youngerfrankenstein · 10 months ago
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gukyi · 4 years ago
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love me or we both go down | kth
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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!
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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. 
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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. 
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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.
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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.”
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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.”
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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?
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“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. 
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When Taehyung wakes up the next morning, the first thing he says to you is that he hasn’t slept that well in ages. 
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“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. 
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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. 
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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.
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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.”
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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.”
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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.
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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.”
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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. 
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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?
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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. 
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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. 
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don’t forget to message me! ~ and don’t forget to message rose!
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crystalbahamut · 3 years ago
Text
victory in stages
FFXIV Write Day 10: heady
Summary: You’re used to being liked because you’re useful, but it’s harder to believe someone likes you for…well…you, and you’re not brave enough to ask. Luckily, you have a plan to get around that. A stupid plan, perhaps, but a plan.
Warnings: Shadowbringers spoilers, unspecified/ambiguous WoL, they/them used for WoL, WoL has low self-esteem, such low self-esteem they have to get knocked about the head, literally, mild violence, 2nd person, G’raha Tia/WoL
Words: 3,363
 ---
Purging the remnants of the Lightwardens from you would have been enough to make you feel weightless but combined with the defeat of Emet-Selch, the fact that you had gone into a fight and come out with no causalities, the fact that G’raha Tia had stood in front of you, hurt but so gloriously awake and alive…
You were so overwhelmed by gratitude, by things going so right for once and so drunk on the heady feeling of absolute victory you had surged forward and grabbed G’raha in your arms and squeezed. He had gasped and hugged back, stammering your name…
…But now, a couple of days removed from it, you’re wondering if you hadn't just…startled him.
“Did you travel back to the Source without telling us?”
You jolt up, taking your chin from your hand and sitting back to face Alisaie and Y’shtola, who look unamused and amused, respectively. “Sorry,” you say. “What were you saying?”
Alisaie rolls her eyes and looks askance at Y’shtola. “It’s probably a good thing we made them sit with their back to the Crystal Tower or we’d never catch their attention again.”
You frown. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing.” But Y’shtola smiles into her cup as she merely holds it to her lips. “You seem to be very deep in thought, is all. One has to wonder what has caught your mind so thoroughly.” Her smile widens. “Or who.”
You duck your head between your shoulders at the insinuation. “Oh, it’s not…”
“Please, you’ve been asking after the Exarch ever since we got back from the Tempest,” Alisaie says. “Haven’t you gotten tired of his company even a little?”
“I haven’t seen him since we came back.”
Both Y’shtola and Alisaie lose the teasing edge and sit forward. “What?” Alisaie asks in disbelief.
You shrug, very uncomfortable with where this conversation is going. There must still be some sin eaters around somewhere that need killing, right? That seems like more fun than being subjected to Y’shtola’s and Alisaie’s very special brands of tough love. “He’s still the Exarch helping run an entire city, and I’m just…what he needed me for is done. There’s no reason for him to want to see me.”
“Did he say that?!” Alisaie asks and starts to rise.
“Oh I severely doubt it.” Y’shtola grabs Alisaie’s sleeve and pulls her back down into her seat. “You know our friend and their insecurities.”
“Hmf.” Alisaie crosses her arms but looks less murderous, at least. “Honestly, I thought that would all be assuaged by that show of affection in the Tempest. I didn’t know a hug could be so fraught and romantic.”
“I think I just surprised him.” You stare down at your cup. The tea is likely lukewarm but you don’t pour more; you doubt you’ll drink it. “I’ve been meaning to talk to him, to ask him if–…Back when we first explored the Crystal Tower, I thought maybe he might…but then he locked himself away, and that answered that. But before we went to fight Vauthry he said some things that implied maybe he…might feel something for me, but I haven’t asked him about it since, and…”
You look up and jerk back. Alisaie and Y’shtola are both just staring at you. You feel like crawling under a rock for the rest of your miserable life. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?” you say and hide your face in your hands. “Gods; please forget I brought it up.”
“The Exarch spent a hundred years trying to prevent your death,” Alisaie says, speaking slowly. “Nearly sacrificed his own life to do so, calls you things like his ‘inspiration’ with sickening amounts of adoration, looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and you don’t think he’s madly in love with you?”
“I don’t know if he likes me romantically.” You duck down into your shoulders again. “Just because other people think I’m a hero that needs to go on living doesn’t mean there’s any deeper attachment to it. Stories can inspire, but at the end of the day they’re just that– stories.” You take a sip of your drink and grimace. It’s not even lukewarm anymore. “Also, the stars thing…technically I did bring back the night.” You put the cup down. “But I was supposed to do that. Now that I’m not useful anymore–”
“Warrior!” one of Lyna’s soldiers says, nearly breathless as she rushes up. “The captain bid me give a message to you.”
“What is it?” you say and stand.
“There’s been sightings of sin eaters accumulating over by Sullen; they seem to be disorganized and frenzied– likely starving and desperate– but there’s a similar issue by the Ostall Imperative that has most of the soldiers occupied; they won’t get to the settlement in time. Please, will you–”
“Understood.” You grab your weapon and relief surges through you– it’s terrible, probably, considering the danger people are in, but at least you can still be considered useful. “I’ll head out to Sullen right away.”
“Wait for me!” Alisaie says, leaping after you and you hear Y’shtola and the soldier talk about grabbing Thancred and the rest of them just before the two of you run off.
 ---
There is nothing quite like a successful battle, you think as you trudge back into the Crystarium with Alisaie emanating the same sense of relief behind you. Your blood is raging and your mind is clear; you feel like you can fight a primal. Maybe two primals. You feel like–
“Thank goodness you’ve returned safely.”
You stop so suddenly Alisaie bumps into you. She curses but you don’t really listen to what she’s saying. How can you, when G’raha is standing right there, looking so radiantly healthy and smiling at you like he truly is grateful to see you.
“Coming to see us back? I hope you weren’t worried,” you tease, and are rewarded by a slight flush of his cheeks.
Thancred mutters something too low for you to hear and that’s probably for the best, as Alphinaud chokes.
“Yes, well.” G’raha clears his throat and smiles. “‘Tis always a pleasure to see you all return safely.”
“And here I thought I might be special,” you say, with absolutely no acrimony.
Alas, G’raha doesn’t blush, but there is a rather fetching mischievous sheen to his expression when he says, “There was never any doubt of that.”
You swallow hard. Is he flirting? Does he mean it like you want him to? You almost mean to continue– to see how far he’ll let you go– but apparently the healers have been warned of your coming because a few of them come to escort you to Spagyrics, and as you sit for healing and bandaging and whatever else, the adrenaline settles and you start to second-guess everything again.
“You see?” Alisaie says pointedly. “He was waiting for you.”
“He was waiting for all of us,” you say and sigh. “And I was…was I inappropriate? I don’t think so, but…”
“By the Twelve, you can’t be serious,” Thancred groans. “You were so brave not half a bell earlier, I thought you were making real headway.”
“I always feel braver after a battle. It’s…” You try to think about it. “I guess after fighting for my life everything else just seems easier.”
“Would that we could bottle that bravery for you,” Thancred huffs and stands, shifting his shoulder and thanking the healer.
You sigh. “If I had a gil for every time I thought–” Wait a moment. You can’t bottle it…but you can try to manipulate it. All you have to do is talk to G’raha immediately following a fight. And that isn’t a difficult thing to do– leatherworkers need Smilodon skins, Hoptraps breed like crazy…
Alphinaud says your name as if cautious. “What are you thinking?”
“If I’m not brave enough to talk to G’raha normally, I can make myself brave enough to talk to G’raha,” you say and punch your fist.
“Excellent work, Thancred,” Alisaie says sharply.
“Y’shtola is going to kill me,” he groans in reply.
“No; this is a great idea,” you insist, because it is. “I fight things all the time and I’m still alive! This is perfect; it’s just a little adrenaline rush, nothing big.”
“Y’shtola is going to kill you,” Alphinaud sighs and Thancred nearly whimpers.
You are going to prove them all wrong and find out once and for all what G’raha truly thinks of you.
Win-win.
 ---
So your first fight does…not quite go according to plan. You found a strange looking horse while traveling through Lakeland and tried to get a better look at it, only to be immediately kicked back by hooves and knocked out. At least the sun is still out when you wake up again, but when you try to get up your ribs are definitely badly bruised, if not mildly broken. You use what healing magics you have to patch yourself back up and carry on your way. You try not to be grateful that you can’t find the horse again.
You find a botanist in a spot of trouble and help him by gathering lumber amongst a gaggle of angry triffids. It’s perfect– you get knocked around a little bit but dodging branches and putting down angry trees is surprisingly challenging and gets your blood flowing. And you help someone. A win-win indeed.
You try to clean yourself up just a little bit and head straight for the Ocular, only to be stopped by the guard.
“So sorry, but he’s in a meeting right now; no interruptions,” the man says regretfully.
“Oh, of course!” It makes sense; G’raha is still The Crystal Exarch, leading a city, doing so many important things…
The rush fades quickly and you head back to your room in defeat. G’raha comes by later, looking so sorry when he apologizes for missing you earlier, but you do your best to wave him off.
“It wasn’t that important,” you say and thankfully a yawn overtakes you.
“I’ll not trouble you any longer, then,” he says and steps back, bids you goodnight.
You watch him leave, thinking about calling him back with every step, and yet he turns a corner without a word from you.
You sigh, but it’s only day one. Tomorrow will be better.
 ---
Tomorrow is not better.
Neither is the day after that.
Neither is the day after that.
You are a capable fighter, truly– sometimes you think it’s all you’re truly good for, being thrown at violence like a martially adept doll– but you just keep having problems. Most of them are scheduling conflicts, as G’raha is still an important man and you still have responsibilities of your own, but the healers are proving far too troublesome as they seem to intercept you ninety-percent of the time. You sourly wonder if they have a magic mirror they can watch the world in as you trundle back to your room late one night.
Or perhaps they have informants.
The next day you take a little break. Or so you tell everyone. Y’shtola seems quizzical (you wonder if no one told her about this plan of yours) and your other friends seem relieved. Especially Thancred.
“I’m just doing a little delivery job this morning,” you tell them. “No fighting; since I’m carrying goods I’ll be avoiding confrontation. I’ll be back tonight.”
Sure enough, when you get back from your delivery you spy a healer watching as you come through the main plaza, and when she sees that you’re well she goes back to Spagyrics.
Snitches. Well you’re not so easily foiled– you go back to your room and then use the aetheryte at Fort Jobb to get back to Lakeland proper. The strange horse has been spotted and a few other hunters with Clan Nutsy are keen to take the job. With help, it shouldn’t take you long at all, and G’raha is almost never busy at this time of night. It’s perfect.
 ---
Up until you get knocked headfirst into a tree. That and the fact that it takes much longer than expected means you all but storm into the Crystarium later than expected, and feeling too foul to see G’raha. Sure, you can fight a primal, but with your mood you’d chew up and spit out a Lightwarden too, which is hardly conducive for a love confession.
But then there’s G’raha, calling your name before you get too far. “I was looking for you earlier; Urianger said you’d gone to your room but–” He jerks back when he sees you and his eyes widen in surprise, and concern, and so much care that your anger fizzles like an overloaded lamp. “What happened?”
“Bad luck,” you say and sigh. “And if I see a healer I might…do something I’ll regret. I’m sorry, G’raha, but maybe we can talk later.”
“Oh no; the blood on your face is worrisome enough, but the way you look makes me think you may have a concussion,” he says. “Pray, if you will not see a healer, would you allow me to care for you?”
There is a right answer, a wrong answer, and an inappropriately desperate answer, and your tongue twists on the latter. G’raha doesn’t wait for you to speak– he grabs your hand and pulls you along behind him, and you become so focused on that (he’s holding your hand) you barely realize what’s going on before you’re in a room in the tower you’ve never seen before, where there’s a bed and a nightstand and…
Maybe you do have a concussion.
“Here,” he says and sits you on the bed. It’s a really nice bed.
“With as much as you do I’m surprised you ever sleep,” you say and feel over the soft top blanket while he prepares something or other for…something or other. Why are you here again? You try to shake your head and gasp in pain. Right. Concussion.
“Easy; no need to cause yourself more pain,” G’raha murmurs and sits next to you. He cleans your face as gently as he can and you try to hide how much you ache regardless. You feel a little clearer, a little more focused, and you try to remain that way. “And I don’t sleep much, but it looks like you’re picking up my bad habits, friend. You’ve been keeping so busy lately,” he says as he bandages the cut on your forehead. “I feel like every time I try to see you you’re out doing something or another.”
“I’m not…doing that much.” You swallow. “I’m just trying to be useful, and, well, fighting is all I’m good for.”
“It’s not all you’re good for.”
“It’s helpful,” you insist. “For me too. I needed to–…to…”
“To?” G’raha repeats and you wonder if maybe the concussion can take you now, because G’raha has always been the same when he gets one little piece of information– he hounds about it. Relentlessly.
You sigh. Heavily. If it gets too hard you’ll clam up, and he’ll be disappointed, and then where will you be. But G’raha says your name, and so you steel yourself to try. “I needed…to be brave,” you say and wince as he dabs at a cut on your hand. “I wanted…I wanted to talk to you.”
He slows his motions and then stops. “My friend,” he says gently; he’s always so gentle and sweet it makes you nearly sick with want. “What would make you so afraid to talk to me? After all we have been through together, surely you can tell me most anything?”
“It might be stupid. Presumptive,” you admit. “And I…I don’t want you to think less of me.”
Gentle fingers touch the bottom of your chin and tilt it up. You stare into crimson that somehow looks so adoring, but does he adore you as a savior…or a person? “My dear friend,” he says. “There is nothing in this world that can make me think less of you.”
Staring at him, you feel your heart pound like it’s going to burst out of your chest and you think– you can’t do this anymore. If you don’t find out you’ll go crazy; you have to know, whether it hurts or not. “G’raha, in Kholusia, before Vauthry– were you talking about me?” you say, trying to speak as fast as you can, before you lose your nerve. “Do you like me? Romantically?”
He stares at you. Dumbfounded.
Like he couldn’t possibly have predicted this.
You swallow a lump of tears and feel shame settle upon you heavier than the world itself. You look down to try and maintain some dignity. “F-forget I said anything; I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I swear–”
“I thought I was obvious.”
You blink. You lift your head and some of the nausea quells. G’raha is smiling softly at you and wringing the cloth in his hands, even though it’s nearly gone fully dry. “I didn’t want to pressure you,” he says. “You seemed to shy away from me so I thought I would give you some time to figure out your feelings, for mine– mine have always been thus, ever since the first time I saw you again after you cleared the labyrinth and my heart swelled to see you safe.”
“Really? Even then?” you ask.
“Oh, most certainly.” It is adoration in his eyes as he slides his hand over your cheek and you lean into his touch. “How could you sound so disbelieving?”
“I’m just…me. I go where I’m needed and do as I’m told. If anybody else had the blessing they’d be twice the hero,” you say but you can’t help but slide your hand over his. “But you, G’raha, you’re strong and smart and kind and clever and you’ve always been so much more; are you sure you–”
He kisses you so suddenly he has to hold your shoulder to keep you from falling back. But it’s so good, you forget all about trying to talk some sense into him. He pulls back to pant for air and you try to stop the swimming of your head. You are not letting a concussion get in the way of this. “My friend– my love,” he corrects and it’s your heart that swells. “Anyone could have had the blessing and not been a tenth of what you are. If only you could see what I see.”
“I-I can try.” You know it gets tiring for people to have to listen to what you think about yourself sometimes– even your friends have gotten fed up on occasion– and you don’t want to drive him away. If he thinks you’re good enough for him, you can but try to be good enough for him– without getting knocked in the head again, you hope.
“Good,” he says simply and brings your hand to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it. “However we will have to continue this when you no longer have a head injury.”
“It’s not that bad,” you say and try to lean in for at least one more kiss, but you wobble, and the next thing you know G’raha is laying you on the bed.
“I’ll be checking in on you often to make sure that concussion isn’t severe.” He squeezes your hand and smiles. “By morning you’ll take back everything you said, for how much you’ll want to murder me.”
You squeeze his hand and return his smile. “If I didn’t drown you in a puddle in the Shroud, I’m not going to be that cross with you now.”
You fall asleep to his laughter.
 ---
When morning comes it’s even brighter (in a good way) than it has ever been. You and G’raha have breakfast together, and hold hands, and when G’raha kisses you goodbye as you leave him to get some work done you practically float across the Crystarium to share the good news.
Your friends, touchingly, are very happy for you.
Y’shtola doesn’t even kill Thancred when she finds out what incited the whole thing.
(It’s a near thing though.)
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ushisrever · 3 years ago
Text
BER MONTH
Pair: Kageyama Tobio x gn!reader
Genre: fluff
Word Count: 800+
Summary: It's the first day of September. Your boyfriend is a bit culture shock with all the Christmasy feelings around him
A/N: Happy Ber month. I'm sure every Filipino out there knows that once the Ber month starts, the Christmas-y feelings begin to spread everywhere. And it would always start with Jose Mari Chan's Christmas song. Also, this is unedited. So, apologies lol
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Kageyama stands confused in front of a new section in the department store. He looks at the different Christmas tree products displayed. He turns and sees shelves and tables of different Christmas design ornaments. He frowns when he hears that familiar song "Christmas in our hearts" you played this morning playing at the speaker.
He turns to you who is fondly looking at the small Christmas-y looking small houses on tje table.
"I-I don't get it," he said. You turn to him seeing that usual cold looking demeanor. Though, you do know he means well. He's just culture shock, that's all.
"It's only September and they're already selling Christmas decorations?" He added.
"That's just the Filipino way. So much that we love Christmas, we get more excited when the Ber months arrive," You walk over to the Christmas trees.
"So that's why you're playing that Christmas song this morning," he added.
You nodded with a smile. "It's a little tradition I make for myself. The moment September 1 arrives, I make sure to play that famous Christmas song. It just makes me feel like there is something great to wait for," you said with a smile.
Kageyama looks back again at all the decorations being sold. "What do you like about it?"
"About Christmas?" He nods to the question.
"Well...there's so many things I love about it. I guess I just really love the pure happiness it brings? I know it sounds cheesy, but I just really like the tradition. I like to buy gifts for people, wrap them myself, and give them on that day. I like the idea of making food for relatives who come to visit. They just visit. No need for invitations of whatnot. There's also the idea of pamamasko,"
You sigh remembering all the childhood memories and Christmas day memories that just fills you with joy. A sweet smile draws on your face which makes Kageyama just a ball of butterflies in his stomach. He knew it's a different kind of smile. And he hopes to see you smile like that all the time.
"I have so many reasons. I think you'll realize more if you see it yourself. Though," you look back at the decorations around. "...I think this is enough as a start to say how much we love Christmas. Well, how much I love it,"
Kageyama nods and a small smile slips at the corner of his lips. "See it for myself. Are you introducing me to your parents?" He raises both his eyebrows.
Your eyes wide open at the realization. "Oh, I mean- I mean if you're comfortable too?"
A bit of nervousness broke through you. You've never exactly properly introduced him to your family before. You've told them about him, but they haven't exactly seen or met him yet. You do not if it's a big deal as well for others to introduce their significant others to their parents, but a part of you is just plain nervous about the whole idea. You've never done such a thing.
He takes a step closer to you and pushes a strand of hair away from your eyes. "I'm fine with it. It would be nice to meet them once and for all...and you could probably introduce me as your fiance?"
You nod, but you don't get to process what you were nodding to until a few seconds later. Your eyes shot to his. He chuckles at the reaction.
"Wh-what?"
Kageyama rubs the back of his head in embarrassment. "Well, I-I was planning on proposing...yesterday,"
"YESTERDAY?" You may have shouted louder than usual making other people look your way.
"Yah! Don't shout. Yes. Yesterday. We were supposed to have dinner, right? However, you had to cancel because of your friend in the hospital," He explained. He pulls out a ring box and shows it to you.
Your heart may have stopped beating for a second at the sight of the ring box. What more if you see the ring and hear the question?
"Wait, I don't think this is the right place to do it. I was told it's supposed to be somewhere romantic," he looks around.
"I'll ask you later at dinner. Let's go to-"
You laugh. "Are you torturing me, Tobio?"
"Wh-"
"Do you think I would be able to sit still knowing you'll propose to me?"
You could see Tobio's confusion or uncertainty on what he must do. He was told setting matters. He was told that a very romantic speech is imperative. Those are the two parts of an equation to make you say yes.
But then...you're really just a simple person.
Why does the setting and a romantic speech matter at all?
"I don't think you'll also ever going to be able to think properly as well for the whole time we're here, so you might as well pop the question," you smile.
"Oh...okay,"
Then, he opens the ring box showing a beautiful diamond ring inside.
"Um...y/n, will you marry me?"
"Yes. Yes! Definitely, yes," a smile creeps kore to his lips as he slips the ring on your ring finger. You did not wait any longer and wrap your hands around him tight and pepper him with kisses all over his face.
This might be the best early Christmas present you've ever received.
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NIA’S MASTERLIST 
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nightswithkookmin · 4 years ago
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Hi! Goldy, do you know why are jikookers making such a big deal out of jk saying “I’m hyung ‘s copy cat”. I’m I missing something here , why is everyone acting like they just confessed their love , if anything vmin were more sus 😂
Lol shippers...
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We are like a bunch of boohbahs on crack every day. We get excited over everything and anything- which I think is the point of shipping though. Lol.
Not sure what you are missing as I haven't seen the show in its entirety yet...
But off the top of my head, I'd say it's probably because of the blushing and the whole Kook's ear turning red bit when JM was addressing him about copying him.
He did the same thing in the Be.TS Vlive when Jimin put him on the spot about posting on his birthday. Jimin makes him shy
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It's been several years and Jimin still has an effect on him. I think it's cute.
Also, the bit about them confessing...
You actually not wrong. Lol.
JM used to say JK copies him because JK liked him and so JK would deny that all the time. To accept that he was imitating JM would mean he was admitting he liked Jimin- that he thought Jimin was cool, had impeccable style yadda yadda.
Jimin might as well had asked JK to confess he liked him.
They both had a habit of trying to get the other to confess their feelings for them in the past.
JM: I am Army.
JK: Do you like me that much?
JM: I had blue eyes first.
JK: No. Mine is bluer
JM: Stop imitating me.
Do you like me that much?
Jk: No
It was their way of flirting. So I guess in effect, in admiting he imitates JM, Jimin sort of got JK to officially admit he likes him🤷🏽‍♀️
'Do you like me?'
'Do you?'
'Do you?'
And he acted so innocent about it too.
This man! Lol
That innocent pout afterwards my God. Lmho.
There's just a lot of history between those two. A lot, and it's nice to see them remind eachother of that.
And I think it's the history and memories, the nolstagia he evoked in JK with that comment that had JK blushing hard especially if he read double meaning in that request.
From, his reaction I'd say he did.
All these double entendres chilee.
Its intriguing JK had such a strong reaction to something seemingly less intense or even cringe. That comment was supposed to be a safe bet. The safest conversation JM could have with Kook in front of new audience to not make things awkward in the room and yet...
There's no hope for JK. Dude is gone. Bid him farewell to gay boulevard🤧
Jimin was like why are you blushing it's nothing heavy or something like that and that reminded me again of that whole, 'did I scold you" bit from New Jersey.
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Jimin had a strong reaction to what JK deemed a trivial issue- Which I gotta smirk at. Smirk.
It's interesting that of all the things he could ask Jk, this is what he chose to ask him. I think he genuinely believed it was a safer conversation to have- Y'all think VMin was wilding, wait till you meet the Jikooknims.
Imagine if JK had said what V said to JM or if JM had said that to JM. Imagine that...
I mean I get it, if they are going to be regulars on traditional SK media now, they have to be able to interact 'normally' within the group without the members or eachother panicking and acting like Jikook be spelling the nuclear codes with their butts.
We've discussed the gradual shift in BigHit's marketing model but it seems with all the Asian hate crimes, racism, stigmatization of Asians and Asian Americans in the wake of the pandemic, it's become imperative that they redirect their focus and attention to SK to solidify their presence and hold in their home market.
I'm afraid we might be seeing a shift towards the company pandering to their roots and adhering to traditional media practices with mostly one foot in the international market, and one foot in their home market.
And if that's the case, Jikook would have to be able to tether the line of their closet without making things awkward for eachother and the members lest they risk exposing themselves to the gay hateration and criticism rampant in Korea.
Bang PD have made it perfectly clear, he is not about the risk taking life. That he prefers as a company to play things safe- I wonder if he's stance on that has changed in recent times.
But I don't think when it comes to it, he'd risk it for them. He's not gonna shove their alternative lifestyle in conservative spaces like that. Chilee.
Anywho, Jimin likes to rile JK up and watch him squirm sometimes but naa I don't think that was the agenda this time around...
Then there was this bit also
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Which I think my guy spilled right there😏
I've been saying for the longest time BigHit staff take stock in the Jikook business. There you have it.
They style Jikook. They style BTS. So all the times they've appeared in couple outfits, matching shoes, complimentary hairstyles, all the time they deliberately cut from JK to Jimin or Jimin to JK, all the times they've paired Jikook up, isolated them from the group so Jikook can give them a moment-
When I say BigHit is intentional in the way they brand Jikook within the group and in the way they push those two not as friends but as a 'couple'
And because of this people scream Jikook is fan service blah blah nonsense.
But the question have always been, why does these two grown ass men go along with it. Do they not know what it means when of all seven they are the two that are constantly marketed as 'lovers?" They are not twins, neither are they twelve and so why the need to match their fits?
And how come none of them object to this?
Why don't they ask questions???
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Bet. Bet there's a reason for that.
As for Vmin all I have to say is...
Tae Kook who? Tae Kook WHERE?!
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Lmho. Vmin, TaeJin, (Tae kook) VHope, Taegi
In that particular order for Tae's ships. The last three are fluid with Tae Kook alternating anywhere from 3rd to the last position lol.
I saw their shippers bust out their go to, 'Tae was being sarcastic" he hates Jimin rhetoric - like
GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.
Tae talks some strong Vmin agenda.
We been knew. We been said it
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He flirts Jimin hard to gay proportions too.
'In love with my Soulmate- a memoir written by Kim Taehyung. Coming soon to a bookshop near you. Lmho.
If Jimin catches feelings for Tae one day it's game over for us all🤣🤣🤣🤣
'We need to stop. This game is dangerous.'
Then he proceeds to gulp on top of it 🤣🤣
Reminds me of when JK was asked if Jimin wasn't his style and JK was fumbling and Jimin said, cut the cameras. Deadass. Lol
'Jk don't answer that' 🤭
Why shouldn't he answer that?
Jimin is a funny guy. A funny gay guy🤭
And did y'all see how hard Yoongi screamed when Tae said that?
Lolololololololololololololololololololololololol
Tae doesn't need to convince me he has feelings for Jimin. I'm convinced all by myself 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
And is it me or did Tae look like he didn't believe Jimin when JM said he liked him too??🤔
I can't wait to watch the whole thing.
I love their relationship. I hate when people invalidate it. VMin does not invalidate Jikook nor does Jikook invalidate VMin or even Tae Kook. They all are, unique and they are beautiful me thinks.
They ought not be compared in this way but celebrated.
It's not a competition.
Talk of celebrating ships, did you see Tae and Kook too??? 🤭🤭🤭🤭
I love seeing them in a good place in their dynamic like this.
It's the look he shot JK when the envelope ended up infront of him for me😂
Tae is hilarious I swear! Lmho.
I kinda lowkey wished it was for him I won't lie.
It's the same energy as when JK grabbed his neck and said he wanted to ride in the car with Tae. (If those subs were correct. Can't trust any unofficial subs on any Tuktuk moment💀)
Tae was like 👀 waeyo? Lmho.
I'm off to ship Tae Kook and VMin.
Keep your eyes on the gays for me.
Bye🤣
💜💜💜💜
Signed,
GOLDY
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thegeminisage · 4 years ago
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If you want to, name ur top 5 spn fic recs bc I need stuff to read and I trust ur judgement :D
HELLOOOOO okay it’s v tragic that most of the fic i used to read back in 2010 and had lovingly bookmarked on delicious got lost to the sands of time but i do still have 38 in my ao3 bookmarks so we will work with them. i’m gonna do 11 because i didn’t want to just do 5 and when i tried to do 10 i couldn’t seem to elimate that last one. it’s my blog i can do what i want
One Shot by InsaneTrollLogic (gen) THIS is my favorite spn fic of all time and has been for years and will probably never ever be unseated. it’s very short (only 1500 words), and it’s gen, and you need to have seen season 1 to understand it, and you also need to go in COMPLETELY blind. do not look at the comments or the bookmarks. it’ll only take a few minutes to finish. if i write something even half as good as this before i die i’ll consider that a success beyond my wildest imagination. if you only read one fic on this list i’m begging you make it this one
not with a bang but a yelp by strange_estrangement this is by @maulthots and it’s a collection of yelp reviews for all the fucking motels sam and dean stay at. it is theeeee funniest thing she’s ever done. truly love this one. chefs kiss.
like moses and batman and james dean by saltyfeathers (destiel) this is the ULTIMATE fic if you believe in the jackles headcanon of hooker!dean. i cannot possibly say enough about how well-written it is and how many times i have read and read and reread it. 
Phantom Load by lovesrain44 (gen) CONTENT WARNING FOR THIS FIC. HEED THOSE TAGS. this is not a fic i usually rec to people (and in fact it’s bookmarked privately) because it deals with and graphically portrays child sex abuse. that’s not normally something i read fic about or really even think most people should be writing, but the author covers this topic really fucking tactfully for the most part and the fic is really well-done. i actually read this fic before i watched spn (i have no idea how i got here, like i said it is WAY out of my usual comfort zone), and this fic is what made me decide to watch the show. bonkers, right?
What Has Eight Tentacles and Isn't Allowed to Eat Pie? by Annie D (scaramouche) (destiel) this has no tentacle porn I PROMISE. i love this one bc it inadvertently makes the best possible case for an ace or even trans cas. you’ll see what i mean (and if you don’t, message me, i’d love to explain my passions). it’s also incredibly funny. everyone always asks who ellie is and she’s a one-off character they saved on a case. don’t worry about it, she’s great, she deserved to be in a fanfic
Named by RC_McLachlan (destiel) i mean, we all know what named is. if you don’t, it is utterly imperative that you go in blind. i gotta say though as an atheist who despises organized religion this fic accomplished what church and family and religious propaganda could not and made me like jesus. if jesus was in spn proper this is how they should have done it. i love jesus, he’s my homeboy. why haven’t you read this yet it’s so fucking good
Lake Effect by kalliel (gen) short s14 fic about dean and michael and alcoholism and drowning. this is one of those things where you don’t get it until the end and then you IMMEDIATELY have to open a window and scream. LOVE it.
the long walk by katsidhe (gen) short 13.21 coda with (chefs kiss) sam & lucifer content. which is like, its own warning obviously, but i was dying in this part of s13 for more acknowledgement of sam’s lucifer-related traumas here and this fic DELIVERS. late season spn often forgets to make lucifer scary, but he is scary here, and i love that
"Strangers" by saltyfeathers (destiel) an “episode script” on how destiel might’ve gone canon if we weren’t scaring away the general audience. this one is laugh-out-loud funny and also by the author of fic #3 on this list so you really can’t go wrong there
Redemption Arc by galaxysoup (gen) a post-s8 cas fic about him working to undo naomi’s memory wipes and save the world he inadvertently doomed. charlie & as bonding, a nice cas-centric arc, and oh yeah big bonus here is the asexual cas. i just read this one like last night but i loved it <3
body of proof by Askance (doomcountry) (gen) CONTENT WARNING FOR THIS FIC TOO. we all rightfully talk about the repeated theme of dean undergoing sexual violence, but BOTH winchesters have, and this is the sam side of that coin. it’s a really rough read and it won’t be for everyone but tbh sam deserves to have this acknowledged as much as dean does and this fic nails it.
and that’s my list!! pls enjoy, as always DEFINITELY check the tags, etc etc
[spn masterpost]
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danteinthedevildom · 3 years ago
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Okay that is VERY 😬
What is it about Twitter that make people go “yes I’m gonna be best friends with this person that barely knows I exist”
There's apparently a legit psychological thing where like. Bc we see so much of an influencer's life and personality on social media (esp. places like Twitter) fans can accidentally make a one-sided connection to the influencer.
So for instance, if an influencer talks abt all the stuff they did that day on their Twitter, you as a fan are getting a peek into their life, right? And sometimes it feels like when the influencer talks to the camera, they're talking directly to YOU. Not just the general audience.
And you're getting innundated with this stuff each day bc you follow them. So you see more and more of this person, their life, and who they are. And esp. with influencers, engagement is a BIG part of keeping fans following them - so sometimes posts are directed TO fans (e.g. the "Tell Me You Love Me" Tweet), and sometimes influencers talk abt how much their fans mean to them personally.
So it can become easy to forget, sometimes, that this is a hella one-way road. You might see a lot of them, but they see NOTHING of you. They have no idea who you are beyond the general concept of you being "a fan". And even if you're responding to their Tweets, which feels very personal to you, your message is just one in a few hundred to them.
In general, too, friendships are made bc you see someone frequently enough that you form a bond with them. You don't really see someone more frequently than you do on social media, where they're constantly posting.
So when you combine all of that together, some fans legit think they're MUCH closer to the influencer than they actually are bc psychologically all the foundations are there to suggest some form of close friendship.
I think also there's like this feeling that bc it's social media you're completely anonymous. It doesn't matter what you say bc you're safe behind the screen and an account that in no way shows who you are. Esp. with the rlly creepy account that posted the sexual stuff abt Miura; they had NOTHING to link back to who they are IRL, so it was "safe" for them to say that stuff even if they maybe wouldn't say it to his face.
(Ppl prolly also just... forget that influencers are real people. It's so easy to put them on pedestals and to think of them as Better or Higher, and then just totally dismiss that they have the same feelings and sensibilities as literally anyone else. Just bc you can't see that they're uncomfortable doesn't mean they aren't.)
Why it happens most on Twitter, tho, is I think bc that's where the influencers are. Tumblr can be bad, yeah, like don't get me wrong - it rlly CAN be. We still have fan accounts for kpop groups and ppl still melt over Dan and Phil. But there's very few actual famous USERS on Tumblr; we can't engage with them in the same way, and 9 times out of 10 they barely even know they have that following here. It's more of a fandom forum, less an influencer playground - and def. not a form of social media most influencers took seriously until semi-recently (and even that's iffy).
Twitter, meanwhile, is a social media site geared TOWARDS influencers. It's meant to be a space for them to engage with fans, post updates, and talk. This is where you find the creators; this is where they tell you abt their lives and show you what they're working on. If you want to be seen, you go there. So ofc that's where fans flock towards if they want to be seen by their favourite influencers.
The greater influencer presence means it's a lot easier to connect on places like Twitter than anywhere else. And when the site itself is meant to breed that connected mentality - meant to facilitate connections between influencer and fans... it can end up creating a problem.
(Ironically, Tumblr does still have a similar issue, just kinda parallel; ppl here treat actors the same way they treat the characters they play. So we got a HUGE Real Person Fiction community here bc we're so distant from the influencers themselves that they seem unreal.)
As a sorta tangential point: it's a lot harder to post fandom content on Twitter - in part bc it's fuckin hard to find and in part bc you'd need to split some of my posts up into like 20 billion Tweets - so it's v. different in its fandom culture than Tumblr is. Hence, predominant Tumblr users, being more geared towards creating fandom content, act a little differently towards influencers than Twitter users, being more geared towards influencer interaction.
It's something we gotta be vigillant on as fans on Twitter, tbh. Like. We are talking directly TO the person. We are treating them that way in a space that is THEIRS and that they will PHYSICALLY SEE. We have got to be inherently more respectful and careful with how we're acting.
Esp. with a fandom as small as Obey Me!. Yes, it's much bigger than other Shall We Date? games, but the VAs are still relatively small-time, personal people who are shocked by the exponential growth they've experienced during Obey Me!'s two year run. A lot of them didn't even have Twitter accounts before this point (at least, not ones they regularly used), and I believe most of them haven't engaged with overseas fans before.
They will see a lot of what is being posted. So trying to keep it as kind, warm, and respectful as possible - and making sure anyone overstepping that line knows they've done so - is imperative. Esp. with the mentality Twitter naturally breeds in relation to fans and their influencers.
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thebibliomancer · 4 years ago
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Essential Avengers: Avengers #242: “EASY COME... EASY GO!”
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April, 1984
“Okay Avengers, the party’s over!”
Being a buzzkill, party-hating Cover Vision!
Hmm. Something about this cover makes it feel like from an older era. The returned Mighty Avengers logo or maybe the inking? Or perhaps the Silver Age DC superdickery energy to it? I can’t put my finger on it but this feels like a cover you’d see in the 70s instead of the 80s.
Last time on Avengers: Well, they went to San Francisco for a two-parter where they fought Morgan Le Fey to save Jessica Drew’s soul. As ya do.
Vision has also been a tube boy after he walked into a null field. Starfox hooked him up to the Titan supercomputer and that didn’t fix him, it did overclock his robot brain and let him broadcast giant holograms of his own head. That’s almost as good.
This time:
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Some guy: “HOLY GEEZ!”
An interesting note, this guy has only ever seen Quinjets in pictures and never thought he’d see one in person. Tells you how often the Avengers hang around Ottumwa, Iowa.
We start with the Avengers in mid-return from California.
In one of the Quinjets, She-Hulk is telling Starfox that she wished they could have spent more time before returning to New York so she could have shown him LA.
Starfox: “Ah, well... I’m sure another opportunity will present itself, She-Hulk! Besides, the scenery around her has plenty to offer!”
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Wanda looks like she’s trying to astral project away from Starfox putting his hand on her shoulder but she’s really just distracted thinking about Vision.
The Avengers on the Jessica Drew mission radioed back to the Mansion that they were bringing Hank Pym home but Wanda suggested that Hank could examine Vision and maybe fix him. But Vision rejected the idea and Wanda is at a loss for why he’s determined to overcome his robo-paralysis on his own.
I’m also a little confused why they didn’t call on Hank Pym sooner to examine tube Vision but then again that would have been super awkward for Wasp and Reed Richards, that hack, said Vision should have recovered quickly.
Speaking of super awkward, Hank and Wasp are alone together in the other Quinjet.
Hank is also baffled that Vision turned down his help. He repaired him once before! Remember? He got super tiny and had a fantastic voyage inside him? In Avengers #93?
Jan comments that she hasn’t heard Hank sound so confident in years and he confirms that devoting his time fully to SCIENCE and taking superheroing off the table as an option has done wonders for his emotional outlook.
He also reiterates that he never felt cut out for the superhero life. Aw, enjoy it while it lasts, bud.
And he thanks her for calling him Hank instead of “Dr. Pym” like she did at the hospital.
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Wasp: “Oh... That. Well, when you flew out at my request to help save Jessica Drew’s life... after all we’d been through... the divorce and all... I’m afraid I slipped into my stuffy Avengers chairwoman voice. I thought it might make things easier, but it didn’t... For either of us. I’m sorry, Hank.”
Hank Pym: “That’s okay, Jan. I understand. Your ‘stuffy chairwoman voice,’ huh? Heh-heh. How often do you have to use that?”
Wasp: “Wellll... Most of the time the others will go along with ol’ ‘dingaling Jan’ -- but sometimes, I have to get tough. That never fails to grab their attention!”
Hank Pym: “No doubt! Once, I was the only Avenger who knew how tough you really were! I’m glad the others are learning.”
Wasp: “I guess that none of us are ever too old to learn, Hank.”
Feels like Hank is rewriting some things in his memories since Jan often had to diminish herself to make him feel better but then again it didn’t always work so maybe the idea is that he knew all along how strong she was?
Either way, nice to see these two interacting so amiably.
Also, I like that she’s able to be an effective leader while still being ‘dingaling Jan’ since it doesn’t change how smart and capable she is. And the contrast if she has to get serious only helps.
I think overall I like that her leadership style is so uniquely her and that when her character was retrofitted to operate outside of being ‘Hank Pym’s partner’ she still remained recognizably her.
We have a whopping several women on the Avengers at this time (glorious) and Wasp, She-Hulk, Scarlet Witch, and Captain Marvel all feel like different characters.
Since Vision declined Hank Pym’s help, Wasp drops him off back home in Central Indiana.
Once these two were husband and wife, friends and lovers. But they were very different people and, without meaning to, they hurt each other very much. Today, they have perhaps put a small bit of that hurt behind them. Today, they have again become friends.
Daaaaw. Friends.
Wasp returns to Avengers Mansion to discover there’s a full-on party going on. There’s even streamers and a Captain America who seems incredibly enthusiastic about streamers.
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(In another fun bit, Monica knew about the party already because she flew ahead to the mansion before joining Wasp in the Quinjet after she dropped off Hank. And she was bursting to not tell Wasp what was going on as they landed.)
Wasp is even more surprised when she learns that the party is celebrating Hawkeye’s marriage.
Wasp: “Barton? You mean Hawkeye? Married?!?”
Hawkeye: “‘Fraid so, Jan! I’d like you to meet my bride... Mockingbird.”
Mockingbird: “How do you do?”
Wasp: “Oh... fine. You’ll have to excuse me. This is... quite a surprise.”
A reaction that Mockingbird says she’s getting used to because she’s seeing it from all of Hawkeye’s friends!
Hah!
Hawkeye asks Cap on the sly whether he made the right move, getting married, but Cap is very supportive, saying its the most responsible thing he’s ever done.
Hawkeye: “What?! Cap, you cut me to the quick! Haven’t I always acted in a mature, responsible manner?”
She-Hulk: “Look who’s talking... the man whose proudest achievement is the invention of the water-balloon arrow!”
Provided She-Hulk isn’t just making stuff up, there’s some serious off-screen shenanigans that we didn’t get to see, possibly involving Hawkeye shooting water balloons at She-Hulk all day.
But... CLINT. YOU INVENTED AN ANTI-GRAVITY ARROW!
Why am I the only one who remembers that?
Thor shows up at the party next, back from his own solo adventures, and offers his own congratulations to Hawkeye.
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Mockingbird is undergoing some culture shock here, as she’s astounded that Hawkeye calls Thor “Goldilocks.” And when Thor turns his Thor charm on her, and blesses their wedding, she’s rendered briefly speechless.
Its fun that we get this side of her. I think she was similarly blown away when they met Cap on the subway.
But even though she was a SHIELD agent and then a freelance superhero, she doesn’t seem to have a lot of exposure to your Avengers types so Hawkeye pulling her into those social circles is a lot of fun.
She’s going to get used to it though. I know that she Avenges herself in the future.
Also, look at Thor’s flagon of mead. Holy shit. Its as big as his whole torso.
Jarvis is really dedicated!
Over in a quiet corner of the party, Wanda tries to convince Vision to let Hank Pym take a look at him but Vision dismisses the idea.
Vison: “Please, Wanda, let’s not spoil this happy occasion! Surprise parties are all too rare, and few of them are party to as many surprises as this one!”
And instead of explaining what he means, he turns his hologram off.
Well, okay.
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AH HA HE WAS REPAIRED AND JUST DIDN’T MENTION
For reasons of surprise.
What a whimsical turn for the Vision.
Aw, that panel of them kissing and everyone cheering is sweet. That’s how I like to remember them. Not, err, later developments.
(I also like Mockingbird being confused whether or not he’s still a hologram because of his intangibility)
Everyone congratulates Vision for being bipedal again.
Vision: “It’s good to be moving, Jan. But my recovery shouldn’t come as that big of a surprise. As I told you a few days ago, it was just a matter of time before I isolated the cause of my body’s motor dysfunctions -- and initiated the proper repair systems.”
But he tosses some sweet cred to Starfox, for hooking up to an alien supercomputer. It’s like matchmaking but with networks.
The surprise of his surprise recovery pales compared to his next surprise, as he announces (without consulting Wanda at all, geez) that its imperative that she and him stay with the Avengers full-time.
All I’m saying is communication is important, Vizh.
And maybe you should have brought this up with Wasp too? She is the chairwoman and as Cap points out, the team is already pretty packed, especially with Hawkeye and Thor back.
Vision: “Yes, the ‘chairman’s privilege’ limit! But you’re not the leader now, Cap... the Wasp is! And she’ll just have to change that limit -- or the membership roster -- to include Wanda and myself! We will be needed in the upcoming emergency!”
Kinda dropping a lot of surprises on this surprise party, Vision! I don’t know if you really get the concept wholly? You’re not supposed to save up all the surprises for this one day.
Also, Vision’s speech bubbles have changed. They’re still rounded rectangles but they’re not yellow anymore and the font is a bit italicized. Hm. Wonder if that means anything.
Anyway, Vision announces that while he was a tube boy, he detected two major fluctuations of Earth’s electromagnetic fields by some “unknown energy of near-infinite power.”
He’s secretly been working with Reed Richards on this and neither of them have been able to track down what this nonsense is. But until this malevolent mystery is uncovered, he and Wanda as two of the more powerful reservists must obviously be active Avengers.
But how does he know its malevolent if he hasn’t been able to uncover what it is? Deductive reasoning and intuitive presentiment!
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Pffffft.
I think this might be my favorite recent punchline from this book.
But Vision has more than just bad vibes to be given a frighten by this upcoming ominousness!
Vision: “The energy I detected goes beyond the limits of any known to man! The power flux showed on our screens for a mere fraction of a second, and then disappeared without a single trace. That concerns me... And it should concern all of us! If we cannot discover the source of this energy, there could be catastrophic consequences!”
And to show how seriously he’s taking this, he makes this horrifying face.
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He looks like he’s trying to eat Wasp.
I do not care for this. Either the specific panel or the overall idea of someone eating Wasp.
Anyway, Vision and Scarlet Witch goes off to check the super advanced equipment he installed in the monitor room without asking anyone. He’s doing that a lot lately.
Wasp is both annoyed that he went over her head and impressed with his initiative in doing so.
But she has other matters to attend and asks Thor and Cap(tain America) head down for a private meeting with her.
And now the party is kind of over!
Yeah, you ruined it, Vision! You put too many surprises on the surprise party! You could have saved some for later!
Vision and Scarlet Witch went off to the monitor room. Wasp, Cap(tain America), and Thor went off to have an executive meeting. And Hawkeye and Mockingbird slipped away from their own party not long after that!
Leaving Captain Marvel, She-Hulk, Starfox, and Jarvis to stand around awkwardly wondering where the party went. They didn’t even cut the cake yet!
Dammit Vision!
Hawkeye snuck out to the garden behind Avengers Mansion that’s been there all along. And Mockingbird followed to see what’s bugging him.
Hawkeye: “I’ve always loved this spot. Great tree, isn’t it? Ya know, it’s not easy to get an apple tree to grow this big in the city!”
But Mockingbird sees through that and asks what’s really his beef.
Hawkeye: “Aw, it’s just that I can see another membership shuffle in the works!”
Mockingbird: “So?”
Hawkeye: “So, I’m the one most likely to get bounced!”
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I like the range of Hawkeye emotions here.
Hawkeye says that since he has a life (marriage) outside the Avengers now, he doesn’t mind so much being cut from the team. But if they’re going to be facing the latest and greatest menace of all times, he wants to face it with them!
Mockingbird: “That was pretty profound... for a guy who’s supposed to be a butt-head!”
Hawkeye: “Well, thank you, Mrs. Butt-head!”
Aww.
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This is a fun bit too.
Mockingbird asks if Hawkeye wants to go inside and get some cake but he shoots an apple from the tree and offers Mockingbird one.
Pretty slick, Clint.
Over at the monitor room, Vision is really into monitoring whatever is upcoming. Super into it. So Wanda has to ask a question.
Scarlet Witch: “Darling... Are you sure you’re all right?”
Vision: “What sort of question is that?”
Scarlet Witch: “You’ve been acting so peculiar lately!”
Vision: “Wanda, how do you expect me to act? I’ve just recovered from spending what seemed like an eternity in a life support tube, able to move about only as a holographic image! Before that, my body was possessed by the dying sorcerer, Necrodamus. And that was almost immediately after I’d gone through the agony of losing an arm. Thankfully, the Inhuman scientists of Attilan were able to restore my limb. But you must admit we’ve both been through a score of trails these past few months! And now, I’ve detected something which could be the biggest menace we’ve ever faced! All things considered, is it really so surprising that I’m acting this way?”
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Huuuuuh. I mean, he has a point. That’s a lot of shit in a very short time frame to endure.
This could very reasonably be a reaction to it all.
That’s a very unnerving smile though.
Over at the not-secret but private just Wasp, Thor, and Cap(tain America) meeting, Wasp, Thor, and Cap(tain America) are meeting.
Well, really, its more that Thor is recapping the tale of Beta Ray Bill for the other two. But we, the readers, just get an editor’s caption telling us to read Walter Simonson’s Thor (and I don’t need to be told twice) and Thor summing up to the salient point that Donald Blake is gone forever and is definitely never going to come back multiple times.
What Cap takes from this is ‘hey i hope that means you’re back on the team then!’ which Thor affirms.
Thor: “Aye, Captain America! Some of my finest hours have been as an Avenger. It would be the greatest honor to continue my service in your company... if you will have me!
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But Wasp isn’t going to dump Thor from the roster!
Problem being, what the heck is she going to do with the roster? She doesn’t want to dump anyone off it, she doesn’t want to tell Vision to eff off, but she doesn’t want to lead an unwieldy team either. Six is a good number of Avengers!
I love Wasp’s note paper where she’s scrawled various roster ideas, clearly getting more and more frustrated with the exercise.
Cap suggests that maybe a temporary expansion would be the best move, if there even is a menace!
He’s somewhat doubtful of Vision’s story but wouldn’t you know it, as soon as he says that, the priority alarm goes off because Vision has detected the Ominous Energy Readings again.... IN CENTRAL PARK!
And lest anyone doubt Vision this time, an enormous and blinding flash lights up the Manhattan skies.
Cap: “I... believe you, Vision.”
Hah.
The Avengers head for Central Park with devices that Vision has created that will help them trace the energy but he could have saved the time.
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There’s a big obvious structure that wasn’t there before. Odds are pretty good that that’s the anomaly.
Hmmm... Y’know, that structure looks familiar. As if I’ve seen it somewhere... But wheeeeeeeeeerre. I guess its a secret to everyone.
The sudden appearance of a large structure right after a massive flash isn’t even the weirdest thing going on. As Reluctant Science Guy Starfox waves around the detecting device, he realizes that the Ominous energy isn’t coming from the giant structure. It seems to be coming from everywhere. But it dips as you get closer to the structure.
Starfox posits that the energy is being focused on the ring from another location.
Curiouser and curioserer.
The Avengers poke around some more. Hawkeye calls attention to an arch built into the wall of the structure. It’s just real interesting. It’s super, incredibly interesting. Plus, the air is nice in the arch.
And it’s an arch. It looks like it’d be a doorway or tunnel to the middle of the structure but it doesn’t go anywhere.
Huh.
How fascinating.
She-Hulk, Cap(tain America), Captain Marvel, Wasp, and Thor join Hawkeye in the arch and agree that it’s a pretty interesting arch.
Perhaps this arch was made for them.
As soon as they join Hawkeye in it, there’s another blinding flash of light and those Avengers vanish in a curl of smoke.
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Wow.
I can’t believe Hawkeye, She-Hulk, Captains America and Marvel, Wasp and Thor are dead.
Huh. And Wasp was just complaining about having too many Avengers!
Everyone is appropriately shocked by this, especially Vision because there were no energy emissions coming from the thing so it should have been inert.
Scarlet Witch and Starfox wonder whether the missing Avengers have been teleported somewhere, into some other story... or destroyed.
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But before they can investigate the structure for clues, or see if it’ll strike again?, the whole thing vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
The plus side is that it makes Starfox lean toward ‘teleported’ which still doesn’t answer where the Avengers have been taken or who would do it.
If it’s the Collector again, I swear!
Here we go... Follow @essential-avengers​ because I thought I had more time! Oh geez, I don’t know how I’m going to handle this... Also, like and reblog because I like to think I do good work.
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thatfanficstuff · 5 years ago
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Impossible - 1
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Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader
Warnings: Will be listed on a per chapter basis. This one’s good.
A/N: Reader’s presence in the world causes some significant changes. Will not be a straight retelling. And canon is dead to me both for plot and some of the rules of the world. Be prepared. I couldn’t wait so you get this one early. Chap 2 will post monday and then weekly thereafter. 
Enjoy!
***
“Are you sure you don’t mind comin’ with me tonight, Y/N?” Sookie Stackhouse asked as she ran her hands down her dress, making sure it was laying right.
You glanced over and gave her a soft smile. “I wouldn’t have offered if I minded, Sook.” You’d overheard her having an argument with Sam about heading to the vampire bar in Shreveport and you immediately offered to go with her. You had a rather extensive history with vampires and knew all the ins and outs. Not that Sookie would listen to you or she would have worn something else. Still, you were reluctant to send your friend to Fangtasia with only a vampire for backup. “When’s Bill supposed to get here?”
You’d no sooner asked the question than there was a knock at the door. Sookie opened it with a smile. Bill returned the gesture until you stepped up behind her and his gaze fell on you. “Y/N. I wasn’t aware you would be accompanying us.”
“Surprise,” you said with a smile you didn’t mean at all. You and Bill tolerated each other but it was clear you didn’t care for one another. You didn’t trust him and he knew it. 
He moved his gaze back to Sookie. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you.” She gave a little curtsey and beamed at the compliment. He offered her his arm to lead her to the car and you trailed behind. You pursed your lips as you ran your eyes over the both of them. Bill seemed to thrive on your friend’s innocence. With him it wasn’t about Sookie being dressed in a manner that would help her blend in at the bar. No, it was about him being able to walk in and show off the pure, sweet girl on his arm. As if he would win some sort of prize by being deserving of her. Or at least having others think he was.
You slid into the back seat and kept your opinions to yourself. Nothing was going to happen to Sookie. Not as long as you were around. You were nearly to Shreveport before Bill spoke up. “Now, Sookie, you will be fine this evening as I am accompanying you. Just follow my lead.” His gaze darted to the review mirror to make contact with you. “Y/N, it is imperative that you do nothing to draw attention to yourself. Do not make eye contact. Do not appear too interested in anything that may be happening around you. Vampires value their privacy. I will not be able to claim both you and Sookie.”
“I believe I’ve mentioned before that I know vampires, Compton. It’s why I offered to come with Sookie tonight. I don’t need a lecture on vamp etiquette.”
Your friend glanced over her shoulder with a frown. “He’s just trying to help, Y/N. He wants to make sure you’re all right is all.”
You answered with an arched brow and a hum, biting back the other things you wanted to say. You’d try to tolerate him for Sookie’s sake.
***
As you approached the front of the bar, Bill wrapped an arm around Sookie’s waist to steer her inside. You trailed behind once more, hands in your pockets as you took in the chaos around you. Wow. This place was goth central. The vampires were really playing up the whole creature of the night persona. Of course, that’s how places like this made money. They sold the fiction of vampire life. Showed people the parts they expected to see.
“Bill,” a voice greeted. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’m mainstreaming.”
“Good for you. Who’s the doll?” By this point you were grinning. You knew that voice. And you also knew she was just giving Bill a hard time by feigning interest in Sookie. Or perhaps she actually was interested in your friend, but she was wasting her time there.
“Pam this is Sookie. Sookie this is Pam.”
“Pleased to meet you,” came your friend’s bubbly response and you bit back a laugh.
“Can I see your ID?” Pam asked.
Sookie was stunned for a moment before she began babbling. You cut her off with a hand on her shoulder. “She’s good,” you announced.
Pam arched a brow and shifted her gaze to you while Bill growled your name. The irritation slid from her face to be replaced by a smirk. “Y/N Y/L/N. What brings you to these parts?”
You shrugged and glanced at your two companions. You didn’t really care to discuss your past in front of either of them. Fortunately, Pam was smart and simply gave you a nod. She turned a smile on Sookie. “You should have said you were with Y/N. Come on in.”
The three of you stepped past her and her hand slid along your arm as she leaned into you. “You and I should talk.” You looked at her. The tone of her voice said more needed to be discussed than your change in locale.
“Sure.”
You followed her through a door, the music becoming infinitely more tolerable when it shut behind you. “How do you listen to that shit all the time?”
“I simply think of the money the sheep bring in.” She smiled as she leaned against a desk. “What are you doing here?”
You could understand her wariness. The two of you hadn’t met under the best of circumstances. “I retired. Sophie was always one of the better options so I came here.” Sophie-Anne ruled Louisiana. Well, the vampires in it at any rate. “I wasn’t aware you were living so close to me or I would have been in sooner.”
Pam tilted her head in agreement then crossed her arms over her chest. “And the girl? Why is she here? Bill’s not the type to flaunt what he is simply to impress.”
You pursed your lips. “She’s a friend. Sweet but a little naïve. Thinks someone here will tell her something about a couple of women that have been killed. They both had bite marks. I would have asked around myself, but they were strangled not drained. Besides, every vamp I know is better about cleaning up after themselves. But that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about.”
There was that smirk again. “Eric is here.”
“Your sire? That Eric?”
She rolled her eyes. “What other Eric would I possibly be referring to?”
You slumped against the wall behind you. “Well, shit.” The first time you met Eric Northman, the two of you had been instantly insanely attracted to one another. You had been on a job for the Authority at the time. Once Eric discovered that, no amount of arguing or pleading from you would convince him that your relationship with him had nothing to do with it. It was one of the many reasons you had finally quit. It was hard to maintain friendships if they were always afraid you were spying on them.
A member of the Authority had taken you in off the streets as a child when it was discovered you couldn’t be glamoured. When you proved to be faster and stronger than your human counterparts all the better. Add enhanced hearing and vision to that and you were just about the perfect spy. No vampire would suspect a human was gathering information for the Authority. And on the off chance you were caught, you were more apt to be able to get yourself out of trouble.
You had always been paid well for your efforts. The man you called father insisted on it. But you yearned for relationships outside of the scope of the Authority. Losing Eric had nearly broken you. So, you quit. Your father had been less than pleased with the decision. Hence, the relocation. The two of you were in the process of making up but you had no intention of running home to daddy as the case may be.
You cleared your throat and focused on Pam again. “Maybe it would be better if I left.”
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. “You two have been behaving like children long enough. It’s past time for you to put this behind you.”
“Me? He’s the one that flipped his shit, remember? He refused to listen to anything I had to say.”
Pam shrugged. “Yes. And you left. You could have tried harder.”
You sighed and ran a hand down your face. Damn vampire logic. “Does he even want to talk to me?”
“Who cares? Make him listen. I’m tired of him moping.” She reached past you to open the door and you placed a hand on her arm to stop her.
“I haven’t seen him in three years, Pam, but I do remember that Eric Northman is not the moping type. You can’t expect me to believe that he even cares enough to think of me, let alone be affected by my absence.” You’d love to believe that. You really would. Eric was it for you. He was your first everything. Your only, if you were honest and you’d had every notion of him being the last. You’d kind of hoped that would be from the two of you being together forever as opposed to your heart not being willing to move past him.
“Believe what you want, Y/N, but I know my sire. He may appear to be his usual uncaring self, but I know better. If you leave without speaking to him, I will see to it that he sets his sights on your little blonde friend.” She disappeared through the door without giving you a chance to respond.
***
You found a seat that hid you from the view of Eric’s throne on the stage (which was a bit much if you were honest) but allowed you to keep tabs on both him and Sookie. She’d frowned when you didn’t join her and Bill, but you waved her off. Later, you mouthed and she’d simply nodded. You sipped at your drink and ran your eyes over the Viking where he slouched in his seat. He’d let his hair grow out and you couldn’t decide if you liked it or not.
A man groveled at his feet and you rolled your eyes when Eric kicked the man sending him flying through the air. Eric hated shit like this so you found it odd he was playing the role. He could just as easily order his minions to hold court.
Movement from Sookie’s direction caught your eye. Bill took her hand in his and led her toward the stage and Eric. Shit. You turned back to your Viking and saw Pam standing beside him, a smirk playing on her lips. Apparently, she didn’t like your dallying and had decided to force your hand. Fuck.
You moved along the edge of the room, getting close enough to hear, but not close enough to draw attention to yourself. Not yet.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Sookie told Eric and you bit back a chuckle. She was nothing if not overly polite.
“Well, aren’t you sweet?” Disdain dripped from Eric’s words.
“Not really,” Sookie snapped back and Bill gave her a warning tug.
But you, well you laughed outright at that. There was a reason you and Sookie were friends that went beyond her not being able to hear your thoughts. You liked the sharp tongue she didn’t let everyone see.
“Do you find something amusing, human?” Eric’s voice rode the line between irritated and bored. Though he still hadn’t seen you, he had evidently heard your laughter.
“I usually do when Sookie’s around.” Bill turned to scowl at you. Pam covered her mouth with a hand to hide her smile and Eric moved Bill to the side so he could see you.
His eyes went wide as he sat up in the chair and his mouth gaped slightly. “Impossible,” he breathed.
“Apparently not.” You tilted your head and took the opportunity to look him over again. “Hello, Eric.”
“Bill, why don’t you and your friend take a seat. We need to catch up, you and I.” His eyes never left yours.
“Indeed,” Bill answered.
“Why are you here?” he finally asked you.
“Sookie’s my friend.”
Eric’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have friends.”
You ignored the spike of hurt that accompanied the words. Pam barked something at him in a language you didn’t understand and he turned to speak with her. After a moment, he turned back to you, looking even more surprised than before.
“Is it true?”
You lifted your brows in question. You had no idea what they’d said to one another.
“Are you no longer under the thumb of the Authority?” He’d dropped his voice so no one beyond you would hear him. Bill’s head jerked to you in surprise and his jaw went tight.
“I don’t work for anyone at the moment. They paid well, but the cost was too high.” You left the fact you were referring to him unspoken. That was a conversation for another time with different company.
He sat silent as he studied you. He seemed uncertain of what to say and you didn’t push him. You were taking the fact he hadn’t already tossed you out of his bar as a win.
“We need to get out of here,” Sookie said suddenly and you all turned to look at her.
“Sookie,” Bill snapped.
“Stuff it, Compton. What is it, Sook?”
“A raid.”
“Tell me you’re not an undercover cop,” Eric ordered your friend.
“I’m not, but the man in the hat is.”
“Regardless, we do nothing illegal here.”
“One thing I have learned in the short time I have known her is Sookie always knows what she’s talking about,” you told him. “We should go.”
Before anything else could be said, police swarmed into the club.
“This way.” Eric wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled you along with him. He led you to a back door. Bill swept Sookie up in his arms while Eric pulled you more tightly against his side. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Stackhouse. You will return.”
“Y/N!” Sookie called after you.
You shook your head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you later.”
She started to protest to Bill but he quickly quieted her. Eric put you in his car and told Pam he would see her later. Moments after Sookie warned of the danger you were all a safe distance from the bar and the raid being conducted. As you glanced over at Eric and took in the set of his jaw, you had a feeling your evening was just getting started.
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shardminds · 4 years ago
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okay i know in the grand scheme of things it’s been about 5 minutes since i got into spn and about 4.5 seconds since i started following spn blogs on tumblr but i just want 2 share some stuff re: what i would have liked to happen in my ideal ending. spoilers below.
number 1, sam and eileen endgame. after losing her in 15x18 and trying so hard to hold it together, sam’s quite obviously devvo’d. man’s a mess but he can’t let himself fall apart. 15x19 happens and everyone chuck disintegrated faster than communion wafers comes back and the FIRST thing sam does? calls eileen. high tails it out of there. speed limits who? there’s a heartwarming moment. maybe an ‘i love you’ or maybe not but it’s touching and heart wrenching and everyone cries and it’s nice. there you go, sam winchester. not only did you help save the world, but you got a happy ending in the process. eileen moves into the mol bunker. don’t @ me. she’s also great with miracle. and, in the long run, kids.  
number 2, deancas. my whole thing is, if they didn’t want canon deancas ending, why have cas confess? like i get the empty deal and i understand ‘happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. it’s in just saying it’ but... if u didn’t want people to swarm on the possibility of deancas... why include it at all? especially for it to never be mentioned again. for cas, a man/angel/being of celestial intent that had spent like... 12(?) years at this point in sam and dean’s lives. you’re gonna tell me they just... let him sacrifice himself and then dip? ok. seems we have been watching different shows. or the same show from different perspectives. so, hear me out. dean says it back. maybe not in as many words or he pulls a hans solo ‘i know’. okay so they beat the shit out of The Literal Abrahamic God later to supercharge jack faster than shotgunning three monster energy mango locos ever could and leave chuck belly up in the mud like the invertebrate he proved himself to be and jack is Thee God now and dean just straight up asks. give that to me. give me the “please, jack.” and dean, so close to breaking, holding himself together with nothing but pure strength of will and residual adrenaline. give me jack’s reluctance, give me his admission of not wanting to mutate into the same megalomaniac chuck proved himself to be,using the winchesters as chess pieces in his own game. give me his humanity. the parts he inherited from kelly. give me his humanity and his grief and his loss and—castiel was his father, for fucks sake! he lost a father and a mother and he’s about to lose the only family he ever had. yes, he’ll be omnipresent—a perk of the job—but he’ll never be there in the way they want. so let him do this. there’s like a whole genesis parallel, you know all ‘the lord said let there be light, and there was light’ only not as on the nose as that. jack’s one selfish act before he himself, combined with amara, ascends. he does his whole speech. i’ll be in every drop of falling rain etc etc and then he dips. only, he’s gone and when dean turns around. cas is there. boom. 
there’s no kiss. no explicit ‘hello look at this confirmed gay angel and his human hunter ??sexual friend making out’ because that too much too fast. dean has spent the past 15 seasons trying to unfuck himself from the damage john winchester left behind (the nun hunt on his 17th birthday? lebanon? i will meet john winchester in the pit.) and as close as he is to finally just allowing himself to be himself, he’s not quite there yet. but the relief on his face. the—i’m gonna say it—love in his expression. cas’s confession clearly affected him, just look at 15x18. maybe dean doesn’t know what that means yet. maybe he does. but there’s a hug. an embrace. one of those that says ‘i don’t know why or how i like you, fruity little angel man, but i do and i’m not letting go’. it lasts a beat too long. maybe there’s tears. i’ll leave that up to jackles jacting joices.
number 3, michael sacrifices himself to save adam. OKAY SO THE WHOLE MICHAEL STORYLINE IN 15x19? BULLSHIT. especially with the adamichael scene in 15x08? where it is canonically confirmed that, after spending a real life decade (which is OVER ONE THOUSAND YEARS in hell time. 4 months = 40 years so 10 years or 120 months = 1200 years) trapped in the cage together, they became friends and shared control of the vessel. michael considered adam his guide on earth. michael. MICHAEL. M I C H A E L. seeing how spn painted him as one of, if not, THE most powerful and fearsome angel? man’s whipped. and then he loses adam when chuck has his thanos snap moment. imagine sharing a vessel with someone for twelve. hundred. years. and then being completely alone in a world you don’t know. how maddening for there to be only silence in your head. the fact that they then rammed this bs of him being jealous of lucifer for being ‘daddy’s favourite’ was exactly that. bullshit. no no no, my friends. michael was playing his own game; crossing the winchesters for chuck but actually, crossing chuck for his own gain. he learns of the winchesters plan to utilise the fact that jack is the power hungry equivalent of a shamwow and uses that to his own gain. i haven’t figured out the particulars but when chuck beats the shit out of michael, he kills the angel but leaves the vessel (think like jack at the end of s14). michael the winchesters think michael died a snivelling god fearing soldier. and then, when jack does his whole thing, up wakes adam. the winchesters take him in and explain what went down when he, you know. and adam lets them know that no, michaels not like that etc etc he did it for me etc he did it to save me. michael’s fall was imperative to the destruction of god. and, for that, he will always be remembered. adam’s not a hunter, but he stays at the bunker anyway. he has nowhere else to go. 
number 4, episode 15x20. what do you mean dean and sam both die? not in this universe i carry inside my head they don’t! this episode is just a bunch of scenes from throughout the years. you might think it boring but i think it’s great and this is my post so u can’t tell me what 2 do. dean opens up a bar for hunters a la 14x10 and has pictures on all the walls of all the fallen hunters and friends that have helped them throughout the years. you want a picture on the wall for a friend you lost? sure! just bring a photo and tack it on up there. out of sight, kept to the wall of the office, they keep pictures of the non-humans that helped. it’s private. a reminder. sam and eileen stop by a couple times a week if they can. jody and donna make the rounds with the girls too if work allows. or they come on their own. the girls are old enough to take care of themselves now. claire pops in when she can, always bringing a present for cas (despite him reprimanding her for doing so) and dean is always happy to see her. she doesn’t text enough. 
sam sets up the bunker as a base for hunters again, trying to get a system up and running like before where hunters can check in and get help and use the weapons and resources they have for cases. 
they don’t deal with heaven anymore. they haven’t seen jack since he disappeared but they also haven’t had any angel troubles either. maybe it’s because there are so few. castiel helps a lot as he still has his grace—although he’s still unable to teleport and he seems to be aging, trapped in some kind of space between. not angel and not human and definitely not nephilim. he’s powerful and powerless at the same time. he doesn’t complain about this, knowing what it means. it’s a kindness. 
rowena is also on side, mostly, although she has her own gain in mind always. they have the stray demon that pops up every now and again but she– uh... prefers to make an example of them using her own methods. sam has learned not to question it. she teases him incessantly, as usual. 
also, stay at home dad sam. eileen jumps back into hunting. they’ve had conversations—arguments—about it before. he doesn’t want to turn into his father, driven mad chasing mary’s ghost if something were to happen. she refuses to even entertain the thought of that. yelling “you are a lot of things, sam winchester. your father is not one of them.” and at the end of the day, there’s a mutual trust there and he knows she won’t put herself in unnecessary risk, and he 100% roped dean in to jumping on as backup if and when she needs it. the kid(s) are raised love and cherished and surrounded by family. sam also learns how to sign one handed with a baby on his hip. it’s adorable.
anyway we never have to find out about heaven because no one dies thank you for coming to my ted talk.
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empresspeacock · 5 years ago
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Find the White Wolf Pt. 2
Summary: Geralt goes missing and you’re determined to be the one who finds him and brings him home
Pairing: Geralt x Reader
Warnings: Violence, language, slow burn? smut
A/N: I have only watched the show on Netflix, I have never played any of the games or read any of the books. If I break canon, that’s why. Plot based on my imagination, so you do not have to watch the show to enjoy.
Link to Part 1  Link to Part 3  Link to Part 4
Word Count: 1563
After being shown a few dozen male companions, you hadn't seen anyone who caught your fancy yet. The fact that they all have been led out on chains was concerning and put you off. Why not have them walk out themselves? Is there a great concern for escape? Is this part of the gimmick they want to sell here? Based on some of the "elite" you've met over time, some of them probably get off on seeing potential "companions" in chains. However, it just doesn't sit right with you.
"This is our last group of men," Mera says anxiously.
Then, lo and behold, you couldn't have planned this better, but who is amongst the final group, but Geralt. You try to keep a steady face so that Mera doesn't see your shock. He had been described to you as a tall, stern man, big muscles, and silver hair, but your uncle failed to mention just how gorgeous he was. Yet, he seemed off. Yes, everything about this place is off, but his eyes seemed droopy, his head lolled about, and he shuffled his feet on the floor as if he was tired? In a trance? All of your alarms were going off.
As casually as you can you say, "What about that silver haired man in the middle?"
"Oh you don't want him," Mera quickly said. "He's actually not supposed to be shown to people yet," she said while looking over at the person who'd been leading out the companions.
"Why not? He seems really attractive to me." you venture.
"He's still in training, very feisty. We actually have him heavily sedated right now because of his attitude issues." Mera said while gesturing dismissively.
"Sounds great to me. I like it rough in bed," you say. "He's just what I've been looking for."
"Are you sure? We don't want you to be disappointed when he doesn't cooperate, or worse get hurt."
"Yes, I'm sure. I want him."
"Very well." Mera muttered and gestured for him to be taken off the chains from the rest of the companions. "Shall we send him up to your room while you explore some of the other options we have to offer at Castle of Rosodonia? Or would you like for him to be at your side?"
What should you say? You could pretend that you are extremely horny and champing at the bit to have sex so you can talk to him alone. Or you could play it cool so that Mera doesn't realize just how interested you are in Geralt. You don't want to arouse suspicion after all. "I think I'd like to see some of the other things you have to offer by myself and then I shall enjoy my companion this evening."
"Excellent! I was hoping you would say that." Mera said. She almost seemed relieved. Hopefully they aren't going to do too much more to Geralt before you get a chance to talk to him in private. Hold out Geralt, help is closer than you may think.
Mera showed you some of the gambling tables, a croquet field, and some other stuff, but you were only halfheartedly listening. You were trying to come up with an escape plan. She didn't show you where the horses were being kept, so good luck finding that, and even if you tried to escape without your horse, you aren't going very far very fast and will easily be caught. Especially considering Geralt is sedated and probably can't move very fast. Because of his sedation, even if you knew where the horses were, could you make an escape if he can't move fast enough? Workers were everywhere, sure to raise an alarm if you try to make a run for it with a huge sluggish man. He's far too heavy to try to attempt carrying him. And also, can you save the other companions? If Geralt has been captured, who's to say the others haven't been captured as well? How many of them have families worried sick about where they are but don't have the money to hire one of your family members to track them down. But where are the other companions even being kept for you to try to stage a massive jailbreak?
Evening could not come fast enough. You were finally shown to your room and there was Geralt, lying on your bed. He was lying on his side in a seductive pose, not doubt after being instructed to do so. A handmaiden showed you were the lube and some toys were kept and left the room. Finally, it was just you and Geralt. You cautiously walked up to the large four-post bed, so as to not startle him. He appeared to be sleeping. Probably the sedatives. You gently tried to wake him up, but he only moaned a bit. Gods, if only you could hear him moan during sex. He must sound heavenly. You tried shaking him a little harder, and this time his eyes fluttered open.
"Geralt, I don't know how much you can understand me, but I am y/n from the y/n family. I have been hired by the witcher's guild to find you. As far as we can tell, you have been missing for several months. I want to get you out of here, but we're going to have to wait until you are a little less sedated to make any moves. Truth be told, tracking is my strong suit. I can be very persuasive if I need to be, but I am not much of a fighter. As far as I can tell, we might need to fight our way out of here. I don't know where your weapons are being kept and if they even saved them or tossed them out. I don't know where the horses are kept, and where the other companions are being kept if we want to try to save them too. I really want to save them, but to be honest I don't see how we can. It's going to be tricky enough just trying to break you out of here." You fell silent for a bit to give him a chance to say something or even to show that he was listening. He just looked at you with those dazzling golden eyes, weary from his sedatives.
"I am very tired from my journey and I'm not going to try to have sex with you. I'm going to just lay down beside you and sleep. Please do not feel threatened by me, I want to help you." you reassured him.
You unpacked some of your things and began your nightly routine in the bathroom. It was the first time you were able to properly bathe in some time since you've been on the road looking for traces of Geralt's presence. You couldn't believe it. You were added to the batch of trackers assigned to find Geralt as a last minute add-on because someone else had a prior commitment. No one thought you would actually find him, just maybe find some clues and report back to the others so that they knew those areas had been checked. But by shear stroke of luck, you found Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. You will be able to pick whatever assignment you want from here on out, not just be handed the leftovers to keep you busy while the more experienced trackers got the choice picks.
Well hold on now, you're getting ahead of yourself. You merely found Geralt. Now you need to get him out of this castle and safely home to have a complete mission. It's not good enough to simply say you found him. And given that he's heavily sedated right now, you won't even have help from him unless you can figure out a way to get the drugs out of his system, and fast. And will he even remember the layout of the castle due to his sedation? You need to find a way to explore the whole castle, not just the fun parts shown to guests.
You walked back over to the bed and realize Geralt was watching you the whole time. His eyes followed you as you walked around to your side of the bed and climbed in.
"I sometimes move in my sleep when I'm in an actual bed, so I hope that doesn't bother you while you're trying to sleep," you say apologetically. Nothing. Hopefully he understands you and just can't talk or something. Well actually, even if he can't understand you right now, hopefully by the time he can, you have a better escape plan in mind. And a few backups.
You rolled onto your side facing away from him and tried to think happy thoughts so you could fall asleep quickly and be fresh for tomorrow. It is imperative that you're on your A-game tomorrow so you can scout around the castle and get a better idea of the layout.
Geralt began to shift behind you. You guessed he was just getting comfortable until you noticed he was shifting closer to you. He stopped about a foot away from you. You turned to look at him to see what he was trying to do, what had he wanted.  He breathed unsteadily and was clearly trying to say something. Finally he croaked out two words: Save. me.
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iesnoth · 5 years ago
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Four Times Artemis Tries to Convince Holly to go with him to Mars and the One Time he Didn’t
The First Time | The Third Time
The Second Time
The second time was during Artemis’s bimonthly check-up. This month they met on Fowl estate, now the Sunny Times Farming Community. Artemis was the only Fowl left living in the ancestral home: his parents thought he stayed behind to make sure their new tenants adhered to their eco-friendly mission statement, his friends thought he had too much history in the house to leave. Now Holly suspected his attachment had less to do with the manor, and more to do with the rocket ship in the barn.
To be fair, he didn’t live in the manor all the time: his laboratory had long since been moved, and he wasn’t one for community living. When he wasn’t sleeping on the makeshift bunk in the barn (pre-clone Artemis would never, Holly thought), he spent the night at Butler’s seaside cottage. Today she flew into the aforementioned barn, not unshielding until the strangely pneumatic doors closed behind her.
“Commodore!” Artemis’s greeting was muffled by wherever he was inside the ship. Though the design was distinctly Artemis, a dark grey color palette highlighted with gold, she saw elements of fairy engineering in the spacecraft. She wasn’t sure Artemis could invent anything without the People’s influence anymore; he was a part of them now.
And he’s leaving, she thought.
He slid out from some secret place under the craft. He wore a bespoke suit, though divested of his jacket, and the sleeves on the black button down were rolled up to the elbow. She wondered if the genius considered this “work clothes.”
“You know the drill,” she said, pretending she somehow hadn’t seen the spaceship and focusing on retrieving a swab and vial from her hip satchel.
“Right on to business then,” he said with an air of teasing.
She propelled herself up with her wings so they were at eye level. “Open up.”
He obliged, and she swabbed the inside of his cheek, then stoppered the swab in the vial. She pocketed it and withdrew an electronic syringe the size and length of her pinkie. She held out a hand, and Artemis placed his hand in her open palm.
“Any problems since our last meeting?” she asked.
“Do you mean the Netherlands?” He was prying.
She pretended not to notice. “I mean two months ago. Have there been any changes?”
He raised one eyebrow. “No.” She pushed the button on the end of the syringe and a needle popped out, stole a few drops of blood from his hand, then retreated, sealing the tube shut behind it.
“No sudden loss of energy, or insomnia?” Blue sparks danced over the tiny pinprick. She didn’t have to heal such a small wound, but she always did.
“My energy levels are fine, and I have no more insomnia than I’ve ever had.” He held up his newly healed hand. “And before you ask, my appetite has been consistent with no strange cravings, no mood swings, no phantom pains, and no growth spurts or increased aging. But you’d know all that if you’d learn to read the diagnostics on the side of that syringe.”
She rolled her eyes, making a great show of putting the syringe away without looking at it before dropping to the ground.
He caught her gaze and smiled like he was letting her in on a secret. “Come, Commodore. Let me give you a tour.”
Holly huffed. She shouldn’t encourage him— after all, didn’t she know what her answer had to be? But she was curious, and at the very least she could trade any information she gleaned about the ship to Foaly for upgrades in her tech.
Artemis waited for her at the threshold, his expression guarded. Taking a steadying breath, she jogged over to catch up.
The interior of the ship matched the exterior: sleek and utilitarian, though the colors inside were a cool, calming blue. Artemis had probably done research on what colors put people at ease, an asset for space travel.
“This is the galley,” he said, “and the central hub of the ship. The bridge is here,” he opened a door in the nose of the craft. There were few buttons, but the dash was a span of black plasma screens which Holly recognized from the holo-displays in Foaly’s center of operations. There were four ergonomic chairs in the bridge: the captain’s and co-captain’s chairs, each with their own steering column, and two on either side of these chairs, so all four  were arranged in an arc. She noticed each seat was large enough to house Butler’s bulk, but had adjustable height and seatbelt for a fairy passenger.
“I assume you see the influences I took from the People,” he said, running his hands over the dormant dash. “I also took some inspiration from the sci-fi films Myles has become smitten with. He actually helped design this room, and the laboratory.”
“You’ve told your family about this?” Holly asked as they moved on.
Artemis pursed his lips before he spoke. “I’ve told Butler.”
“And he’s OK with this?”
He shrugged. “He’s coming with me. And he’s very excited about this:” he opened a pneumatic sliding door to an exercise room. It housed an elliptical and other resistance-based equipment, since anything relying on weight would be moot in the zero gravity of space. “It will be imperative for all the crew to exercise daily in order to prevent muscle atrophy in the vacuum of space,” he explained. “Butler greatly anticipates me having to use a gym for once.”
“Crew?” Holly repeated, passing up the chance to take a jab at the young man’s less than impressive physique. “Who else is coming besides you and Butler?”
He actually looked hurt, and she wondered if she’d pushed her avoidance of his invitation too far. “If you’re going to continue to ignore the obvious,” he said, his voice clipped, “I’ve invited No.1 to come along. After his exploits on the moon, I thought this to be a natural expansion of his studies. He’s conferring with Qwan about whether they could do without him for so long. I also plan on inviting Juliet, if she ever comes home from the mystery assignment Butler won’t tell me about.”
Each of the four living compartments had an upright bed attached to the wall, a porthole, and a tiny, adjustable desk which could be accessed from the bed. If it could be called a bed. Soft, cream-colored, and puffy, they looked like cocoons. Under the zipper and layers of down were straps on the inside to keep the sleeper in place, as well as a control panel to adjust the firmness of the mattress and tightness of the straps. These space explorers would travel in comfort.
“Why only four cubicles, if you’re anticipating five?”
He smiled down at her. “I’m not anticipating five. I assumed someone would say no, and I haven’t invited everyone at once.”
Based on the series of events as he’d told them to her, he’d asked her first (excluding Butler). She wanted to be flattered, but her heart hurt.
“Artemis, I can’t go.”
His carefully maintained smile shrank. “Because of your career?”
“Don’t say it like I prioritize climbing some corporate ladder,” she said, turning away from the cubicles and back toward the galley. “And yes, it is my career. It’s my life, Artemis. I couldn’t live in space! Where would I perform the Ritual?”
“We could bring a store of acorns,” he suggested. “You could plant them on an asteroid: maybe burying them on a foreign planet would grant you different powers.”
“This isn’t one of Myles’s sci-fi movies, Artemis.”
“No, it’s better,” he argued. He crouched down to her level. She hated when he did that. It made her feel condescended to, and she hated looking him in the eyes when they fought. “Anything is possible out there,” he waved to the ceiling with one hand. “We could discover new worlds, meet new species, challenge the very fundamentals of science! We could change the universe for the better.”
She placed a hand on his left cheek, her thumb tracing under his left eye. It was blue now, forever reminding her of the friend she’d lost, then regained.
“I’d like to think I’m doing that now,” she countered. “In Haven, protecting others.”
Artemis stared into her eyes for a moment, searching for answers or perhaps for a chink in her resolve. Finally, he stood, breaking her contact. “We still have the physical tests to complete before you have to return home,” he said.
Holly followed him out, eyes on his feet as he tiptoed through the thin walkway that was a comfortable width for her. She paused at the entrance of the ship as he strode the distance of the barn, walking away from her with a long gait she’d struggle to keep up with on foot. Was she losing him again?
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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years ago
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Survey #293
“your head upon a stick would look really sick, but they would call me crazy for the way i spoke to it”
Hey bitch, what's your fucking name? What a start, jc lmao. Brittany. What color are your nails? They're not painted. Last time you got some ass? Well this survey's gonna be a journey. Many years ago. Do your parents like your style/music choices? Yeah, at least most of it. Some music my mom really doesn't like or just hates, while I can't even imagine Dad's reaction to some bands I enjoy. Ever seen your parents make out? tbh would rather slam my ankle on a Razor scooter. What's your dream height and weight? Forget about my height, if I could just be at least 120 again... Do you put your hair up a lot or down? It's too short to put up. Most of the time do you straighten or curl your hair? Neither. What do you do when your house loses power? Light a bunch of candles and carry flashlights. What piercing do you hate? I'm not a fan of cheek piercings. Were you raised in a religious house? Yes. I grew up going to Sunday school and church, even though I hated both. Do your parents get mad when you're on the computer for hours? Gah... it was a very, very big source of argumentative fuel between Mom and me all the way up to my late teenage years when she just gave up; now, it's to be expected and is completely "normal." I always wanted to be on the computer once I was introduced to it; she tried to limit my time on it, and it was without fail what she would take away whenever I was grounded. I'd even sneak onto it when I wasn't allowed to if she wasn't home and Dad was in their room. My mom really did try to keep me from being hooked on technology, she really did, it just didn't work, but dear god I wish it did. I just about turn into a caveman without some form of it, and it's pretty pathetic. Dad meanwhile has never really cared much, but he'd make a comment here and there that would make me self-conscious about it. Have you ever been asked for a nude picture? No, and guess who would be ignored for the rest of their lives if they did. It's so fucking disrespectful and objectifying to me. If someone wants to send a partner something like that by their own volition, that's cool, but asking, that just seems incredibly rude to me and turns the person into an object of lust. Ever been so scared you pissed? Caaan't say I have. Can you watch scary movies at night and not be scared? Yeah, they've never really fazed me. Last reason you got your cell taken away? I actually don't know if that's ever happened, given the aforementioned computer thing. I was never hooked on my phone. Could you handle working on a farm? Nooooo, that is way too much physical exertion. Have you ever been attacked by an animal? No. Have you ever had to put an animal to sleep? ugh Do you have a favorite type of firework? Well, visually I really just like the big colorful ones, but I don't endorse the use of fireworks anymore. Some animals literally die from fear, they can be seriously upsetting to veterans with PTSD (you could have one in your neighborhood and never know you indirectly gave them a panic attack), and they're a large source of litter. Where would/did you get your first tattoo? My right wrist. What's your favorite kind of pet? Snakes. Favorite dinosaur? Spinosaurus is obviously the coolest. It's always been my fave. How many pets do you have? Sigh, just two. Our landlord doesn't want us to get anymore pets than what we came in with. What were two of your favorite Disney movies as child? The Lion King and Finding Nemo. They're still my favorite Disney movies. When carving pumpkins, how do you decide what you're going to do? I haven't carved a pumpkin in years... so idk. Do you own any art supplies? Some, yeah. Do you believe you have a higher IQ than most? Definitely not. What is the name of the doctor that delivered you? I have no clue. Mom knows him for sure because she's mentioned him from my childhood, but I don't. Have you ever seen a Lamborghini in person? Hunny, I live in rural North Carolina. You don't see that level of bougie here lmao. Shane Dawson: funny or annoying? I honestly think he's fucking hilarious. I just have such conflicting feelings about him after "the drama," hearing so many people's opinions (particularly from those who know him so well, like his fiance and Ryland's sister), fact checking, audio cutting and mixing, the whole "people change" philosophy... I don't know. When you have a container of Neapolitan ice cream, what flavor do you leave for last? I ain't touchin' strawberry. Gross. If you could choose to have any superpower ever, what would you pick? I'd wanna be a shapeshifter/druid. What would you be more embarrassed to buy: sex toys or adult diapers? Yikes, sex toys. Given my age, I'd say if I bought adult diapers, people would assume they weren't for me. I'm awkward enough with all things relating to sex to begin with, so. What’s the biggest animal you’ve ever killed? Yo wtf I never have and never will (intentionally) kill an animal. Well, correction: I've killed bugs before, the biggest probably being some spider or something, but I really try to avoid this now. Could you win the Hunger Games? lol hell to the fuck no, have you seen me??? For you, would getting amnesia be a good thing? ... Maybe? Not saying I wanna find out, though. Have you ever been punched in the face? No, plan on keeping it that way. Is morality universal or relative? I question this myself. Who is your favorite late night talk show host? I don't have one. Where do you put your keys when you get home? They stay in my purse. Do you prefer hot coffee or iced coffee? Neither. The sheer variety of questions relating to coffee and tea in surveys boggles my mind, always feel left out that I can't answer 'em lmao. What’s your phone background picture? My lock screen is this pretty, soft aesthetic screen that has "i am strong, i am loved, i am enough" written in the center. I've really needed it for my mental health lately. My home screen is some meerkats. I know, can you believe neither are currently Mark? Have you ever seen a snake in the wild? Plenty. How do you cope with anxiety? Deep breathing, mindfulness and grounding exercises, confiding in my mom, listening to music (usually my favorite calm, instrumental soundtracks, like from the Silent Hill franchise - particularly the second game! - or Shadow of the Colossus), try to nap, play a game as a distraction, watch my favorite YouTubers (typically something funny)... I'm lucky to have learned a lot. Now, if only I could cope with social anxiety... What was the last takeout food you ate? Oh Jesus, how embarrassing is this timing, seeing as it was one of my unhealthiest fast food orders: Son of the Baconator and Baconator fries from Wendy's. It was so fuckin good tho. Who makes you laugh the most? My friend Girt. What does a successful relationship look like to you? One with great communication and total honesty, and when you are able to build each other up and bring out the best in your partner. It's also imperative for you to feel safe being your authetic safe for me to consider it "successful." What do you like to put on your baked potato? "Salt, pepper, butter, cheese, bacon bits." <<<< That's how we do it, lads. What was the most memorable birthday you’ve had? My 16th, but not for good reasons. Would you rather go to the beach or the mountains? That's easy as hell, mountains. I don't like the beach. Do you look in the mirror before you leave the house? Yeah. Not gonna like what I see no matter what, but I'd like to make sure I don't look worse whan what's normal. Have you ever seen someone quit their job in a dramatic way? No. What do you like to dip your fries in? It varies between ketchup and honey mustard. What’s your favorite kind of museum? Science. Do you believe in alternate universes? Nah, I don't think so. Whose house did you last visit? My older sister's. What games do you play on your smart phone? Mostly just Pokemon GO nowadays. I haven't touched Dragons of Atlantis in a long time... Do you know anyone who is colorblind? Jason's older brother is red/green colorblind, I think? Are you the youngest, middle or eldest child in your family? Middle. What’s something you’ve been meaning to do but keep putting off? Ugh, I need to finish decorating my damn room... Got most of the stuff on the walls now, but it's still pretty skeletal in self expression. My motivation is abysmal. Have you ever flown a kite? Oh yeah, I loved to fly a kite with Dad as a little kid when the tobacco field just across the road was barren. Who was the last person you talked about sex/relationships with? My doctor. How many brothers does your father have? I'm almost certain he doesn't have one, just one sister. Do you think you act older or younger than your actual age? It depends on the situation. When it comes to "adulting," I don't have a fuckin clue what I'm doing. I doubt anyone would believe I'm a month shy of 25. In terms of general maturity, I think I act my age, if not older. When was the last time you swam in a pool? It's been years. What are your parents' views on your relationships? Mom is always very supportive so long as they treat me right; she's taken to all my previous partners very well and treated them like family, too. My dad is also supportive as long as I'm treated properly and happy. Is your best friend dating anyone? No. Have you ever babysat before? Twice, but not really willingly. Way too stressful. Do you delete pictures of you and your exes off of Facebook? It took a very, very long time, but all pictures with Jason are forever deleted. Ever had a huge crush on someone who still doesn’t know? Not a huge crush, no. Ever watched porn? No. You do you, but I don't see the appeal of watching some random people fuck. Ever performed in a talent show? No. Would you audition for a reality talent competition? Nope. How many celebrity crushes have you had? I'd say Jesse McCartney, Link Neal, and Mark Fischbach are my only BIG celeb crushes I've had. How many non-celebrity crushes have you had? I dunno, don't feel like reaching back and counting. Ever been compared to a celebrity? Not visually, but with my adoration of animals. Have any embarrassing pictures on Facebook? Oh, I'm sure. None that are horribly embarrassing though, or else I would have deleted them. Ever seen a therapist? I've regularly seen a therapist since the 6th grade. Ever purposely ignored a text? Yep. A Facebook message? Sure have, when I was beyond done arguing with a former friend. A friend request? No, I just decline or accept it. My page is private, so you can't see my activity, and it's not like they get notified if it's declined, Would you say you read into things too much? I am the fucking sovereign of this. If you turned out exactly like your mom would you be pleased? I love my mom to death, but no. I'd be disappointed. Ever had a credit card denied? I've never had one in the first place. Ever had the lead in a play? No. I do remember though in elementary school, I was real bummed that I wasn't Snow White for one we did for Music class. What about a solo in a concert? Never been in a concert. Would it bother you if you found out that your mother was pregnant? Well. One, she's long past menopause. Two, because of ovarian cancer, she had all those organs removed. So, that would be impossible. Have you ever had a threesome? No; I'm personally strictly monogamous and would feel it to be disloyal, even if my parnter was okay with it. What's the last game you used dice for? Not a clue. Are you interested in surfing at all? Have you ever been? No. What brand of bottled water do you prefer? Essentia. What is your favorite type of bird? Barn owls. What is your favorite chocolate candy? motherfuckin REESE'S Have you ever been called a racial slur? No, considering I'm Caucasian. Why did you last stand in line? I was at the doctor's office, I think? What is your favorite pirate movie? /shrug What is your favorite character from Orange Is the New Black? I've never watched it. What was the most unsettling film you’ve seen? Watching the ending to Paranormal Entity was VERY uncomfortable. It was a decently scary movie, but the ending was seriously intense. When was the last time you were snooping, and found something you wish you hadn’t? I don't recall. Which celebrity or band has the worst fan base? I don't know. What are you interested in that most people aren’t? The sheer degree of my love for meerkats would definitely be missed by probably most people. What smartphone feature would you actually be excited for a company to implement? I dunno. Anything I could think of, the most current products probably already have and I'm just uninformed of them. Like, I use a Tracfone lmao. What’s something people don’t worry about but really should? Their plastic usage and disposal. I'm certainly no saint when it comes to plastic either, but I try to do all I can. What movie quotes do you use on a regular basis? Hm, ARE there any? Do you think that children born today will have better or worse lives than their parents? This depends on what you consider "better" and "worse." Environmentally, I honestly don't think mankind can maintain itself for that many more generations at the rate we're currently at, so that's probably just gonna keep getting worse. On the other hand, advances in medicine and things like that will certainly continue to improve quality of life in that sense. Human rights are getting better and better. I do fear that we're becoming too comfortable with laziness and convenience, but I hope that's a decline we don't continue to venture down. What’s the funniest actual name you’ve heard of someone having? I had a college classmate named Apple. Which charity or charitable cause is most deserving of money? Oh, come on now. It's not a competition. What game have you spent the most hours playing? So. When you type /played in World of Warcraft, it will show you your total playtime, and mine is YIKES. Like, around a year's worth of time of pure playing since 2014, I think. What’s the most comfortable bed or chair you’ve ever been in? I don't recall. What’s the hardest you’ve ever worked? When I did WiiFit religiously and lost around 40 pounds in HS. I was in the best shape of my life. What movie, picture, or video always makes you laugh no matter how often you watch it? Oh, there's certainly something. Probably some Unus Annus clip. That channel was a fucking blessing and a curse all the same. If you could have an all-expenses paid trip to see any famous world monument, which monument would you choose? Oh boy, I'd have to think, but probably somewhere in Rome or Greece. What’s the coldest you’ve ever been? I'm unsure. Probably jumping in the pool as a kid. My sisters and I would nag Dad to put the pool up on like the very first day of spring, so of course it was cold, but as a kid, I didn't mind that. What’s the most ridiculous thing you have bought? Hm. What’s the most depressing meal you’ve eaten? Ha ha yiiiikes, struggle foods... I don't know, but I've had some. What outdoor activity haven’t you tried, but would like to? Herping, though I change my mind on-and-off about it. I'm not very into the idea of disturbing wildlife just because they're cool and you wanna check them out. I'd totally go exploring with a camera, though, and not actually pick anything up. If you were given five million dollars to open a small museum, what kind of museum would you create? Hm... I actually think something like an art museum for the mentally ill would be pretty interesting and educational? Even something that could build empathy. Maybe mix some psychology in there to understand conditions.
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fantasticstoryteller · 4 years ago
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Dragon Lands ch. 16
Katsuki put down the boulder he’d pried from the side of the mountain and stared at Shouto. “You suggested what?” he demanded of the other dragon.
Shouto tossed another boulder irritably. He still didn’t understand why Izuku was so irritated with him, and it was grating on his nerves. “I suggested we put the Council human up in the tent,” he repeated.
Katsuki sighed. “Shouto,” he said, and stopped. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a laugh. “Damn. Now I know how you feel when I do something stupid.”
“What are you talking about?” Shouto pried another boulder out of the mountain for the cave and tossed it out.
“Shouto, where is that tent now?” asked Katsuki patiently.
“Under the bed.” Shouto had helped Katsuki and Izuku take the tent down, because Izuku had wanted to put it under the bed.
“Yes. Shouto. Under the bed,” continued Katsuki with as much patience as he could muster. Then, seeing that the other dragon hadn’t put it together yet he sighed again. “Shouto, Izuku considers the bed his nest.” Surely that was a concept the other dragon could wrap his head around.
“Okay…”
“And that tent,” continued Katsuki mercilessly, “is where the three of us first bonded. It still smells like that Shouto.”
Shouto frowned as he started carving another boulder. “Yes,” he admitted. Granted he didn’t get under the bed to smell the tent, but he was sure it still smelled like that. It hadn’t been cleaned since, as far as Shouto knew.
Katsuki growled, but reigned it in. It was imperative for the peace of the nest that Shouto realize what he did wrong. “Izuku put a cloth item, an item which smells like all three of us, in his nest.”
“Yes…”
“And you,” Katsuki continued wondering if Shouto was being deliberately dense, “suggested he use part of his nest to house this strange human we’ve never met before.”
“Oh…” Shouto felt sick as he realized what he’d accidentally done.
Katsuki snorted as he carved another boulder. “I’m surprised he didn’t pick you up and throw you out of the cave.”
“Well, I’m sure the human would have understood,” Shouto continued in his defense. “After all, the Council is sending an omega.”
Katsuki paused. If Shouto thought that another omega would understand why it was being put in a tent that smelled like bonding sex—he couldn't understand why people (especially his mother) thought Shouto was the better choice to deal with humans. “Probably a good thing you didn’t get around to mentioning that,” Katsuki said as he tossed yet another boulder out of the newly created cave and looked around. “How deep does thing have to be, anyway?” he asked.
“This is probably deep enough. All we need is chimney in case she wants a fire.” Shouto looked around. “And it could probably use something in the way of furnishings,” he admitted. Not that he was an expert on what humans liked—but Izuku’s room was much more crowded than this.
“True. You do the chimney, I’ll talk to Deku.”
“You’ll talk to him?”
“Yes, I’ll talk to him. He’s probably still pissed at you.” Without waiting for a response Katsuki took to the air to glide to the next mountain over (after looking at it both he and Shouto had agreed that mountain couldn't support another cave—fortunately, it wasn’t the only mountain around the valley) and into the living cave he shared with Izuku. Normally he shared it with both Izuku and Shouto—but he wasn’t sure if Shouto would be allowed in just yet.
Izuku was sitting at his desk staring at the wood. His notebook was there—but it wasn’t open. Izuku’s head first bent to one side and then the other as hummed to himself. When he heard Katsuki’s claws he turned and asked, “Was I too hard on him?”
“No. No you were not.” Katsuki reached out and gently thumped Izuku’s nose. “Shouto was being an inconsiderate asshole, and you should have lost your temper with him.”
Izuku still looked worried. “It’s just—I understand that dragons don’t have nests like humans do and he might not have realized just what it was he was suggesting and I kind of lost my temper before that when he didn’t realize why I was upset—”
“Deku,” said Katsuki firmly. “Stop. Breathe.” He waited for Izuku to comply before leaning against the desk, tail lightly thumping against the wood. This wasn’t good. Izuku hadn’t had a panic attack in years—and Shouto was causing one. Well, Shouto or—or his condition. Katsuki frowned as he realized he didn’t actually know that much about humans. “Listen,” he continued, “you might understand that we’re both dragons, but we also understand that you’re human. We try to keep that in mind all the time—Shouto just didn’t do a good job.” He let his irritation with the other dragon show in his voice for just a moment.
Izuku looked up at Katsuki—and he just looked sad. It broke Katsuki’s heart, because he didn’t understand why. “Katsuki,” Izuku said. Katsuki flinched at the full sound of his name from Izuku’s mouth. It just didn’t sound right. “You and Shouto shouldn't always have to adjust to me. That’s not how a relationship works.” He looked down at his lap. “We’re supposed to adjust together,” he added.
Katsuki got down and gently forced Izuku to look at him. “Hey,” he said. “We are adjusting together.” He tried to put into words what he saw, every day. “You know everything about us, and usually what we need before we do. If there’s something one of us needs, you make sure it’s seen to—even if it’s inconvenient for you.” He reached out and cupped Izuku’s face in his hands. “We see it Deku—even if you don’t.”
Izuku buried his face in Katsuki’s chest, hugging the dragon tighter. “It feels wrong,” he protested.
“I know,” Katsuki gently rubbed Izuku’s back. He had a rough idea what Izuku was going through. He felt bad—because he had thrown his mate out of the nest. He also felt bad—because said mate had been an inconsiderate asshole. He felt worse, because part of his instincts were telling him that one of the feelings should be canceling out the other.
Maybe Shouto should have a few discussions with Masumi. For a beta the dragon understood omegas really well… Probably still a bad idea to mention that the human coming was also an omega—and that Shouto had known that.
“Well,” Katsuki said, partly to distract Izuku and partly to complete his original mission before Enji arrived with the human the Council was sending, “the cave’s practically done. It’s in the next mountain over.” Izuku relaxed and heaved a sigh—and Katsuki realized there was another point of tension. The only people (aside from the old hag and who knew how many dragons that had put it together before they arrived) that had been in the living cave were Izuku, Shouto, and Katsuki. Even Fuyumi was sleeping in one of the patient caves that he and Shouto had carved out. Besides that, the old hag and the other Bakugo dragons were practically family—and so was Fuyumi. Izuku didn’t want to share his space, his alphas with some strange person that he’d never even met.
Maybe Enji should have spent less time teaching Shouto self control and more time teaching him about people.
“I’m sorry for being unreasonable,” Izuku said.
“You weren’t,” Katsuki said firmly. “Shouto deserved every bit of that, and don’t forget it.”
“Kay.”
The simple word showed Katsuki how much mental strain Izuku had been under. He cursed himself for not realizing, for letting Izuku’s enthusiasm for his new home blind him. Izuku had been forced to run from the only home he’d ever known, had almost died because someone—someone he should have been able to trust—had tried to kill him. His parents were stuck under the control of said person and he had no idea how they were doing. It had to be eating at him alive.
True, Katsuki and Shouto also left their clans, the only homes they’d ever known—but it was different. They were dragons; the most powerful dragons in their respective clans. They would either have had to strike out on their own or fight their own parents to take over the clan—that was just how dragons lived. Besides; if Katsuki really wanted, he could still fly to visit his mother. Izuku was trapped in the valley. Both dragons thought they understood what that meant—but they didn’t. Not really. Izuku was hiding pain and fear beneath his cheery exterior—and Katsuki didn’t know how to make it better. Once again there was something wrong with his mate that he just couldn't fix. He didn’t know how.
He gently pushed Izuku away as he wracked his brain for something to change the subject. He didn’t know what to do with his realization yet, but he’d figure it out. Maybe the human coming was something of a healer he could talk to. Maybe the two humans would be friends. Izuku needed more friends—or at least, more friends that weren’t dragons. “What should we put in the cave?” he asked.
“In the cave?” echoed Izuku, confused.
“For the human visitor. I think it needs more than bare rock.”
“At the very least,” Izuku said as he released Katsuki’s body and turned back to his desk to grab the map of the dragon lands he’d been making, “the human will need a bed. He looked through the map and then pointed. “The humans of this village haven’t traded with us in a while.”
Katsuki mentally marked it and nodded. “Then I’m off. Don’t be afraid to make Shouto grovel,” he advised his mate. “I’m sure the experience will be good for him.” He then ran for the entrance before taking off, in order to avoid scattering Izuku’s notes.
The human villagers were surprised upon learning that Katsuki wanted to trade for a bed—and when they saw the meat he brought offered him three of them. He picked the one that looked the most like what Izuku had, figuring that if it was for a human then it made sense to use a human template for it. Then he picked it up and hauled it back to the cave—just as Shouto finished making a fireplace.
Katsuki hoped Izuku wouldn't be jealous about the fireplace—there wasn’t one in their cave. Then again, their cave didn’t need one. Dragons, by necessity, put off a lot of heat and Izuku was almost always with one or the other of them. He put the bed close to the fireplace because—why not? It was as good a place as any to put the bed. Besides, he could hear Enji’s wing-beats.
Shouto frowned, head cocked as he listened as well. “Is Enji in full dragon form?” he asked, confused. “Why?”
“Good question.” Katsuki went to the front of the cave and leaped out, hovering between the mountains for a moment. Should he tell Izuku that Enji had arrived with the company? No, Izuku had ears of his own. Besides, Katsuki wanted a chance to meet the human first. No matter what Shouto thought, humans did not just magically get along all the time.
The large red dragon got close enough for the people on his back to see the two dragons hovering in front of the mountain. One of them growled—and pulled out a very familiar sword with fur at the hilt. As it jumped towards Katsuki he saw the familiar silver-haired idiot behind the sword.
“Oh,” growled Katsuki as he allowed his power to flow around his hands. “Fuck that shit!” He raced towards the oncoming figure.
“Inu-Yasha!” screamed the second figure on Enji’s back.
“Kacchan!” came the yell from the cave.
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kriscme · 4 years ago
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One Life To Live
Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take”.  You can find it on AO3 and Fanfiction.
Chapter 30 Haymitch alternates swigs of white liquor with large bites of pizza out of a takeaway box.  I’ve mistimed my visit again, catching the last five minutes of “One Life to Live.”   “What’s Celia doing in a therapy support group?” I ask as the credits roll. Haymitch clicks the off button on the remote and the screen goes black.  “Sex addiction,” he tells me, taking another gulp from his bottle.  “She can’t keep her knickers on after what Lance did to her.” “What did Lance do?” The last time I watched this silly show, she and Lance were having a threesome with the gardener. “Made her like sex too much.  And then Anton.  And Cecil.  And 11’s wrestling team.  They’re blaming psychological issues or some such rubbish.  Fear of emotional intimacy is one theory.   Or could be she’s just a slut.” “And what about Blake?  Is he married to Ginger yet?” “He would’ve been but the baby came a few weeks early and now he wants nothing to do with her.”  I wait for more but Haymitch just helps himself to another slice of pizza. “Why?”
He quirks an eyebrow at me.   “Two people with fair skin usually have a fair skinned baby.” “Oh.”  The guy from the punk band, and the real father of Ginger’s baby, is very dark. I rather wish I had seen that episode when Ginger’s baby popped out.  The look on Blake’s face must have been priceless.  “Well, anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about “One Life to Live.”  I wanted to ask you about Cressida.” “What about her?” “Do you think she can be trusted?” Haymitch shoots me an incredulous look and laughs.  “What do you think?  She works for Plutarch, doesn’t she?” I was afraid he’d say that.   My worry must show in my face.  “Why do you ask?  You haven’t done something stupid, have you?”  When I don’t answer, he snorts and takes another drink. “That’s why no one let you make the plans.” This gets my back up.  “Like you did such a good job of it.  If you’d involved Peeta and me in your so-called plans, we’d have known not to let ourselves be separated from each other in the first place. And then he wouldn’t have been captured, and he wouldn’t now – “ “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he says, raising a hand. “We’ve been over this before and I’m not in the mood to have my face gouged again. It’s bad enough that I had to go through it again with Peeta.” Johanna told me that Peeta got mad at Haymitch when those memories came back.  Preoccupied as I often am with my own guilt over Peeta, I sometimes forget that Haymitch is carrying his share of it too and my anger subsides.  Besides, my bitten down fingernails could barely impact a mosquito bite.  I should make time to visit the salon to have those fake things put on again.   “How is Peeta?” I ask.  “Have you talked to him?”  A week has passed since Peeta and I last spoke.  I’d called around the following day to thank him for the cake but he wasn’t home so I made do with a note under his door.   I haven’t seen him leave or return home from the bakery although I know from Johanna that he’s working regular hours. The only visible evidence I have that he’s still in the Village is that the primrose bushes have been pruned recently. Not through all our ups and downs has Peeta neglected the bushes.  Obviously, he did it when I wasn’t around to see it.   He seems to be avoiding me and I don’t know why.  I can’t think of anything I’ve done to upset him.   Before he answers, Haymitch takes a moment to toss the empty pizza box in the general vicinity of a pile of discarded food containers by the window.  Even from this distance, I can see a trail of ants making their way down the wall possibly in anticipation of yet another feast.  In less than an hour they’ll be swarming over the box, picking over the remnants and transporting them back to their nest.   Perhaps this is Haymitch’s idea of cleaning.  Have the ants do it.   “Saw him the day before yesterday.  Had dinner after watching the tape.  Johanna cooked.  I wish she’d let Peeta do it.   He’s a much better cook, but she insisted.  She fusses over him like a mother hen and I think it’s starting to get on his nerves.    But he’s fine, all things considered.  Just very down.  Stares into space when he thinks no one’s looking. But no flashbacks or signs of serious depression.  Keeping busy and sticking to a routine has helped.” I let this sink in.  My initial reaction is to feel hurt that I wasn’t invited to have dinner with them.  It’s irrational,of course.   I’m the one who distanced myself.  And I was busy this weekend anyway.  But I do miss it.  All of us together.   “He’s keeping up with the tapes, then?” “Yeah, although it’s going over old territory if you ask me.  Mostly it’s promotional footage, Capitol parties, various interviews.”  That could explain why I haven’t seen him.  Maybe it’s Cressida and media attention he wants to avoid.  The camera crew are everywhere.  I even saw one of them filming the Village, for no particular reason that I could make out, and paying extra attention to Peeta’s house and mine.   Haymitch drains the last of his bottle and reaches for another beside his chair and gives the top a twist.  “He showed interest in one of them.  The start of the Victory Tour – when you came running out of your house to push him into the snow.” “Ha ha.” I say caustically, giving Haymitch’s joke the response it deserves.   I think back to that day.  Making the most of my remaining hours of freedom: in the woods checking the snare lines; a change of clothes at my old house in the Seam; a visit to Hazelle; and lastly, calling in on Haymitch.    I’d promised to wake him an hour before the cameras came.  It seemed that he’d also asked Peeta, because he showed up at the same time.  To say it was chilly between us is putting it mildly.  Peeta barely looked at me.  When I got home President Snow was waiting for me with his threats.  Convince the districts, convince me that Peeta and I were madly in love, or Gale was dead, with others to follow.  There was no way to warn Peeta, but I was sure he’d perform well anyway.  And he did. Our first kiss in months and no one could have guessed that he was acting – not even me if I hadn’t known better. I ask “Did he remember it?” “Parts of it.  The cameras, falling in the snow, some of what we discussed before Effie and the prep teams arrived.” “You and Peeta?”  I feel a flash of resentment that they had had this discussion without me, but then remember that I walked out soon after Peeta got there. Haymitch probably wanted to talk to us both.  “What about?” “That he needed to change his attitude. Reminded him that the romance was his idea.  That you kept him alive and would’ve died with him, rather than take the victory for yourself.  How imperative it was to keep up the act or people would die.”
It fits.  On the train journey to 11, Peeta apologised to me, acknowledged my actions had kept us alive, and that we should try being friends.   
“That’s what he remembered,” continues Haymitch.  “What he forgot was what I said about you being in a different place than him.  That he had this crush long before the Games even started, whereas for you the romance was a strategy that the two of us cooked up.  And from where I was sitting, I saw a boy who was head-over-heels and a girl who was getting there.  That all she needed was time and patience but if he continued to sulk – “ A conversation between Haymitch and me just before Peeta and I reunited on stage after winning the Games.  About convincing everyone that the trick with the berries was motivated by love.   “Did you tell Peeta this?” “Don’t have to. He’s already there.”  “But you think I’m not?” So that’s what Haymitch meant.   He knew before I did.  Finnick too.   I interrupt. “What did he say?” “That he wished he had known.  That’s all.”  Haymitch gazes thoughtfully down at his bottle.  “It occurred to me that maybe, if this memory was distorted or erased – “ “He’d believe I hadn’t loved him but it was important for us to be friends,” I say, finishing the thought for him.  There’s some logic to it.  I can imagine the half-memory sticking up like a tree root waiting to trip Peeta up.  And then skewing every memory, and every thought he’s had about me since. “It’s a wild guess, but not impossible.  And it’s not like there’s any other ideas.  I should run it past Aurelius.  See what he thinks.” “Do it,” I say.  “At the very least, it can’t hurt.”   The more information Dr Aurelius has the better he can help Peeta. It won’t help me though.  Peeta wouldn’t be mourning the loss of Lace if he didn’t love her.  Or make him love me. Haymitch nods, takes a drink from his bottle, and then goes back to contemplating its depths as if somehow the answers can be found there.  I take this as a signal that the conversation is over and start to rise from the couch when his voice freezes me in place. “So, what’s the stupid thing you’ve done that’s made you worry about Cressida?” I hoped he’d forgotten about that.  Because the “stupid thing” is something I definitely can’t confide in Haymitch about.   “I haven’t done anything,” I say, scowling at him.  “It’s just that I wanted your advice on whether I should be on my guard.  She tried to involve me in the interviews with Marcus. Like I’d be standing well to the side and then she’d ask me a question, and then the cameras would swing over to me. She says she won’t use it but after what happened to Johanna . . .” “If that’s all there is, you’ll be OK.   Even if they do use it and the public wants more, there’s nothing either Cressida or Plutarch can do about it.  No one could say you deliberately set out to draw attention to yourself.  You were just doing a job.   That’s where Johanna went wrong.  She was trying to attract publicity.  And there’s no scandal attached to you and Marcus either – that’s another way they can get around it.  They’ll say they’re reporting on him and you’re merely collateral damage.  So, unless you get caught with your pants down, you haven’t a thing to worry about.”  Haymitch regards me with amusement.  “Or have you? Been caught with your pants down, that is?” “Of course not!” I splutter indignantly. My face burns and it must surely be a bright shade of red.  “I’d never – “ “Calm down, sweetheart.  It was only a joke,” he says, shaking his head.  And then to show how funny he thinks he is; he breaks out laughing.  I judge it to be a good time to leave.   I wander around the Village for a little while.  I want to talk to Johanna.  She’d understand.  But Peeta might come to the door and then how to get Johanna alone without being rude. At home, Marcus has his own worry and I don’t want to add to it by talking about it.   Eventually, I take refuge in my favourite thinking spot; my front porch. And I then I try as hard as I can to reassure myself that I’m worrying over nothing but without much success.   How could we have been so careless? I hadn’t seen much of Cressida during the week.  She’d been busy working on a separate feature on 12’s recovery from the war. She even visited the school.  Mr Matson obligingly gave her a tour and allowed the cameras into the classrooms.  Max made sure to get his face on camera, of course.  When I saw them heading in the direction of my classroom, I locked the door and pulled down the blind.  “Shh,” I said to the kids, “let’s pretend we’re not here.” They thought it was a great game. For the new national park, she wanted to interview Marcus in a series of locations similar to what she did of Gale and me when we returned to bombed-out 12 for some unscripted interviews.   In this case, we’d be following the new trails Marcus had surveyed ending with the lake.  But, because it was unlikely that we would get back before nightfall, it was decided to camp at the lake overnight and return to town the next day.   I was hesitant to go.  I knew it was in my best interests to stay as far from the cameras as possible.  But Marcus said it didn’t feel right for me not to be there since I had played such a large part in it.  And because Marcus and I don’t have much time left together and Cressida had assured me that the attention would be on Marcus anyway, I allowed myself to be persuaded.    Marcus led the way.  Our first stop was at the top of a ridge which Marcus has designated for a lookout. It was a welcome relief to drop my heavy pack to the ground after the long climb and have a long cool drink while Cressida conducted the interview.  The blackberry bushes were heavy with fruit and I positioned myself in front of them.  From there I was away from the cameras but could still watch and gorge myself on berries at the same time.   “Katniss, close by is the very spot where I interviewed you and your hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, as part of a feature we did on District 12 not long after it was destroyed by enemy bombs.  I got the impression that these woods are very special to you.   What are your feelings about it becoming a national park?” Suddenly all eyes and two camera lenses were on me.  I tried to hide by retreating backwards but was met by a wall of prickles from the blackberry bushes.  Cressida waited expectantly. “Ah, well, you know, times change. I guess from a personal standpoint it’s a big adjustment, but if it ensures that the woods will be protected it’s all worthwhile.” Cressida nodded and turned back to Marcus to continue her questions.  Messalina, her assistant, scribbled something in her notebook.   From there it was easy walking along the ridge and my mind wandered to other times I’d come this way - with my father, by myself, with Gale, and most recently with Marcus.  Before long many feet will trace these same steps and I was overcome by sadness that my beloved woods would no longer be mine.  Even with just these five people, it feels like a violation.   The woods have been my sanctuary.  Would I ever find another? “A coin for your thoughts.”  Startled, my head jerked towards the sound.  Cressida was beside me.  Last time I looked; she had been walking up front with Marcus.  She must have hung back and waited for me.   I didn’t really know what to make of Cressida.   In 13, I had admired her calmness under pressure and the pride she took in her work. It reminded me of Cinna and I thought that if she and I were in the arena together, I would pick her as an ally. But that was before Prim was killed. I can’t be sure, but I suspect she informed Plutarch of our whereabouts that day.  If Snow was telling the truth that Plutarch was behind the bombing that killed Prim, then that makes her complicit in some way.  Maybe not intentionally, but she played a part in much the same way as Gale did.   At the very least it proved to me that Cressida’s loyalty isn’t to me, but to Plutarch and the story she’s chasing.  And then there’s Johanna.  Was it really an accident that Plutarch got hold of that interview? “I was just thinking of how things have changed,” I answered.  There, honest but not too revealing.   Nothing that Cressida could take much from.  I was wrong. “Since we last came this way?” she asked, looking down at the ground. “This must be very difficult for you, more or less following the same route we did for the interviews that day – dredging up memories of times and people lost.” She hesitated for a moment, as if pondering the wisdom of her next words.   “I’m sorry if my relationship with Gale has added to that in any way.  I – “ “It doesn’t,” I interjected before she could say more.  “Gale and I weren’t meant to be together.  I’m happy for you both.  Truly.” Her face cleared.  “That’s what Gale said.  But I wondered . . .” I said nothing because there was nothing to say.   I was a little miffed that Gale had dismissed me so easily.  I thought he should at least have some regret for what could have been.  I was glad that I hadn’t wasted my time fretting over him. “Peeta, then?” “Huh?” The question took me by surprise. “I wasn’t actually thinking about him.” “It would be understandable if you were.  I know I can’t help thinking of that time and of our purpose here.  Do you remember the appeal you made to him from where his parents’ bakery once stood?  If I were asked to choose one propo above the rest, that would be it.   The carnage, the desolation, the utterly incomprehensible loss of life was encapsulated in that short piece.” “Yeah, I guess.”  Personally, I thought they were all awful but perhaps Cressida takes a film maker’s view of things and she judges the artistic merit.   “They still speak of you in the Districts, you know.  You and Peeta.  You haven’t been forgotten.” I shrugged in response.  How could we be forgotten when some of our fellow victors have pursued a life in the public gaze? Our very absence would give rise to speculation – rather like those shows you sometimes see on TV “where are they now?”  At least we’re spared media attention.  That’s something to be grateful for. Cressida went on.  “Your love story struck a chord with the public consciousness that shows no sign of abating.  It represents so many things to people.  How love and hope endure.  Rebirth instead of destruction.  The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses.  That it can be good again.  It – “ “Does it?” I asked, cutting her off. “Well, if they want to keep on believing in that nonsense, I can’t stop them.  I need to take a toilet break.  Excuse me.” Ignoring Cressida’s shocked expression I left her to go in search of a tree.  Why did she have to tell me that?  It’s everything that Peeta’s love would have meant to me too.   And I’m so tired of people and their expectations.  Peeta and I represent nothing.  Nothing! Except maybe that nothing lasts and hope is a stupid illusion for stupid people.   I went through the motions of relieving myself although I didn’t really need to, but it gave me time to calm myself before I rejoined the others.   When we stopped for lunch, I made sure to sit next to Pollux.  We exchanged smiles but that was the end of any kind of conversation.  An avox, Pollux can’t talk and that suited me just fine.  Marcus sent a smile my way and then went back to talking to Cressida.   Messalina was occupied with her notebook.  The remaining member of our party, Remus, was making adjustments to his insect shell – the name I gave the camera equipment that wraps around the bodies of the camera crew.  I disliked Remus on sight with his small shifting eyes that seem to take in everything.   He was the one I saw filming the Village. It was late afternoon when we arrived at the lake but there was still sufficient light for Cressida to do her interview.  I overheard her tell Pollux and Remus she’d like some additional film of the lake the following morning but otherwise we were done.  I would’ve liked to have taken a walk with Marcus around the lake but we were supposed to appear as if our relationship was strictly a working one. He didn’t want the same thing that happened with Johanna to happen to us.  So, when we gathered around the campfire that night for supper, we sat opposite each other.  And when we retired for the night in the concrete house our sleeping mats were as far apart as we could make them.  Not that there was any chance of us getting close – not with Cressida and Messalina there too. Pollux and Remus shared a tent just outside the house.  One of them snored like a chainsaw which Messalina complained about incessantly.   I don’t know who kept me awake the longest – Messalina or the snorer. When the first thin rays of sunlight fell across the concrete house, Cressida and Messalina were dead to the world.  Marcus was already up, dressed and putting on his boots.  He put his finger to his lips and pointed to the door.   I nodded and wiggled out of my sleeping bag.  It took only a minute to find my trousers, shirt and boots and join him outside.  It was my favorite time of the day: the sun just peeking over the horizon; birds caroling the new day; the air so fresh and clean.   The tent was zipped shut; loud snores rumbled from within.  Carefully, we walked past until we were out of earshot.  “Why don’t I search for firewood while you fetch water from the spring?” said Marcus.   “Ok,” I replied, intrigued.  There were logs stacked behind the house and we had brought water in with us.  Nevertheless, I took a couple of empty water bottles and started out for the spring.  It was familiar to us both as Marcus had noted it as a feature on one of the walking tracks and I had long used it as a water source.   It was only about six minutes’ walk away; five, if you don’t count the short stop behind a rhododendron bush to attend to nature.  The spring gushes from the side of a foothill into a brook that feeds into the lake. It’s the sweetest water imaginable and I helped myself to a long cool draught.   And then I waited . . . and waited.  I was about to give up when I caught a glimpse of his khaki shirt through the underbrush.
“What’s this about?  Aren’t we supposed – “ I began.   His answer was to pull me hard against him and capture my lips in a kiss.  It took me by surprise after everything he had said about the importance of maintaining appearances.    But after that first shock, I took fire and answered him in kind, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing into him, straining to get closer. His belt buckle dug painfully into my ribs.  It had to go.  While I struggled with it, he reached beneath my shirt with one hand to fondle my breast.  My feet started to lose traction and I realized he was pushing me backwards and upwards until I was elevated slightly, my back against a large oak, my feet resting precariously on a root flare.   The belt taken care of, I started on the button and zipper on his trousers.  He did the same with mine, pulling down trousers and underwear in one swift motion.  And then we were both free, his hardness nudging between my legs. “I’m sorry, I can’t – “I panted.  My feet were shackled by my clothes and I was unable to spread my legs wide enough to allow him entry.   Frantically, a boot was unlaced, tossed aside and a trouser leg pulled down over my foot.   Unhampered now, I hooked a leg around his waist and with one smooth powerful thrust he was all the way inside, one hand on my breast, the other braced against the tree, his mouth covering mine.   It felt so, so good.  I could have stayed impaled against that tree forever.  That is, until he started pounding his hips into me.  The rough bark of the oak stabbed into my lower back with each thrust.  It was lucky my shirt tail covered my naked behind or splinters might have been a problem too.  Marcus enjoyed himself though.  I could tell from his breathing that he was close.  But then it happened.   A loud snap.  It was unmistakable.  We both heard it.  Even Marcus, occupied as he was.  Our heads spun trying to locate the source of the sound.  But there was nothing to see; only trees and low bushes. “It was probably just a falling branch,” said Marcus.  He didn’t sound confident. “Yeah, probably,” I agreed, even though a falling branch would also have made a crashing sound as it hit the ground.       Neither of us were at ease and the moment was lost.  Marcus slipped out of me and we put our clothes back in order.  I retrieved the full water bottles and headed back to camp. Marcus returned separately with the bundle of firewood he’d collected before he joined me at the spring. Our fellow campers were as we had left them. Cressida, laid out like a starfish on her back.  Messalina, huddled under her sleeping bag.   The tent still zippered up, the snorer still snoring.  But by the lake, in full insect shell, was Remus with his camera trained on an ibis feeding in the shallows in the early light.  On my approach, he gave a small wave before he returned to his work.  But on his face, was a small, but undeniable smirk.  
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ftpthemovement · 4 years ago
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Comfort or calling? Stop stalling it’s time to ride.
God doesn’t place a calling in your heart and not give you the ability to see it through. Are you choosing comfort or your calling?
Last week I was seeking God to inquire him about a word he gave me a few months ago revolving around FTP. Most people don’t know, but we are closing in on the last few months of our lease here in Kennesaw, and the word he gave me was in reference to what the furture would hold for us. When I asked, I wasnt given a direct answer, so I expressed a lack of assurance to close friends and members of FTP. Since the inception of FTP, God has always given a clear vision of what was to come, and this was the first time where there wasn’t a direct clear cut direction or instruction on what we were supposed to be doing. So I went walking in solitude spending time with God and he began to speak to me.
Often times when God talks to me the most, Its during these times where I’m walking with him in a remote location free from distractions and any input, or out side interference. On this particular day, God placed it on my heart that it was time to uproot myself from Kennesaw Georgia, and move to Las Vegas Nevada to do his will. Cause you know, that’s super normal and all 😂
At first I felt very worried because it’s moving across the nation to a place I don’t know, surrounded by people I also don’t know, to places I’ve never been before in my life. Automatically, my first inclination is to worry. Yet God choose to remind me of a word he sent me around a year ago, when he said, “I’m bringing a raging river to dry sands.” I quickly remembered that I used to walk around a repeat it daily, often times I still do; but I never really understood it until recently. On September 6th, I saw the post come up on Facebook, Circa Sept 6, 2019. Exactly a year later, God was reaffirming his word from exackty year ago, and it lined up perfectly with the message he had just given me! Guess you would have to be there to know the full gravity of the situation, but let’s just say it was all the confirmation I would ever need.
But, in the process of such a massive transition, you obviously have to iron out a few wrinkles with such an undertaking. So, I immediately reached out to Alex and Jordan, who are very close brothers and members of FTP to ask them what they thought. Amazingly enough, they not only supported it, but they felt lead to deployed there as well! Talk about faith in action! I really don’t think you could ask for more than that. God says go, thier answer figuratively speaking was, “Say when.” It’s literally the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Obviously all of our intentions are there, but this is when the opposition likes to creep in. See, technically we are still here until the lease is up. We have to manage to somehow raise funding, continue expanding discipleship, and elect overseers to continue our work here in Georgia, while we expand to the west as God has instructed. In the middle we could come up with a number of excuses, fears, doubt, insecurities, distractions, and opposing opportunities in the process. Hence why the topic up top is, “Are you choosing your comfort, or your calling?”
Up until yesterday when I would think about the transition I would start asking questions that I think any sane, logical, rational person would ask. Stuff like, “Where are we going to stay?” “Are we shutting down the businesses we run?” “How do we all manage to uproot multiple families and make it work?” “Where will we work, etc.“ “Where will the resources come from to help make the transition happen?”
Now, everything isn’t complete, but the Lord has already answered about 90% of these questions, and in the coming months we are going to reveal the plan God has placed in motion, and we hope that you share in the vision and take the opportunity in helping be apart of Gods work! But, for now this is where God calls his followers to have faith, and to be prepared to put that faith in action by trusting that he will create the way to see it to completion!
Sounds tough, and it is! Yet, he specifically reminded me of one answer he gave that changed the complete trajectory of all of my thoughts. A question so imperative, that it shifted everything Ive ever known when it comes to following God. What’s that question you might ask?
The question was, “If I choose to stay and not go, would you be mad at me?”
Even reading the question as I’m writing it, it sounds loaded. But in the loving grace that only my Heavenly Father could answer in, I got a peaceful “No.” So, God is calling me to go do his will, but if I don’t go, he won’t be mad at me? Hmm..... I felt a prompting in my spirit to ask God another question. “If I don’t go, can I be just as successful here doing your will as I would be there?” He gracefully and calmly replied, “No.”
“So, if I go I’ll be more successful than if I stay, why wouldn’t I go?” I had a lot of answers to that question. It’s probably one the easiest list I could ever come up with. Because of job security, comfort, and fear. Because of being rooted in what I’ve grown accustom to on a daily basis. All of the things I take for granted that would simply disappear if i choose to be obedient. If you really think about it for awhile there’s sooo much stuff that I could list, and go on and on about. As I sat there and thought about every excuse in the book, God blessed me with a wave of insight that came crashing down on me, saturating me with love, insight, revelation and understanding. If you made it this far, stick around because I’m about to share it with you.
🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁
God showed that I can be saved, be doing good works, and still be far outside of his intended will for my life....
Listen.... It’s the times that God asks for obedience, yet we choose to shrink back from it. You might understand examples like, “God telling you to say something to someone, but your scared to do it so you shrink back. Or, you know you should have done something in a particular situation but looking back would have handled it a million different ways, but froze up. All those are good examples, but imagine that times 100 million, it’s that deep of a revelation.
What God revealed is that often time we will ask Him questions, and he will answer them in accordance to the condition of our hearts. Re read that slow 5 times and meditate on it.
Jesus often times does similar in scripture, by answering people’s questions with a question first, to reveal the motive of there hearts. What God was showing me was that when we ask him questions, we often times ask out of good intentions, but it’s filtered through our intended desires. We ask with intentions on receiving what we want the response to be. Let’s slow it down cause it’s really heavy. It means we aren’t really seeking his will, but instead, we are seeking what we want his will to align with it.
This means when asking God, we can have all the best intentions in the world of serving God, but when we ask him for something, we are asking it for self, and he graciously and lovingly gives us the desires of our hearts. But if your hearts will, even though being good, isn’t what’s God wants for your life, is it a life worth living? It may appear to be good, you claim it’s for his kingdom, but if it’s not the mission he’s called you to....?
Walk with me bro...
How many of you have seen visions in your head from God, or felt a prompting in your heart to expand in ways you can’t even fathom, but then you quickly rationalize every excuse of why it can’t happen for you, and you write it off as a day dream How many times have you asked God for something but if it doesn’t happen how you wanted it to, or expected it to, you start questioning if you have unresolved sin, or if you did something not pleasing to God. How many of you reading this are weighed down by your past decisions in life, and they hauntingly become the excuses of your future?
God literally loves you enough, to bless you, save you, bring you into heaven, and you still not have lived the life he had intended for you. Most people I’ve met say, “Well everything happens for a reason, and God allowed x______ to happen to learn from it, so I don’t consider it a mistake. Yet they refuse to take ownership of truthfully considering if they were choosing their will or his!
God meets you where you are, when you turn to him, then He gives you beauty for your ashes. Things happen because you choose his way or your way, second by second day by day. When you’re on track and fully submitted to his will, you will live how he wants you to live. When you choose your will, and realize what you’re doing is wrong, he meets you where you are at. When you turn from your way, (aka repentance) Thats when he puts you back on the right path.
When you take ownership you realize, you can’t be focused on fear and faith at the same time. You’re going to choose one or the other daily. Several times God gives orders in scripture, man choose his own way, and he meets them where they are at. It’s literally the whole entire book. Man chooses flesh, God sets them straight, repeat. God tells Isreal do this, they don’t do it, they repent, he blesses them. You think he wanted them to mess up? No! He wants to bless them, but just as we do, we pursue our own ways, and then ask God to bless them.
Long segway, but I hope it was useful. Point is, how many times have you been given a vision, or felt the feeling and didn’t act? In my experience, JUST MY PERSONAL experience, everything God calls me to do, is wildly uncomfortable, and he always places me in a positions that my faith is required to go further than my flesh has ever been capable of. Meaning, God gives me visions that I cannot complete on my own, that I have to overcome fear, walk in faith, and be wildly dependent on him to complete the mission. Period.
So, what calling has you placed on your heart that you haven’t been listening to? Are you so far past having them that you don’t even ask God anymore? Are you just focused on, watch over my family, help me make it through this work day, get a decent spot at the mall, next promotion, and don’t let me get stuck in traffic?
Or is it, God you know what I’m going through, if you would just give me a sign, I’ll do whatever you tell me? But, then you don’t read the Bible enough to realize, he’s already given you the sign, your mission, purpose and calling, and you would just rather wait on magic to drop from the sky, settling for comfort and complacent over sacrifice and obedience?
Come on bro!! Excuses are void in the kingdom of heaven, act like you knew! Don’t be the guy who gets so far off path that you say you believe, but don’t seek Gods will daily, so you walk around professing God, but living nothing like what he’s called you to live. You’re better than that.
So, what’s the answer to this ridiculously long blog?
Fully submit yourself to Gods will daily, no matter how crazy it may seem to others. Use me as an example if you need to. If you know me, I’m not the trophy boy for exceptional Christian. I’m what most churches would call a heretic, a false profit, or lost in sin. Yet, all I eat sleep and breathe is doing Gods will daily. My point is, people will always have an opinion, even the people who thought they were closest to God, killed his son, and the prophets who came before him! Christ rebelled against their man made religion, called them a brood of vipers, prob some more stuff, and then went on to reveal love, care, generosity, forgiveness, and compassion! A little different example than what they had set. He goes on to show mercy trumps sacrifice, and forgiveness and love conquers all. He literally displayed the example of what it means to be his disciple for all to see, when he picked up his cross, took on the sin of judging hypocrites, and said “Father forgive them, they know not what they do!”
Yet in this world, being a true disciple is a stumbling block for most religious people. It’s the very ones who claim to know him the most, that continuously persecute his elect. So, if you don’t look like mans religious church, and you don’t look like the world, you might just find that your walking on the narrow path with Jesus, that he himself said very few will find.
So don’t choose the ways of the world and they will hate you. Don’t seek to align yourself with mans religious customs and narrow viewpoint, they will hate you too.
For they fear what they don’t know, and kill what they can’t understand. Blind guides, full of judgment, an outward display of selfish insecurity, masquerading itself as righteousness. They’ve been judging themselves their whole life, because it is all they’ve known to do. Some past judgment on the world, others understand the word enough that they don’t pass judgment on the world, but comprehend the word enough to pass judgment on the church. Yet when they do so its a perversion, because they do not know love, so they lack the truth. They themselves can’t even look in the mirror and love themselves, so they cannot rightly ever loves others! When they look in the mirror they see sin and not their savior. So they outwardly reflect their shortcomings onto others. Claiming to be free, yet they tie a burdensome yoke onto others that they themself cannot carry, because they have skeletons they cannot bury. Depraved bunch in high positions, appearing to be Shepard’s, but they are like chaff in the wind, being thrown to and fro, judgment to judgment. If the words I speak aren’t from God himself, then let this day be held in account for all to see, so that the motives of my heart be displayed for all to bear witness.
Take the time to seek his will, and you to will find yourself on a similar path. But in this walk of righteousness remember, God won’t place a calling in your heart and not give you the ability to see it through. You just have to have the courage to bring it to fruition.
So in closing, are you choosing comfort or your calling? Search your heart man of GOD, the end has yet to come. Will you have the courage to follow his will? Fear is for the fire lake, be bold and courageous, you’ve been called to go and spread the good news of the gospel, baptize in the name of The Father, The Son, and the Holy Spirit! You have been commissioned!
Stop looking for the approval of man, and rest assure in your approval and right standing in God through Christ, who sacrificed everything for you to be set free! Let God himself be the only judge you consider in your pursuit of his calling. Go to where the pastors don’t preach, and where the teachers won’t teach. Go be a light in dark in the dark, a city on a hill for all to see. Stop settling for tradition, and go complete Gods mission! May his spirit rage inside of you, calling you to relentless actions of faith, being bold as to laugh in the face of fear, and courageously walk out your destiny. God be with you always even until the end of this age. Don’t do, be. because you already are.
From the front lines, -ES
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