot outside your apartment.”
“A true horror,” Bug mocks, a scoff in her voice as the elevator stops, doors opening, “focus now, You’re lookin' for twelve thirty-seven.”
V and Jackie step out of the elevators, greeted to trash strewn apartment halls, graffiti scratched across every inch. Hands on their iron, the mercs make their way down the hall. With a thought V mutes the translation tech in her mask, linked to her neuralware, that way a stray hand gesture won’t give them away.
“Han, is that you?” An older woman starts to step out of her apartment.
V quickly waves her hand, signaling the woman to make herself scarce and she nods before running back in. Between the Scavenger’s victims and the innocent residents; there’s a lot of room for potential casualties. Low profile is essential if they want to do a clean job.
“Target should be inside, but I got zero eyes on her biomon. Fingers crossed it's not too late. Ugh, hate this life or death shit,” T-Bug explains as they reach the door they need, “try hacking the door, think you can trip it on your own, V?”
V’s fingers itch to just pry the damn thing open or try to pick the lock, despite knowing the former would give them away and the latter is impossible with the electronic model of door. The young merc brings up the scanner of her mask, running a quick scan of the door and sending the quick hack through. It slides open, Jackie able to slip inside with her following close behind.
The doorway opens into a wider room and V’s heart sinks. The sticky cloying smell of blood claws its way through anything, so thick in the air that her efforts to block out the city smell are rendered useless. There’s a steady but slightly muffled thrum of electronic music coming from the other room, not a Scavenger in sight, but their handiwork paints the room. Low grade medical equipment, a shitty old school heart monitor attached to a woman in a ripperdoc chair. The woman is dead, no monitor or scan needed to know that. Body ripped open, entrails spilling out, red spattering down the black leather of the chair. Blood paints the walls around her, her skin a sallow lifeless shade of gray. Her abdomen is a mess of bloody organs and half ripped out implants.
“Are we fuckin' late?! Is that her, is that our target, V?!” Jackie calls out, voice low and edged with worry in his voice as he tries to scream and whisper at once, gesturing with his gun as he points at the corpse.
V doesn’t bother to open her scanner, looking over the woman’s body, it's not hard to know this isn’t their target. No high up corpo would pack this crap. What implants remain are cheap and poorly installed, the ones around her eyes have left the skin creased and scarred. Worse quality than what someone would find in the poorest of Nomad clans. Likely, a joytoy, or perhaps a Maelstrommer as the shitty over the top implant installation is common among the gang.
“No,” V signs, looking up at Jackie, his eyes on her to subtitle the ASL, “our girl is protected under echelon II corpo immunity, this is back-alley black market crap, no corpo in their right mind would walk around with this shit.”
Jackie nods, his shoulders losing a little of their tension as he moves up to a door, the music louder as he just opens the door peeking through, trying to get a feel for the room before they go through. Judging by the music and the still fresh blood mingled with the older stains, the Scav haunt is still being used. Jackie pulls away from the door and presses against the wall next to it.
“V, mira, eyes up, pendejos ahead.” Jackie warns her as she puts her hands to the door, trying to peek through the crack, the music louder and less muffled with the door cracked. V can see plastic sheets, coolers, chop shop equipment as they butcher people. Through distorted bloodied plastic hung from the ceiling, the pendejo in question standing in front of a cooler, back turned.
“Drop him quiet, V.”
V takes a deep breath and counts the music beats, waiting for the tempo and volume to rise before she opens the door, hiding the creak of it behind the pumping club style music. The merc drops to a crouch as soon as she walks through, creeping up behind the Scavenger, pushing through plastic sheets, she unsheathes her tactical knife.
In one swift movement she stands and kicks out the man’s knee, bringing him down low enough to grab his face by his mask and pull him towards her. He has a mere moment to struggle in her grasp before she then sinks her knife into his skin, piercing the flesh and arteries where his neck meets his shoulder. He goes limp in her arms and she pulls her knife out with a twist, before she shoves him forward into the cooler. The lid shuts with a slight thud, drowned out by the music.
“Nice, couldn’t have done it better myself, chica,” Jackie praises as she wipes her knife off on her pants, red smearing across the black fabric.
“On your toes. More bodies incoming, they're almost on you,” Bug warns as the mercs move to the next room, creeping through the garbage strewn hall and going around a bend, an open doorway showing a group of Scavs.
Whether thanks to music or their own lack of intelligence, the gang members don’t hear them as they find a nook around the corner to hide. V pressing her body tight against a fridge, Jackie not far behind her. The dark spot, appliances, and trash does well to hide the two from sight.
“Fistfuck these reapers. Oye, V! They're comin',” Jackie warns as two of the Scav start to come around the corner, “wait for your chance. Pick the prick off. “
Tucked away the two mercs aren’t noticed. She watches as the two men walk by, following a path down the hallway without noticing them. V tries to hear what they say, straining to hear over the music, something about scoring big, a chick with “preem ass chrome”.
“Cabrones… thick as locusts. Let's wait and plan a spree.”
V gives a nod, trying not to comment that they’ve already discussed this. Stealth has never been Jackie’s strongpoint, he talks too much, can’t stand the quiet. She watches as the two gang members turn their backs to the mercs. They stop at the end of the hallway to stand guard and V goes to move.
“Let's take 'em… Suerte.”
She tries not to shake her head, not to sign at him to stop talking. She’ll tease him for it later, the two stay in a crouch, creeping up behind the two Scavengers. The merc gets close enough to feel the warmth coming off the gang member's body, V and Jackie lunge at the same time. Jackie snaps the Scav on the left’s neck and V slices the throat of the one on the right; two men dead at their feet. She rummages through the freshly dead corpses pockets, adding a few eddies and a Max Doc to her own.
“All down, limp meat. But probably not the last of 'em,” Jackie says as they start back towards the corner, staying low and...mostly...quiet as they reach the open doorway, “Move on, move up. Right behind you, V.
Their hideaway corner has an open doorway in the room that leads to another larger room, windows at the far end and around Shelves and cabinets of ammo and grenades fill the room, should be easy enough to stay out of sight. Three men that she can see, one closer to the doorway, easy grab. And if they time it right they can grab the other two in tandem.
V raises her knife to her chest, pressing the hilt to her skin, then pounces on the nearest ganger. She yanks his head back and onto the blade, the weapon piercing up through the base of his skull, as she drags his body back. He’s already dead by the moment she’s dragged him from the room, dropping his corpse where he won’t be seen.
“Careful, once you get the next two,” Bug warns, voice low, “goliath ass Scav the next room over.”
“Gotcha,” Jackie whispers as they start to make their way back into the room where the next two are.
V stays to the left side of the room and Jackie goes to the right, both staying low and close to cover. The younger takes a deep breath, the clutter and way the room curves means they’re out of sight range, making it harder to coordinate. Nonetheless, she mentally counts to three and jumps her target. She grabs the gang member by the chin, wrenching up his face as she slams her knife into the front of his throat,ripping it out with a spray of blood.
“What the fuck!?” A voice, deep and masculine yells out, just as Jackie snaps his target’s neck. A bulking mass of a man, around Jackie’s height has scrambled to his feet; a heavy machine gun in his hands.
“Fuck, eyes on you!!” T-Bug warns just as a bullet tears through V’s bicep, superficial, no pain as adrenaline spikes.
And the chaos starts as the bullets begin to fly, V grabs her pistol, takes aim into the room and starts fire while moving. Jackie doing the same, the pair scrambling behind a cabinet, crouched and facing one another. His sweaty forehead nearly smacking into her mask. The room around them tears and shatters with each bullet fired their way, none managing to hit them, she doesn’t think the ganger saw where they took cover.
Their pistols can’t cut through the rapid fire being shot their way. Her heart is pounding, her fingers tight on the trigger, HMG’s need a cool off time. If they wait it out, his gun will overheat and they’ll have a window. And if he’s not coming to pick them off, playing the distance game, it means he’s dead set on protecting something; got to be Dorsett.
“Gun’s going to overheat, then we’ll get our chance,” V signs and speaks to Jackie at the same time, miscommunication not something that can afford right now. Her voice is rough and out of breath, her face wet with sweat behind her mask.
“Hijos de puta! Our target’s gotta be through there, V!”
“I know I know,” she squeezes his shoulder with one hand, the other still signing, “once the gun overheats , we’ll rush him and finish this up.”
“HMG should only have a few more rounds before then, but won’t be long before it cools back off. You got a tight window,” T-Bug informs them, able to keep better track of it when not in firing range.
And then the fire slows, lightening and nearly stopping, Jackie and V both jump over the cabinet, seeing their chance and not hesitating to take it. They rush towards the room, the man cursing when he sees them charging and the door begins to shut. V skids into the wall and Jackie slams against it just as the door fully closes, cutting off their access. The older merc digs his nails between the door and wall, trying to pry it open with a grunt, but it doesn’t budge. Crow bar, crow bar, something, there has to be something.
Then a gunfire blasts through the wall, narrowly avoiding V. They missed their window and he can shoot through the wall. This is great. This is fantastic, exactly what they fucking need!
“Head down, Jaina, take cover!” Jackie yells out, yanking V back behind a shelf with him.
“Fuck!”
“Need options Bug, you got eyes on this shithole!?”
“Uh, lemme see, room he’s in connects to a balcony, the window to get in is small. V might be able to slip through to him.”
“How do I get there?”
“Got a window on the left, gimme two secs to grease the lock.”
“If I get his attention elsewhere, could you break down that door?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie nods as they put together their new plan, “flank him and draw his fire! I’ll do the rest!”
V sees the window Bug is talking about, her interface over it as it slides open, she easily jumps through, a closed in balcony cluttered with equipment, more trash that nearly trips her as she reaches the next window. The industrial shutters are damaged and broken, allowing her to peek through, the goliath, as Bug put it, is inside. A shaved head and face of mottled cyberware. She grabs the lowest rung of the shutters and rips the already broken mess up; then fires three shots at the man. They hit but don’t bring him down, only streaking blood down his leather jacket, he swings the gun to face her.
A loud boom rings out, metal screeching, as Jackie busts the door down. His boots pound against the floor and he slams into the Scavenger, the gang member’s body hitting the wall with a thud. Jackie rips the HMG from the man’s hands, raising it high above his head and bashing the gang member’s head in with it. Blood streaking the wall behind him and the ganger falling limp on the carpet. V climbs through the window, giving the Scavenger
“That’s the last of them,” T-Bug tells them, “time to find our target.”
“Question is, where the hell is she?” Jackie asks as V makes a beeline for the one door she sees. They’ve gone through the rest of the area, it has to be it. It's the last damn room in the apartment or whatever.
“Look around, gotta be there somewhere.”
“Holy fuck.”
V’s breath catches in her throat when she swings that door open; the horror of the front room was just a taste of what these people are capable of. White linoleum stained ruddy with blood, a bathroom with fluorescent lights making the ghostly gray of the corpses stand out. The bathtub is jammed full, naked bodies bleeding the ice water red, hanging out to smear crimson over white porcelain.
“Jesus christ… ” Jackie breathes out as he steps in behind her.
V swallows the nerves and bile down, rushing to the bathtub. The first body stacked on top is a man, skin cold to the touch and no pulse in his neck, she moves him aside. Can’t save them all, can’t save them all; she tells herself. As she checks and moves bodies, finding only one with some warmth still clinging to her body, top level chrome in etching her cheekbones and down her bare chest. Her nose and mouth barely above the ice water, it’s a miracle she wasn’t drowned under the weight of the others who weren’t as lucky.
“Think I got her. Got our target!” She yells out as she pulls the woman halfway from the tub, sitting on the edge of it. V’s fingers numb and sting all at ones from the ice, she delicately brings the woman’s shaved head to her lap. Ice water soaking through her jeans and chilling the skin beneath.
Sandra’s eyes are just slightly open, not alert, but V can pick up on some movement behind them. Pulse at her neck faint, albeit consistent. Bad shape, but not gone. The instinct to keep checking the bodies, the need to see if they can save anyone else, pulls at V. But she has to secure Sandra, has to attend the one she was sent after and at the very least she knows has a fighting chance.
Jackie stands at the door looking in and keeping guard, there's likely more Scavengers in the building, if they catch wind of what’s happened in their nest. They’ll storm in and they can risk the gang members opening fire into the room, snuffing out anyone's chance of living. Her stomach churns, once they secure Sandra they can check on the others.
“We make it, she alive?”
“She’s hanging in, I think,” V’s fingers twitch with the need to sign her words, but the need to support Sandra’s neck and head wins out. She’s not sure if the poor woman can process or feel anything right now, looking nearly catatonic, but...maybe a touch that doesn’t hurt can be of some comfort through it all.
“V, jack into her biomon. Need to know what we're dealin' with.”
“Ooh, this does not look good…” Jackie breathes out, green eyes running frantically over the bathroom, taking in the sheer horror of what they’ve found.
“She’s not alone here, Bug, there’s bodies stacked up, crammed together, like slabs of fucking meat. I’m not sure if anyone else is alive, I- fuck.”
“We’ll do what we can for them after, keep it together. And if she survives, she won’t even remember, tiny scar on the subconscious in the long run. Jack into her biomon.”
“Jacking in,” V slots her personal link into Sandra’s biomon port, information lighting up her mask's interface, “Sandra Dorsett. NC570442. Trauma Team Platinum.”
“Platinum? Shit, Trauma shoulda swooped in if she sneezed,” Jackie scratches the back of his head, the question clear, where the fuck is Trauma?
“Guessin' they jammed the transmitter sig. Lookin' at a hacked biomon, firmware reconfig or a neurovirus…”
“Carajo, T-Bug! You ain't seein' this place. This is tubs, ice, hooks and cleavers.” Jackie explains. Scavengers are brutal, crude, rudimentary; anything too high tech isn’t coming from them.
“Hmm… Scopmuncher's hack, huh. Got an idea. Check her neuroport. Find a shard? Yeah, pull it - that'll be what's muting the biomon.”
V gently maneuvers the woman’s head, nails rubbing over her shaved hair, seeing the two standard neuroports behind her right ear. One with a shard placed inside. She’s heard stories of infected shards, where removing them ends up causing more harm than whatever’s on them. But, she trusts T-Bug.
“Shard found, removing it now.” She gently pulls the shard from Sandra’s neuroport, pocketing it for now, in case it’s needed later.
“Check the biomon. Anything change?”
“Greetings, Sandra,” an artificial voice explains, “If you are conscious, assume recovery position now. An emergency evacuation unit has been dispatched and is due to arrive at your location in 180 seconds.”
“Trauma will be here in three.”
“Your premium plan will cover 90% of the projected costs of your rescue and treatment,” the biomonitor warns and V can’t help but roll her eyes, capitalism and healthcare, a match made in hell.
“Ay, pobrecita,” Jackie shakes his head, “let's get her off that ice.”
V nods, pulling her jack from the naked woman’s biomonitor and gently bringing Sandra’s body up and into her arms. She lifts the woman bridal style, water soaking her arms as she stands up. Sandra’s body starts to shake and convulse, leg unintentionally kicking at V’s arms.
“Shit!” V curses out loud, hitting her knees as she brings Sandra to the ground. The woman’s body twitches and convulses, eyes rolling back into her head, as a ghastly choking sound comes from her mouth.
“She's flatlining!”
“V, need to know what's going' on!”
“Jackie, airhypo, now!”
“¡Ey, catch chica!”
Jackie throws the airhypo and the merc snatches the green first aid hypodermic out of the air. V quickly presses the tool to the center of Sandra’s chest and pushes the needle into her skin, shooting the compressed adrenaline into her system to stabilize her. Sandra’s body stills and relaxes, her chest still falling and rising steadily. V breathes a sigh of relief and pushes her mask onto the top of her head; sweat stinging her eyes and her lungs demanding she breathe freely. She swallows hard and blinks, Sandra still stable on the floor.
“Fuck..I, target seized but we got her stable,” V recounts to T-Bug and shakes her head, still in shock at just how close they came to this woman dying in her arms.
“You alright, jaina?”
“Yeah, yeah, I just, yeah. Uh, fuck...”
“I getcha, got a stomach of steel, but this is….”
The merc is used to death, seen it firsthand many a times and dealt it to many a people. But she’s always prided herself on not taking innocent lives, every target she’s ever killed, every person she’s put in the grave had a healthy share of blood on their hands. She knows that doesn’t necessarily make it right, doesn’t many it doesn’t cause any harm, most monsters still have someone who loves them. And as a corpo, maybe Sandra isn’t truly innocent, V wouldn’t know for sure. But she doesn’t deserve this, this horror, neither do any of the people stewing in ice water.
She’s always been surrounded by death but in this bathroom, with her knees pressing against bloody tiles, she feels like she’s choking on it.
“We’re gonna get you out here, safe and sound, I promise,” she tells the woman in her lap, maybe more for her own benefit than for the woman who can’t hear her. She picks Sandra up again and turns towards Jackie, “Scavs will scatter the second they see Trauma, hate to ask this, but once they show up, we need to see if we can save anyone else, you mind checking out the bodies in the tub while I handle her?”
“Course, gotta save who we can.”
V nods, thankful that Jackie and her are on the same page. There’s a steady whirr of engines and the young merc takes Sandra out to the balcony, in the faint distance she can see the Trauma Team aircraft incoming. Wind picks up as they draw ever closer, sweeping up and blowing trash around from the area. It feels nice on V’s bare sweaty face, but she tries to tuck Sandra a little closer to her chest, trying to keep the unconscious woman warm, which seems almost ironic in the heat of the city. The aircraft pulls up beside the balcony with flashing lights and V cringes at the whirring of its turbines, turning the volume down on her hearing aids.
“Landing, stand clear. Initiating security protocol. Follow all instructions. Stop in the doorway!” The speakers on the aircraft boom and V would flip them off if she weren’t holding Sandra.
A little step extends out to the balcony and holograms mark out an area she isn’t supposed to step into. Then the Trauma Team members come out, four individuals in green uniform with white helmets, guns drawn, holsters of equipment hanging off of them. Two of the workers lay a gurney down in front of V.
“Place the patient on the ground!” A man yells at her, gun drawn. She rolls her eyes and does as asked, gently placing Sandra on the gurney.
“Five steps back. Now,” one of the workers demands, then shoves V back and away from Sandra, gun still pointed at her as the others rush to take the woman into the aircraft.
“There are some other people...” she switches on the translator in her choker to sign, but they ignore her.
Of course, Sandra is the only person in that tub who means anything to them, because she has money. She can just hear them over the turbines as they start to assess the woman’s condition, loading her in the aircraft, the last worker following behind. The young merc sighs watching as the vehicle flies off, as much the Trauma Team system boils her blood, their doctors are well trained. Sandra is in good hands. After a moment she turns back to the entrance to the apartment, Jackie waiting in the doorway. His hands empty.
“No one else…” She starts to sign then trails off, seeing the look in his eyes.
“All dead long before we got here.”
“Fuck…”
“Let's get outta here,” he claps a hand against her shoulder as they start to leave, “Elevator gets us to the garage direct.”
“Good work. Shitshow's over. Cuttin' my wires now. See ya in the near future,” T-Bug says her goodbyes, cutting off her connection to the mercs.
Good work, somehow those words ring hollow when there’s a tub of corpse not three feet away. There’s a heavy weight in V’s chest, they did what they were paid for, one person is safer now because of them. All things she should be proud of, but she can’t help but still feel hollow and bitter about this entire thing. Her head still hangs low as she follows Jackie out of the apartment.
“Listen, chica,” he gets her attention, “got this thing. Mind if I borrow your wheels?”
“A thing?”
“I got a date with Misty, but… heh, I can't take the metro! How's that gonna look for me?”
“Alright, alright, I’ll help you out, I guess,” she signs, feigning annoyance, though they both know she’s happy to help.
“Ah, savin' my ass, V, thank you. How about I drive you home, eh?”
“Please, I feel like I’m about to drop any minute,” she admits, body heavy with exhaustion and head starting to hurt from all the commotion. Even the translator tech’s voice is starting to make her head throb.
The elevator doors open, welcoming the two mercs as they scurry inside, V leaning all of her weight against a wall as Jackie hits the buttons. Doors closing, it starts to move, and V’s thankful for every second that gets her closer to her bed. It's an unusual feeling, she’s not typically this worn out after a job. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing, she’s learned, most jobs leaving her still riding that high and looking for ways to burn the excess energy. But, all she wants right now is to crawl in bed and pretend the world is a kinder place,
“Oh, almost forgot. Should get Wakako on the halo - tell her the job's done.”
V gives a short nod before pulling Wakako up on her phone, it rings a few times before it projects the image of the older woman, V keeping it on speaker so Jackie can hear the call.
“Ahem! V? How did it go? Our client is alive and well?”
“Of course.”
“Splendid. Your payment awaits you - ready to come and grab whenever you like, even right away. But I guess home is the only place you wish to be now. The NCPD has surrounded Watson. The district is closed. If you are to make it past the cordon, you must move fast.”
“Shit, thanks for the warning, catch you another time,” V signs her goodbye as she hangs up and groans, thunking her head back against the wall. Of course, just her luck. The elevator doors open and Jackie leads the way out to the garage, V following closely behind.
“Gotta get going if I’m gonna make it home tonight,” V mentions as they reach her car, she doesn’t want to have to crash on his garage or his mom’s place if she can help it.
“Leave it to me, chica, I’m driving.” Jackie tells her with a little grin pulling at his lip as he climbs into the driver seat and she plops down into the passenger side.
Jackie revs the ignition and starts fiddling with the radio, while V cranks the air conditioner. She tosses her mask into the backseat for now, fiddling with her hair. The pull out of the parking garage as Jackie finds a song he likes, kind enough to keep it on low volume for V’s sake, she finds herself sinking into the seat, watching the city pass by from the window. Trying to focus on the neon lights that pass her by and not the negativity that’s threatening to overtake her mind.
“Can’t stop digging Night City,” Jackie tells her following a few moment of silence, save for the radio.
“Place definitely has an energy to it.” They drive past what she assumes is a joytoy arguing with a man, advertisements that flash so vividly in the night, street vendors peddling over the top food items. Noisy, smell, chaotic, and messy; the essence of Night City
“Nah, chica, it's more than that. Morgan Blackhand, Andrew Weyland, Adam Smasher. Legends are born here!”
“You and me, the next ones up?” She signs, playfully raising an eyebrow at him.
“You know it, jaina.”
“And we’re not gonna need a corp to do it.”
“Swear to god, V,” he shakes his head, grinning, “only merc I know who don’t get all tingly when I mention the greats.”
“Not saying they aren’t badasses, but being the best of the best is easy when you got a billion eddie corp in your corner. Blackhand was in Militech’s pocket, Weyland was on Petrochem’s payroll and Smasher is a certified Arasaka cocksucker,” she explains, fingers cramping from spelling the names as quickly as she can so her tech will translate it right, “but you and me are going to do this right, reach the top without the corp’s dick in our mouths.”
Being a legend may always be Jackie’s dream more than it’s hers… But she’s been growing into it more and more with each passing day. She’s enjoyed the ride so far and wants to keep up the momentum. While by no means a perfect life, she’s happier than she’s been in a long time. Independent and doing a job she loves more often than not. Though, there’s still something missing… that she can’t quite define. As they keep working their way up that ladder, she’s only feeling more and more like she’s where she belongs. It only gets better from here, so long as her past stays there. V can’t help but think hitting the big leagues is what’s really going to put all the pieces in place, herself included.
“Damn right we will, V. Blackhand’s gonna wish he was us.”
“Blackhand is dead.”
“Psssh, you really believe that, chica?” He looks at her like she’s grown a third head.
“You don’t?”
“Hell no, Blackhand’s out there somewhere, sitting pretty after blowing Arasaka Tower off the map.”
“No one’s seen him since the tower fell, anyone in the tower when it came down is dead, you don’t survive that shit.”
“No one has ever found his body or Silverhand’s!”
“Because it was buried under rubble,” she’s signing frantically and grinning, the little stupid argument lifting some of the gloom off of her, “wait, who the fuck is Silverhand?”
“Silverhand, the ro-,” Jackie pauses, eyes going to the rearview window, she follows his eyeline, a van behind them, “hey is it just me or, argh, van’s on our ass, we got a tail, V!”
V gets a hand on her iron and turns in her seat to try to grab a better look, she can see the holographic mask glitching green and red on the driver. The van jerks into the left lane, speeding up to pass them, then in the very next moment pulling in front of them. V’s brows furrow, what are they doing? Then the double doors to the van open up, two masked gang members opening fire on the mercs.
“Scavs! ¡Hijos de puta!”
And V’s half out the window, sitting on the sill of it, in the next instant, firing back at the Scavs. Bullets whirl by and V tries to maintain a steady hand as she shoots off shot after shot, aiming for the gangoons heads. Gunshots ring out through the night, bullets whiz past V and blow holes in her car, as she keeps blasting right back. People from the streetways scream, terrified of being caught in the shoot out.
“Come on, V, shoot!”
“Keep it steady,” he side mirror explodes as a bullet hits it, “fuck!”
With a thought, V shuts off her hearing aids, the world going quiet around her. Unable to hear the screaming and racket as she focuses only on shooting the Scavs. Blood sprays, a bullet ripping through a gang member’s head, their body going limp and spilling onto the road. The vehicles swing through a right turn, Jackie a thankfully empty chunk of sidewalk before swinging back out to the road. V reloads her gun as a bullet tears through her hip, not fatal but it hurts like a bitch. She fires off two more shots, catching the last member in the back of the van just as it takes a quick left turn.
But the curve comes back to meet the stretch of highway they’re on. She fires off a few shots as it goes, trying to tear through the tires before the gangers greet them again, but to no avail. The Scavenger van takes the short curve and comes back through the exit, taking the left lane to drive alongside them. V tries to fire a shot at the masked driver, but her aim is off, only blasting out the last of the van’s intact windows.
The van’s door opens, another masked gang member blasting at the mercs as the cars struggle to stay neck and neck. A sharp pain lodges in V’s shoulder and she blows the man’s brains out in her next shot. Only the driver remains and she starts blasting without hesitation, knowing they can’t easily shoot back and has no more friends covering his ass. One last bullet connects with his temple, his body going limp and the van going onto the street, crashing into a building.
She breathes, blinking, heart still pounding in her chest. There’s blood still coming from her wounds and wind whipping around her as Jackie drives. She pulls herself back into the vehicle, bending a knee and keeping one foot in her seat with the other back on the floorboard, because she can’t be bothered to sit properly. She catches Jackie’s lips moving and flips her hearing aids back on.
“Ears were off, mind saying it again,” she signs and can’t help but shrink when she sees the glimmer of annoyance on his face, the tension of the situation no doubt making what’s usually a minor request feel a bit more aggravating.
“Are you okay? You need me to take you to Vik’s?”
The mark on her hip and bicep from earlier are minor, just scratches where bullets skimmed the skin. It's her shoulder that could warrant some concern. She flips on a light in the vehicle, craning her neck to get a better look at the injury. The entry wound isn’t too bad, low caliber, just some blood steadily weeping from her shoulder. V rolls and shifts her shoulder, a tightness to the movement. She touches around her shoulder blades, no exit wound. V rubs around the wound, feeling the injury. Something solid within her flesh, not far from the entry wound.
She knows Vik says not to remove the bullets, that it can cause more harm digging around in the wound, but if she leaves it the thing will annoy her forever. With adrenaline still spiked, heart still pounding and these injuries still feeling like stings at most, it will hurt more later than it will now. So, V digs her fingers into her own wound.
“What are you-”
V finds the bullet beneath her skin and digs her nails into it, ripping it from her flesh, bloodied metal now exposed. She rolls her shoulder, it’s bleeding a bit more, but the movement feels better, more free.
“ Jesus christo, V! Fuckin’ hate when you do that shit!”
V laughs at his reaction, her pisspoor first aid never failing to make Jackie uncomfortable, she tosses the bullet out of the window. She rubs her bloody fingers off on her pants, before pulling at her shirt, a little hole where the bullet struck.
“More bummed about my shirt than anything, Vik doesn’t need to see my mug tonight,” she signs, as if she doesn’t have a hundred more black crop tops.
“Fine, but don’t call me bitching if you’re hurting later tonight.”
“Oh, ‘cause you’re one to talk.” She signs quickly, whipping around in her seat to face him.
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hijo de la chingada, V, Misty, this is it for me, I’m done for ahhhhh,” she whines aloud, dropping her tone and trying to mimic Jackie, grinning when he scrunches his face in response.
“I was sick!”
“Well, yeah, that’s what happens when you eat your weight in cheap-ass sushi!”
“It was all you can eat!”
“Pffft,” she sputters and squeals, laughing at his excuse, “Swear to god, Jack, only man I know who can take three bullets to the chest and keep going, but a tummy ache knocks you on your ass!”
“And you’re the only woman I-oh shit.”
Police lights cut across the bridge to Watson, a full police cordon blocking the way. At least four or five NCPD units standing between V and her bed. Because of fucking course they are. She groans and thunks her head against the seat in frustration.
“Fuck me.”
“‘Preciate the offer, chica, but we gotta run that one by Misty first.” Jackie winks and she makes a gagging noise at him in return. But she’s unable to control the warmth the joke brings to her cheeks. That’s not a mental or emotional road she’s ready to venture down, she shuts the light off in the car, the last thing they need is pigs catching sight of the blood and deciding to give a shit.
Jackie slows the car down as they pull up to the blockade, he’s calmer than her, he’s been fast talking the NCPD his whole life. While no stranger to cops, they’ve been a more sporadic presence in the former nomad’s life, leaving her to fiddle with her choker. She turns off the translator tech, prepared to break out the puppy dog eyes and soft broken little voice if she has to.
A female officer saunters over to the driver’s side window, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and silver cyberware etching her forehead and chin. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark shades.
“Watson's on lockdown till further notice. Necessary security measure,” she explains to the mercs. V can’t help but eye the bulky security robots, ready to blast them to smithereens if the NCPD deem it ‘necessary’.
“Officer, ma'am! Damn are we ever lucky we ran into you,” Jackie greets the officer, turning up the charm.
“Really… What's it that makes me so special?”
“Uh, a heart of gold? 'Course only somebody with a heart of gold can understand just how much I need to get back to my girl.”
“Your… girl?”
“Hm… that's a shame.”
“C’mon, look at him,” V slings her forearm onto Jackie’s shoulder then rests her chin there, making puppy dog eyes at the officer, “no model citizen maybe, but he’s a good kid.” She pats his chest for added effect.
There’s a grin pulling at Jackie’s lips and she struggles not to smile in return, wanting to laugh at the silliness of it all. The officer sighs and turns away from the pair, the two taking the moment to make faces at each other, trying to make the other break and laugh.
Let them through. But they're the last,” she turns back to the mercs and they try to force serious expressions, “OK, on your way.”
“You have a good evening, now, officer… ma'am,” Jackie nods and starts to drive through the blockade.
V pulls away from Jackie’s side, instantly feeling colder away from his warmth, she twists to look forward. Watching neon lights and city people walking by. Sometimes it feels surreal. Not minutes ago she was shooting gangoons in the back of a van. Not an hour or so ago, she was pulling a woman out of an ice filled tub. Yet, the world keeps spinning, couples and families walking down the same streets her and Jackie have nearly died in so many times. No, no storm clouds, if she digs that hole she’ll need an excavator to get back out.
“So, you can be nice when you feel like it,” she signs and talks, content to use her voice at the moment, just her and Jackie after all.
“When am I not nice?”
“Uhhh, always!”
“I'm always never not nice!”
“Puh-lease!”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Oh, Jackie, I can’t possibly talk around strangers, you, Misty, Mama Welles, and Vik are the only people I can talk with. But the moment it’s time to pull out the wool over a pig’s eyes, suddenly, you’re real talkative!”
“Tone is an important tool in manipulation, my eyes can only do so much.”
“Keep that in mind when you beg me to order your food for you.”
“What? No!”
Jackie laughs, warm and deep in his chest at her offense at the mere notion of having to be in charge of ordering her own lunch from now on. It's just so much easier to have Jackie do it, waitresses are much more used to weirdness in Night City, but there’s still that odd little look when she starts signing and her translator tech does its thing. Jackie still laughs about the time he made her order the lunch over the phone and they hung up as soon as they heard the artificial voice, assuming it was some scam.
“Oh shit…” V says, soft and low as they pull up towards an intersection, two men holding guns aiming at a driver’s side window, some poor bastard panicking behind the wheel.
“Outta the car! Now! C'mon! Ain't got all day!” The armed man screams at them and V’s fingers twitch to grab her iron. Then a large police aircraft vehicle comes flying in, lights flashing.
“Check it out, V. Shit's goin' down,” Jackie says, trying to hunch down behind the wheel, which does nothing to hide his six foot five form.
“Aa, shit, they're here!” One of the gang members yells and they’re screaming at each other to shoot. A small group of officers deploy from the aircraft vehicle, the led blue adornments to their uniform and odd helmets that cover their eyes tell her they’re MaxTac. The officers start firing back at the gangers.
“NCPD's apex predators at work, gonk out there nothing but a midday snack.”
“Wonder why they’re busting out MaxTac for this? Just looks like a regular carjacking to me.”
“Who knows, corpo behind the wheel? Got a quota to meet?”
“To put on a show of intimidation.”
“Might be onto something with that one,” the gangers are shot dead, bleeding out on the ground around the car they tried to jack, “welp, shows over. Poor bastards… but they had it comin'.”
They pull away from the conflict, nothing but the hum of the radio playing as Jackie drives her home. Her leg is bounces softly in the floorboard, her fingers tapping at the window sill, occasionally catching the wind. The feeling she’s more accustomed to after gigs, a restlessness, adrenaline and energy boiling over. Maybe she won’t just drop once she gets home, no longer bone tired. Oddly enough, the shootout seems to have lifted her spirits. She’ll take a high stakes, high adrenaline car chase over the bone weariness ther rescue put her in.
Jake is in Heywood, so he won’t be able to get through the cordon. Cecelia is probably working at Tom’s Diner tonight. If she’s near the end of her shift, V might be able to score a lay and late night pancakes. Her mood is still a bit too sour to hit up a bar or club for a stranger, but still feeling the need to work through this energy and tension. She was dreaming of nothing more than hitting the pillow, seeing if she could sleep soundly tonight, but now she doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep at all unless she gets some energy out. She gets out her holophone and opens up Cecelia’s contact.
“Whatcha doing, jaina?”
“Texting Cecelia,” V shrugs, shoulder twinging in pain, “y’know how it is.”
“Of course, shit gets the blood pumping, why you think I always got a date night planned after a big gig?”
“Thought that was so you could steal my car?” She teases, typing up her message to Cecelia but not sending it yet.
“That too, but after you nearly die, just gotta do something to feel alive.”
“I think we might just be perverts.”
“Eh, that too,” he laughs as they pull into her apartment complex’s parking garage, “we’re here.”
“What about you? Not likely to make it back to Heywood now…” She asks, holding her thumb over the send button, if Jackie can’t get back through he’ll be crashing at her place and she doubts he’s going to want to sleep on the couch listening to her and her fuckbuddy go at it.
“Chill, V. They'll let me through.”
“Sure about that?”
“Oh yeah. I'll play nice Jackie again,” he stops the car near the elevator doors, “go, have some fun, lord knows you need it.”
He sticks his hand out, V smacking her palm into his own, a quick shake then they bump their fists together. His hand practically engulfs her own, that foot and a half of size difference obvious even in the contrast of their hands. One of these days she’s going to strain her neck looking up to talk to him.
“Tell Misty I said ‘hi’.”
“I will. Ahí luego.”
Goodbyes said for the night, V grabs her mask from the backseat and steps out of the car, her joints and injury protesting the movement. Her combat boots stomp against the pavement as she calls up the elevator, giving a final wave to Jackie as he pulls out of the garage. She leans against the wall, on her good shoulder, sending the text to Cecelia.
V: you @ work???
The elevator dings and V steps inside, cringing at the sudden bright light of the elevator, a stark contrast to the dimness of the garage. Video screens play ads for energy drinks and cyberware; everything under the sun. Everything in neon bubblegum colors or horrific details, because shock value sells nearly as well as tits. Her holo buzzes and V checks a text from T-Bug, the runner knows she’d rather text than call but the sudden message is strange nonetheless. Bug only reaches out when it has something to do with a job.
T-Bug: Forgot earlier, a runner I know has something you could probably use. It's a runner shop outside of Kabuki.
For some reason she’s not shocked at all that Bug would text in full grammatically correct sentences. V can’t help but think the world would implode if T-Bug ever sent an emoji or emoticon. But gifts are a little unusual for her, but for some reason the experienced netrunner is convinced she can teach V the craft.
V: thanx bug, thats sweet of ya~!
She’s promptly left on seen, no indication of Bug typing anything back, and V can’t help but laugh. The more T-Bug acts skeeved out by her affection, the more she wants to tease her with it.
“Good evening, Night City!~”
The screens cut to Night After Night, the host Ziggy Q coming to sit at his desk, green hair and gold suit twinkling under his stage lights. V rarely watches this kind of thing or watches TV as a whole if she’s being honest, just more noise, but she finds herself unable to help watching as the elevator starts to move.
“My first guest for tonight is the president of The Church of El Yahu, The Last Emancipator and the bane of Arasaka’s PR department; one Reverend Colver.”
The camera cuts to an older man dressed in black and beige, seemingly lost among the neon pinks and yellows of the stage. He sits down on the plush magenta couch, nodding towards the host.
“Praise be to thee our Father in heaven.”
“And ouuur second guest is Karina Lee, host of the Chip In program, which promotes the use of cybernetic implants,” a woman with a thick dark afro of hair comes onto the stage, “ how’s life treating you beautiful?”
“Can’t complain, Ziggy,” Karina tells him, she looks much more in place than the Reverend as she sits down next to him, bright clothes and heavy gold cyberward indented in her jaw, “thanks for having me.”
“Now, I’d like to have us talk about the most exclusive and highly sought after implant on the market today, Arasaka Corp’s Relic. But maybe we ought to make sure our fair audience is up to speed,” Ziggy says, waving a dramatic and manicured hand towards the camera before focusing back in on his guests, “Karina, what is the relic exactly? In a word, if you could?”
“In one word? I’d say, immortality.”
“Immortality? Really?”
V can’t help but roll her eyes at the dramatic wording and the over the top expressions the host makes. Nothing can make someone immortal, that's a pipe dream, even if it is possible it will never be feasible on a mass scale for anyone who isn’t rich. TV types always got to exaggerate, she figures.
“That’s right, the relic allows you to transfer the consciousness from a dying person, finding a new home for their soul on a transferrable chip. This person, they’ll never leave your side, a companion with you forever in your own consciousness. Just imagine if-”
“Child, child-” the Reverend cuts her off, “think for a moment about what you’re saying! This relic is an abomination that feeds on human misery! It is an unnatural likeness, a golden calf born by false prophets! What’s more, this technology is just another tool of coercion and corruption, only the wealthy and powerful elite will have access. And they will pay any price in exchange for a chance at this so-called immortality. Arasaka speaks of preserving the soul but they can promise nothing more than a heartless, mindless, algorithm speaking with the voice of the departed.”
“Well, that is true that Arasaka Corp has specifically limited access to the relic in order to-”
“The promise is a lie,” the Reverend starts to stand, gesturing emphatically, “an evil lie, motivated by greed and lust for power-”
“HA, now that is rich,” Ziggy cuts off Colver’s ramblings with a laugh.
“Excuse me!?”
“False promises, greed, a lust for power,” Ziggy rolls his eyes, “well sounds an awful lot like a church to me!”
“Wha- how dare you?”
“Do you not promise a life after death? Do you not charge funeral fees to a family in mourning? Maybe the Reverend is just afraid of a little healthy competition, huh?”
“Competition,” the religious figure scoffs, “you believe everything in this world can be counted, measured, rationalized!”
“And wouldn’t we be right?” Karina interjects, “we can construct artificial brains, create new consciousnesses!”
“But I ask you why? What does that give us? Are we as a people on this earth any happier for it? You claim that this relic gives eternal life, but all I see is an eternity of suffering. Rather than say goodbye, we haunt ourselves with their voices, their presence, but-”
“What do you folks think? Who holds the truth, is it Ms. Lee or maybe Reverend Colver? That is up to you!” Ziggy gestures at a screen behind him, showing the two guests, “Send Colver or Lee to 7892 to cast your vote and enter your name for a chance to win tickets to this year's playoffs! Until next time, Night City, toodles!~”
V sighs, as the program cuts out and more ads start to be blasted at her. The conversation a heavy one, now tinkering around in her skull. The idea of keeping a dead loved one around as an imaginary friend… she thinks of her mother instantly, the person whose death most gravely impacted her. If she had her mom still lingering around, sitting in her head, it sounds...strange. A part of her thinks she’d love it, to have her mother back, but eould she ever see it as her mother? Committing herself to a fantasy like that, it doesn’t sound healthy, at all. Death is natural, learning how to say goodbye is part of life, right? She can’t imagine her spending all her time talking to a ghost from the past.
Her holophone buzzes in her pocket and she realizes the elevator is on her floor, probably has been for a few minutes. She shakes her head, she doesn’t need anymore heavy shit in her skull. The relic has nothing to do with her, anyway. Wondering about what if’s and could be’s won’t get her anywhere. V gets her holophone from her pocket, a text from Cecelia, a much needed distraction and relief. She starts to text her regular hookup as she makes her way to her apartment.
Cecelia: Yeah, be off in an hour, why?
V: i have a proposition
Cecelia: ???
V: bring me pancakes and i make you cum ;)
V’s flirting skills continue to impress absolutely no one, but Cecelia is still into the merc, so that’s really on her at this point.
Cecelia: Will you pay me back for the pancakes?
V: yee
Cecelia: Drop by your place around midnight, sound good?
V: pls and thanx! :3
V slips the phone back into her pocket, opening her apartment door and slipping inside. She shuts the door behind and starts stripping off her clothes, she needs a shower before Cecelia gets here. The waitress probably wouldn’t be too excited to come in and see V covered in a layer of sweat and blood. Clothes off she takes her hearing aids out and puts them on her desk before she makes the beeline for her shower.
She cranks the water up as hot as possible and steps under, her shoulder and scratches sting, but she focuses her energy on washing the blood and sweat away. V washes through her hair, muscles relaxing at the feeling of hot water pouring down on her, the smell of rose scented shampoo and conditioner lingering in the air as she washes.
She’s tempted to touch herself under the water, her soap slick thighs clenching together. It's tempting, still just riding that adrenaline high, it’d be nice to find some relief. But the bullet wound in her shoulder should be attended to first, she dug the bullet out in the car, but the injury still could use some first aid. She didn’t have anything to stitch it closed and she’s not sure it’d be the smartest idea to stitch herself in a moving car, not that she hasn’t done it before.
V shuts off her shower, ignoring her swollen clit and the tension in her core. She steps out of the water and stands in front of her bathroom sink, her reflection showing in the mirror. The merc grabs her first aid kit, getting out the stuff she needs to suture her shoulder.
Vik will bitch at her for it later, call her work shoddy, but she’s been taking care of her own injuries for years. She doesn’t need to run to him for every little thing. She pats it dry first, leaving pink stains on her bathroom towel, then she pours some antiseptic peroxide on it. A curse on her lips at the sharp sting, she cringes and takes a deep breath, preparing the needle and suture. The needle pulls through her skin with a harsh pain, as she pulls her skin back together with a quick crude stitch.
Content with her oh so shoddy work, she finishes drying off and leaves the bathroom, dropping her dirty clothes in a laundry hamper to be mended and washed later. She checks the time on her holo, still thirty or so minutes before Cecelia said she’d drop in. V throws on an oversized black tee shirt and a pair of shorts it completely covers. Her skin feels warm, still smells like roses and honey, something about the warm cozy feeling makes that little fire inside come back. She clenches her thighs together again, mentally cursing her sex drive, libido, hormones, whatever it is that makes it so she can put a needle through her bloodied skin and still want to cum immediately after.
There's a skip in her step as she rushes to scoop her phone and hearing aids off her desk, putting them on the little circular table next to her bed instead, so they’re easily in reach. Then she plops herself onto her bed, atop the covers and blankets, she sinks into them. She feels warm, skin soft and clean to the touch. When she stretches slightly in her bed, she feels a soft sound leaving her lips.
Her breasts feel soft under her shirt, squeezing and groping herself over her clothes. Sensitive pierced nipples stiffening under the fabric, she pinches them lightly, whimpering at the pressure. She presses her head back against her pillow, biting her lip as she puts a hand underneath her shirt, teasing her breast directly, playing with her piercings. Each touch makes her slicker, makes her clit swell and beg to be touched.
V shoves a hand down into her shorts, pushing two fingers through the lips of her wet cunt. She presses them against her clit, groaning as she begins to rub, quick messy circles. Focused on just getting there, a harsh pressure and quick pace, squirming her hips against her own hand as she builds herself up. Pleasure pools in her center, building upon itself, growing higher and higher with each stroke of her clit.
A blue light goes off, strobing and bright enough to illuminate the room. Her phone buzzes on the side table with a notification. Someone knocking on her door, she wipes her slick fingers off on her thigh and quickly puts her hearing aids in.
“V!~ It’s Cece!” The older woman’s voice rings out and V jogs to the door, feeling like she’s about to combust.
She opens the door and Cecelia quickly steps inside. V hates the diner uniform, a yellow dress and apron. But Cecelia manages to be beautiful in anything, why on earth she wants anything to do with V is beyond the merc’s comprehension. She’s tall, though nearly everyone towers over V to some extent, with a cute shaggy pixie cut of dark hair. Olive skin with a dusting of freckles and amber eyes, far too beautiful to be rolling around in bed with some nomad turn street punk.
“I got extra honey and syrup for-”
She’s cut off by V’s lips in the middle of explaining what’s in the little white diner container. Her words dying on the merc’s tongue, V presses in deep, tasting all she can of Cecelia’s mouth, finding the taste of coffee and cigarettes awaiting her. A bitter taste, one she despises, but she ignores for the sake of her own lust. She presses the taller woman against the closed door, hands grabbing at the curve of Cecelia’s hips, pulling up on the dress of her uniform.
“V, V,” Cecelia breaks away from the kiss, panting, “you're gonna crush your pancakes.”
V rolls her eyes, taking the container from Cecelia’s hands and quickly placing it on her computer desk. Then she’s shoving a hand under the waitress uniform, Cecelia keening as V slips her hand into the older woman’s panties. The merc buries her face into her partner’s neck, licking, sucking and biting at her skin as she works her fingers against her clit. V braces her other hand against the door, sharply biting the expanse of skin against her lips. She gazes up at her fuckbuddy, the woman’s head thrown back against the door as she whimpers, V’s hand doesn’t stop working. She rubs the same two fingers she had on herself just moments before over Cecelia’s clit, the bundle of nerves swollen and slick. The merc’s hand is soaked in it already, she finds herself wondering if she’d find a puddle on her apartment floor if she looked down.
“You’re smoking again,” V whispers against Cecelia’s neck, marveling at the bruises her teeth have left behind. She knows the effect her voice has in these moments, so rarely heard by Cecelia, and when it is it’s husk with lust.
“So-” V twists her wrists and sinks those two fingers inside, “sorry, I fuck, V, stre-fuck-stressful day, I fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“That hardly seems fair, what did I taste like?” V pumps her fingers steadily, feeling slick run down her wrist.
“Li-aH, ah, uh, honey, you ta-taste like h-oney, al-always do~!” Her hips squirm to meet V’s thrusting fingers, trying to chase her own pleasure.
“So, you get honey and I get to lick the inside of an ashtray?”
“I sa-said,” V adds a third finger, speeding up her movement, “Fuck, I’m sorry!’
“Hmmm, I don’t think sorry cuts it here, Cece.” V starts to rub her thumb clumsily over Cecelia’s clit, watching the woman moan and squirm. Her thighs are vice tight around V’s wrist, teeth sinking into her lip. She’s close.
“V, fuck please, I, fu-uck!” She whines and pleads, V’s not even sure what for, if it’s too much or not enough.
“Fine, I’ll forgive ya, but I gotta get the taste out of my mouth first.”
V drops to her knees, yanking Cecelia’s underwear down to her ankles just to bury her face between the older woman’s thighs. The merc uses her hands to keep her partner’s legs spread and gives a heavy messy lick of Cecelia’s clit, ensuring her tongue piercing makes contact with the sensitive nerves. Already built up to near orgasm, Cecelia screams out, the lick sending her right over the edge. Slick gushes onto V’s mouth and chin, coating her tongue in a heavy layer that she swallows before she starts licking again. Pubic hair scratches at her nose as she laps and licks at Cecelia’s cunt. Licking her through orgasm and prolonging it into another, and another, drawing the high out with every lave of her tongue. Cecelia squirms and thrust her hips, sloppily humping against the merc’s face, she knots her fingers in V’s bleach blonde hair. It becomes too much, orgasms drawn out to long, tears forming at the corner of Cecelia’s eyes.
“St-stop!”
V pulls away instantly, face a flushed mess of slick and lust. She slowly pulls away from Cecelia, standing up, the taller woman’s knees are buckled and she’s leaning all her weight against the door. The two pant, each catching their breath and V looks down on the floor, her suspicions confirmed at the wet droplets, Cecelia managing to drip down onto the wood.
“I, uh, take it you’re a little worked up tonight?”
V makes a wiggly ‘kind of’ hand gesture, winking at Cecelia, smirking. She can’t help but feel a sense of pride looking at Cecelia; panting, neck marked, underwear around her ankles, and still dripping.
“That taste better than cigarettes?” Cecelia asks, smiling and still out of breath as she kicks off her heels and steps out of her panties towards V. She cups V’s slick sodden chin, amber eyes soft as she brushes her thumb across the younger woman’s bottom lip.
“Much.”
Then their lips connect again, the sweetness of slick cutting down on the bitter taste of Cecelia’s bad habit. They lick into each other’s mouth, press into each other, pull away slightly; all to fall back into it. V starts pulling at the buttons of Cecelia’s uniform, revealing inch after inch of cleavage. She pushes it down off the older woman’s shoulders, leaving her in nothing but a bra. Heavy breasts surrounded by black lace, but only for a moment then V’s greedy hands unhook it, pulling the last bit of fabric from Cecelia’s body.
“On the bed,” V signs and speaks, words slurred with desire.
Cecelia gives a soft laugh and V discretely scratches at her hearing aid, the device starting to rub the inside of her ear raw, sex sweat irritating it. This type of tech became completely waterproof millennia ago, but they can still chafe. Refocusing her attention, she stares at Cecelia laying down in her bed. A beautiful face is no doubt what first drew her eye to the waitress, but Cecelia’s curvy soft figure was next. Large breasts that spill over most of her bras, a soft stomach, and thick thighs. A contrast to V’s own body, the merc more petite and curves more...subtle.
V doesn’t hesitate another moment, straddling Cecelia’s waist, the older woman’s hands instinctively reading for the merc’s hips. A twinge of pain when Cecelia’s unknowingly brushes against the small injury there, V ignores it in favor of pulling her shirt off over her head, throwing it onto the floor. She expects eyes raking over her small pert breasts, a look of desire in Cecelia’s eyes. But finds concern instead, fingers reach out to V’s shoulder, nearly brushing the crude stitches.
“What hap-”
V grabs Cecelia’s wrists and pins them to the bed, burying her lips into the older woman’s neck again. She sucks and bites, hoping the action gets her point across; don’t touch that, don’t ask that, don’t push. V likes fucking Cecelia. They are fuckbuddies, but Cecelia has a way of asking questions, wanting to know more beyond how skilled the merc is with her tongue. So, she has to steer it back on course, latching her mouth around one of Cecelia’s breasts, sucking and licking at her nipple. Cecelia moans and whimpers when V teases her chest, giving the other breast the same treatment and pulling off with a wet pop.
“Fuck, point made, V,” Cecelia swallows hard, “you still have any straps laying around?”
“Want me to fuck you with it?”
“No, uh, wanna watch you ride it”
V’s never scrambled so fast to get her toy box out from under her bed, a little chilled at leaving Cecelia’s warmth, she pulls her treasure trove out. She chooses a toy, essentially double sided and strap strap on. One end is a vibrating bulb likes shape and the other a dildo. V strips off her shorts before clambering back onto the bed. She lightly taps Cecelia’s thigh, licking her lips when the brunette spreads them for her. The ribbed bulb slides easily inside of Cecelia and her high pitched whine lets V know it’s doing its job, pressing on the g-spot, when theyfuck it should grind against her clit too. Once inside, the rest of the toy sticks out, making it look like Cecelia has a slick black silicon cock.
Then V turns the vibration on, Cecelia screaming out as it buzzes and vibrates inside of her. V can’t help but laugh at her overstimulated and sensitive partner, she pins Cecelia’s hands back down to the mattress and straddles her. Her wet neglected cunt hovering just over the vibrating dildo, she kisses at Cecelia’s jaw. The brunette’s eyes are closed tightly, face contorted in pleasure as the toy works it’s magic.
“Thought you wanted to watch me?” V teases, smirking against Cecelia’s skin, then sinks down on top of the toy.
V whines and whimpers as the vibrating toy fills her, Cecelia grabbing her hips, amber eyes now firmly watching the blonde. Moans and squeals echo throughout the room. V fucks herself on the toy, Cecelia’s hips thrusting up to meet the movement, slamming the toy further into her each time. They’re both sensitive, Cecelia from being overstimulated since she walked in the room and V from neglecting her own needs until now. Heavy squelching noises ring out where the toy plunges in and out of V’s cunt; mixing with the buzzing of the toy and the clap of their flesh meeting on each thrust. There’s a tension in V’s center that grows tighter and tighter inside of her, pleasure building upon pleasure. Each slide of the toy inside of her brings her closer and closer to her end.
She lets go of Cecelia’s wrists, the hunched over position getting uncomfortable, V shifts her hands back onto the brunette’s legs, leaning back to support her weight that way. Then Cecelia thrusts, angle slightly changed and hitting impossibly deep, too much, too much. The tension snaps and V’s overwhelmed by pleasure, she bounces on the toy through her orgasms, yelling out as she rides out the waves of ecstasy.
A soft whine leaves V’s lips, when she starts to come down and the buzzing toy is too much, Cecelia looks about ready to pass out and V realizes there’s no way all the slick where they connect is from her. The merc whimpers pulling off of the toy and turning off it’s vibrations, earning a sound from Cecelia who gasps when V gently pulls it out.
The toy is soaked; their thighs and the bed where their hips met too. Too tired to care about organization right now, V casually throws the toy to the side, she’ll clean and store it properly later. She instead collapses next to Cecelia, the two gathering their breath.
She’s not sure how much time passes, just laying next to Cecelia, but V’s heart rate and breathing calms down. Ther merc yawns, her ears hurt worse now. But, the orgasm was worth it. Her stomach is starting to hurt too.
“Your pancake are probably cold by now,” Cecelia tells her with a laugh and-
Oh fuck, V forgot her pancakes. She jumps out of bed, stumbling on her way to grab her food
“Did you just trip over a used dildo?”
“Not answering that.”
V brings the food back to the bedside table, throwing her oversized shirt back on, before climbing into bed with her meal. She folds her legs and sits the meal in her lap, facing the side of the bed with Cecelia sitting next to her.
“You mind if I borrow some sleep clothes?”
V gives a thumbs up, opening her food container, her stomach growls and she realizes she hasn’t eaten since probably noon. Cecelia got her a stack of pancakes covered in honey, maple syrup, and whip cream. Even a little carton of milk packed tightly in with the food, probably her attempt to keep V from drinking too much Nicola.
“I assume that also means you’re okay with staying the night? Marlow’s at her dad’s this week, so the apartment’s kind of lonely…”
Another thumbs up, taking a big bite of food as Cecelia starts to look through her closet. Anything that fits V properly will be too tight on the brunette, but V’s collection of oversized sleep shirts should be fine. The merc watches half heartedly as Cecelia pokes through the old tees, already having devoured half of her pancake stack.
“Samurai?” Cecelia raises an eyebrow, looking at a bagging black and red shirt, the one she kept that originally belonged to Ava, “you listen to dad rock?”
“Not mine, don’t wear that one!” V quickly signs with one hand, sometimes she wears it and can still convince herself it still smells like her old love… She doesn’t want it smelling like anyone else and maybe that’s stupid, maybe that’s weird, she doesn’t know or care. It means something to her. She doesn’t know or give a fuck about the band on it, some shitty punk group no ones given a damn about in years, but it belonged to Ava. That’s what matters.
“Okay, no problem,” Cecelia seems to understand, not noticing or at the very least not mentioning V’s odd tension around it. She instead throws on an oversized white shirt before coming back to the bed.
The shirt on V reaches past her knees, but on Cecelia it hits around the mid thighs. V feels the brunette’s warmth as their sides touch, sitting close together. V shoves another chunk of pancakes in her mouth, nearly inhaling it.
“At least drink some milk, you and that friend of yours are the worst about chewing your food. I swear, I’ve seen you both choke five or six times in one meal.”
V nods and grabs the little carton of milk, her stomach dropping when she sees the back of it. A woman’s face stares back at her, a little different, more cleaned up and hair on her head, but still bone chillingly familiar. Sandra Dorsett, a little message under her picture asking if anyone’s seen her.
“Something wrong, V?” Cecelia puts a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles, then her eyes fall on the carton, “you know her?”
V shakes her head, because she doesn’t, not really. And even then, it's a moot point, the ad is old and Sandra is safe now… probably. Not like V actually knows, she could have died in the Trauma Team vehicle, before they even made it to the hospital. And god only knows what the long term effects will be and she’s the lucky one.
“Well, they found her, from what I heard.”
V raises an eye at Cecelia, turning to face her a bit more.
“Caught it on the news just before I clocked out, they haven’t released the footage of the rescue yet, but apparently she was pulled out of some Scavenger hideout. Trauma Team got her and say she’s going to make a full recovery, so, good news…” She drags it out, like she’s testing V’s reaction trying to see if she can get anything from the merc.
“It’s good,” V signs, Cecelia’s eyes falling to the mercs hands, “but, you know Scavengers… there was probably twenty, thirty more bodies there, left to rot because they didn’t have enough money for Trauma to care.”
“Yeah, it's fucked but, hey, one person is better than none.”
“I guess… I hear even the people who get saved are fucked up afterwards. They don’t remember anything, until something triggers a flashback and next thing they know they feel like the worlds crashing in on them.”
“Won’t be easy, for sure, I can’t even imagine what that poor girl has gone through, but people are resilient.”
“Got to be,” V signs, chewing her lip, “the world’d eat them alive otherwise.”
“You got a good heart, V, you know that?” Cecelia tells her, tucking a strand of hair back behind the merc’s.
“Gross.”
“Yes, yes, I know, big bad merc can’t have feelings, fear her, blah blah blah,” Cecelia rolls her eyes and V blows a raspberry at her. Then stands to put what’s left of the food on the side table, the brief moment of vulnerability putting her off her pancakes. Cecelia always manages to pry something from her.
“Let's get to sleep, before I kill you,” she signs, then gestures to Cecelia to get to bed.
Cecelia curls up with V’s pillow, nestling into the sheets while V pulls out her hearing aids, rubbing at the raw skin. Putting her hearing aids back down, she sees the text notification on her phone. From Jackie, the message is short enough to display in the preview window.
Jackie: got big news, chica! B-I-G BIG!!! talk to you in the morning, hehehe!~
V lets out a huff of air, smiling and rolling her eyes all at once. He’s dramatic, always has been. His idea of big news is probably some new restaurant he found, maybe he won some eddies on a boxing match. She shakes her head and puts the phone aside for now, crawling under the covers. Cecelia lifts an arm, allowing V to curl up close with her head on Cecelia’s chest as she drifts off to sleep.
#cyberpunk 2077#cp2077#silverv#eventual silverv#johnny silverhand#jackie welles#female v#fem v#aidan becker#aidan v becker#im sure the spelling and grammar is so fucky but i swear i ran it through like twelve checks and stILL KEPT FINDING TYPOS SO AHH
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ONEUS as Their S/O’s First Kiss
Summary: How would ONEUS behave, knowing that they are their S/O’s first kiss? 《 First Relationship: Hyung Line // Maknae Line 》
Word Count: 1,129 words
Pairing: Reader x Members / Characters: GenderNeutral!Reader; Kim Youngjo (Ravn); Lee Seoho (Seoho); Kim Geonhak (Leedo); Lee Keonhee (Keonhee); Yeo Hwanwoong (Hwanwoong); Son Dongju (Xion);
Rated: E / Warnings: None / Genre: GenderNeutral!Reader; Fluff;
《 ONEUS Masterlist 》
Kim Youngjo (Ravn)
Youngjo would want your first kiss with him to be special anyway, bit if it was your first kiss ever, he'd want it to be absolutely perfect for you.
It would probably be well planned out, after a romantic date or something.
Nothing too massive. Perhaps a nice restaurant, or a study date at the library.
Afterward, he'd take you to a nearby park or something, where you'd sit down at a bench and talk.
He'd look at you. Maybe he'd say something like "Can I kiss you?" Or maybe, if the energy was right, he'd just do it.
He would be so gentle and soft and romantic.
He'd hold your hands oh so gently before kissing you.
To make you feel oh so safe and comfortable.
He'd probably say something cheesy right before it.
Something cheesy like "you know you're the only one for me" or something like that.
He'd want to go slow, so that you can stop him if you want to.
Lee Seoho (Seoho)
Seoho would be a bit antsy and nervous, but he'd try his hardest to make your first kiss worth waiting for.
He'd definitely want your go-ahead before you have your first kiss.
Maybe a conversation beforehand will give him the confidence. Maybe even if you just say "I feel ready for my first kiss." Then he'll start planning.
When it comes to it, he would want it to be somewhere you're comfortable with and familiar with.
Probably at your home, rather than at a restaurant date or at the park.
He would love to give you a kiss on your doorstep after a date.
Especially if it was your first kiss
It's night time and he walked you home from a late night study session.
Standing on the doorstep, he'd turn to you.
He'd lean in and kiss you slowly and softly, so that you can pull away if you want.
When you don't pull away he'll wrap his arms around you and kiss you deeper.
He'd want it to be serious, but he'd get a bit giggly afterward because of the relief from the anxiety of it.
He'd be so happy and giggly for the rest of the day.
Catch him calling you five minutes after you get in bed, giggling into the phone, telling you that he misses you so so much and that he wants to kiss you more.
He'd talk to you for at least an hour or two about how much he misses you and how happy he is.
Kim Geonhak (Leedo)
Despite his confident, intimidating appearance, he'd be so nervous at the thought of giving you your first kiss.
He doesn't want you to feel like you need to give him your first kiss.
Though he really is so excited at the same time.
He might be a little clumsy, but that's because he's excited and nervous.
It'd probably be after a day of hanging out.
Maybe after a study date, or after a day of him practicing.
On the walk home, you might pass through a park and stop at a bench.
Or maybe at one of your homes, you're snuggling on the couch.
And you look at each other and you both just know.
He's gotta kiss you.
He'd be so nervous about everything, whether it was your first kiss ever or your first kiss together.
He'd be so worried about "Where should I put my hands? Is this too much? Too little?"
His hands would be on your waist, or holding your hands, or cupping your cheek.
After the kiss, he'd ask if it was okay.
And he'd definitely want more kisses after.
Even cheek kisses.
He'd just be happy by being close to you.
Lee Keonhee (Keonhee)
Keonhee would be a bit more confident when it comes to being your first kiss.
He doesn't want it to be the best kiss, per say. He just wants it to be a good one.
He'd want you to be as comfortable and happy as possible beforehand.
If it were up to him, he'd want your first kiss with him to be a more heat-of-the-moment-thing, something casual yet special at the same time.
He'd like it to be something unplanned.
Maybe after something magical, like after he comes back from a tour, or after you get good news or a celebration.
But of course, he'd be happier knowing your first kiss was something you were happy with.
He'd be very excited, but also very in control of himself.
He'd carefully hold your hands while he kisses you.
He'd probably seek out cheek kisses all after, and would want to shower you in kisses all the rest of the day.
Yeo Hwanwoong (Hwanwoong)
Hwanwoong might be confident in some areas.
But when it comes to being his S/O's first kiss, he isn't confident at all.
He isn't quite nervous. Maybe a bit unsure, but not nervous.
He's excited, definitely, which leads to him being a tiny bit clumsy.
He would want it to be special for you.
By then, you and him would have talked about it beforehand.
Once you had hinted that you were ready for the kiss, he'd probably start setting up a fantastic date and everything.
He'd probably go a bit over the top, but it's because he's so excited.
Maybe a nighttime, stargazing picnic or a nice restaurant.
Even a rooftop dinner, with fairy lights.
He'd definitely bring you flowers. Your favorite.
He'd be trying so hard to be serious and romantic, but he'd end up being giggly because he's so excited and eager.
Definitely holds your hands or cups your cheeks.
Lots of hugs and even cuddles at home afterward.
Son Dongju (Xion)
Dongju wouldn't really have a plan for a first kiss.
He'd be a bit more nervous about it, but generally, he's a bit more go-with-the-flow.
He'd want the kiss to come naturally.
He wouldn't plan a first kiss, he'd want to do it based on feelings.
Maybe after a really nice date together at s restaurants, he'd be walking you home.
As he says goodbye to you at the doorsteps of your home, he'd feel like now is the time.
He'd be so nervous before the kiss, and you could tell from the way he's shyly standing there.
He'd be holding your hand, and the shy smile he'd give you . . . you both just feel it.
He might be the one to initiate the kiss. He'd lean in slowly and peck a soft kiss to your lips.
Holding your hand, or maybe he'll have his arms around your waist.
Maybe he'd deepen the kiss, depending on how it feels.
He'd definitely be eager for more.
He'd be so giggly and excited after the kiss.
#kdiarynet#oneus#ravn#leedo#seoho#keonhee#oneus fanfic#oneus fanfiction#oneus reaction#reaction#fanfic#fanfiction#ravn fanfic#ravn fanfiction#leedo fanfic#leedo fanfiction#seoho fanfic#seoho fanfiction#keonhee fanfic#keonhee fanfiction#hwanwoong#xion#hwanwoong fanfic#hwanwoong fanfiction#xion fanfic#xion fanfiction#myfic
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Study (?) tips that you don’t see on every study post
Hi gamers, I just finished my first year at college/university!!
This year was really a struggle for me because I was trying to get the help I needed for my mental health, and I did not succeed until literally the week before finals spring term. I just got diagnosed w ADHD and put on meds (thank god) and I’m excited for the next year to come.
Though this year was absolutely grueling I did discover some little tips that can really help ! This is coming from my experience w ADHD but it could relate to other neurodiverse learners as well ! Even if you are neurotypical some of these might help !!
This post got really long so I’m gonna put it under the cut but, main Idea is bolded w a more in depth explanation underneath ( for those like me who see a block of text and go running)
In no particular order:
If you can/are up for it take a class before noon even if you are not a morning person. I am NOT saying take an 8am when u regularly go to bed at 4am! Bc that is dumb bb pls get some sleep. In my experience once I go to class my brain is like “oh things are happening now, it is actually a day and not just existing in a timeless hellscape.”
Once I am out of bed/out of my room I am at least mildly more productive for the rest of the day. Going to a class before noon means you are up and doing things for the day and early enough that you still have light. This ties into the next one
Start while it’s still light out!! At least for me I gain so much happiness from natural light/sunlight, and it is very hard for me to do things let alone START things once it’s dark out because my brain is like nope the day is over now. Plus in the fall/winter days days are getting shorter and shorter so it’s important to make use of as much daylight as you can. I feel like a plant w how much I rely on light to survive but it really does help!
Put on ‘Real People’ clothes. This is something that really helps me, even if it’s just like, jeans and a turtleneck, maybe tucked in w a belt. I’ve found that when I put on academic-y clothes or like Adult clothes it helps me switch my brain into school mode. It’s kinda like putting on a uniform for work? If I’m in too loose of clothes or like pyjamas for example, I’m much less likely to be able to switch my brain into productive mode. For me especially its when i’m wearing tighter clothing rather than baggy ones? Like i said a turtleneck which like the sleeves are fitted to my arms, and jeans or pants that are fitted to my legs. I think it helps because it makes me more aware of my body in the space? Idk. figure out what real people clothes feel like to you, and then have a couple of go to outfits you can slip on when you’ve been in a hoodie and sweatpants all day and really need to get some work done.
On that note, put on shoes. For me along w the tight clothing, I do better in shoes, specifically ones that lace up and can be tight. Like hightop converse, or boots, or even dress shoes w laces. I think in a way my body needs to be contained so I can focus on something? I’m not sure why I feel like that but i’ve learned to work w it. Putting on shoes for me helps because
1. I’m not distracted by what I’m putting my bare feet on (i cannot stand wearing socks unless im wearing shoes so yes bare feet)
2. I’m not getting distracted by my floor n the fact that hey maybe i should sweep bc there are some crumbs sticking to my feet now.
And 3. You put on shoes when you are going to go outside and go somewhere. It’s like putting pyjamas on to go to bed, you’re brain associates those items with doing something, so putting on shoes can signal to your brain hey we are doing something now, and that something is work.
Talk to your teachers !! I understand sometimes you have a teacher from hell and honestly idk what to tell you at that point but in a lot of cases teachers can be very understanding !! The amount of support I’ve gotten from my teachers this year is absolutely insane and 100% the only thing that made it so I didn’t get kicked out of college. Like reaching out to your teachers shows that you care! if you have to take a mental health day sometimes let them know !! i would always let my teacher know that I really wanted to be in class but I just couldn’t handle it that day. They also can help connect you to resources you didn’t know about !
Look into what resources your school has !! I was talking about how next year is gonna go now that I’ve been diagnosed and such with my friend, and how I was gonna contact the DRC (disability resource center) and she didn’t know you could get support for having ADHD!! Like I know you can get extensions on due dates, attendance forgiveness, and even potentially note taking assistance when you have ADHD and talk to them. even if you are medicated it doesn’t 100% solve everything and there are still ways to get support! Whether its study groups, writing centers/support, tutoring, or even contacting your drc or whatever your school has, it can really help!! I’m definitely going to take advantage of these resources if I can next year !
Find a place outside you can go to clear your head (or have a mental breakdown)
I can’t even begin to count the amount of times i’ve been freaking out over something or stressed out of my mind and my room started to feel to stuffy and claustrophobic and i just needed to get OUT. try to make sure it’s somewhere safe and close that you can go to even at night. (maybe try to shoot a text to your best friend that you’re out and if you don’t let them know you’re home by a certain time to start raising alarm, your safety is the most important) I tend to like to be up high because i’m further away from people, and the streets and I’m closer to the sky.
My go to thinking/breakdown spot is the roof of the parking garage a block away. It has stairs that are easy access and the top levels are usually empty even during the day. It really helps me to just go out and listen to music and collect my thoughts sometimes. My head can start going a million directions at lightspeed and I need to stop and be present, and being outside helps. It’s a good way to regroup.
Spend 10 minutes picking up your desk/work space. I tend to let my room get cluttered and messy and out of control a lot, to the point where I know it’s going to take at least a couple hours to get it clean again. It is also hard to focus when you’re in a messy environment. I would stress myself out and be like “well i HAVE to clean my whole room because I can’t focus if my space isnt clean I cant start until I clean” and then I would put all of my productive energy into cleaning, and get maybe halfway done before burning out and going to bed.
You’re never going to get any work done if you keep in this mindset. So instead just spend 10 minutes picking up the garbage off your desk, put the dishes in the kitchen, and put things back in their place. Then you will have enough space to work on your assignment and that space will be free of clutter so it won’t be as stressful.
DRINK WATER DRINK WATER DRINK WATER
Have a water bottle in front of you when you’re studying/in class. I get fidgety a lot when i’m in class/studying (thank u adhd) and so having a water bottle is a way for me to fidget I guess? Depending on the water bottle, you have little steps you have to do to drink that help u fidget,
for example: pick it up, take off the lid, drink, put the lid back on, set it down.
Or pick up, push button that opens drink hole (?), set back down.
When I have a water bottle on my desk it satisfies my need to do something with my body and comes with the bonus of staying hydrated, without me having to lose focus doing something else. Also you won’t get distracted by a sore throat or the realization that you are really thirsty.
Pay attention to why you’re not paying attention. Not everything that works for me is going to work for you, so you have to figure out what works for you. I started to notice that I would be uncomfortable or feel funny working when I was in baggy clothes and that helped me figure out I needed to wear real people clothes. If you find yourself getting distracted, take note of what is distracting you. maybe try literally making a list of things that distract you, so then you can identify patterns and how to combat them !
That’s all I have for now, I hope some of these could maybe help? All of these have helped me actually complete an assignment occasionally, and somehow keep my ass in college. I just want to say that my experience is my own and things that work for me aren’t going to work on every one. college can be really tough, especially your first year when you’re trying to figure everything out. I may not have all the answers but feel free to shoot me a message!! i’m here for you if you want to ramble about an assignment you’re fed up with or a teacher you hate or anything thats bothering you !! Everyone’s college (and life) experience is different so don’t feel bad if yours doesn’t look the same as the people around you ! Remember to take care of yourselves !!!
Have a good day :)
#mine#study tips#college tips#study advice#adhd tips#?#studyblr#study#bullet journal#bujo#dark academia#light academia#I'm fucking trying academia#notes#muji#college advice#idk how to tag#i hope these kinda sorta make sense lol
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Gleaming Silver
Characters: Jimin x Reader
Word count: 3.3K
Synopsis: You love and trust your captain above all. But perhaps he’s not the man- or rather human you thought him to be.
Pirate!Jimin x firstmate!Reader
Notes: Things to do while in quarantine: Write about pirate/merman Jimin, I guess?? (JK i’m not in quarantine don’t stress guys) dedicated to @tuserendipia, who apparently misses seeing me on their dash ;)
Warnings: Conversations while not maintaining 1.5m social distance, mentions of violence and piracy.
It is the duty and honour of a first mate to know every intimate detail particular to their captain. A captain without a first mate stands alone, useless- for how can they command loyalty of an entire crew if they cannot even have one person whom they could trust unconditionally? And that was who you prided yourself on being when it came to your captain. You had even gained a reputation across the seas- no one had ever seen the back of the Mighty Pirate King Jimin, for it was constantly guarded by his fiercely loyal first mate. From the moment Jimin had recruited you, an orphan, cast out on the streets and forced to pickpocket to feed herself, you have dedicated your entire life to him.
Yet, though you have prided yourself on your loyalty to your Captain, and though you considered yourself to know him better than anyone else, it is, as evidenced by the sight before you, all a farce. No, you do not know your captain in the slightest. Even your most basic assumption about him, that he is the most fearsome human to roam the nine seas of Quiruvea, is apparently incorrect.
For Captain Park Jimin is no mere man. No, you have witnessed it now, beneath the silver moon that paints his skin as if it were smooth marble. The shimmering, iridescent fish tail where his legs were prior to you being knocked overboard proves that you do not know your captain in the slightest. Cold, dizzying, confusing fear grips you at the unfamiliarity of the man- or rather, merman, who sprawls across the sand before you.
“Turn around.” He commands, gazing at you almost lazily. He is surprisingly calm after having exposed such an earth shattering secret, one he has somehow managed to keep from you for years. And your ingrained sense of loyalty has you turning away obediently, blinking rapidly in disbelief. Perhaps you are mistaken- perhaps your time out on the seas and the full, glowing moon above you have finally driven you to the brink of insanity. Or perhaps this is all a dream- perhaps you were never knocked overboard at all. Perhaps you had rolled off your bed in your sleep with a particularly hard rock from your beloved ship and you are actually sleeping peacefully on the hard floor in this exact moment.
The clink of metal as Jimin redoes his belt buckle behind you alerts you to the fact that Jimin is once more fully clothed and the human legs you knew him to possess have returned. You turn your head to face him, only to find the cool blade of a knife pressed against your throat. He lurches forward until he plants his knees on either side of you, pinning your prone form to the sand. Just the slightest pressure from your captain and the wet sand beneath you will be soaking up the remnants of your life. It is a night of betrayal, it seems.
“Will you kill me?” You question, gazing up at Jimin. You are unable to keep the slight wobble from your voice. Though you are brave, having faced many dangers since becoming a pirate, you have never been on the opposite side of Jimin’s blade. And rightfully so- he is your beloved, trustworthy captain. Or at least, you thought he was. But perhaps you are wrong. For to the rest of the world, Jimin is a cold, dangerous man. You have witnessed that many times first hand- to make a living off stealing from the king and adventuring the seas for hidden treasures, one must have a certain degree of ruthlessness to them. People are right to fear him, even if the thought that maybe you should as well has never crossed your mind. But it does now, because never has that sense of danger and ruthlessness been directed towards you in the way that it is now- a heavy, distant gaze that sizes you up like he is measuring your worth. Like he is cold-heartedly weighing up whether it is worth his while to keep you alive.
“That depends.” He rasps, moving in close until he hovers centimetres from you, planting one hand on the side of your head where it rests against the sand. The waves lap at the soles of his boots, and his damp cotton shirt billows outwards in the slight breeze like the sails of a ship, and the heavy material of his overcoat falls around you like a heavy curtain, shrouding your form in darkness. “Will you kill me?”
The question throws you off guard- for why would you ever consider killing your captain? Even after the revelations of tonight, after witnessing his glittering tail, you could never and would never turn your blade against him. At your stunned silence, however, Jimin twists the knife further, just firm enough that you can feel its pressure but not firm enough to cut, and that’s when you detect it. The slight tremor to his wrist, the barely concealed fear in his eyes. To anyone else, even to a member of his crew, Jimin would look like a ruthless killer, ready to murder his loyal first mate for discovering his deepest secret, but suddenly you see the situation clearly for what it is. A terrified man, fearing for his life. Fearing betrayal from his most trusted comrade, a fate that is perhaps worse than death to him. For if people were to know he were such a creature, he would know doubt be sought out. Merpeople were highly prized amongst the rich- they made beautiful additions to their gardens, much the same way a koi fish might adorn the fountain of a frivolous noblewoman, and the scales of their tails have immense abilities. Healing, potions, magic brews being the least of these properties. All it would take to ruin Jimin were to let slip to a passerby that the Mighty Pirate King is merely a lost merman, above the seas instead of below it, and he would never find peace no matter what corner of the seas he sought.
You feel yourself soften at the revelation, and reach trembling fingers upwards to wrap around his wrist.
“Never.” You whisper, a solemn promise. He does not hold the knife to you with any real force- you are able to tug its lethal edge away with no resistance from your captain until it falls useless beside you. He watches your expression as you do so, and when you make no move to fight him, his shoulders slump weakly. His gaze softens with relief as he rolls off you and collapses weakly in the sand.
“Are you hurt?” He asks, gazing listlessly up at the blanket of shimmering stars overhead. It takes a surprising amount of effort to force yourself into an upright position. When you do, you gaze out at the endless wash of black before you. Beneath the night sky, you cannot discern the smooth line of the horizon- only the constellations above guide you on your location. Somewhere far, far east of where your crew members conducted mutiny and tossed you ruthlessly overboard. Just the thought of it has your entire being shaking with rage.
“Not physically.” You respond. He nods, sitting up to gaze at you with gentle eyes. “I... don’t understand what happened tonight, Captain.”
You don’t specify what you don’t understand- there have been a lot of confusing events to unfold this night, beginning with the mutiny of crew mates you had trusted and loved, and ending with the discovery that your captain is a rare, nigh extinct race of mythical creature who followed you overboard without a moment’s hesitation and had obviously dragged your barely conscious body to the first piece of land he had come across. Jimin offers you a thin smile, combing his hand through his hair, which has dried with a slight curl to it, the way hair does when soaked with saltwater. He straightens, pulling off the dark coat that adorns his shoulders and adjusting it so that it falls across your figure, concealing the way your damp cotton shirt has gone translucent. You flush at the realisation and are grateful for the small gesture. It reminds you that despite the events of tonight, the man before you is still your captain, who rescued you from a life of starvation and showed you adventure and freedom, out amongst the dancing waves and endless horizons. The man whom you love and trust with your entire heart. You tug the coat more firmly around you despite the fact that it is heavy and laden with seawater.
“I do owe you an explanation. Perhaps I should start from the beginning.” He tells you, gazing out forlornly across the sea. “Beginning with who I am. I am Park Jimin, Crown Prince of the Eleven Seas of Altanea.” You blink in confusion- according to every map you’ve ever come across, there are only nine seas, and you have never heard of a place called Altanea. But you do not interrupt- instead you allow your captain to confess the words he has kept secret to all but himself for so many years. “Or rather, that’s who I was. For my kingdom was destroyed and its people scattered many years ago, when I was a young child.” He looks at you and his eyes shimmer in the moonlight. Even after so many years, to recount the story brings tears to his eyes. They catch the meagre light and your heart squeezes at the sight of them. “I was raised onland by two merfolk who were clever enough to conceal their true identity and to teach me to do the same. But we are drawn to the sea, for it is our home. And initially I sailed them with a licence- I worked hard and became a well-respected naval officer. And that was how I planned to live my life until the end of my days, until I discovered the truth of what had happened to the remnants of my people.” He says the words darkly, and his fists clench until his knuckles go pale. His eyes flash with cold fury and it is a look you know well- it is the face of the feared pirate king who sits before you. “The king that I had been so loyally serving had them trapped as commodities, ornaments to decorate the gardens of those who pleased him, and as farmed livestock to produce scales to cause his kingdom to prosper. A kingdom built on the blood and pain of an entire race.” You have only seen Jimin tremble and shake with rage the way that he does now once before. It was earlier that night, when your crew mate first announced her intent to mutiny. “Of course, the only way to remain on the sea if I am not a naval officer is piracy. And so I stole the Crimson Voyager and found myself a loyal crew.” He shoots you a furtive glance, and this is the part of the story you know, for you had been amongst the first Jimin recruited when gathering his crew. And you had witnessed each and every member promise their loyalty to Jimin. “My intention had been to gain riches and loyalty until I could stage a revolt and return my people to the seas where they belong, but I foolishly let my guard down around Chaeyoung.”
You stiffen are the mention of her name- the youngest and newest member of your crew, recruited by Jimin under mysterious circumstances despite your protests, and the very crew member who had initiated the mutiny. The first and only time you have questioned your captain’s actions. It seems, in this case, your misgivings were warranted.
“Is she... like you?” You question. It is too baffling to say the words you mean aloud. Jimin watches you curiously, before his lips curl with a faint but fond smile.
“Yes. Though, unlike me, she was born in captivity. She has never seen our home. I know you had your doubts about her, but I could not turn one of mine away.” He says. It is a familiar term of endearment, the way he refers to Chaeyoung as his. He does the same with all his crew- with you. To him, you are all his. His to protect, to trust, to guide. And the thought that Chaeyoung betrayed that has you clenching your teeth in anger. “I am sorry. I wasn’t yet ready to tell you the truth about my past. And it’s clear to me now that I trusted the wrong person. For it seems a life of witnessing the injustice her parents faced has left her bitter and angry with the world. She did not agree with my methods and wanted immediate liberation for our people... and you have witnessed firsthand how exactly she intends to do that. By brute force and pigheadedness.”
You are quiet for a long moment, drawing figures in the sand, and the soft wash of the waves lapping at the shore is the only sound that exists between you.
“How... how did she convince them to betray us?” You ask softly. For that is probably what hurts the most tonight- not the revelation that you know nothing of the man you love, nor the stress of being thrown overboard, but the pain of being betrayed by people you consider family. For just as Jimin fondly refers to the crew as “his”, they are also yours. Your family, your friends, your crew. That they could even consider betraying you goes against everything you know to be true. Jimin bites his lip and you watch the way he worries at the skin for a long moment, before he decides to confess the truth to you.
“We bear the power of persuasion.” He finally confesses. He watches you warily, as if fearing your reaction. “Of course, if someone knows they are being persuaded, they can break it, and so I have just granted you safety from such a power. But it is likely how she was able to stage the mutiny when she became discontent with my methods. And for the record, it is a power I have never used on any of you.”
You nod, feeling relief billow outwards in your chest, warming you to the tips of your chilled fingers. They did not betray you. But then another question fills your mind.
“Then why did she not persuade me?” You ask aloud, in the same moment that Jimin launches himself forward, almost eagerly, until his face hovers mere centimetres from you. You feel each puff of his breath glide over your skin, and your eyes widen at the sudden and unexpected proximity.
“That is precisely what I want to ask you.” He asks, but rather than look grim or angry or puzzled, he just stares at you with a steady, fixed gaze. You would almost call the look in his eyes longing, but surely you are mistaken. “She must have tried to. You are the most valuable and influential member of my crew. You could probably convince them to revolt even without the power of persuasion. How did you resist a spell as powerful as hers? How can your loyalty to me be so strong that even a mermaid’s song cannot sway you?”
His gaze scans curiously, desperately over your features, tracing from your brow to your eyes, your lips, your throat, before settling on the spot where a tarnished silver necklace rests against your collarbone. It had been a gift from him- he had found it amongst the first treasure the two of you had ever discovered, hidden in the depths of a jungle island, and had instantly declared it yours. It is simple- a mere locket, in the shape of a heart. You do not keep anything in it- it is the necklace itself that bears meaning to you, rather than its contents. Jimin reaches up wonderingly to stroke his index finger across the smooth surface, and then following the links of the chain as they fan across your décolletage. The action is intimidating- you feel as though he gazes upon your actual heart, the one that should be hidden safely beneath your ribs. He smiles, like there is a funny joke etched into the metal of your locket.
“Tell me.” He urges you softly. Jimin always becomes very smug whenever he catches a glimpse of the necklace you wear at all times, and he is extremely smug now. Like he knows your answer but wants you to be the one to declare it.
You bite your lip and his gaze tracks the movement, his tongue darting out to moisten his own lips. He is a work of art, up close. Silver moonlight gilds the line of his jaw and the high arc of his cheekbones and he owns a beauty that the most talented sculptors in the world can only dream of replicating.
“And you?” The words come out as a whisper. “Why have you revealed to me your secrets after so many years? Why did you follow me overboard rather than stay behind and save your crew?”
Jimin tilts his head slightly, before gently cupping your face and smoothing the rough pad of his thumb lovingly against your cheek. You must be quite the sight- a complexion darkened by days beneath the sun, hair matted and in disarray thanks to the salt that has dried in it, but he gazes upon you wonderingly like you are the most exquisite piece of treasure he has ever laid eyes upon.
“There are times where our bodies move faster than our minds.” He confesses sweetly. “By the time my mind registered what had happened, I was already in the water with you in my arms.”
You blink in confusion, and he chuckles, dropping his head so that his forehead rests tenderly against your own.
“I believe that happens because our bodies obey our hearts before they obey our minds.” He explains. “And my heart is entirely yours in any way that you want it. Just as this heart is mine.” He says, playfully tapping a finger against the small metal heart that rests against your sternum. You have a feeling that he is not referring to the cold metal heart that sits above your ribs.
You attempt to speak, to respond, you really do. But all that emerges is a confused squeak. And Jimin, brave, terrifying, powerful Jimin, releases a laugh. A full, joyous laugh, the laugh of a carefree young man in love, not the laugh of a terrifying pirate king recently betrayed by his crew. He throws his head back with the force of it, and when he recovers enough to gaze upon you once more, you are glaring at him with the most endearing pout upon your lips. And he is only a man- he cannot resist the urge to place a quick peck upon your lips, and when he pulls away, you stare at him in bewilderment.
“It is ok if you are not ready to say it aloud, yet, my love.” He tells you warmly. His tongue darts out against as if it is chasing the taste of your lips lingering on his. “For I already know the reason why- there is only one other method, other than awareness, to resist the power of a mermaid’s persuasion.” He pulls away, straightening and dusting away the wet sand that clings to his trousers. He takes inventory of his belongings- he had gone overboard as a man, and had removed his pants prior to transforming. It seems in his desperate swim to shore with you unconscious in his arms, he had lost his gun and his favourite knife, but his sword still remains, as well as the old rusted knife he had cast aside earlier. “There will be time for you to tell me in detail how much you love me later. For now, we have a crew to save.”
And he turns to you and extends his hand. And you could protest- you could flounder and deny his declaration that you love him. But such an endeavour would be pointless- for you both know it to be true. So instead, you take his hand and allow him to pull you to your feet. For your Captain is right.
You have a crew to save.
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BTS Reaction: You Are The Main Rapper of an Idol Group
Prompt: Hi can I request a reaction of BTS to you are an idol (the main rapper of the group) Thanks 💙
Requested?: Yes
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 1078
Warnings: None
Hope you like it! Requests are OPEN!
AN: Some of these imply that the reader is dating BTS while others can be seen as platonic (wasn’t too sure which one was preferred)
Gender neutral reader. Gifs are not mine
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Kim Namjoon:
Namjoon would love that the two of you had such a thing in common and would definitely want to listen to your work. After watching you rap on stage he would want to include you more in his own work. While writing lyrics it would be common for him to invite you over to the studio if you weren’t busy yourself to get your opinion on his progress. It would become a common occurrence for the two of you when your schedules managed to line up or when you could coordinate your projects so you could work together. Of course, with both of you being idols, this didn’t happen too frequently but thats what made these days more special. Depending on how busy he is and the status of your relationship further on, he may also want to include you in one of his solo projects somewhere down the line.
“We should definitely produce a song together.”
Kim Seokjin:
It was nice that you were an idol like him, since it meant that you understood how demanding work can get. However, your role in the group wouldn’t necessarily matter as much to him. When compared to the other members, he wasn’t really the biggest fan of rapping. That didn’t mean he didn’t support you though. Jin still enjoyed your work and would watch you perform any chance he could while cheering you on, showing off how talented you were to anyone that would listen. It also isn’t uncommon for him to pop up randomly at practices and music video shootings to surprise you when his schedule allows it. Overall, he would support you wholeheartedly with anything you did.
“My jagiya is so talented!”
Min Yoongi:
One word...proud. Not only did you share his interest in music but you were also a rapper. To Yoongi, that was a match made in heaven (especially if you were faster). The minute he heard you rap he was hooked, constantly praising your skills and inviting you to work alongside him more when you could. It was nice having another person around with the same skill set when he was working on new tracks. You can also bet he started working on a future collaboration between the two the minute he heard you rap for the first time. Your combined flow and his lyrics would surely create a masterpiece, plus he wanted to show his muses talent off to the rest of the world. Min Yoongi would definitely become one of, if not your biggest supporter, even if he wasn’t over the top about it.
“You’re skilled, how would you feel about collaborating?”
Jung Hoseok:
The first time Hoseok heard you rap on stage, he would be ecstatic. He had always known that you were talented but this was the icing on the cake. Expect lots of hugs and excited praise about how good you are and why you never showed him your skills until now. You probably wouldn’t be able to get a word in for a few minutes due to his excitement over seeing you perform. Afterwards, he would likely challenge you to playful rap battles whenever you were home and constantly pop up when you were recording so he could watch you work. You can also expect a lot of cheering and shouting coming from him whenever he got the chance to see you perform live. Whether that be at an award show or him managing to get into one of your concerts.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were such a good rapper?”
Park Jimin:
Jimin would admire your skills as he listened to you rapping. Like Jin, he wasn’t too big on rap, but he had to admire the talent and hard work that went behind your performances. As an idol himself, he understood all the time and dedication it took to create these songs and that alone was enough for him to admire your performances. Of course, he thought your rapping good as well and would happily tell you so once the song finished. If you were an amazing rapper, he would likely also use your skills as a means of messing with the rappers of his own group. Using it as a bragging right to show off, though you would still enjoy the attention he gave you because of it.
“I want to see you do a rap battle with the hyungs, I’m sure you’d win!”
Kim Taehyung:
Taehyung would without a doubt be your biggest fan. He loved that you were an idol like he was, but he also loved that you were a rapper. Tae loved rapping so the fact that you were good at it made his heart swell. Would definitely want to hear your performances as often as possible, often trying to sneak into recording sessions to hear your voice live. After one performance, he would even ask you if you could teach him how to rap so that he could do it on stage as well as you one day. You would agree after a bit of convincing and what would follow would be hours of him trying to make your speed and flow with you trying not to laugh at the whole scenario. At least you were teaching him at home and not on stage.
“You’re such a good rapper! You have to teach me how to do it!”
Jeon Jungkook:
Jungkooks reaction will be one of two options. As an idol, and someone who has rapped in quite a few of his older songs, he would definitely appreciate your talent. Jungkook will probably brag about your skills a lot instead of praising or complementing you directly. However, if there was the slightest chance that you were a better rapper/performer than he was, then his competitive side would kick in. It wouldn’t be unlikely for him to challenge you to a rap battle after seeing you perform live, wanting to verify whether or not you could actually be better than him. Of course, he would still be proud of how accomplished you were, but his pride could not allow him to let you be better than him without a challenge. If you did win however, he would probably ask you to go against the rap line to see if you were better than them as well. Taking pride in your skills as if they were his own.
“You’re good, but do you think you can beat me?”
#bts#bts x reader#bts reactions#bts scenarios#bts jin#kpop#kpop reactions#rm#rap monster#jin#jimin#kim seokjin#park jimim#taehyung#kim namjoon#kim taehyung#jungkook#jung hoseok#jeon jungkook#min yoongi#suga#yoongi#namjoon x reader#jin x reader#jimin x reader#x reader#jungkook x reader#taehyung x reader#j hope x reader#suga x reader
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journaling
[I wrote this post in August 2020, and rediscovering this draft September 2021 I finished and polished it somewhat]
Over lockdown I’ve attempted to keep a daily journal, and while I haven’t done very well to make it a ‘daily’ thing I think it’s a worthwhile activity. My thoughts feel a lot more in order after journaling, and I find it quite meditative.
When I go back to school I will also need to be able to write essays well; having had little practise over lockdown, I realised keeping a journal would help me write fluently and with a variety of vocabulary. I aimed to write 750 words a day, but any number was better than nothing.
Here are some tips I’ve picked up so far, if you’re looking to start a journaling habit.
Don’t feel the need to reread at any point once you’ve completed an entry. Don’t worry about whether you sound pretentious, cliché, or anything else.
One thing that held me back when trying to journal was the idea that I might reread it in future and be embarrassed. I also felt it had to be of publishing quality, similar to books written in the style of a diary. Promising myself that I wouldn’t reread it in future, even a day later, helped me to eliminate these mental barriers. You may wish to read your diary in future, of course, but if the thought makes you anxious it is freeing to assume you will never look at it again.
I write my journal in a way that feels pretty pretentious, and I enjoy it. Keeping a journal is for you, not for any imaginary audience.
Find a medium comfortable and even pleasant to write with; this can be digital or on paper.
I personally find it painful to write with a ballpoint pen, and currently I use a fountain pen (the Pilot Pluminix - cheap but comfortable for me) which I enjoy. Other possible options are gel pens, fineliners and rollerball pens, all of which require less pressure than a ballpoint. If you prefer, it is fine to use your phone, tablet or computer - if using your phone I recommend doing so in a way that won’t strain or cause you pain later, by resting it on a table or holding it so that your elbow is bent at an angle greater than 90°.
I alternate between digital and paper journaling, depending on what I feel like on a particular day, what I have access to at that time and so on. I also like to listen to music when I journal, so I don’t get bored as easily.
Consider where and when you want to write; you could incorporate it into part of a routine if you wish.
I like to write my entries before going home from a walk somewhere (a park, cafe, library etc), so I have a pocket-sized notebook to write in. (This also has the benefit of having less space to fill, so journaling seems less of an intimidating task). If you want to write digitally, it might be worth using a site or app you can access from any device, like Google Docs, a Tumblr sideblog, Microsoft OneNote, etc. I’ll link the site I use, along with other links, in a reblog.
Establishing a routine, in time and place where you write every day might be helpful, as with any activity; this might be at your desk before lunch, for example. Forgive yourself if you miss this ‘window of opportunity’, and try again later. It can also make it easier to start and end each entry in the same way — for example, I tend to end mine with ‘it is [time] on [date]’ and then sign off with my name.
Take steps to avoid your diary being found, if necessary.
This is easier to do with a digital diary - it is possible to make a Tumblr sideblog private (link to instructions in a reblog), and using a site in-browser that you need to sign in to access will make it harder to find. Password-protecting files on your computer won’t hide them unfortunately. Smaller paper diaries are easier to hide. This can help you write without the worry of someone else seeing it later and getting curious - but if these steps seem excessive or anxiety inducing in themselves there’s no need to follow them.
Set a word, line, page count or time limit if it helps to motivate you. However, anything is better than nothing - and there’s no need to feel bad for writing nothing on a particular day either.
It might be hard to meet the word count or write for the full time at first - over time it will likely get easier as you ease into the habit. Not all the entry has to be important information either - write anything that comes to mind no matter how trivial, describe your surroundings… I like to note what I’ve already done that day (including little details like the kind of tea I’ve drunk, a song I’ve listened to etc ) if I wanted to, and any plans I have for later.
#journaling#chester writes#student#I hope none of the detail is redundant ! I had too much fun thinking about doing this post to want to keep it snappy#long post
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scars to your beautiful (kageyama x reader)
➸ genre: angst and fluff.
➸ pairing: kageyama tobio x reader.
➸ word count: 1.5k
a/n: wHEW. i wanted to write something meanigful, but idk how it turned out !! honestly idek if this is either angst or not lowkey,,, heart fingers.
synopsis: kageyama helps (y/n) love and embrace the scars from her past.
WARNING! mentions of relationship abuse.
ouch.
warm, red blood oozed out of the exposed wound, the sharp pain visible on your face. from your left side, a little boy was apologizing to you several times with tears in his eyes. and from your right, kageyama extended an arm to lend you a hand.
"thank you." you took his hand and pulled your body up from the ground, blood still gushing out from your scraped knee.
"i'm s-so s-sorry!" the little boy sobbed in between his words.
smiling at him, you shook your head before patting his head, "i'm fine! still moving, you see?" you shook your leg to prove yourself to the little boy.
"still, be careful. you might seriously injure yourself if you don't!" teasingly, you scolded the little boy, causing him to nod his head ferociously.
"i'll b-be careful next t-time!" swallowing his tears, the little boy picked up his skateboard before running off.
seeing as the boy disappeared from their sight, you let out a breath before stumbling to keep your balance.
"oi! don't fall!" kageyama pulled you back up, "c'mon, i'll help you get seated."
he helped (carried) your body while searching for an empty bench in the park. spotting one in the distance, he continued supporting you before setting you down on the empty, wooden bench.
adjusting your position to your comfort, a sigh left your lips.
"of course this had to happen." you thought to yourself, "i knew this day was going too smoothly for my own liking! ugh, why can't my first date with tobio be a success?? curse you, bad luck!!"
"(y/n)." kageyama interrupted your thoughts, "can you roll up your jeans for me?" he was knelt in front of you, one knee up and the other knee down.
"huh?!" you snapped out of your internal conflict, "why?"
oh no.
"so that i can see your injury." he pointed directly at your knee, "the blood is seeping through your jeans."
oh no. anything but that.
"pfft, i'm sure it's fine! no big deal." you swung your legs back and forth, "you see?" unknowingly, your face gave away your pain.
he took one look at your before shaking his head, "(y/n), don't be ridiculous."
you hung your head, avoiding his eyes, before beginning to slowly roll up your jeans. as more skin got exposed, your fingers hesitated.
kageyama noticed your hesitation and helped you roll your jeans up, thinking that the pain prevented you from continuing,
"no— wait!"
a long jagged scar snaked down the side of your leg, close to your knee. the skin around the mark was slightly discolored, suggesting that it did not heal properly. this was something you did not want kageyama to see, at all. but what could you do? lady luck was not on your side today. you grimaced, too afraid to see the male's reaction.
without any comments, kageyama stood up from the ground and turned his back towards the female.
"i'll be right back." he spoke before jogging away from the bench.
oh no.
he thinks they're ugly.
oh nonono.
what if he decides that i'm worthless—
haha, no way.
as if.
tobio isn't that kind of person...
is he?
amidst your worries and doubts, you noticed kageyama return from somewhere with a plastic bag hanging from his grasp. you jumped up from the wooden park bench, ready to explain yourself.
"t-tobio! you're back!" you shuffled your feet nervously as he stopped in front of you with his eyes on yours, "don't worry! i can explain my— my um. my scars! haha see, i was in this crazy relationship a few years back and my boyfriend wasn't exactly the best person alive. b-but it's all good now! he received his punishment and i'm—"
partially listening to your rambles, kageyama silently sat you back down on the bench. without a single word, he retrieved the item he bought from the convenience store (a first-aid kit) and opened it up before quickly soaking a piece of cotton with bottled water.
"we have to clean up your wound, first." he spoke calmly as his hands dabbed the piece of cotton on your knee.
unable to process his actions, you watched as he peeled off a bandaid before sticking it onto your wound. he pressed his fingers against it lightly, the bandaid sticking well to your skin. he was gentle, almost as if he were working with fragile glass, yet firm at the same time.
"and now we're finished." he smiled softly and awkwardly made jazz hands, signaling his finished work. still struck by silence, your eyes were glued on him as you watched kageyama throw away everything except the first-aid kit, "tobio.."
he returned back to the bench and sat down, his hand reaching out to give you whatever was left inside the first-aid kit.
"here. don't want you being unprepared again." with a kind smile on his lips, kageyama leaned back against the bench and stretched him arms out, "now you can continue your story, if you want. i'm here to listen."
oh.
initially, you weren't sure how to feel when he offered his ears to you. strange, right? just moments ago, you were desperately trying to explain yourself, your scars, to him. but now that he was actually listening, it was odd.
as shocking as it may seem, you weren't used to someone offering to listen to your voice, your past, your story. maybe it was because of this reason that you actually felt nervous to say anything.
but you were compelled to tell him. this guy, who had only known you for a couple of weeks, had knocked down any barrier you had built from a previous relationship, in a matter of minutes.
was it the way he looked? at you? or was it because of his caring gestures— you had no idea. whatever it was, it worked to his favor. you instantly desired to spill everything out to him. after all, you just couldn't hide it in any longer.
"my- uh. my ex-boyfriend was abusive, both physically and mentally. he would verbally tear me down with harsh words before resolving our fight with his fists. honestly speaking, it wasn't even a fight. whenever he spat out insults to me, it was all one-sided."
you paused, contemplating on whether or not to continue. spilling details about your painful past was overwhelming, to say the least. you swung your legs back and forth, allowing your silence calm you down. luckily, kageyama was patient.
"he told me that i was ugly with all these scars—said that i should be grateful he was at least willing to be with me, even though he was the one who gave me these."
another pause, with kageyama's eyes widened the slightest bit out of anger.
"my parents eventually found out, even though i didn't want to trouble them with anything, and they reported him. he received his punishment, and i got a restraining order! happy ending to a not-so happy story." immediately, you faked a laugh and encouraged a smile on your face, as if to show kageyama that everything was alright now.
but kageyama saw through it. vividly. even if both the corners of your lips curled upwards, your eyes betrayed you. no matter how convincing your smile looked, if the eyes weren't sincere then nothing was.
you gulped softly, expecting the silence from him. you figured he was processing the information you had given himㅡ it was a lot to take in, after all.
"your ex-boyfriend seemed like an ass." he stated bluntly after a painful silence as his body turned towards to face you.
"yeah, he was. i honestly don't know why i stayed with him." another laugh escaped your lips, nervously this time, "maybe i depended on him too much. pathetic, right?" you glanced down before lifting your wounded knee upwards, "now, i got all these ugly scars marking me for the rest of my life."
"they're not ugly."
you turned your head to the side, "excuse me?"
he shrugged, "your scars. they're not ugly." kageyama said once more, "nothing on your body should be considered as ugly. why would they be?"
"because they make my body seemㅡ destroyed."
he shook his head, "no. your scars show everyone how brave you are. how you survived through the worst of times to make it to the present."
kageyama crossed his arms before continuing, "the scars on your body from your past make up your own constellations. if anything, you should be proud and embrace them."
you bit your lip. since your previous breakup, the concept of loving your body seemed impossible. of course, you'd been trying for years now, but failed every single time. heck, was it even possible? you wanted verbal assurance.
"doㅡ do you think i'm capable of embracing them?" you asked, your voice laced with hope.
kageyama stared at the female, a brief moment of silence between the two of you. he was positive that you were more than able to embrace your scars. you were strong in his eyes. of course, he was willing to help you in any way, shape, or form.
with a hand on top of your head, he gave you a small smile before nodding his head, "absolutely."
#haikyuu!!#haikyu#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu oneshot#haikyuu headcanons#kageyama tobio#kageyama#tobio#karasuno#kageyama x reader#kageyama tobio x reader#kageyama headcanons#kageyama scenario#kageyama angst#kageyama fluff#tobio x reader#tobio headcanons
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