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everlastingdreams · 8 months

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The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 41

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Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: In Saecula Saeculorum

Notes: Contains spice. 🌶️ I can't believe it's the last chapter. 😭

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. 🌶️!!!Spicy and smut parts!!!!🌶️. Slight redemption arc.

Special warnings: Scent-Kink. Foreplay. Unprotected sex. Consensual. Strong language.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +220K

Chapter: 41/41

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Perhaps it was silly, but you lighted every single candle that was in your bedchamber, the small flames were barely enough to see the room and it’s furniture. You took the figurine from the pocket of your vest and placed it next to the doll on your bedside table. Then you fished the nightgown from under the sheets where it was left that morning, it’s thin fabric would not offer much protection from the cold but a solution would be entering the room soon.

Your clothes were discarded into the wardrobe, the nightgown slipped on so easily and it flowed around your curves freely. In the back of your mind, you kept thinking of what you had agreed to. Never did you think you would ever wed, the idea was almost ludicrous. But now… now it felt so natural, so right to take the step. You were fidgeting with your fingers when the knock on the door came, your heart picked up it’s pace and for just one small moment your confidence wavered. You tried to beat that feeling down before it could grow stronger, it was just nervousness because everything was still so new.

You went to the door, slowly opening it, and ignoring how shaky your legs were. You peaked through the gap and saw those weeping eyes stare back at you.

“Hello…” There was not a chance that your smile didn’t give away your nervous state to him. He tilted his head a little to the side, eyes inquiring.

You swallowed hard and opened the door further, letting him in. He placed the promised bucket of warm water near the bed. The only thing that betrayed his own spiking nerves was his hand clasping and unclasping at his side a few times. Your eyes were drawn to it, to the shape of his hand and the form of his fingers, the strength with which it had often held you. When your gaze lifted, you found his own studying the way you were undoubtedly staring at him, a hint of a smile formed on his lips.

His eyes narrowed, smile growing, a teasing statement, “You appear nervous.”

Your chest felt full of air but none of it would release to let the wit out, a shrug of the shoulders would have to suffice. The Ash Man’s gaze lowered from your face, brow slightly arching as he took in the sight of you.

“Maybe I am.” It was unfair how much your voice was fighting your will to keep it steady.

He had definitely heard that tremor in your voice, he forced his attention on something else, the doll sitting beside the figurine on the bedside table was his chosen target. Lancelot picked it up again, the faint smile disarming as he looked down at it.

“Are you here to play with my doll again?” You jested.

“Not with your doll, no.” He flashed a grin.

Your mouth fell agape, an incredulous look send his way, “I beg your pardon?”

He grew a lopsided grin, to timid to face you after that bold statement. You walked further into the room, stopping a little away from him at the foot of the bed. He placed the doll down again, then took in your appearance once more, his gaze grew undeniably hungrier.

He took off his cloak and draped it over the foot of the bed, then stopped right in front of your nose. His hungry eyes flowed over your form, even as he circled around slowly and stopped behind you. He pulled you closer by the hips, his palm skimmed across your abdomen.

“I love how you look in this.” His mouth moved against the skin the nightgown left uncovered at your shoulder.

You felt the fabric move against your leg and realized he was bundling a side of the nightgown up. Soon your thigh felt the chill in the room. He kissed the back of your head, you felt the heat of his quick breaths on the nape of your neck. His fingertips grazed over your bare thigh and your breath hitched.

“Do you know,” He said softly, “how much I wanted to have you among those books back there?”

He left you to think of that whilst he kissed your shoulder.

Back in the library, he was astonished by his own self-control. It had crossed his mind more than once to put you on that table, instead of the book, and read every inch of your skin with his eyes, his mouth, his hands…

But the risk to be disturbed was far too great and only the heavens knew if you would even have agreed to it. Never did he think it would be like this, to have such improper thoughts that were so difficult to contain in the back of his mind. Never did he believe to be the sort of man to even consider such actions. You had awoken something that had been kept buried inside, and whenever you were near it rose to the surface and clouded his mind into an irresistible haze.

You bit your lip and leaned into him a little. “You have been very patient tonight.”

He hummed, hearing the playfulness in your tone, and made you turn to face him, “And you? Have you been thinking of this moment?”

Your nod in response came comically quick. Tentatively, his fingers skimmed over the fabric of the nightgown, until they began their work to undo the small knot at the neck that kept it secured.

“As lovely as you look in this, I will have to take it off of you.” He nodded to the bucket of water.

You gulped at the huskiness in his voice. He sought your eyes while slipping his fingers under the shoulders of the nightgown, the fabric slipped down your arms and bared you upper body. He helped it fall to the ground completely after it had stopped at your hips. The cold chill ran over your skin until his warm hands came to brush along the length of them.

“Alright?” He asked when seeing the slight shiver.

His arms wrapped you in his embrace, his body shielded you from the cold in the room. You hadn’t noticed until now how hot he felt, warmth was radiating from him.

As he warmed you up, he asked, “Must I ask Helio’s permission for our joining?”

He didn’t sound opposed to the idea.

“You didn’t ask permission for anything else.” You deadpanned with a grin.

“I prefer to not make you a widow so early.” He jested back, a pinch of genuine concern.

You leaned back and pecked his lips. “I will wed you, even without his permission. But it would be nice to have it.”

He shared the opinion, his gaze fell to your bare front. “I will prove to him how good I will be to you. I swear it.”

His hand moved from your waist and slithered it’s way higher to cup a breast, his head tilted to kiss your throat. “I will show to you tonight how good I’ll be.”

You suppressed a giggle when he began to nip at your throat, and neck, rather playful. “Promises, promises…”

“I always keep my word.” He breathed.

That wasn’t quite true. “You are literally breaking the vow you took while saying this.”

He was smiling against your neck. “I always keep my word to you.”

Your soft laugh filled the room. “You’d better. I want my husband to be truthful.”

He leaned back to see your face. “I want my wife to be content.”

With one step back, he broke away and saw how you moved your arms to cover yourself. It was mostly because of the cold chill that hanged in the room that you were still adjusting too.

“Fear not. I made certain the water I brought is warm.” He consoled, while undoing the belts of his jerkin.

The sight of him undressing helped warm you up rather quickly. He took the leather off, and then the shirt, placing them both near his cloak and making matters more fair. He came closer again, you met him halfway.

You weren’t going to let some cold air ruin the plans you had made. You noticed a small birthmark on his neck that you hadn’t before, and touched your fingertips to it. He studied your actions for a moment, chest rising and falling quicker, then he took hold of your hand to lead you closer to the bucket with him.

“Do you still want this?” He asked, eyes locking on yours.

You were trembling, this time with anticipation. “As much as you do.”

A spark went through his eyes, that boyish smile tugged at his lips. His breathing was uneven, as if he hoped to get just enough air to keep his lungs working. He swallowed the dryness in his throat away and reached into the bucket to grab the rag. Suddenly the wet rag was above your head and he squeezed, the water dripped down heavily onto your hair and made you flinch.

“You rotten knave!” You cursed, and tried to cover your eyes against the water. Another spark flashed through his eyes, the smack to his arm did not discourage him in the slightest.

Now that the excess water was out of the rag, he started. It was surprising to see how he took the task seriously. He began at your face, went carefully around and over your lips, making his way down your neck. That rag moved over your skin with precision and eye to detail. You felt like a book being read, letter by letter. By the time the rag was at your chest, you wanted to take it from him and discard it, too eager to grab him close.

Still, you stood very still. Even as the rag tickled down your sides, to your hipbone. He sank to his knees, moving the rag over your thighs, slowly the warm rag slipped between them and your hand flew to his shoulder for support at the contact. He was ever so patient and gentle, letting the warmth of the rag tease a little. His lips touched your abdomen lovingly brief. He rinsed the rag in the bucket and continued down to your calves, careful at the scar of the wolf’s bite. His mouth brushed over your thigh, and he gingerly held your leg.

The scent of you like this made desire hit like a kick to his stomach.

He was on his feet again, took the linen towel and began to dry your skin. For him, it was easily the perfect excuse to touch you. Then it was wrapped around your shoulders, the fabric hugging you, as well as him. The warmth of his chest heated up your back, the hotness of his breath took away the chill on your neck.

You reached behind, to cup the side of his neck while he nipped at yours. His firm grip turned you by the hips, you leaned in to kiss the small scar that sat on his chest, your hands greedily skimmed over his abdomen. Your bottom lip dragged over his skin to his collarbone, where you placed another wet kiss, not caring in the slightest if you behaved licentious. You wanted to taste him, to feel him shiver under your affections and bring him to the edge of that self-control he always had. The linen fell off your shoulders, he held you tight, touching the low of your back.

“On the… bed…” He could barely form the words through the haze he found himself in. “Get on the bed.”

It could have been an order, if it hadn’t sounded so desperate, almost pained. For a second you thought about giving a witty response, until you saw how the raw, pure, lust had overtaken the blue of his eyes. Your mouth crashed to his, tongue touching his lips. All you registered was that he had turned with you, the next second you found yourself on the bed. The chilly sheets were a great difference to the heat of his body that was already covering your own.

His knee was placed between your legs and moved so little just to create more space for himself. As his tongue searched for yours, he began to undo his trousers and soon they were discarded on the floor. Your hands didn’t know where to touch him first. His neck, his chest, the muscles of his back, you wanted to feel all of him.

His mouth slowed down as it moved across your skin, a sudden patience had taken over in him. You intended to continue what had been interrupted the previous night and reached down to palm him. He prevented your hand from getting anywhere close to his groin and pinned it down above your head.

“You will feel me soon enough.” He tsked into your ear.

You already had, his hardness had brushed against your inner thigh. His mouth moved along your collarbone, the touch of his lips increased the further down your body he went. His hand glided down the inside of your wrist and arm, and made you learn how sensitive the area truly was.

A pleasant tingling spread up your chest, to your neck, and down your shoulders. You couldn’t help the content noises and small gasps from flowing out. It only seemed to encourage him, spurring him on to flood your being with all he could give. He brought his hand down between your legs, stroking through the wetness with two fingers. He was sucking on the skin of your neck with fervor, it was a feverish mess of moans and increasingly strong need.

His hand was gripping at your hip, trying to bring you closer than you could possibly be. He was breathing hard, his thumb was circling exactly where it needed as he sank two digits inside with ease. You grasped a hold on his shoulder when he began to slide them in and out at a steady pace right away. A moan spilled out. “Oh… gods… fuck…”

He crashed his lips to yours at hearing the crude language. It still wasn’t enough to silence it when it spilled from your lips again, and the word rolled into his mouth, where it soon escaped him too. He knew then, that you couldn’t help it, and neither could he.

The knot in your core was winding itself up tightly, he was getting far too good with knowing how to work your body. It felt like such a desperate need to have all of him, but he was so focused on your sole pleasure. With the last bit of self-control you had left, you grabbed his shoulders, moving him up more. His movements halted, eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or even protest. The first thing you did was move a knee up against his hip, another push…

He read the silent request in your eyes and made you hook your leg around him, he rolled over, and by doing so got you on top of him. The pads of your fingers pressed into his chest, slightly grasping at him as your lips dove down to litter his skin with their silent confessions of love. His hands never left you, one skimmed over your torso, the other caressed your thighs and between them again.

“Oh… f-” You swallowed the curse, for a moment it brought you close to crying at the sudden pleasure it caused rippling through your bones.

He could see you shiver, feel you try to clamp your thighs together more to try and numb what he was doing.

“Does it feel that good?” He was genuinely curious.

How good must it feel for you to be moaning like this and looking close to tears? The thought that you were as desperate for him as he was for you made his mind spin.

“Uhuh.” You barely managed a nod.

Your mind and body were fighting each other when you took his hand and stopped it from bringing you to your release. He looked up a little lost, until you palmed him, positioned and brought him inside. A strong jolt went through him, his hands flew to your hips.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait.” You grinned down at him devilishly.

He was upright and locked on your lips instantly, a breath, “I don’t mind.”

You cupped his face and let him steal the air from your lungs, letting him replace it with the essence of his being. The kiss was intense, consuming you of time and place itself, for a moment nothing else existed. Your hips had moved almost by their own volition, he groaned into your mouth and drew in a sharp breath through his nose. Once they had moved, they didn’t stop their calm pace. The difference in being above him, was having more control, it was surprising how willing he was to give it. It was almost as if he was less hesitant to think of his own pleasure now that you were on top and reminding him of it. His neck was already flushed down to his chest, his skin hot beneath your palms everywhere they moved over him.

He had to break away from your lips, his breathing was heavy, he began to kiss your collarbone up to your neck and down again. The cold in the room was long forgotten, heat spread through your body and caused lightheadedness. His body started to meet your movements, and you had to hold on to his shoulders at the feeling it send into you. Your fingers laced themselves into his hair, massaging his scalp while you felt him leave a wet kiss against your throat. “I love you. I love you so, so much.”

The confession caused a strong reaction. A quiet gasp escaped him, a shiver made his whole body tremble. And then your back met the sheets again, he never even broke the contact between you. He took control again, quickly putting you under him. His hips rolled into yours, chasing what was being build together. It left your breathless, your mind a cloud.

His husky voice snaked into your ear, warm breath running over your temple. “I love everything you are, my sweetheart. Now and always.”

The lovely admission was yet to be processed, when he made another of a different sort. He said it just when he thrusted, slow and deep, “I love the way you look at me when I have my cock inside of you.”

You gasped, he grinned. This time he caught your hand before it could deliver the scolding smack to his arm, and he pinned it above your head into the mattress. His pace was beginning to quicken, as he held your hand down.

It was indescribable to be at his mercy and be rendered speechless by how good he was making it feel. Your eyes fluttered shut, head lolling back, surrendering to the feeling it was building. You felt his other hand return to tease, two fingers working together, circling and stroking until he knew where they were needed to draw the moans from you.

The urge to press your legs shut was building along with the tightening knot in your core. Your hand was finally freed, thank the gods because you needed to hold on to something as the overwhelming sensation was nearing. You held on to his arms, told him to keep going how he was going because it was just what you needed. He obliged, clearly close to his own release, but by the gods he obliged.

And then the knot in your core snapped loose. Stars exploded behind your closed eyelids, cries fled their constraints, your mind lost control over your body as the sensation coursed through your veins. He thrusted deeply once more and moaned lowly as his release hit him. The tense muscles in his arms relaxed, just like the rest of his body as it entered a state of bliss.

Shaking breaths of air filled your lungs slowly, you wrapped him in your arms, his head came down to rest on your chest after he withdrew himself. Silence enveloped you, and you listened to his slowly steadying breaths and found your own start to match. It wasn’t long before his lips trailed over your collar bone, working their way up your neck to your face. He kissed your chin before locking his mouth with yours, cupping your cheek ever so gently.

His stubble tickled your jaw. “I cannot get enough of you.”

“I can tell.” You tried to keep the giggling quiet. “You’re in luck. I cannot get enough of you either.

He gazed down into your eyes, a smile that bordered on shy curving his lips. You cupped his neck and kissed him, holding him close and hearing the content sound erupt from deep within his chest.

You broke away and bit your lip. “I think I will need that bucket and rag again.”

“And my aid?” He asked.

“That sounded hopeful.” You jested, a grin formed on your face.

He tilted his head.

The idea did sound nice. “Your help is welcome.”

His eyes squinted for a second, then the offer came. “I must admit, the effort of bathing you now could be pointless again.”

“Meaning?” You dared him to say it.

He opened his mouth to answer, but then it curved into a smirk. The answer became evident when he started kissing you again, with the same passion and fervor. Bathing would indeed be pointless, because neither of you were done for the night yet.

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It was the first time when waking up into his arms came without a certain rush to avoid being exposed as a couple. And you took your time just enjoying the earlier morning, his arm around your waist and his quiet calm breathing on the back of your neck. You turned around, facing him. He was sleeping so peacefully, some stray hairs falling over his closed eyes. It was irresistible to touch his hair, his face…

It took him quite some time to wake, it happened so calmly. A smile was forming first, his eyelids still heavy from sleep opened very slightly.

“You are not sending me out the door?” He sounded so content while stating it.

Your index finger traced the mark under his right eye. “No. We do not have to hide anymore. So, I’m enjoying my morning with you.”

He lifted himself up to sit upright, and was quick to grab you. You gasped when his first action of the morning was to kiss you so fierce.

“Gods.” You scrambled out of his grasp, giggling at how his greedy hands tried to catch you again. Almost did you fall off the bed to get away.

His eyes took you in slowly, the hunger in them appeared near instant, it took far too long before they reached your face. Your cheeks burned, and you quickly grabbed your nightgown off of the floor to cover up.

“Good morning to you too.” You grabbed the cloak hanging on the foot of the bed and tossed it in his direction.

Even when just awake, his reflexes did not fail him and he caught the cloak before it could hit him. The way you looked, bare in the morning sun, a divine vision to behold.

Lancelot put the cloak aside, laughing quietly, “My trousers.”

You watched him gesture to them and look at you inquiring. You tossed them at him next, and a laugh erupt from him in response.

“You are feisty this morning.” He commented, and saw you search your wardrobe for clothes to wear.

“If you are to be my husband, you should get used to it.” You shot him a grin.

He stood up from the bed, confident and bare, to put his trousers on. Your eyes had wandered briefly and he had caught you looking. Whatever he must have seen on your face, it had certainly stroked his ego.

He smirked. “I am going to ask Helio for your hand. Unless you object?”

You winced. “He might cut off your own for it…”

He approached while you began to put your clothes on, not to help, “Will you still wed me with one hand?”

You heard the amusement in him. “Without a doubt.”

He stole the bodice to delay you getting dressed. You stole it back after a brief struggle.

“I want to tell Percival. Before he has to hear it from others.” He said.

A smart decision. “Good plan. I do find it important that he is alright with us joining.”

He hummed in agreement. It didn’t need to be said that the boy’s opinion could potentially end this betrothal.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell my father of our plans first?” It would not be surprising if he feared a bad response.

“He would not appreciate it if I do not show the courage to tell him.” Lancelot said.

It was perhaps correct to assume that your father would react better if he knew the Ash Man showed the courage. “Alright then. Just know that I’m here for you. Whatever happens.”

Without asking, he helped you close up the bodice, often letting his fingers brush against your chest. You cupped his neck and drew him closer to kiss him.

“Get dressed, Ash Man.” You spoke against his lips, smiling.

It took him another moment to show the self-restraint and step away to do exactly that. A lifetime of mornings like these, was a beautiful prospect.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Stepping out the door of your room together did not go without a moment of awkwardness when Ser Florent walked past.

“Good morning.” The knight said to the both of you. Without a warning he leaned in and tugged at the hem of your shirt that had been stuck under the bodice, the fabric fell more neatly now.

“Uhm… thank you, Ser Florent.” You were a little amazed at how observing he was.

“You are welcome.” He said, then turned to Lancelot. “I would think you would have noticed that, considering you never stop looking at her.”

Lancelot let out a small breath, seeing how the knight was almost grinning. “Good morning, Florent. Have you seen Percival?”

He gave a nod. “I saw him run in the direction of the dining hall.”

Lancelot thanked him for the information, and before the two of you could walk off, Ser. Florent pulled your attention.

“Y/n. Colette has been speaking of you. Would you sit with her at breakfast? She would like that.” Ser Florent was asking so politely and full of hope.

You couldn’t say ‘no’ to that. “I’d love to.”

Ser Florent smiled at you, something he didn’t often do for others. Maybe the knight considered you a friend, you hoped he did. “I appreciate it. As you may have noticed Colette is quite shy, it’s good for her to have someone to converse with more often.”

You touched his arm amicably. “I look forward to getting to know her better.”

Ser Florent gave a respectful tilt of the head. “Lancelot, I was informed that I am to guide you through your duties as a knight until we know for certain that you will do well on your own. Is that alright?”

The Ash Man was a bit surprised by the news. “That sounds alright. Thank you, Florent.”

The knight bowed his head once more, and went on his way again.

“He avoids much conversation with the knights, but seems to enjoy conversing with you.” Lancelot said.

It was nice to hear it. “He’s kind. I like him.”

“As long as you like me more.” There was just a pinch of jealousy under the jest.

You sighed. “There is only one other knight you have to compete with. Don’t worry.”

His brows knitted together. “Who?”

“Squirrel.” You reminded him.

He drew a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Oh. Of course.”

“Oaf.” You said, and started to walk to the dinning hall.

He quickly caught up to walk along. And you found Squirrel not far from the dining hall indeed. Lancelot called out to the boy, beckoning him over and sharing a look with you.

“What is it?” Squirrel wondered why you were delaying getting your breakfasts.

Lancelot knelt down to the boy’s level. “Percival, I wish to tell you of my plans before others hear of it.”

The boy was more than happy to hear a ‘secret’, “What plan?”

How was it possible, that he was more nervous to tell the boy than he was to face the wrath of Helio?

“I have asked y/n to wed me.” He searched the boy’s face for any reaction, big or small.

Squirrel blinked a few times, then leaned back a little. “Have you gone mad?”

Madly in love, more like.

Squirrel looked up at you, pleading for the Ash Man. “He can be a bit daft. Please, don’t be angry with him for it-”

Lancelot narrowed his eyes at the child. “She agreed.”

Squirrel’s eyes darted between you and the Ash Man in disbelief. “What-… how?”

You snorted a laugh and turned to hide it.

Deep down, he knew the boy was just doing it to get on his nerves. It was perhaps Percival’s way of showing affection. And he could not deny that it did entertain him often.

He was patient with the witty boy. “Because she loves me, as I love her.”

Squirrel looked up at you again. “So you’re staying here right? With her, with us?”

Lancelot smiled at him, it was clear that the boy had still been worried about him staying at the fort. “Percival,” He placed a hand on his shoulder, “do not doubt your importance to me. I never wanted to part with you, or her. I am staying.”

“Won’t Helio be mad at you again?” Squirrel was concerned.

Lancelot squeezed his shoulder. “Let me worry about that.”

You knelt down too, taking hold of Squirrel’s arm “May I have your blessing for our joining?”

The boy looked at you and Lancelot, both on your knees to seek his approval. The nod from the child send a wave of relief through you and the Ash Man.

You pulled Squirrel into a tight hug. “Thank you, my Little Squirrel.”

Mirena’s voice sounded, and offered Squirrel the freedom he was trying to regain from your arms when you let go. “Such emotions so early in the morning, how come?”

Helio stood at her side, looking down at Squirrel with curiosity. You and Lancelot stood up from the ground, he held Squirrel’s shoulder and you believed it was for the unspoken support he was about to need. Mirena was smiling, blissfully unaware of the storm that threatened to come down on this peaceful morning. Squirrel seemed to sense the anxiousness in the Ash Man and stood in front of him, shielding him from Helio with his small frame.

Lancelot cleared his throat, looked at you once before locking eyes on Helio. “I asked your daughter to wed me.”

You drew in a sharp breath at the announcement. Mirena looked stunned, then her eyes went to her husband to see his reaction.

Helio’s voice was colder than frost in winter. “Did you now?”

Lancelot’s confidence wavered for only a second, he picked it back together and said, “Yes, sir.”

A chill crept up your skin when they let their stubborn nature match against each other.

“And why do you believe I would allow it?” Helio’s tone was firm.

“Helio.” Mirena tried to get him to control his flaring temper.

Lancelot tried his best to speak of it in a calm manner. “You love your daughter. You want to protect her, I respect that more than you might believe I do. Truly, I-”

Helio stepped forward and took you by the arm, “I will speak with my daughter of this. After all, it is her life and future this concerns.”

You couldn’t bring a word out and Helio walked off with you.

Two hallways of silence, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You dug your heels into the floor and made him stop. “Father. I know you are against this-”

He turned to you, grabbing you by the shoulders. “How can you be certain? Little Moon, how can you know he will not break your heart? Wait a while, if he truly loves you he will wait.”

Words failed you, you had never seen him like this. He was begging you to think about it, to wait.

“Father…” You kept calm, trying to be considered of his concerns. “Nothing is for certain, only the presence. And what I am certain of now is that he loves me, and I love him. I am certain I want to join with him.”

He pulled his hands away, composing himself, the agony in his voice remained. “When you wed, where will you live?”

Was he sending you away?!?

“I swore to Squirrel I would never abandon him, you cannot throw me out of our home!” Your voice raised a little.

Helio recoiled like it had physically struck him. “I will not discard my child!”

Relief washed away the worry. “Then why did you say that?”

“Because if I let him wed you, the Ash Man will have to consider this place his home. He is not riding off with my daughter never to return. You, and him, remain here. With us.” He pointed at the floor, making his point.

You found those terms agreeable. “I understand. I think he will agree to-”

He interrupted. “There is more.”

Oh…

Helio laid out his plans. “Listen well. I am not getting any younger. This place is all there is left of our clan. Someone should always be in charge, someone of the Dawn Folk. Ciro, bless the boy’s heart, is not suited for this task. But you are. And perhaps Lancelot is suited to stand beside you in this task with his experience. We have a duty to our people, to this court that carried the hopes of our clan. Stay here, with him, with us. Learn to rule this court from me and ensure it’s future. That is what I ask in exchange for my blessing.”

You were quiet for a while, processing what this meant. Helio’s eyes fell on something behind you and you turned just enough to see Mirena and Lancelot standing at a small distance.

Mirena pushed him forward a little by the arm. “Go…”

The Ash Man slowly approached, stopping a few steps away.

“My home is wherever she is.” Lancelot said. “If she agrees, I will be at her side and rebuilt what has been lost.”

He must have heard the terms Helio had laid out. But he had only just broken free of having to lead an army of Red Paladins, did he not wish for another life? One where responsibilities were not so heavy to bare.

“Are you sure?” You asked him, this would change the future. “Lancelot, my father is asking us to be in charge of this fort in time. Are you sure you want to do this? I will not force you into a life of duty if this isn’t what you want.”

Lancelot locked eyes with you. “I understand the choice I am making. And I understand why it must be made.” He looked around himself for a moment. “This place, it’s history, it cannot be forsaken. Your home, your heritage, you still have it. It can still be saved. How could I refuse?”

You quickly walked up to Lancelot and whispered. “You don’t have to do this just to please my father. He’s not Father Carden, he won’t-”

He silenced you by cradling your head all of a sudden. “I am not doing this for him. If this was my home, if these were my parents, my heritage… if you were asked to help rebuild what was lost of my clan, what would you do?”

You realized he was doing this not out of duty, but out of the love he had for you. It rendered you speechless.

His voice was softer. “Would you stand by my side?”

You were nodding, and quietly answered. “Always.”

He blinked, his gaze intense and full of devotion. It made you forget who watching this display.

Helio tried to sound firm, but it was audible that he couldn’t muster it. “That is settled then. Yes?”

Lancelot’s hands fell away, letting you answer the question for the both of you.

“We agree.” You faced your father.

Helio gave a nod of approval. “We will talk about this after a meal. We cannot fill our stomachs with romance.”

He walked in the direction of the dining hall again, only stopping to tell the Ash Man, “Treat her well. My legs may be getting slower, but no man can outrun an arrow.”

“Helio.” Mirena sighed.

“Father.” You scolded.

Lancelot reaction was unexpected, he smiled at him. “I swear it. Sir.”

Then Helio smacked his hand unto the Ash Man’s shoulder, and looked absolutely amused by the way he nearly jumped. “Good.”

Helio released him and walked away. Mirena was smiling at you widely.

“My Little Moon is going to have a joining.” She was delighted and came to cup your cheeks, pressing a kiss to both of them. “I cannot believe it. I still sometimes think I will see you run in here with your trousers full of mud from playing in the creek.”

You couldn’t say a word when you saw her become emotional for a moment. She was apologizing for the way her eyes were getting watery. You embraced her until it stopped.

She took a step back and looked at Lancelot. “Not many are brave enough to face my husband the way you have done now.”

Lancelot tilted his head down. “I will do what I must to stay with your daughter.”

Mirena hummed, then said, “Helio likes you. It does not appear so, but it’s true.”

He wasn’t sure on how to respond to that claim and only gave half a smile, a sign of hope.

You still wondered what her opinion on the matter was, “Father will agree to us joining. But will you?”

Her gentle eyes rested first on you, then on him. “The paladins, Father Carden, the Reaper… no one has been able to keep you apart. I believe it is your destiny to be together.”

It was true, the odds had not been in your favor, and still you and him had stood strong against it all.

“And with that in mind, I give you my blessing.” She said, then turned to Lancelot. “Although I doubt it would stop you if I didn’t.”

The Ash Man send his eyes to the floor, always surrendering to Mirena’s knowing looks.

“We should be heading for our breakfast, before young Percival takes our plates. We did send him in there alone.” She said.

You took hold of Lancelot’s arm. “Good plan.”

She gave you a secret smile and walked ahead, still she caught a glimpse of how the Ash Man leaned in and kissed your head whilst walking behind her.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Ser Florent had come to collect Lancelot right after breakfast, the knight took the task of guiding the newest knight serious. When evening came, and after you had read for Squirrel and Ciro until they fell asleep. You searched for your betrothed throughout the fort, but it was outside the curtain walls of the fort that you found him. He was sitting in the same spot as the night of the feast. You went to sit beside him as he watched the sea in the distance, the moon reflected on the water as if it was full of stars.

You sat down, not close enough to his liking because he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you against his side. His nose was in your hair, inhaling a few times. You felt his heartbeat under your palm, it quickened just before he kissed your temple. For a while nothing was said, you held his arm around your waist.

“That was your way of asking my father for my hand?” You broke the silence and snorted a laugh at the memory of the moment.

He was chuckling. “It is harder to say ‘no’ to a statement, than to a question.”

Your shoulder bumped into his. “Oh, you think you’re so clever.”

“It worked.” He protested.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, fingers playing with the leather straps across his chest. “We’ll be ruling over this place someday. I don’t know if I’ll be ready when that day comes.”

He brought a hand up to massage the back of your neck. “Everything will be alright. You are far stronger than you might think. I’ve seen it. And if there are matters you cannot handle, I shall take care of those. We will do as we have been doing, work together.”

You nodded, it was hard not to think too much of the future and get anxious over things that didn’t even happen yet.

His hand was brushing over your abdomen. “A warm day of spring was a good idea from Mirena to choose for the joining.”

It also offered your father what he so wanted, some time to get used to the idea.

“By then, everyone will have processed the news.” You hoped.

He hummed. “And Helio might be less inclined to chase me with that crossbow again.”

A small laugh escaped you, before you could stop it. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you think he would ever left me borrow it?” He sounded like he was already dreaming of it.

“I would wait to ask him that.” You said. “For at least a year. Don’t tempt him too much.”

He chuckled. “I suppose you are right.”

You couldn’t stop grinning. “You already have his daughter. Don’t try to take his weapon too.”

His chuckle turned into a laugh. He pulled you closer again, moving some of his cloak over your form as well. It was a pleasant way to sit together like this.

His nose touched your temple, “The last time I tried to kiss you here, you turned away from me.” He recalled the moment he regretted. It often still caused him shame.

You lifted your head, your own nose almost touching his. “I don’t think I would have turned away if you hadn’t be drunk.”

That certainly surprised him. “No?”

You shook your head. “You are hard to resist.”

He tugged at your waist, smirking. “Then don’t.”

His hand came up to your face and his fingertips glided down over your cheek, he repeated the caress with the back of his fingers. You followed that advice and brushed your lips to his, and broke away two seconds later.

His hand was on the back of your neck quickly, a smug smirk dancing on his lips, “Think you can get away so easily?”

You furrowed your brows until his mouth collided to yours, a silent scolding for denying him what you were so eager to give. When his hand on your waist accidentally made you ticklish, your giggle made your lips break free.

He couldn’t stop gazing at the way you smiled.

“I need you with me. Always.” The confession fell from your lips so effortlessly.

Raw emotion flashed through his eyes, intensifying them so much that it was hard not to look away.

“My sweetheart…” He whispered, quietly.

Your lips reconnected and refused to part for the night.

The Hidden had been persistent since the day you met him, and now you were grateful for it. They had brought you together.

Two summoners, chosen by the gods themselves.

Two lovers, chosen by free will.

Two lives, to spend together as one.

And a love that was written down in a book on matters of the heart, to be read and spoken off for centuries to come.

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#the weeping monk #weeping monk x you #lancelot x reader #weeping monk x reader #cursed #cursed netflix #weeping monk #cursed lancelot #lancelot #the weeping monk x reader

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freakystrashdump · 10 months

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🔮The Oracle Bakery🔮

Emperor Belos|Phillip Wittebane/OC

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, Belos is a content warning by himself

Read on AO3

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Chapter 16: Forget-me-not meringues

Hunter had felt like, perhaps, that lying on the cold, hard earth, waiting for death to claim him, would have been an easier option. As opposed to, well, being forced to come face to face with the woman he was so horrible towards, all the while she was nothing short of kind to him in return.

And yes, by now he was seriously considering the scenario where Selena Fortuna was, truthfully and honestly, nice to him, with no nefarious reasoning behind her actions.

He heard it in passing last night: Steve, her assigned guard, was muttering to himself about how much it sucked that this all happened “Just as they stopped fighting over you- oh crap, I shouldn’t have said that”, before nervously bidding his farewell to the young royal and making his exit without giving Hunter the chance to stop him.

What did he mean by fighting over him?

As if the guilt hadn’t been enough, eating at him from the second he knocked that cake out of the baker’s hands. Now it was hitting critical mass with the knowledge that she was poisoned and was in critical condition. And it happened whilst she was protecting the Emperor.

That was his job, damn it. If someone was to get hurt, then it should have been…

And as he paced nervously in front of the Emperor’s chambers last night, waiting desperately for any news, he felt even worse as the oppressing, hostile aura emanating from Magnus, Selena’s uncle, weighed on Hunter like a bag of bricks.

And here Hunter thought his uncle was intimidating.

So, as he made his way back to Belos’ chambers, having received a summon from Hettie, Hunter once more considered the option of maybe just waiting for death to come and take him.

He didn’t do it, of course, but he considered it.

Arriving at the doors of the Emperor's chambers, the first thing that Hunter had noticed was that the terrifying presence of Magnus was missing - thank the Titan. One less stress to add to this entire fiasco. The young prince stood in front of the doors, picking dust off of his uniform and smoothing out any wrinkles, buying himself more time to gather up his courage. With one last adjustment to his mask to make sure it was on straight, Hunter breathed in deeply and knocked on the Emperor's doors.

“Come in.”

Well. Might as well get this over with, as it can’t get any worse. Decisively, Hunter opened the doors and stepped inside. To his surprise, he found his Uncle not in his empirical robes - Belos sat on one of the sofas, dressed casually, leisurely, though his mask was still on. It made Hunter wonder if someone else was there.

“You called for me, uncle?”

Belos looked at him pointedly, the hollow eyes of his mask making Hunter shudder "Ah, Hunter. You came quickly." He spoke absent-mindedly, letting his elbows rest on his knees and lacing his fingers together to make a place for him to lean his chin on "The Fortuna is going to be making a full recovery." He informed courtly "She is in my bedchambers as we speak, along with her uncle. They are currently informing her family of her health."

The relief Hunter felt upon hearing this news was instant. “I am…” he hesitated as he felt his chest constrict, fighting the tornado of emotions inside “...incredibly relieved to hear that, uncle.”

There was a heavy pause in conversation between them, Belos staring the boy down, mulling over his words.

Hunter felt himself break into cold sweat.

After a moment that lasted far too long, Belos spoke again “I have been meaning to ask you, Hunter.” he started as he rose to his feet, beginning to slowly close the distance between the two of them “During the night, Selena and I spoke, has something… transpired between you two?” he stopped in front of Hunter “From what I heard, the girl is under the impression that, ah how to put it, ah yes. That you hate her.” he tilted his head slightly towards him “Poor thing seemed so very hurt by the prospect.”

Hunter swallowed hard, yet he remained silent.

“Such a shame.” Belos tutted “I have tried my best not to mix you up in all of this, you understand. But, alas.” he sighed, disappointment oozing out of him “I knew you weren’t fond of her, so I tried sparing both of your feelings. But, bleeding heart that she is, Selena insisted on treating you every time she visited.” there was a flash of blue under the mask, brief but threatening “We even fought over her stubbornness as she went explicitly against my wishes to leave you be. Unfortunate as it was.”

As if the guilt hadn't weighed on him heavily already.

The boy swallowed thickly, feeling nausea wash over him "So… it is true." He muttered to himself, gaze focused at the floor "She wasn't… she wasn't malicious..."

"Hmm?” He heard Belos through the brain fog of his own thoughts ”I couldn't hear you, Hunter, do stop mumbling to yourself."

Hunter shook his head, clearing it of rushing thoughts “I do not-” he cut himself off, opting not to go on the defence immediately “It’s true, uncle. I was… less than courteous to Miss Fortuna the last time I saw her.” he let out a shaky breath, not sure how he managed to keep his voice from breaking “That may be where she had… gotten that impression.” he looked up at Belos with eyes wide in mild panic “And I feel horrible about it! Especially now! I- I don’t know how to make it better, I-”

“Have you tried apologising?” Belos cut off his rant, successfully de-escalating the boy's rampant thoughts “From our talk, I am certain she holds no ill will towards you. An honest apology for your actions may do wonders.”

The suggestion made Hunter grimace under the mask “I’m not sure-” he started, uncertain, but straightened out when he felt Belos place his hand on his shoulder.

“It’s a start.” he persisted “And if you do it honestly - and from your heart - I'm sure she will accept it.”

Hunter felt heavy under his uncle's gaze and he looked away, taking the time to let his words settle in his head. Just an apology? Hunter scoffed, what good will that do? He thought bitterly, the image of the woman’s face welling up with tears etched into his mind at this point, haunting him with guilt every time he closed his eyes. The anxiety laid heavy in his throat, like a stone he couldn’t fully swallow. It almost felt as bad as the disappointment he could sometimes see in his uncle’s eyes as he failed him yet again.

But, he tried to reason, if Belos insisted that an apology would be enough, then who was he to doubt him. Afterall, Hunter has dealt with worse before - so what is a little apology in comparison?

There was the sound of laughter which, surprisingly enough, came from Belos’ bedroom, catching Hunter by surprise. Seeing the boy's head snap in that direction, Belos chuckled “Ah, it seems her family is in good spirits, now that she’s recovered.” he said, turning away from Hunter to go and sit back on the sofa. Hunter followed after him diligently “Now, I wonder. Do you remember what I’ve told you about the Fortunas, Hunter?”

The boy stood obediently by his side “Yes, uncle.” he said, staring straight ahead as he thought back “The Fortuna’s are one of the strongest and most influential clans of oracles in the Boiling Isles, going back generations, even before the implementation of the Coven System.” he recited in a way where it was obvious that this was something he had heard repeated a hundred times before “Their current matriarch is one of the first to receive a sigil, and she was also one of the biggest turning points when it came to getting public approval in implementing the system itself.”

“Correct. You remember well.” Belos praised him, and Hunter felt his chest swell with joy “It was Madame Isabella Fortuna, I know her well.” he filled in what the boy missed and sighed as nostalgia washed over him “Ah. Madame Isabella. How she hated my proposition for the coven system. But - she cared for her family more .”

Hunter’s head snapped to stare at his uncle in shock.

“The Fortunas have always put the needs of their kin above the needs of the rest.” Belos chuckled, “And that is exactly why they still remain one of my most loyal allies.”

“But…” Hunter hesitated “...you just said-”

“That Isabella opposed me every step of the way as the messenger of the Titan? That she hated the sigils, despite being one of the first to receive one?” Belos laughed softly to himself “Oh, that much is certain. But, Isabella had given her full public support to every decree I’ve ever made, and remained loyal to my rule, all for one simple promise on my part.” Hunter could hear the smile he wore under the mask “Every Fortuna that bows to the Emperor’s crown will always be kept safe under my rule.”

Belos straightened in his seat and turned to Hunter, before continuing “And that is an important lesson for you to learn, Hunter.” he said matter-of-factly “Every person has a price on their loyalty, and you should always put extra care into finding what that price is, especially for those who wish to oppose you.” he tilted his head slightly downwards as he gave Hunter a knowing look behind the mask “Your worst enemy can easily be turned into your fiercest ally, as long as you know what their loyalty costs.”

Hunter let his words settle slowly, carefully, picking them apart inside his head.

The Fortuna family was one he had known of his entire life, even crossing paths with them - with how involved Belos was with them. Magnus, in particular, was a familiar face in the palace, and Hunter had crossed paths with the matriarch as well - an older woman with eyes of fire. The fact that Belos himself regarded them so highly made this confession all the more surprising: that their loyalty had not always been one inclined to his Titan-bestowed rule. That Isabella herself opposed him.

That is, until she didn’t.

Until she became a key figure in popularising the, at the time controversial, coven system. Isabella Fortuna's staunch support during this time became an open secret nowadays, in a way, after most of the main family became more recluse, and sources on what happened half a century ago became lost.

People forget fast, afterall.

But Hunter did not. Even if these events all happened way before his time, Belos never let him forget - he seemed way too pleased, way too giddy whenever the topic of the Fortunas would get brought up in any way, shape, or form. Like he was savouring every single moment of their undying support.

Perhaps he enjoyed the irony of it? Who's to say.

Hunter’s attention, however, was soon stolen away, as the door to Belos’ bedchambers opened. For a brief moment, the sound of laughter was louder, and joyful conversation reached his ears. Magnus stood by the now open door as he continued to speak to the woman inside “I’ll be waiting patiently to take you home, then.” the older man spoke in a tone Hunter had never heard come from him before. Not in all the years he’d seen him shadowing Osran.

Soft and loving. Happy.

Hunter didn’t know he could do that.

As soon as Magnus closed the doors behind him, it was an instant change in demeanour. The cheerful facade dropped, and Hunter had to stop himself from buckling under the aggressive energy emanating from the man.

Yeah, that was more familiar of what he knew of the Fortuna.

“Emperor.” Magnus acknowledged, now in full business mode “Golden Guard.”

“Magnus.” Belos nodded back “From what I could hear, I trust she is in good spirits, yes?”

Hunter could not help but notice the man's lips twitch, just barely, into a deeper scowl "My dearest niece is doing well, my lord." He let out, voice even and contained "And it is all thanks to the expert care you have provided." Magnus bowed his head as he continued "You have my gratitude, my lord, as well as the gratitude of my entire family. Truly we are in your debt."

"There is no need for that. After all, I have grown to cherish your niece dearly - making sure no harm comes to her is the least I can do."

The glee behind his words was more than obvious, Hunter noted. Bubbling just under the surface.

"Of course, Emperor." Magnus answered courtly, then grimaced for a short moment, before schooling his expression back "And I do apologise if I was at any point short with you during these past critical hours. Emotions were high, and I let them overtake me despite knowing better."

Belos got up from his seat, hands placed neatly behind his back as he casually walked past the sofa and to the Fortuna prodigy "Worry muddles even the most rational of minds." He placed a hand on his shoulder, tilting his head before he continued "Do not dwell on it, as I have not taken any offence." Belos removed his hand from Magnus’ shoulder and placed it behind his back once more "Now." He started cheerfully "Feel free to go back to your duties. I shall call for you when Selena is ready to go home."

Magnus gave a curt bow of his head, hand to his heart, and made a swift exit.

It was a full minute of uneasy silence before Belos spoke again, as if waiting to make sure the man left fully out of earshot. "See how easily even the most brutish of witches can be tamed, Hunter?" Belos hummed in a low tone "As long as you know their price."

"Yes, uncle."

Belos chuckled softly, amused "Now, let's check up on our little hero, shall we?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

With a knock, and not waiting for a proper response, either, Belos let himself - and Hunter - into his bedchambers.

Hunter could not pinpoint the weird feeling of seeing… well, anyone , really, occupying his uncle's bed, let alone in such a state. Sure, Hunter reasoned, she was in there to receive care, no other reason. But he had never seen anyone enter his uncle's bedchambers, ever . And - Wait, was that his uncle's sleep shirt?! Thank the Titan for his mask being in place, because Hunter couldn't stop the cringing grimace he made.

It felt similar to the feeling of realising your parents were intimate together. Even though they weren't his parents, and they for sure were not intimate in any sense of the word.

"Emperor, Hunt- Golden Guard, it's a pleasure to see you." Selena quickly corrected herself, all the while smiling brightly at the two "Thank you for giving my uncle and I a moment of privacy, my lord."

"Miss Fortuna!" Hunter jumped in, nerves getting the best of him. "I, uh, I'm glad to see you in good health, ma'am." Hunter spoke formally, back straight and head held high.

"T-thank you, Golden Guard." Selena was sincere, if a bit nervous. Still wary of accidentally stepping on his toes like she did before - she did not want to address the boy too casually, lest he got angry with her again.

"I hope you don't mind-" the two turned their attention to Belos, feeling thankful for his interruption and breaking up the weird, awkward air between them "-but Hunter was incredibly worried last night, I just had to let him see you."

Using his name in front of her, on purpose, and not sounding angry whilst doing so? Selena raised an eyebrow, feeling as if something had changed, but wasn't quite sure what .

"Oh, no, no I don't mind, not at all. I'm touched, actually, that you were worried, Golden Guard." Selena's lips twitched upwards, giving a lopsided smile. Hunter just nodded, not sure what to say.

"I knew you wouldn't." Belos sounded smug as he said that. "Ah, and I believe you had something you wished to tell our guest, if I'm not mistaken?" He pushed, one hand placed on Hunter's back "Isn't that right, Hunter?"

Hunter looked up at his uncle, nodding, and turned to Selena once more. He cleared his throat and placed one hand behind his back, the other clenched in a fist on his chest "Thank you for protecting the Emperor, miss Fortuna. Your acts of heroism are an inspiration to me and my entire coven."

Selena blinked owlishly as he gave her a short bow "Your coven...oh, oh right, you're now the head of the Emperors Coven!" No wonder he always seemed to be stressed, with the weight his uncle put on him. A coven head, at his age? "And, uh, you're welcome, Golden Guard. I like to think I've done what anyone else would do, if put in my place, so don't dwell on it too much, haha."

Please. Don't dwell on it too much.

As Hunter stood there, Belos by his side, his hands fidgeted - fingers flexing anxiously as he tried to form words. He practised them! He really did, thinking of any and every possible way to put his thoughts in order and to speak to her as soon as she was better. But now, he was pulling up blanks, which in return made him all the more nervous.

The hand on his back put a little more pressure "Ahem." Belos chimed in "Are you sure that's all you wanted to say?"

"I, uh, no, there was… there was more." Hunter stumbled over his words "Miss Fortuna, I-" his uncle clearing his throat again took Hunter's attention and he looked up at him. The man very casually brought up his free hand close to his own face, and with one finger rapped gently on the mask twice. A clear sign that Hunter was quick to react to "Oh right." He fumbled a bit, posture relaxing as he did, and brought his hands up to his head. In one swift move, his mask was off, revealing a pair of crimson eyes and a nervous, gap toothed nervous smile.

Selena's hand flew to her lips on instinct to muffle the gasp that escaped her.

"I wanted to-"

Hunter started on his speech which he has repeated so many times to himself the eve before, but was quickly interrupted. The woman on the bed was scrambling out of the sheets - she sat upon her knees at the edge of the bed, pulling on the long men's sleep shirt she wore to cover her legs as much as she could, and grabbed her glasses from the night table, putting them on.

"Goodness, Darius wasn't kidding when he called you little prince , look at you!" She started, giddy beyond belief "Come here, closer , I gotta take a good look at you!" She made grabby hands, beckoning him over, all the prim and guarded air around her from seconds ago gone.

Hunter, rightfully so, seemed nervous, eyes flying up to Belos for a hint, anything , on what he should do. Maybe even hoping he'd get him out of this all together, but alas, Belos simply tilted his head in a "well go on" gesture, and pushed on his back before withdrawing his hand fully. So there was not much he could do apart from obeying the awaiting woman, crossing the room until he stood a foot away from the bed.

He saw the oracle's eyes sparkle, comically so "Oh, now I get why you wear the mask - if you didn't you'd have to beat the teenage population of the Boiling Isles away from you with a stick!" She joked, giggling to herself.

"Why…would I beat up teenagers?" Hunter asked so truthfully, it almost hurt

"Wha- Hunter, I'm not saying literally , I'm calling you handsome !" Selena was somewhat taken aback by his response, but laughed either way, finding it endearing "Haven’t you ever received a compliment before?" Behind him, Hunter heard his uncle stifle a laugh. Selena frowned as she looked over his shoulder. She twisted her lips, before they widened into a smirk, eyes sparkling for a brief second.

"Is that why your uncle hides behind a mask as well?"

Belos immediately broke his laugh with a cough, turning quiet at that comment. And in return, Selena's face beamed with pride and mischief, before turning her attention back to Hunter.

"You…think I'm handsome?" The boy blushed, hand smoothing his hair back nervously as he did.

"Look at you! Fair hair, striking eyes, such royal features! Witches your age dream about boys like you, for sure!" She assured him. The little smile growing on Hunter's face was the sweetest thing Selena had seen all week. It was always sad to her, just how little boys got praised in such a way: given compliments, called pretty, when they were so hungry for them.

Every single person likes being called pretty, it doesn't matter who or what they are.

The little bashful smile didn't last long, as Hunter seemed to have gathered his wits and shook his head, trying to concentrate and get back on track "Wait, wait, wait, stop ! That's not why I wanted to see you! Stop doing that!"

"Stop doing what?"

"That!" He huffed, annoyed "You - interrupting me! You- keep breaking my train of thought!"

"Oh!" Selena put a hand to her lips, faux aghast "Okay, okay, I'll stop, go ahead please." She sat more properly, placing her hands on her knees and straightening her back, looking poignantly at the boy. She gave him a little nod and put on the most serious face she could muster.

Finally, Hunter thought, and cleared his throat "Miss Fortuna. I want to apologise for my behaviour when we last met. It was unbecoming of me, both as the heir to the throne and as the head of the Emperor's coven. You did nothing to deserve such horrid treatment, and I hope you can forgive me." He bowed his head low, waiting for her response.

But, for some reason, he got… none . Nothing, except silence. And it was starting to make him nervous. Slowly, just enough so he could see her expression, he lifted his head, peering through one eye, only to snap his head completely up, fully in shock, once he caught a glimpse of her face. The Oracle in front of him was absolutely giddy. Her hands were clasped together in front of her face, palm to palm, and then there was her smile - so wide it looked like it hurt her cheeks from the strain. Her eyes were wide and sparkling, with little tiny tears in the corners. And, all the while, she kept making the weirdest, high pitched noise, rising in pitch the longer it went.

What…what in the world…?

"You even sound like a prince!" Selena finally let out, albeit too loudly and high pitched. She squeezed her hands into fists, which in return started shaking with excitement, all the while bouncing up and down on the bed "Oh, oh I'm doing it again, aren't I?" She sounded apologetic, even though her face didn't quite show it. "I'm so sorry, I can't help myself, you're such a sweet young man!"

At this point, Hunter was sure his face was red from how hot it felt. He couldn't even tell for sure if he was embarrassed, or flattered, or annoyed, or maybe all three - he didn't often deal with people complimenting him. With people… being so nice .

"You're, uh, not mad at me?" He let out, meekly. The tone of his voice seemed to have finally put an end to Selena's bubbly outburst.

"I mean, I was more distraught than mad." Selena cleared her throat, chasing away the former high "The last thing I wanted to do was upset you, and that ended up being exactly what I did. So that didn't…feel good." Her eyes fluttered behind him briefly "Especially since the Emperor warned me not to be so pushy with you, and I insisted I knew better." She let out a nervous laugh "If anything, I should be the one apologising to you both."

The young royal was about to tell her there was no need for an apology on her part, he just wanted this entire thing to be over and to make sure she didn't hate him. Even though, he thought, she had every right to. However, he was startled into silence by his uncle, who somehow managed to sneak up on them both without either noticing.

"Oh, there is no need for that, Selena." Belos spoke as he passed him, going straight to sit on the edge of the bed, right next to the oracle. Her shoulders tensed as he placed a hand against her cheek, turning her face towards him "Despite your… lapse of judgement, I cannot hold it against you, as I know it came from a heart full of compassion." His fingers moved, pushing stray hairs behind her ear "Naive as it is, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately." She muttered under her breath, half-heartedly. The feeling of fingers pushing harder behind her ear, however, made her elicit a small hiss through her nose.

A warning, for getting too cheeky in her responses.

"I do admire the love you hold for all the children of the Isles." Belos continued, like his nails weren't currently leaving indents in her skin "But it is a tedious thing, I admit, having to make sure no one takes advantage of such childlike naivete." The pressure finally lessened, and Selena's eyes twitched as she felt the nails unstick from the flesh they were pressing into "Do be careful of lesser men, will you?"

The way Belos gently, just barely, tilted his head to the side, adjacent shoulder rising up as he did, it felt incredibly mocking - condescending.

"Of course, Emperor." Selena did her best to smile back, biting her tongue "I will try my best. As you should as well, not to mistake my compassion with naiveté, that is" She added in cheekily "Though, compared to you, any man is a lesser man. Who can measure up to the messenger of the Titan, afterall."

Belos exhaled loudly through his nose in a barely stifled laugh. And if she could see his face, Selena would have been greeted by the most smug, annoying smirk ever to grace a witches face, a clear show that what he thought about that statement of hers was "Yes, exactly. So do not trust other men but me."

"Now, don't be cheeky." He answered instead, hand moving back to her cheek, giving it a gentle pinch as he did. He gave her head a tiny shake, as if she were a child being greeted by aunts they see twice a year. As soon as he let go, Selena's hand flew up to her face, cheeks puffing up in an indignant pout, as she proceeded to rub the (not really) sore spot.

What a cute expression, Belos thought, it reminded him of a feral little kitten trying to look big and scary.

The two had their attention taken away from each other when Hunter - still awkwardly standing next to them - let out a nervous cough. Selena was the first one to gain her composure, smiling widely at him, as if nothing happened just seconds before "In any case, Hunter! Thank you for apologising." She exclaimed brightly, " I'm happy to know there is no ill will between us."

"Of course not, miss Fortuna." Hunter was quick to respond, head still spinning from watching the two interact so … casually? More importantly, seeing Belos , of all people, interact with someone so casually. All he saw was friendly banter, of course, not the threat behind the Emperor's touch, and it felt wildly unnatural to witness.

Like he was intruding on something intimate.

Hunter saw how Belos eyed him carefully. "If the worries you have carried from last night have been lifted, Hunter, then you're free to go back to your duties." He gestured to the woman next to him "Our miss Selena here needs to rest as much as possible before Hettie dismisses her from our care, you see."

"Oh, there is no need to send him away." Selena quickly interrupted, eyes flying between Belos and Hunter. She felt more confident, somehow safer , when not alone with Belos. So, going by what she knew of him so far, and desperate enough to attempt such a thing again, she pushed a little further, covering the Emperor's hand with her own "If he wishes to stay, he should feel free to do so, don't you agree, my lord?"

And it seemed to work, at least she thought it did. She felt the man next to her freeze up, if just for a brief moment, as her hand gently covered his own, palm so small compared to his. Selena gave him a hopeful look, hoping it would aid in breaking his determination.

It took longer than usual for Belos to answer her.

"Hunter has his duties to think of, both as the Golden Guard and a coven head." Belos started slowly, building up his resolve "I am afraid he really can't stay long." He turned back to Hunter, staring him down "Isn't that right, Hunter?"

And the boy's reaction was instant obedience, just like Selena had seen many times before "Emperor Belos is right, miss Fortuna. I have my duties to attend to."

Oh so close, but she was afraid to push his good graces further. Selena tried her best to not purse her lips in disappointment "Of course, I understand."

With one last bow, and with his heart feeling lighter than a feather, Hunter bid his goodbye to the two, leaving the room in a swift manner. He took the mask he held in his hands and secured it back in place, jumping back into his Golden Guard persona.

And as he did finally leave, Selena let out a deep sigh. While the boy felt lighter than a feather as his guilt alleviated, she, in fact, did not.

Especially not while she was stuck alone with him .

"Don't sound so disappointed." Belos chimed in "Am I such bad company that you do not wish to be alone with me?" He teased - very brazenly so, in fact.

The way her entire face lit up red in a matter of seconds was comical to behold "Wha- no! I'd never- I never said that, Emperor!" The woman stuttered as her voice reached entirely new heights in its pitch. And as soon as she did, Belos broke into a laugh, pleased to have caused the exact reaction he wanted from her "Mean! That was mean of you, Emperor!" Selena let out a whine, as it didn't take her long to figure out that he was intentionally making her fumble over herself.

It was instinctual, the way she hit his shoulder with her open palm. Afterall, she was the youngest of three, and used to being (lovingly) teased and fighting back when it did happen - in the same loving way, of course. And being the youngest, even she was aware that she was more spoiled than her older siblings, so it wasn't a rare occasion that her bratty side would come out.

But it usually came out with people she was close to, who she was friendly with.

Not with the man who, if he knew who she truly was, would want her dead - or worse .

Selena caught herself only after her palm made contact with the Emperor's arm - not a hard hit by any means, but to her it felt like it burned the second she had done it. She gasped as the mortification hit her all at once, struggling to decide whether to soothe the place she hit, or get as far away from him as possible, that she just remained rooted in place instead, so paralysed by horror, that she didn't even notice that Belos barely even registered what she had done.

"Oh, Titan below, I am so sorry, I didn't - I mean I, I don't-"

Belos, laughter still in his throat, turned to look at her "What ever do you mean?"

"I- I just - my lord, I was - I didn't mean to hit you, I forgot myself-"

"Goodness, Selena dear, you're working yourself into a tizzy." His laugh had subsided into a chuckle "Weren't you the one who broached the subject of us being friends first?"

Selena was caught off guard by that. She was , wasn't she? When she asked for his favour in dealing with Odalia Blight, that's when she officially marked their relationship a friendship. "I suppose I was, my lord."

With both hands, Belos took hold of her face, squishing her cheeks together "Then what is this all about, Selena?" He chastised playfully, his face very close to hers "If we are to be friends, you can't be having a panic attack whenever you behave friendly towards me, hmm?" He chuckled. His eyes were in clear view, Selena noted, the smiling crinkles in the corner of his eyes and the deep blue shining even in the shadows of his mask, making her head spin "Why, how do you think that makes me feel, having to walk on eggshells around you all the time?"

Selena quickly looked to the side, suddenly feeling ashamed. "Not… good, I suppose."

"Not good indeed." Belos sighed "Promise you will try for me?"

"Yes, Emperor Belos."

She heard him exhale through his nose in a small laugh "That is what I like to hear.” Belos spoke, pleased as one can be, and reached over to the night table adjacent to the bed. “Now, I have been thinking of ways to make sure both you and I stay safe in the face of current events.” He opened the drawer, taking out a box that comfortably fit in his open palm. “I wanted to assign guards to watch you, to make sure you are safe. However, perhaps this needs a more… subtle approach.-'' he presented the box to the oracle, opening it for her to see inside.

Selena felt cold sweat wash over her instantly, goosebumps running down her spine.

Bad news . Real bad news .

The oracle sixth sense never slept. Not really. And the moment Selena saw the rose gold brooch, shaped like a blooming carnation, it instantly sent off blaring alarms in her head.

Her throat felt dry as she struggled to speak “Ah, well…” she paused, trying her best not to grimace “Hmm, that's a very pretty brooch, how… how exactly would it work?”

Belos placed the box on his lap, taking the brooch out and holding it up to let her have a closer look. “Nothing too complex, it carries a magical insignia embedded inside of it.” He moved closer, making Selena freeze as his adept fingers attached the brooch to the men's shirt she wore. To her left side, above her breast “And when it is in contact with a specific wearer, the insignia will let off a unique energy - one which I can effortlessly recognise.”

The moment the pin was safely in place, Selena could feel exactly what he described. She could sense the hum of magic coming from the brooch, it felt like it was calibrating to her own magic.

She hoped to Titan that it wouldn't see past her removable sigil.

“There we go.” Belos purred, pleased. With his right hand, he pressed his middle and forefinger, now glowing red, to the carnation, his magic seeping into it as he did.

And Selena felt the calibration lock into place, now replaced by a steady, unique magical aura. She let her fingers gingerly graze over the petals.

“Did- did it work?” Selena asked, looking down to inspect the jewellery piece.

“Like a charm.” He answered, satisfied.

That only made her feel more uneasy. She couldn't wait to say take the damned thing off.

“Do… you like carnations, Emperor?” She tried switching the subject, hoping to lessen her unease.

“They are… satisfactory, as far as flowers go.”

Selena licked her lips nervously before continuing “Did you know, pink carnations mean that one will not forget you?” She blabbered absentmindedly “You know, since this is rose gold and all.”

“Ah, the language of flowers.” Belos chimed in, almost too gleeful “Hmm, is that so? I must say, I'm not well versed in this specific art.”

“It's somewhat old and forgotten, though some knowledge of it still remains, especially in potion making.” Selena remained focused on the brooch “I had a phase when I was younger, thinking I was so smart, when I learned a lot about it and wanted to send secret messages. Turns out it's not effective when the one receiving flowers does not know the meaning.”

Belos chuckled, “Yes, I see how that could pose a problem.” He continued “So, giving a pink carnation would signify that I will never forget you, then?”

“Y-yes, that is correct.”

“Well then, I suppose the gift fits perfectly then, in more ways than one.”

The oracle felt her entire face warm up, and quickly turned away from him in an attempt to hide it “W-well, it's a good thing you hadn't picked just gold then. Yellow carnations mean rejection and disappointment.” she let out a nervous laugh “Wouldn't that be something, haha~”

“Hmm, if that were the case, I'd have had the entire thing remade.”

Selena paused, somehow that statement made her mind go blank. That was sweet. Why was that sweet?! Worst of all, why did she consider it as such, because even if it was objectively a sweet sentiment, she of all people should not have considered it to be one. Not from him. Not towards her.

So why did it make her heart skip a beat for just a single, solitary second?

Her hands were shaking as they reached for the brooch, jaw clenched tight as she struggled to take it off. “I'll make sure to wear it whenever I come to visit, then.” She let out with all the niceness she could physically muster, feeling instant relief when she finally unclasped the damned thing “But for now, it'd be a shame for something to happen to it, don't you agree?” she took hold of his hand which held the jewellery box, bringing it closer to her. Forcing the shakes off, she managed to place the brooch back into the velvet box, gently pushing the Emperor's hand back to him.

“Please, don't let me forget to take it when I leave?” She asked sweetly, letting her thumb trace a pattern into the back of Belos’ hand “I'd hate to leave such a thoughtful gift behind.”

And it seemed that this time, at least, her charm worked, as Belos’ posture seemed to relax, and without objecting he placed the jewellery box back on the night table. Turning back, he mirrored her actions from before, his hand covering hers as his thumb pressed softly into her wrist, feeling her heartbeat.

“Of course, Selena. I'll make sure you remember.”

#the owl house #the oracle bakery #philip wittebane #philip wittebane x oc #emperor belos #emperor belos x oc #fanfiction #reader insert #self insert

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sakurangelic · 1 year

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Love Fool (3/?)

pairing: student!minho x student!gn!reader feat. student!seungmin and student!jeongin genre: enemies to lovers combined with school au summary: Lee Y/N is the new student of the MAXIDENT university. Though, it seems like Y/N gets in some trouble with the popular guy, Lee Minho, right in the first day. Do they grow to hate each other or... love each other? warnings: swearing word count: 2.7k words (2,721) a/n: make sure to read the other parts if you haven't done so! i was originally planning to write more than this, but i ran out of ideas TT 1 | 2 | 3

The busy halls, chattering echoing in the school, loud walking steps, and random laughter's here and there were something you needed to get used to hearing only at 7am for the next few years. You really couldn't understand how some people had this amount of energy at this time… You felt like a walking zombie compared to them, feeling like you could fall asleep at any time. Getting used to the time zone was still a struggle, and… let's just say you stood up till 3am to complete your first assignments after realising at 12am while scrolling through your phone that you didn't even start them in the first place. Maybe you should've paid closer attention to what Seungmin sent, and this wouldn't have happened. Rookie mistakes.

Despite the fact that you also felt like you were going to get lost in this hallway at any time, you somehow made your way to your locker. Opening it, it was still something simple, only having your schedule and books in it, just because you didn't get the chance to make it look pretty. As you were studying your schedule for today, you were thinking of the endless ideas of how you could make your locker look pretty, just like everyone else's. You could pick up so much inspiration from some, combine them, and adjust it to your liking…

"What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?", a familiar voice cursed and aggressively shut the locker.

You rubbed your eyes and looked to your left to meet Minho's angry face. Oh, great. This is the last thing you needed. Start your day with an angry Minho, who probably found another dumb reason to get mad at you. "Huh? What is it this time?", you slurred as you yawned.

"Don't play dumb. You know exactly what you did." His left hand that shut the locker was now clenching into a fist, looking at you with a burning passion of hatred and anger. What happened this time, and why did it make him so mad?

"I barely got sleep last night, so it's funny to expect me to remember what I 'did' that got you boiling at 7am", I answered and opened my locker again, only for it to get shut by Minho again. I got startled by it and looked to my right and crossed my arms. "Okay, okay, jeez…"

You didn't want to make eye contact with him because you felt awkward about how you kept getting stuck in these situations with him. Why does this have to happen to you? All because you bumped into him when he wasn't the one who was watching where he was going? Do you have to pay for this by getting picked on for the rest of your life? Maybe you were being a bit dramatic, because he could get bored of you after a week and you'd be just fine. That's at least what you hoped to happen, and try to see this situation in a positive light. Maybe it will, just not in the way you think.

Minho wanted to yell and curse at you, but he just couldn't. All he was doing was standing there with his left fist, having the same angered gaze on you. It drove him insane that whenever he saw that birthmark of yours, it would remind him of a certain someone. He couldn't get his head around it. Who were you truly, and why would you haunt him with these flashbacks? Maybe he didn't hate you, but what was happening to him whenever you did something so similar to that someone that… reminded him of that someone?

"Hyung! C'mon!", a tall man with a mullet and plump lips called out for Minho. Next to that man stood another one that also had a mullet and slight plump lips but was shorter. You assumed it must have been his friend group, as Minho quickly looked behind him and then back at you.

"You're lucky this time."

That was what he murmured to you before walking to his two friends. I watched how the tall one told something to Minho while grinning and laughing, as the short one had a confused expression on his face and seemed to ask Minho about something. They must've watched and heard everything. You slowly opened your locker, your eyes glued on the trio group, till they faded into the crowd. The bell rang. You had to grab your stuff for the next classes and go on with your day like nothing happened.

It was lunchtime. As usual, you were met by the same image that you see in the hallways at 7am. What was more painful compared to this morning was the fact that you had to wait in a long line. Probably the thing you hate most about this new school is the long classes that get your stomach growling and dying to eat some food. At least it provided food compared to some other schools, so you were at least grateful for that.

After what seemed like years of waiting, you were finally able to grab some food. You took your tray and looked around the canteen. A lot of tables were already occupied by other groups of friends. You didn't want to just sit down there out of nowhere.

Your eyes travelled all around the room to find an empty table, slowly walking until you heard someone call out your name.

"Y/N!"

The voice this time wasn't familiar. You were pretty sure that the only person in this whole school who knew you was Minho, because you still didn't have the courage to make friends after the incident from yesterday.

Then you look at the table from where you got called out.

Oh.

You still have no idea who it was.

But you don't want to just awkwardly stand there and stare at them, right? So you slowly went over to them.

"Take a seat", the guy who called out your name told you and motioned to the seat next to the other guy who was eating like he hadn't eaten in a week.

Once you sat down, he continued. "You seem confused, so let me introduce myself. I'm Kim Seungmin, the class president of 'S' Class (pun hehe) and the guy you messaged yesterday about the notes. Remember?"

Your mouth formed into a little 'o' and you nodded, feeling embarrassed that you didn't recognise Seungmin. But, well, after all, you never met him face-to-face… till now.

The other guy who was sitting next to me seemed to only notice me now, smiling and waving at me. When finishing the food in his mouth, he chortled, "Hi there! You're Y/N, right? The new student in our class?"

You nodded. "And… you?"

"I'm the one and only, Yang Jeongin!", A proud smile formed on Jeongin's lips as he introduced himself. You assumed that it was probably his iconic introduction that he uses whenever meeting someone new at this school.

"He's the class clown", Seungmin glanced at Jeongin before looking over at you as he spoke with a pretty serious tone and expression.

"And hyung is always sooo serious and boringgg", Jeongin pointed his fork at the other male, like he was telling him to stop taking everything so seriously.

Seungmin blinked. "You do realise that you could take my eyes out with that fork? And I'm not serious; I'm just always observant of what's happening around me. Like, right now, behind Y/N, Lee Chaeryeong from 'I' Class and Seo Changbin hyung from 'S' Class are fighting for the 12th time this week about who's taller."

You looked behind yourself and tried to spot the 'Lee Chaeryeong' and the 'Seo Changbin'. You eventually were able to do so because they did look like they were arguing over something, which must've been their height, like Seungmin said.

"You… actually kept… count?", You slightly doubted the idea and turned back to your table.

"Well, Lee Chaeryeong might be the shortest girl in 'I' Class… but we all know she's taller than Seo Changbin hyung from 'S' Class!", Jeongin whispered to us, like this 'Changbin' could somehow, from 3–4 tables across from us, hear what he said.

The man shook his head. "Jeongin, Lee Chaeryeong isn't the shortest. Choi Jisu is the shortest. Besides that, Lee Chaeryeong also wears some black heels that are probably around 7 and 10cm", he scratched his head.

"How do you know what kind of heels she wears, including the colour and approximate centimetres?", the other yelled whispered and furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Because Lee Chaeryeong just grabbed her heel to throw it in Seo Changbin hyung's face."

Jeongin widened his eyes and turned behind him, quickly cracking up at the scene. You also turned and rather questioned if this was really an university or a kindergarten. Actually, kindergarteners don't wear heels. So it was between the fact that this is an university or a high school.

"Is this something that usually happens here?", you muttered and rested your head in your hand, taking a bite from your food.

"Not really. But I can't say there aren't any troublemakers in every class", Seungmin shrugged and spoke like he was used to this stuff. Well, of course he was. After all, he was the class president of 'S' Class and probably already dealt with lots of them. "I saw and heard worse in the student's council. Jeongin is nothing compared to the stuff I heard", he added.

"Hyung, I thought you were a walking dictionary! There's an obvious difference between being the class clown and the class troublemaker. I'm not like them. I make people laugh, not cry!", Jeongin whined and looked offended by what his friend just said.

You tucked in your lips. "I'm probably asking too many questions at this point, but… what do you mean by 'them'? Is it a certain someone or multiple people?"

Seungmin and Jeongin glanced at each other like they were talking through blinks and looks.

Jeongin snickered. "I thought you already knew them. Or at least one of them."

"Well, the only people I know from my class are you, Seungmin, and…", That's when the sudden realisation hit you.

You contiuned with a mutter, "Lee… Minho."

They're talking about Minho's friend group.

Jeongin nodded, understanding that I realised who he was talking about. Seungmin, instead, sighed and shook his head.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment and think about how to say it. "Minho is… well, really unpleasant to be around, if I had to put it like that."

"Gosh, hyung, just say 'pain in the ass'. It's not like you're in the student council to talk diplomatically about that asshole!", Jeongin raised an eyebrow and wanted to continue, but his friend placed a finger on his lips. "This is another 'diplomatic' way to tell me to shut up, isn't it?", he mumbled, slowly pushing Seungmin's finger away. Seungmin continued; "Anyways. Minho and his other two friends always get in trouble, but are really popular, somehow..." "It's because of their visuals, obviously. That's the only thing saving them from their trash attitude... Felix hyung does seem nice though!", A grin formed on the man's lips as he continued eating. As they were talking, you were listening to them while eating. "Who..?" "Oh, right, I forgot you don't know them. So there's Lee Minho hyung, which you already know, Hwang Hyunjin hyung and Lee 'Felix' Yongbok hyung. They're often called the 'visual trio'. A lot of people say Minho hyung represents Japanese visuals, even though he's Korean, Hyunjin hyung represents Korean visuals and Felix hyung represents Western visuals, because he's half Australian!", Jeongin explained to you each one and the whole thing about them being popular. You were chewing on your food and staring at Jeongin. Shallowing the food, you blurted: "Isn't this a dance university? Since when being 'a visual' matters?"

"I would say the same if I had that face", an unknown voice said behind you.

You turned to where the voice came from and saw the same tall man with long hair and plump lips. Once you noticed that he was standing next to Minho, you quickly realised that it was his friend group.

"Get lost. Quite rude for you to get into a conversation that you weren't even involved in in the first place", you scoffed and rolled your eyes in annoyance. Why did they have to be everywhere you were? It's like you were a magnet for this 'visual trio' or whatever their name was.

The man seemed surprised and, in fact, offended by what you'd just told him. "Excuse me? Do you know who I am?"

You stared at him, your fork tapping the plate as you thought for a moment. "I might know your name, but your face doesn't seem similar", you shrugged.

Seungmin and Jeongin weren't saying anything, looking back and forth at you and them. Jeongin seemed surprised by this suddenly happening, and Seungmin felt tired just by the sight of those three troublemakers.

"You're acting quite superior for someone who doesn't know their place here, aren't you?", he chuckled and looked over at Minho. "What do you say, Minho hyung?"

"I say that you should know your fucking place and stop acting like I can't fucking handle situations by myself, dumb fuck that's named Hwang Hyunjin", Minho snapped at Hyunjin and quickly shut down the younger one.

Seungmin didn't seem quite pleased about how this situation was turning out, so he stood up and cleared his throat. "Y/N, I need to introduce you to our homeroom teacher, Ms. Kang. Let's go."

"But—" You quickly stopped yourself and didn't say anything, getting up. Seungmin dragged Jeongin along with him, who was whining about wanting to see the rest of the fight between Hyunjin and Minho.

As all of you three got on the hallway, Seungmin looked around to see if, possibly, Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix could've appeared out of nowhere.

Sighing and running a hand through his hair, he looked over at Jeongin and spoke with a blank expression. "You're so unserious sometimes."

"You're so serious sometimes."

Both of them said it at the same time and stared at each other as an awkward silence fell for a few seconds. You tried your best to hold back your laughter by rubbing the back of your head.

"You guys are probably the kind of friendship dynamic I wouldn't have believed would actually somehow work out", You couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"That's why we need you to balance it; I'm unserious, according to hyung, hyung is serious, and... you're in-between!", Jeongin wrapped his arm around your neck and did dramatic hand movements when explaining, like it was something revolutionary for you to become their friend and form a trio.

"I want to point out, once again, that I'm not that serious. So to prove you wrong, Jeongin, how about we go out to the mall tomorrow after school?"

Jeongin was surprised by Seungmin's words and his desire to have fun in the first place.

"After we study and do our homework, of course", he made sure to add that and watched how the other's face expression was saying 'I knew it', making it harder for you to hold your laughter back.

"Okay, but Seungmin is right... Like this, we have more time to stay at the mall without any stress."

"Someone finally understands me", Seungmin gave you a sly smile, high-fiving you.

"Nevermind, both of you are lame", Jeongin pretended to sulk, and we all started laughing at his acting.

As you were walking towards your guys lockers to get your stuff for the next classes and feeling good for making your first two friends, you still couldn't ignore a feeling that someone from behind was staring at you.

You stopped walking for a moment and looked behind. Far away, at the entrance of the canteen, you noticed Minho, who was standing there with his friends and watching you with the other two. Before you got the chance to study the expression on the man's face, Jeongin took your wrist and started mumbling about how slow you are.

You seemed too busy having fun with your friends. So did Minho.

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emwritesfootball · 1 year

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Love to Hate You | Joe Gomez

Hiya - Would love a good old 'enemies to lovers' please if poss? One where you play for Everton women and hate everything to do with Liverpool..until you find yourself alone on a private jet with Joe Gomez as you're both flown to a photo-shoot for new England kit. Your mutual loathing is temporarily paused for some kinky in-flight entertainment as you induct him into the mile high club (with maybe a lil bit of spanking thrown in!)🤭🥵x

A/N: sooo, this turned out longer than expected. 1.6K of mile high sexy-times. Hope whoever requested this back in the day is still around. Enjoy xo

Warnings: teasing, loathing-to-lovers, spanking, blowjob, vaginal sex w/o a condom

- - -

It was no secret how you felt about Liverpool. As a diehard Everton fan from birth who was now playing for Everton Women, it was only natural that you hated your rival team with a burning passion.

“Did you see Leah’s message?” Is the first thing your Everton and fellow Lionesses teammate Jess Park asks when you pick up her phone call.

“No, not yet.” You put the call on speaker as you swipe through all your message notifications until you get to the Lionesses group chat and see the unread messages.

Leah Williamson: Hey, ladies! Rumour has it our new kit is dropping next week and we’re to report to Wembley for a photoshoot on Friday

You scroll down through the replies from all our teammates, smiling at all of their predictable responses and adding one of your own.

“Apparently, it’s a shoot with the men, too, so you’ll have to try to hold back your disgust for the Liverpool players for one full day.”

You rolled your eyes but you knew Jess was right. “I’ll try my best but I’m not responsible if one of them starts something and I just happen to finish it.”

***

The week passed quicker than expected and you found yourself arriving at the airport for the flight the FA had chartered for you and some of the other players.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” crooned a familiar voice, and you could feel the hairs on the back of your neck stick up as you turned to face Joe Gomez. “My favourite Everton player.”

“Gomez,” you seethed, giving him a glaring once-over. “I’d say it was lovely to see you again, but we both know that’s not true. Please tell me there are others joining us.”

Joe shook his head. “None from my end. Hendo’s been in London for the past few days and Trent managed to get himself out of this somehow. I don’t know about the Everton men, but with Dom out injured, he’s definitely not getting called up.”

“My teammate Jess should be here soon, and I know Liverpool women didn’t get any call-ups.” On cue, your phone pinged with an incoming message from Jess.

Jess: Sorry, woke up sick and can’t make it. Have fun and say hi to the girls for me!

You let out a sigh. “Well, there goes my friend. She’s sick, so it looks like it’s just going to be us.”

Joe made a sweeping gesture with his hand towards the stairs leading up to the chartered jet. “After you, m’lady.”

You decided not to argue with him as you boarded the plane, making sure to pick a seat farthest away from where he could possibly think to sit. Joe had other plans, though, taking the seat right across the aisle from you, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he did so.

The flight attendant came round, handing each of you a glass of water and letting you both know that the flight would be a little under an hour and that the plane would be taking off shortly.

“So,” Joe began after taking a sip of his water and setting it down on the table, “anything exciting happen recently?”

“Like you care,” you snorted, pulling out your phone to send one last message to Jess.

You: Feel better! Wish you were here to save me from Joe Gomez - promise to bail me out of prison if I kill him?

Jess: Promise xx

“You’re right, I don’t. Just figured I’d make some idle chit-chat since we’re going to be stuck here for the next hour.” He paused, his gaze raking over your body to take you in. “You look good.”

You knew that was true, the extra hours of training you’d put into in order to make sure you got the call up to the Lionesses looking very good on your body, but you weren’t in the most flattering of clothes at the moment.

“Thanks.” You glanced over at him, trying to return the compliment. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Joe let out a laugh. “Just how much willpower did it take you to say that so sincerely?”

A smile tugged at your lips but you didn’t want to let it show. “Not as much as you would think, Gomez.”

“Please. Call me Joe.”

You pretended to ponder his request for a moment. “I’d rather not. Calling you by your first name implies that I feel something more for you other than contempt.”

He leaned into your personal space, a smirk on his lips that made you glance down at them for a brief moment. “I’m sure I can make you feel so much more than contempt if you’d let me.” Your name was a breathy sigh on his lips as he reached over and cupped your cheek, trailing his fingers down your face until he reached your neck.

“And why,” you swallowed hard, knowing he could probably feel your racing pulse under his fingertips, “would I do that?”

“You’re so tense and this photoshoot is supposed to be fun. Besides, I don’t kiss and tell. What we do - or don’t do - on this flight won’t ever be revealed to anyone.”

Your gaze searched his, briefly dipping down to his lips again. They were right there - so full and kissable, and you’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought about it since he’d brought up the proposition minutes ago. “Promise?” You sucked in your bottom lip between your teeth, watching as Joe’s eyes tracked the movement and his pupils dilated.

“Promise.”

Ten minutes later, the plane had taken off and Joe had led you to the sofa part of the seating area. He sat down and spread his legs, motioning for you to stand in-between them. “Good girl,” he praised, his hand coming up to wrap around your wrist. “It’s a shame I’m going to have to punish you.”

“P-Punish me?” You hated that you stuttered at his words, but your racing heartbeat gave you away. “Why?”

“Why? For all the times you’ve been an absolute menace to me and I’ve let you get away with it, that’s why.” Joe looked up at you and smirked. “I’ve got at least twenty instances in the last year alone.”

Twenty. You knew you could be a dick - especially when it came to Joe and the other Liverpool players - but you didn’t think it had been that many.

You were so lost in thought you didn’t realize what was happening until Joe had yanked your wrist so that you went tumbling over his lap. He pinned you down and took your hands in one of his, the other rubbing circles over your ass. “Don’t squirm,” he ordered, landing one warning spank to your ass. “I plan to keep your joggers on, but if you’re going to be difficult, I have no problem taking them down along with your panties.”

Your stomach dipped in a mix of anticipation and adrenaline. “You really get off on this kind of thing, huh, Gomez?”

Your chuckle was interrupted with another smack to your ass and you let out a yelp. “No more than you are, love.” Another smack. “And you know to call me Joe.”

“Go to hell, Gomez.”

He rained down more slaps to your ass until you lost count. “Ready to be a good girl?”

You let out a groan. “Fuck you…Joe.”

“That’s a start.” He tugged down your joggers, letting out an appreciative whistle as he spied the panties you’d put on that day. His thumb ran over the soaked fabric and stopped at your clit, causing you to involuntarily moan as he pressed on the sensitive area.

“Done yet, Joe?”

“For now,” he hummed, releasing you and you stood back up, “but don’t think I won’t hesitate to put you back over my knee if you need it.”

You maintained eye contact with him as you sank to your knees, reaching for the waistband of his Liverpool-emblazoned joggers to free his cock. The sound he made had you feeling powerful as you worked your way up to slowly taking him in your mouth until you were gagging on his length.

Joe grabbed a fistful of your hair, guiding you as you worked him over with your mouth and hands. It was one of the dirtiest, sloppiest blowjobs you’d ever given, spurred on by his moans of pleasure.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Joe groaned, pulling you off his cock before you could make him cum. “I wanna see you cum all over my cock.”

Both of you rid yourselves of the rest of your clothes before you straddled him, your ass still stinging from your earlier punishment. Joe made sure to grab hold of your ass, adding pain to the pleasure he was about to elicit from you.

“Fuck, Joe,” you sank down on his cock, loving the way his girth stretched your walls and his length filled you up.

Your name was on his lips as you rode him and you buried your face in the crook of his neck as you came.

“That was…”Joe trailed off, trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah.”

“Feeling looser, princess?”

You let out a laugh as you climbed off of him, his cum dripping out of your pussy as you began to put your clothes on. “Something like that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we’re in a few photos together.”

You ignored the flutter in your stomach at his words, knowing that if a picture like that was used for the adverts, you’d forever have a reminder of today.

#joe gomez x reader #joe gomez x you #joe gomez imagine #joe gomez imagines #joe gomez oneshot #joe gomez one shot #joe gomez smut #joe gomez blurb #joe gomez fanfiction #joe gomez fan fiction

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ptolomeia · 10 months

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Alright tumblr, looks like I'm gonna be fairly bedbound for the next foreseeable future. Given my total lack if energy and occasionally struggling to even stay sitting, help me pick which of my story ideas I should spend the next while working on.

Your Options

1) Austistic Epistolary

This story will be an epistolary novel told by an Autistic debutant with a special interest in the creation and construction of high fashion, but who does not like new clothes, and her best friend, who is stuck out in the country for her health, as they navigate what their changing lives will look like, and hope our Debutant find a good match.

2)Singlet System Fantasy Romance

In this fantasy setting, in our Main character's village, every Summer, someone moves into a cottage down the road. She only ever stays for the summer, and has come every summer our main character can remember. They've had a crush on her for about as long. One day, our MC gets attacked by a vicious magic beasty, and is saved by the Summer lady. Except, she sounds different. And she moves different. And she certainly swears a lot more. And our MC had no idea she could do that kind of magic.

Years later, after travelling far far from their home village, our MC meets their Summer Lady. Except, this time it's winter. And this time, she is acting much more like did in the conflict with the beasty. Our MC has to find out what is going on.

Or, a story about a System with four cohosts with an unusual agreement on how to share their body gets found out, and learns to let someone get to know all of them, and maybe even have some of them fall in love.

3)Paranormal Romance with Politics (victorian or regency type setting)

Sarah knew her uncle Rowan wasnt her actual uncle. After all she was human, and Uncle Rowan was fae. Apparently her father had somehow saved uncle Rowan's life and now they are family. He's always been her favorite uncle though, he never made her feel odd. Everyone else thought she was so... different that she was a confirmed spinster by now, weighing down her younger (more normal) siblings eventual chances at a good match.

So, when her uncle comes to her and her father wanting to see if she'd be willing to marry his son and heir, who is beset by people wanting to marry him to use him and tip a very careful balance of power, she agrees. She loves her uncle, wants to help him, and besides, it's not like her current life has much of a future. And besides, she's met two of his three children and got along very well with them, so the last one can't be that bad, right?

Unfortunately it is only after she arrives in the fae realm that she learns exactly who she is engaged to: that terribly rude Fae she'd met the night of her debutant ball with whom she'd traded insults, after he spoke so poorly of her uncle.

Of course, there are some other issues as well. The politics of tbe fae realm were something Sarah's father had sheilded her from and so, while she'd known her uncle Rowan was a fae noble, she hadn't realized he was the High King. Now she finds herself engaged to a man she detests, getting ready to be the next high queen of the fae, and target of political factions who, if they can just get rid of one pesky mortal, believe they can install one of their own as the next high queen. (Enemies (ish) to lovers with political deliciousness let's goooooooooooo)

#whichever one we end up working on we'll try to post updates about #they all are so tempting #also feel free to send asks about the stories #it'll feel good to write again #im excited #writing #original fiction #me and my writing #autistic epistolary #system singlet fantasy romance #paranormal romance with politics

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harmonyckrs · 4 months

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Act 2, Scene 1 of Twisted Veronaville: The Start of Project Tycutio and Goneril's Revelation

THE LAST PAGE

Mercutio and Tybalt. Sworn enemies since birth, determined to keep the feud going until the very end of their lives. There was no possible way that either of them could ever co-exist in the same room without fighting. Everyone knew this.

So you can't really blame anyone for thinking the idea of making them lovers is a little crazy. And neither Sita or Aktu knew how Ripp came up with this idea.

Ripp: When I was at that party, I noticed that both of them seemed interested in my music. Tybalt was trying to act like he hated it, but I could see his head bobbing a lot and he seemed to be really getting into it when I stopped. Mercutio was doing something similar when he was watching me.

Ripp: But when I stopped, the two seemed to remember that the other existed and proceeded to fight each other. Later, Tybalt gave me a little house tour while we were trying to find Hermia, and I noticed an edgy looking poster in his room. I think I have that exact one back home.

Ripp: So I think these two might have more in common than they think. Mercutio cares a lot about his friends and has a thing for redheads, and Tybalt seems to really want friends but is too awkward to make any.

Ripp: So even though they're sworn enemies, I think it's possible for them not to be.

Sita: Well, I'm convinced!

Aktu: I'm not, but I think it'll be entertaining so let's try it anyway.

Ripp: Great! So first, we're going to need a hot tub...

Aktu: How's this? Had to move aside some of the wedding props...

Ripp: It's great! So anyway, it's really hard to fight someone seriously in a hot tub. They'll just be splashing each other at most.

Sita: Seems fair.

Ripp: Yeah! So, in order to get them to come here, I'm going to befriend them both. Make them comfortable enough to visit our house. And then I ask them both to come into the hot tub with me, where I distract them with some good old conversation!

Ripp: They'll soon realize that they have more in common than they thought. With enough time, they might even become friends! And after that, I stop inviting them home. Let them sit in their houses contemplating their relationship and why they were even mad.

Ripp: Then once they can call each other friend, I'll influence them to flirt with each other...and then my plan will be complete! They'll be all over each other like...Romeo and Juliette, in the actual story!

Sita: What if one or both of them are straight?

Ripp: Oh fuck! I didn't think about that.

Aktu: Well, the rest of the plan seems pretty solid. We can probably remove the romance part, and the effect will be the same. Does that sound okay?

Ripp: Yeah! Sounds great...let Project Tycutio begin!

While Ripp was going over his plan, Albany was thinking about recent events...specifically one involving a certain scientist.

Albany: (Oh, Pascal...I know you betrayed me, but I can't bring myself to hate you...I wish you were back in bed with me.)

Albany: (Maybe I should invite him over...he hasn't picked up any of my calls. I'll just talk to Cornwall instead...that'll keep my mind in check. I have to remember our plan.)

Goneril: So kids, you might be wondering why I've gathered you all here. Your father and I are getting a divorce.

Hal/Desdemona: WHAT?

Miranda: Called it.

Albany: (What is she doing? We didn't even have the chance to discuss this!)

Goneril: All of you will be staying with your father. If you want to see me, I'll be staying next door with your aunt Regan and uncle Cornwall.

Albany: (Shoot! If Regan and Cornwall find out about what I did, I'm cooked! I'm going to screw up my part of the plan!)

Albany: Goneril, what's the meaning of this?

Goneril: Simple. You cheated on me, so I'm filing for divorce. You can move in your new boyfriend and I can focus on what really matters.

Albany: What could possibly be more important than family?

Goneril: Being loyal to your wife, who you cheated on! And don't act like you cared about family, either! You only ever wanted my money!

Albany: (How does she know that?) No! I've never cared about the money! I only wanted you!

Goneril: Shut it! I'm not letting you decide what I'm going to do anymore!

Goneril: Have a nice life, Albany.

Goneril: So that's the gist of it...Albany and I are no longer together.

Regan: What are you going to do now?

Goneril: I'm not sure. I tried to track down that Pascal guy that I caught Albany with, but I haven't found him.

Regan: Pascal?...That's the same guy I saw Cornwall with!

Goneril: So he was cheating on Albany...This is gold! Should I warn him, though?

Regan: Nah. Let Albany figure it out for himself.

Goneril: Good idea. So, how have you been?

Regan: Cornwall and I are having a baby!...just so Father will stop asking about it. We're not really sure what we're going to do after.

Goneril: Oh, that's...do you even want the baby?

Regan: Not really, but I could use a short break from work. And Cornwall owes me a favor for breaking our agreement, so I can just make him do all the work of looking after it.

Goneril: (Oh, dear. That poor baby.) Well...good luck.

THE NEXT PAGE

#sims 2 #veronaville #sims 2 gameplay

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strbymacaroon · 2 years

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❀ After Last Night. (I Think I’m in Love With You.) ❀

❀ Armin Arlert x Reader ❀

Master-list: Here.

Previous Chapter (1): Me, Myself, and I… and Fine, Maybe, a Flower.

Current Chapter (2): My Bitchy Attitude, And Your Calm Understanding One.

❀ Sypnosis:

You loved your line of work… enough. That is if you could even call it a line of work.

It paid good, and you had your best friend Connie by your side. It could be worse. And now, you had another thing to worry about… Hiding this not-so approving line of work from your new roommate, Armin. A boy who rivals your own major, more than two academic weapons.

Tensions are high, and you are always one second away from clawing out his throat. And, for some reason, the way he's so patient with you, only furthers this emotion. To say this situation was less than ideal was to put it lightly. And, unfortunately, it wasn’t in the sexy way your classmate, Historia, romanized it to be.

But, you can’t shake the thought—why the hell does he look so familiar?

❀ Genre:

Alternate Universe - College/University, Questionable Job Choices, Double Life, enemies to lovers??

❀ Content Warning:

Gun Violence, Deception, Past Sexual Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut

❀ Word count:

7.6K Words.

A soft groan left you, the sun softly illuminating your face. Your legs felt heavy, while you reached over, who you addressed as, ‘Client 4,’ grabbing at your phone and turning it on, trying to get a glance at the time. Due to the morning blindness you couldn’t really see.

If anything, you didn’t even want to see the time. You were too tired to function. The massive bed you were resting on was impossibly soft, sucking you into the sheets of internal sleep. If this is what death felt like, today would be your last day alive. Then again, your goal was to finish college, so death wasn’t acceptable as of right now.

Client four grabbed your waist bringing you in closer to his body, his lips ghosting over the cleavage of your breast. A small shiver went down your spine as you wrapped your arms around his head, running your fingers through his messy hair. Planting a kiss on his forehead, “C’mon, babe, I have to go. I’ve overstayed my welcome.” You technically weren’t on the clock anymore.

Client four groaned, making you roll your eye’s. He pointed to the corner of the room, saying something— but, it came out more like a jumble of words. Your guess was the bag contained the money he owed you. You gave him a final kiss, one where he kept you close.

You pushed your legs off the bed, letting them hang off the side. The thick blanket sliding off your shoulders, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. Eyes sucking in the state of your thighs. Littered in various hues of red, and purple, all varying in size.

You grimaced.

Your body was decorated with a light purple lingerie set, with some black stockings to compliment the look. Your hair is messy from sleep, wavy and long around your body. I should really cut it.

You pushed yourself off the bed, pushing your hair out of your face. Collecting it over your shoulder, being careful not to step on the assortment of fire-arms resting on the floor. It was something that made you cower inside.

You grabbed your skirt, slipping it over your legs then to the center of your waist, zipping it up. You walked over to the bag, picking it up and looking at the context inside.

Money. Your money.

A stack of cash caught your attention, seeing it was stained with a single spot of dark red. You pressed your lips together, eyes softening every so slightly. How did this person get this money?

You looked back to Client four, seeing him groggily wake up. He smiled, tilting his head. “You can keep the bag, just toss me your panties. Take care of your sugar daddy, yeah?”

Pervert. You narrowed your eyes at him, suppressing a laugh. “Like hell, I did more than enough for you last night.” Both in bed, and in your actual profession. “You’re lucky I’m still here.”

Client four raised his hand defensively, “Hey, just an offer.” He lowered his hands, resting them on the bed. Tapping the sheets, “You can keep the bag, since you did such a good job keeping me company last night, sugar baby.”

You hated when he called you that, in fact, you hated when anyone called you that. Sure, it’s what people called what you did, but you didn’t think of it like that, at all. “If that’s what you want to call it, sure.” You responded coldly.

Sure, it wasn’t good to be this rude towards Client four. But, you didn’t care, or, better yet, he didn’t care. He liked this side of you, and liked messing with you. Which you would do in return. It reminds him that you don’t see him as one of your clients, one where you need to project your fake persona to. Client four was just a friend, under weird circumstances.

In retrospect… the two of you adored each other.

You hated to admit it, but it was true.

Client four smiled at you, his perfect dimples denting into his skin. “C’mon, don’t be like that, babe.” He cooed, “Come give me a goodbye kiss before you go.”

You couldn’t stop the very subtle smile on your lips, “You wish..”

Client four noticed your smile, and could feel his heart flutter with pride. He managed to get you, the almighty, stone-cold bitch, to smile. That was an achievement that should be written in the Bible. The best part was, he was the only one to see it. “I do.”

You looked around for your shirt, he pointed to the floor while sitting on the bed. “Thanks.” You walked to it glancing at the calendar, “You still keep a calendar, gross. Are you an old man, or something?” Your eyes skimmed over the weeks, landing on the date. You could feel your entire body freeze.

You blinked a few times, “Hey.. what time is it?”

Client four glanced at the clock. “Five, fifty six.”

You snapped your head to the clock, panicking. You quickly grabbed your shirt and slipped it on, shit— today was the day your roommate was moving in. You needed to be home to meet your roommate, and— let him into the damn house! You were a good forty minutes away from home as well.

You looked down at your outfit, cringing. Of course, this had to be his first interaction with you. A girl who was wearing a short skirt, stocking, and a tight shirt that had a triangle cut to show off her boobs. You looked like a…

The worst part of it was— you were littered in… marks. You didn’t even pass Client four a glance, just quickly made your way out of the massive house. Running into your car, and unlocking it as you threw your items in, turning it on and speeding down the driveway. You took another glance at the time.

‘6:04’

Fuck.

Your car sped down the freeway, while you tried to remove the jewelry, along with messed up makeup. You threw in a minty gum in your mouth, slowing down your car for a mere moment to get your real bag. The car’s GPS telling you how far you were from your location. Another glance at the time made you start to enhance your speed.

‘6:23’

You quickly parked your car, while trying to grab at your bag, noticing a moving van. You took another glance in and noticed some more people. Your heart sank— “Please don’t tell me he brought his friends...”

Another look at your outfit made a strangulated groan leave your mouth, as you slapped the car horn. You rubbed your face, grabbing your bag and getting out of the car. Putting your hair up in a messy ponytail as you did so.

You let your head fall as you noticed that— your shoes. They were currently at Client Four's house instead of on your feet. Perfect.

You slammed your car door shut. Making your way to the moving van, noticing three people, they consisted of two boys and one girl. The girl took a quick glance at you and smiled, then quickly went back to communicating.

You walked closer to the van, catching the girl's attention again. You tilted your head at her complexion, it’s not everyday you get to see someone so pretty.

Mikasa was slightly intrigued by your appearance, a hot girl that looked fed up. To Mikasa, when a person looked pissed, it made them even hotter. Despite that, a small voice was ringing in the back of her head, why did you look so familiar?

You on the other hand were mad, and embarrassed. You deep down were praying that, maybe— just maybe, this wasn’t your roommate. Maybe, these people happened to be random college students moving into this very rich area.

Mikasa rolled down the window, and smiled at you. You tried to return it, and started to speak. “Hi.” You placed a hand over your boobs, trying to hide the marks littered among them. You noticed you grabbed the attention of the two guys in the van. “Uh..” You could feel your eyebrows furrow, “So, are any of you?—“ You softly sighed, letting your hands drop to your side. The guys immediately looked at the newly exposed skin. “Armin Arlert?..”

A small snicker came from one of the boys, as he slapped someone’s back. The door on the opposite side opened then shut, as someone walked to you. You could feel your eye twitch, forcing a weak wave.

He waved back.

So, this was Armin Arlert.

You took a second to take in his appearance. He was tall, and had short blonde hair, with a few strands falling in front of his eyes. Then, there were his eyes, they were beautiful. Looked like a shade of painted-ocean blue. His shoulders were broad, arms and hands equally as large to match. His chest wide and long, this guy definitely works out. A button up shirt, with the sleeves rolled up his arms, revealing his forearms. Some plain gray pants, and nice simple shoes. It was his face that made you think, it looked sweet, almost innocent.

You narrowed your eyes for a second, your brain running in laps. You've… seen this man before. His eyes are uniquely a different color from what you're used to, something you wouldn't easily forget. And, he wasn’t a past client, if he was, he would’ve been someone who you were currently with. Armin was more than you type.

Some people are too hot to pass up.

You reached out your hand, firmly grasping his hand, while he gently shook yours– immediately you noticed the size difference between the two. He was significantly bigger than you.

You pulled your hand back, taking a step backwards. “Let– I’ll just show you to your room.” You led Armin into the building, looking back to see if he was following you. You gave another small wave as your eyes met again.

While you were silently cursing yourself out, Armin was taking in your figure. Not in a degrading way, but it was more genuine curiosity. He wanted to ask questions about what looked like a fun night. But, felt like saying such wouldn’t leave a good first impression.

To Armin, first impressions are the most important when meeting someone. And, Armin can confidently say, you didn’t at all leave a very good impression. You were extremely late, and that left a bad taste in his mouth. It was mostly because Armin valued punctuality over anything.

You placed your hand behind your back, “This was not the way I wanted to meet you.” Your voice was oddly still, almost bored.

Armin laughed kindly, “I mean, at least you had fun with your boyfriend.” Armin’s eyes lingered to your neck, but looked away. A small voice was ringing in the back of her head, why did you look so familiar? Mikasa and Armin were weirdly psychic when it came to meeting new people.

You scoffed, a small pathetic laugh coming from you. “Yeah, right.” You seethed, only to shock yourself with your tone. Yet, you didn’t have the energy to correct it, more or less, cared to correct it.

Armin’s eyebrows came together for a second, almost in shock and distaste. Huh. That bittersweet taste became stronger.

“Oh.” You awkwardly laughed, toying with your neck. “I just got into a relationship, I’m not used to saying– you know, shit like that.” You stopped in front of a big door, glancing at the address number.

Armin hummed, leaning at the wall while you dug into your purse for your keys. His eyes landed on your purse, a designer brand he knew he would never buy. Especially because of the price. Armin could feel his eyebrows furrow, maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but Armin could’ve sworn he saw a stack of money.

You unlocked the door and pushed it open, walking inside. You flipped on the lights, illuminating the entrance with light. You removed your stockings, tossed them to the side, and slipped on some slippers. “I can give you a house tour, or I can just hand you the keys. So, you and your friends can start moving your stuff in.”

“I’ll just take the keys, I have something to do in a few hours.” Armin said, flashing you a kind smile.

You nodded your head. Internally rolling your eyes at his statement, it’s literally seven, you have to do something at twelve at night? Bullshit. “Sure, let me grab the spare for you.” You walked into the kitchen, pulling open a drawer and throwing the key at him. Something he caught with surprising ease. “I’ll just stay in my room while you pack, door’s unlocked if you need anything. Just knock.” You gave a quick wave, descending into your room, leaving Armin to himself.

Armin made a call to Eren, walking back to the small moving van parked outside. Listening to the phone ring a few times, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he did so. The phone line picked up, “Hey, want us to start coming up?”

Armin nodded, “Yeah, just open up the trunk for me.” He hung up. When Eren gave him the flier for a new place, he didn’t think it would be this. It was cheap, affordable, and allowed pets. Something he found a huge struggle when searching for houses.

Armin couldn’t help, but wonder… How could you even afford a place like this? How rich were your parents? Sure, Armin had more than enough money to deal with, but he never considered spending more than he needed to. Most of the time, he spent more money on friends, and family, much rather than himself.

Armin couldn't help but feel off thinking about how money you could be sending. Hopefully you weren't like his last roommate. Annoying. In all honesty, as long as you didn’t bother him everything would be good. Mikasa was leaning on the car door, scolding Eren for something she did when Armin tapped on her shoulder. “C'mon, let's just take my stuff up.“

Eren nodded, swiftly jumping out of the truck. Opening the first small box he could carry. He grabbed the stuffed animal, slightly glaring at Armin. “You’re going to have to let this go.” Eren lightly scolded. It was a gift from his ex.

Armin grabbed it, stuffing it in his back pocket. “Try not to go looking through my stuff, I brought you here to help. Not snoop.”

Eren playfully rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just trying to help you.” He aspirated, before wrapping an arm around Armin’s neck. “Anyways. You’ve met your roommate, how is she?” Armin blinked a few times, bashfully looking away.

“She’s hot, but, besides that.” Mikasa added.

Eren nodded in agreement, “You should give me her number, or introduce me.” Sure, he didn’t see your face, but he saw your backside, which was more than enough. Eren smiled, while Mikasa joined Armin’s side. “Me too, me too!”

Armin smiled kindly, shrugging off his friend's arms. “I don’t even know her, she could be like a– secret agent trying to out college students for doing drugs.” Armin laughed to himself, surprised by his ridiculous mindset. But, it was a real concern for him.

Mikasa smiled, “That’s a risk I’m more than willing to take.” She smiled, picked up a massive amount of boxes.

“Even then, she didn’t leave the best impression on me. Maybe, she’s having an off day, which correlated to her being bitchy to me.” Armin sighed, “But still, first impressions are important to me.”

“Bitchy?” Mikasa asked, placing a hand on her hip, while Eren wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Armin shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know.. That’s what I got from her though.”

Eren grabbed a few boxes, stacking them on top of eachother. “Did she at least apologize? You know, for being late.” He narrowed his eyes, “It’s the least she could do for making us wait.” He mumbled.

Armin thought back, not once recalling an apology leaving your lips. It made him swirl with disdain. Despite how Armin felt about you, he almost felt bad just thinking about it. You seemed so tense, and frustrated. It almost bothered him, and because of this, his friends weren’t going to like you. Armin looked to the side, placing a hand to his neck, and smiling slightly. “Yeah. She did, don’t worry about it.”

Eren shrugged, picking up the box, bumping his hip into Armin. “Then, I guess she’s not that bad.” He smiled again, walking towards the house. Mikasa picked up her large amount of boxes, starting to skip next to Eren.

Armin honestly didn’t know why he lied for your sake. He just– did. Maybe, it was his thanks for allowing him to live with you. Who knows.

Mikasa beamed, “C’mon! I want to see what we’re dealing with. The house looks amazing from the front.” She admired the scenery.

Armin sighed, but couldn’t help the smile from building on his lips. Picking up a few boxes, and leading his two friends to the house.

�� ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Eren groaned, laying down on Armin’s bed, wrapping himself with Armin’s sheets. They had managed to get all of his belongings into Armin’s room. Which, due to the large size, looked as if Armin didn’t have enough stuff to decorate it. The room was massive. Eren let out a soft, “Damn, her place is huge.”

Armin shook his head, replying with a swift, “I know.” As he continued to text someone on his phone.

Eren looked out the window, his head tilted back. Armin’s cat laying against his face, sighing comfortably. “The view’s nice, definitely better than your last place.”

Armin laughed, taking a seat next to the window. “Yeah, one hundred percent.”

Eren pointed to himself, grinning at Armin. “See, if I didn’t give you that flier you’d still be cooped up in that small apartment with your ex.” He laughed, petting Armin’s white cat.

Mikasa scoffed, “Yeah. That was horrible, the times we stayed over she was practically screaming at you to do something.” She shuddered, “I hated how she treated you.”

“She was just going through some things, she can’t help it..” Armin defended, “You guys get crazy when interacting with law students.”

Eren rolled his eyes, “Because law students suck, especially that one from a few weeks ago.” Eren sat up in Armin’s bed, “Did you hear what she said to me?”

Armin narrowed his eyes at Eren, “Eren, you bumped into her. Then, proceeded to insult her. She only retaliated.” He sat down on his bed, sinking into the soft bedding. Armin was going to need to get bigger bed sheets. Eren flashed Armin a look, which made him continue. “Still, I think she went too far.”

Eren nodded his head in approval.

Everyone heard a distant click, making the room go silent. Footsteps echoed through the house, before the front door opened. There were a few more sounds followed, but they were hard to make out from the distance from Armin’s room to the front door. Making everyone curious.

Eren wanted to get a better look at you.

Armin and Mikasa wanted to know why you looked so familiar.

It was oddly silent. Making Eren speak up, “You think she got murdered.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes, “No, of course she didn’t get murdered. How did you even come to that conclusion?” She said, almost amazed by Eren's thought process.

Eren pouted, looking at Armin. “Go check what she’s doing.”

Armin rubbed his temples, answering her question. “Stop being so nosey, if you’re really curious, pretend to go to the restroom, and take a look.”

Eren shook her head, “Naw, I’m too anxious for that.” He leaned on the palms of his hands, “Besides, if what you said about her is true, I don’t want to deal with someone who’s bitchy.”

Armin rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed that Eren was constantly nitpicking at his words. “I thought you said she was hot.” He questioned.

“Yeah, but there’s got to be some sort of balance.” Eren defended. “Which I don’t think any amount of ass if ever going to make up for bitchiness–”

A knock echoed through the room, making Eren fall silent. He blinked a few times, glancing at his friends, “Do you think she heard me?”

“I did.” You said from behind the door, “The walls here are surprisingly thin.” You added.

Armin looked at Eren, and Eren looked at Mikasa. All giving him a silent look of, “Well now’s your chance.” Eren pushed himself off the bed, removing Armin’s cat from him, and walking towards the door.

Eren stayed to the side, so when he opened the door, his friends would be able to see you. Despite them already getting to. He opened the door.

Suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed, “You.”

Your eyes landed on Eren, and they instantly hardened. You scoffed, “Dick.” You replied.

Eren smiled, leaning on the door frame. “Miss public defender, good to see you.” He cooed, leaning down to your face. Suddenly, Armin and Mikasa knew why you looked so familiar.

You blinked a few times, a scoffing laugh leaving your lips. “The dick who can’t save lives, you have the video for me?” You responded, narrowing your eyes at him. Naturally, you looked into the room, peering at the other two people inside.

When it hit you like a shotgun to the heart, that’s why he looked so familiar. Armin was the friend laughing at you, while the boy in front of you was the one who rudely bumped into you, making you spill all your papers. Oh, fuck them. Of course a medical student had to be your roommate, and one who happened to be friends with a huge dick.

You looked to the side, mumbling, “I can’t believe I’m roommates with a gunner.”

“And, I can’t believe Armin’s forced to deal with a bitchy roommate.” He shot back. Armin quickly got up from the bed, silently scolding Eren for his tone.

You scoffed, eyes averting to the side. Looking away from the three friends, “I bought three boxes of pizza. They're all pepperoni, I thought it’d be nice.” You added.

“We don’t want it.” Eren rebutted, slamming the door in your face. “I can’t believe you’re going to have to deal with that bitch. Sorry, man.”

Armin shook his head, “No, it’s okay. She’s probably going through something, she’ll lighten up to me.” But, Armin couldn't help but feel a bit of distaste for the situation he was in. Of course, his roommate had to be a law student. God really did punish him for all his horrible actions.

You rolled your eyes, and picked up Fluff, rubbing her tummy. “And, they say I’m the bitchy one.” You lightly scrunched your nose, cooing at your small dog. You rolled your eyes looking back to the boxes in the kitchens. You lightly sucked on your bottom lip, feeling your mood become sour.

You didn’t like your roommate. He was too full of himself. And, a gunner. Would that be hypocritical to say? Considering how you were? Probably. But, you didn’t care.

A soft whimper came from you, as you picked up your phone, dialing Connie. Shutting the door behind you, flopping on your bed.

“Hey muchacho, what’s–“

“Let’s hang out, right now.” You sighed into your bed, “Please.”

An amused laugh left him, “That's the first time you’ve said that in a long while.”

“Connie.” You said, flipping over to your back. “Just— hurry up. Please.”

Connie scoffed, laughing. “Yeah, I’ll be there— let me just finish some things up. I’ll buy some snacks as well.”

You nodded, hanging up the phone.

You honestly didn’t know why being called a bitchy got under your skin so much, you been called much worse. Especially back in highschool. You also didn’t care if men catcalled you either, of course it made you uncomfortable. But, it wasn’t something that got under your skin.

Heaven forbid them If they ever tried to approach you, you’d just tase them with your taser. It’s happened before, easily one of the scariest moments of your life. Not.

So, why’d it bother you so much? Was it because it happened to be a group of people? Maybe, it was the fact that it was someone hot called you that. Even then, it didn’t make sense.

Someone knocked on your door, making you push yourself off your bed and open it. You blinked at him, “Hey—“

Connie pushed you in, closing it behind you. He looked panicked, “Why didn’t you tell me your roommates' friends were here?!” He whisper-shouted.

Your eyebrows furrowed, looking to the side. “When did you get here? I didn’t even hear you walk in?”

Connie slapped your shoulder, shaking you lightly. “Answer the question.”

You shook your head offendly, “That's why I asked for you to come. And what's wrong?—“ You looked him up and down. “You look fine.”

“That's the point.” Connie emphasized, “I just look fine.” You laughed, shrugging off his hands.

“Calm down, I doubt they think badly of you. If anything, they hate you because you’re friends with me.” You tapped his shoulder, “Besides, you look good.” Not.

Connie's mood lighted instantaneously, as he let out a soft— “Really?”

You nodded your head, “Anything to calm your nerves.” You sat back down on your bed, “Now that you’ve seen them, do you know who they are?”

Connie sat down with you, “I know who Eren is.” He tapped his fingers against the bedding. “He’s known for his multiple affairs with college campus girls.”

“Don’t talk like that.” You looked to the side, a finger lifting to your bottom lip in thought. “Eren’s the brunette, right?”

Connie nodded, “I’ve even heard he’s slept with a teacher for a good grade. Don’t know if it’s true, though.”

You rolled your eyes, “Just tell me the shit you do know. I’m not for that rumor bullshit.” You slightly scolded.

Connie nodded, “Alright, alright.”

“What about Armin?”

“I think he falls into the same crowd, heard his name from a few of my girl-friends.” Connie pulled up his phone. “From what I remember, I think he’s worse. I’ve seen more girls cry over him, than Eren.”

Your eyes widened, “Really? But, he looks so sweet.”

“Who knows.” Connie shrugged, “Again, I’m not completely sure. Could be some girls having a hard day, or something.”

You nodded, “I told you to tell me the stuff you do know.” You shook your head, “Whatever.” You walked towards your drawer, pulling out a board game. “Now, time for Monopoly.”

Connie smiled, “I’m so ready to beat your ass.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

“I just don’t want things to be horrible for however long he’s going to be here.” You sighed, taking the dice. “Maybe, I should evict him.”

Connie laughed, “Naw, you just gotta’ be polite for the time being, he’ll leave eventually. You don’t wanna’ live with someone you can’t stand.” He leaned his cheek in his hand

Another roll of the dice had you moving seven spaces on the board, landing on one of the free spaces. “I’ll buy it.” You handed Connie the money, to which he took it and grabbed a house. “I don’t know, after how he treated me. I think the best Armin’s going to get from me is a fake ass-smile.” Maybe even a small shank to the side.

Connie nodded, “And, that’s fair.” He reached his hand out, “My turn, pass me the dice.” You handed it to him, leaning on your hand.

Thinking to yourself for a split second. “Be polite?” You scoffed, turning your head. “Last time I was polite, I got exposed.”

Connie scoffed, moving his character conveniently on the new property you just bought. “Damn, how much?”

A quick glance at the card gave you the answer. “Eight hundred.”

Connie’s eyes widened slightly as he handed you the money. You took the dice rolling it yourself. “Y/n, you know what I mean. Like, at least try to be likable.” He watched as you tossed the die.

You looked up to him, slightly scoffing. “I am likable.”

Connie looked to the side, giving a ‘weeell,’ face. “You’re a very hard person to get along with, Y/n. Do you know what people call you on campus?”

You shrugged your shoulders, taking your eyes off the board. “I don’t know, I don’t really talk to people.”

“People call you the ice princess.” Connie laughed, “It's so funny, I’m surprised you haven’t heard it.” He watched as you moved your character three times. Landing on a chance card. “But, do you know why that’s your nickname?”

“No.” You picked a chance card, nodding to yourself, and pushing your character to the ‘go’ space. Handing the dice to Connie, watching as he rolled it, and moved spaces. Handing the dice back to you.

Connie tilted his head at you, “It’s because everyone thinks you’re an ice-cold bitch. No emotions, nothing. A rich girl and stuff.” He thought to himself for a moment. “In the most respectful way possible, and again. You still have your amazing moments.”

You readjusted your sitting position, taking in the information. “Is that how people see me?” You almost felt bad. You never really wanted to come off as hostile to others, but you just couldn’t necessarily be ‘buddy buddy’ with just anyone. “Good to know people in my own department hate me.”

Connie sighed, “I mean, nobody hates you. There’s just small talk— but nothing big. It’s just, you’re more reserved, is how I should put it, hard to approach, almost.” His face softened, seeing you slightly grab at yourself. “But, that’s not the point here.” He breathed out, trying to turn away from the subject. “What I’m trying to say is, you can’t just assume everyone’s gonna to be against you just because of what happened back in highschool.”

You moved spaces, “But—“

Connie continued, “What happened, happened. And, you shouldn’t let that bother you now. Remember whatever happens, I’ll always have your back.”

You nodded weakling, looking at the property and thinking for a mere moment. “I’ll buy it, how much is the rent?”

Connie looked at the price, “Nine hundred.”

Your eyes widened, and you grabbed some money. “Jesus, this place is dying to make me go broke.”

Connie shook his head, “You have a lot of property, are you sure you need more?” His tone was condescending, making you overthink. Did you need this property? Wait, wasn’t that the whole purpose of the game, to get properly? Then again, did you really need that property?

You nodded your head, handing him the dice. “You're right, I don’t need it.” You said matter-of-faculty.

Connie smiled, shaking the dice, landing the exact square you did. “One of the most expensive squares to land on for rent, now sold to me.” Connie smiled, cashing out the small red house.

Your jaw dropped, looking at the rent of the place. Seeing the prices only skyrocket once you bought a hotel. You should’ve just bought it, wait— “Did you-“

Connie smiled, looking straight at you. “One must do what one must to succeed. You just happen to fall into my trap.” You were beyond shocked, this little fucker just finessed you. You scoffed, licking your teeth. “’I’ll always have your back, my ass.”

Connie shrugged, handing you the dice. “Anything to win monopoly.” Despite that tiny drawback, the tears, and the begging, you won.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Another glance at the time had you moaning in regret. You were half sprawled over Connie as he drooled onto your pillow.

A quick glance at the clock made you sigh.

‘4:46 AM.’

At least you got up a little early, you could at least shower since you didn’t get to yesterday. You fixed your tank top, with your boobs somehow finding a way to spill out of them, and fixed your shorts.

Having class in the morning was a blessing and a curse, usually no one was on campus around this time so you could grab breakfast and go.

You walked to your closet, pulling out a sweater, some underwear, and some shorts. You took a moment to think— Does this mean I don’t get to blast my music anymore, because of my roommate?

You quickly opened your door and silently closed it behind you, walking to the restroom. All the lights were off, making the atmosphere eerie. The only thing that illuminated the house was the crack of light splitting from underneath the restroom door.

Goddamn it. You really didn’t want to deal with social interaction right now. You lightly knocked on the door, hearing some shuffling on the other side. You backed away, giving the person a good amount of space.

Were Armin’s friends still over? Hopefully, the fuck not.

The door was slightly pulled open, where Armin stuck out his head. It surprised you. A smell of vanilla, and cedarwood hitting your nose. It smelled surprisingly good. His hair was damp, and messily draped over his eyes.

You narrowed your eyes at him, concealing a grimace building on your lips. You ended up saying the first thing that came to your mind. “Why the hell are you up?” It might have come off a little more hostile, but you didn’t care. In fact, good. No, not good. You needed to be polite, you’re going to be living with him for god knows how long. It’s not good to create unnecessary attention.

Armin furrowed his eyebrows. “Uhm. Getting ready for class?” He had this tone that pissed you off, almost a— are you dumb, tone.

“Oh.“ You blinked a few times, “Well, hurry up. I need to get ready for class too.” You needed to be polite. Which was surprisingly hard for you. Harder that you’d thought it would be.

Armin’s grip around the door knob tightened, he gave you a small laugh. His eye twitching, “If you need to use the restroom that bad, c’mon in.”

You looked him up and down, your nose wrinkling in distaste. “No..” You were going to leave it at that, when you added, “Thank you..”

Armin’s eyes looked down at your hands, before looking at your face again. “Are you sure?”

You nodded your head.

Armin smiled, leaning his shoulder on the door frame. “But, you have a towel?” He pointed at the few items in your hands, an eyebrow raising. “And, a change of clothes.”

You looked at the towel in your hand, “It’s for decoration.” I guess Connie was right about Armin being a ‘scandalous’ man.

Armin felt a gust of air escape his lips, turning his face away, while his hand cupped his mouth. Trying not to laugh. “Right.” He mumbled, “I’ll be out in a few, give me a moment.”

You nodded your head, watching as he shut the door. Your eyes immediately hardened, flipping the door off, muttering a small, “Gunner.”

Armin kept his back to the door, rolling his eyes. “Bitch.” Unfortunately, the walls were thin, and the two of you heard each other's insults. Armin shook his head, a small smile forming on his lips.

So fiesty.

By the time Armin opened the door, you were gone. Some noise coming from the kitchen, were you making something?

You slicked back your hair, and sighed. Closing the fridge door after you grabbed a Capri-Sun. You tugged your short skirt down, smoothing it down your thighs.

Be more ‘likable.’ You were likable, right? Connie thinks so. You rolled your eyes, leaning on the counter, checking the time again. Luckily, you still had more than enough time to drive to school, and pick up breakfast.

Armin rounded the corner, peeking at you. His eyes drinking in your body, and outfit. A short skirt, and a tight zip-up sweater. Your hair was messy, but voluminous. He never really thought about it, but you were extremely attractive.

Your eyes flickered up from your drink, “What do you want?” You coughed, picking up on the small shocked expression he made. Along with your tone you didn’t intend to be rude. You’re trying, okay?

Armin didn’t really think much off it, but your tone definitely caught him off guard. But, it amused him further.

You took another sip of your drink, “Uh, what’s up?” You tried fixing your tone, but this time you sounded impatient.

Armin nodded his head, placing his hands together. “Right, could you give me the key?” He tilted his head, smiling slightly.

You mimicked his stance unintentionally, “Yeah, let me go get it. It’s in my room.” You pushed yourself off the counter, passing Armin.

Instantly, your perfume blinded him. An expensive vanilla scent, decorated with a hit of sweet fruit. Suddenly, Armin had a favorite scent for women.

You quickly came back into the kitchen, tossing the key to Armin’s back. Watching as in less then a second, his hand came behind his back, catching the key perfectly. Armin finally turned his head over his shoulder, peering at you.

Your eyes flickered to his hand, then to his face. You furrowed your eyebrows, “How did you do that?”

Armin shoved the key into his pocket, twisting his body to you. A smile on his lips, “Would you believe me if I said, lucky guess?”

You shook your head, “No.”

Armin smiled, “Force sensitive.”

You raised an eyebrow, before shaking your head. “You know what, I don’t care.” You walked away, “If my friend comes out, don’t mind him.” You pulled open the door, a gust of wind blowing your hair out of your face. “Just, don’t talk to him.”

“Alright then, see you after class.” He waved goodbye, his kind smile never leaving. You rolled your eyes, walking out of the house. Armin’s smile immediately dropped, while he bit the inside of his cheek, looking at the side.

“Hm.” Armin shook his head, “It’s fine, we’re just warming up to one another.”

Connie strolled in behind him, arms stretching over his head, while he obnoxiously yawned. “She’ll warm up to you, it’ll just take time.”

“Until then?”

Connie laughed, scratching the back of his head. “Trying to avoid getting killed by her.” He walked up the fridge, opening it up and grabbing an apple. “Y/n’s the type of person to hold grudges, but she’ll get over them.”

Armin smiled, leaned his back on the counter. “That’s fair, we didn’t necessarily have the best first impression.” He tapped his finger on the counter.

Twice. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Connie looked at Armin’s hand for a moment, before nodding in agreement. “That’s fair.” He pushed himself away from the fridge, shutting it and taking a bite of his green apple. “Anyways, I’ll see you on campus, dude.” Connie smiled, and waved to Armin.

Right when he reached the door, he paused. Snapping his fingers a few times, before turning back to Armin, “Oh, and, try to be more discreet about your hatred towards Y/n.” Connie took another bite of his apple, speaking with his mouth full. “She’s not the best when reading people, but she’s got a good intuition. She’ll take it to heart, then Y/n will never warm up to you.” Connie waved for a final time, then left.

A small laugh escaped Armin’s lips, running a hand through his hair. “Damn.” Sure, Armin wasn't too fond of you, and that was fair. But, you were supposed to like him. That’s how it always is, that’s what Armin’s used to. Then again, he wasn’t too worried, you’ll warm up to him, eventually. Hopefully.

And, Connie was wrong, Armin didn’t hate you. So, there was nothing to worry about.

You rolled out of your driveway, glancing at the house one more time. Armin didn't sit right with you. Sure, he was a cute boy, with an amazing body. But, something was throwing you off.

Maybe, it was the way you were being a bitch when Armin hadn’t done anything, but been polite to you. Or, it could be your intuition telling you something about him.

Then again, it’s not like you had to communicate with him. Maybe that was the win-win scenario, just two people that happened to live together that didn’t talk to one another.

What a good idea!

Historia snorted, placing a hand to her stomach. “What a stupid idea, Y/n! Not communicating with each other?” She laughed, wiping away a tear, “You’re too funny sometimes.”

You hushed her, turning away, “I’m being serious.” You slammed your computer shut, “I seriously don’t like him, so why would I talk to him.”

Historia slowly stopped laughing, giving you a weird look. “What are you going to do? Ignore him?” You nodded your head. She furrowed her eyebrows, “Y/n, do you know how stupid you sound? You can’t ignore someone that lives with you.”

You placed your head to the desk, feeling the cold sensation against your cheek. “I know, but it’s this, staying out of his way, or, I evict him.”

Historia scoffed, “And, how will that make things better?”

You sighed, “I heard that I’m unapproachable. Maybe, if I stay out of his way, he’ll get bored and leave.”

“Settle his nerves?” Historia sighed, “Y/n he’s not a child, I doubt he's scared of you.” She placed her elbow to the desk, propping a hand to her cheek. “If anything, you should be scared. You’re the girl in this situation.”

You looked at her, almost as if the statement didn’t process. “Me? Scared?”

“Hmp.” Historia nodded in agreement.

You shook your head, “No, I doubt it.” You slowly skimmed your fingers over the table, “I’ve dealt with men far scarier than Armin.” You grabbed something from your bag, showing it to Historia. “And, if things come down to it, I have this thing.”

Historia huffed, shaking her head. “No believe, I know you’re more than capable of protecting yourself, I’m just reminding yo—” She paused, “Wait, did you just say Armin?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you were there when I opened the email.” You tilted your head, “Why?”

Historia practically jumped out her chair with excitement, “Oh my gosh! I love Armin, he tutored me back in my medical school days.” She pressed her hand to her cheek, “Sweetest boy I ever met.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, “Did you sleep with him.”

“I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh yeah.” You shrugged at her glare, “Just making sure your opinion is unbiased.”

Historia looked at the side, “You’re acting weird, Y/n.”

This is one of the first times Historia’s ever seen you so annoyed by a person. If anything she was shocked by how you’ve been acting, it was sort of out of character for you. Speaking from experience, you’re not the very approachable type, let alone the type to display full on hatred. Sure, when something shitty happened to you, that was a different story, but most of the time you were collected and indifferent.

What the hell did Armin do to get this far under your skin?

Historia was worried, and she wanted to express that, “Why do you hate Armin so much?”

A scoff came from you, as you smiled. “He was one of the gunners who laughed at me, and he called me bitchy.” Your voice was almost toneless.

Historia looked to the side, “Well, you must’ve done something to earn that title.” Historia’s laughed.

You shrugged, leaning on the palm of your hand. “Maybe.”

Historia smiled, “You guys have only been roommates with this guy for like what a day? You’re probably just overthinking it, I doubt it’s as bad as you think.”

You looked away, sucking on your bottom lip. “I don’t know, I just get that vibe from him.” You paused for a second. Looking back to Historia. “I'm pretty sure he thinks I’m a bitchy.”

A small laugh came from her. “And, how do you know that?”

You raised an eyebrow, “He called me bitchy.”

Historia's eyes widened as she hummed out, slightly laughing. Very blunt on his end, but she still stuck to her words. “Well, I don’t think you should avoid him. Maybe, give it a few more weeks.” You nodded your head, looking at her computer.

Historia leaned her head on your shoulder, smiling brightly. “And, who knows. Maybe you two will fall in love.”

“You, and your fanfics.”

Once you arrived home from class, you tossed your things on the counter. You heard a small sound, making your head snap in the direction. Only to see Armin sitting on the couch, watching some random show.

You honestly didn’t know whether to approach him, or leave him be. Considering he looked rather peaceful sitting on the couch. You leaned on the counter, taking a look at what he was watching. Then, quickly back to him.

You couldn’t shake that thought, he looked so familiar. You thought it was because of seeing him with Eren, but you could’ve sworn you’ve seen him before that. You just don’t know where.

You’re slowly losing your mind over this stupid gunner.

You hung all your things near the door, walking towards your room. Quickly gaining the attention from Armin, he smiled at you, “Welcome back.”

You passed him a weak wave. One that seemed satisfying enough for Armin.

You hated to admit it, but you were almost interested in Armin. You wanted to figure out why he set off the alarm in your head, why he seems so familiar. Why Connie didn’t think so well of him, and why Historia thought the complete opposite. Your interest was clearly justified.

You pressed you back to the door, thinking about Historia.

Just talk to him, Y/n, you thought to yourself. Your heart stung recalling Armin’s and his friends' words. Maybe, another day.

You locked your door.

Next Chapter: .....

#writers on tumblr #anime #fiction #writing #aot fanfiction #aot x y/n #rating: mature #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan #attack on titan armin #armin x you #armin arlert #armin x reader #armin attack on titan #armin aot

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the12thnightproject · 2 years

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A Mitsunari Night's Dream Chapter 35/Epilogue - Cold Comfort

In the final chapter, Okatsu has settled into Azuchi so well, that when she comes down with a cold, everyone visits her. But as she revels in her new-found happiness... where is Aki? Also in the link below ... a teaser excerpt from the next route, featuring a certain kitsune in an enemies-to-lovers tale inspired by Taming of the Shrew.

Chapter Excerpt:

Ugh. If I had a pillow instead of this stupid pillow block, I would hide my head under it and… “would it be too anachronistic or cause a time paradox if you invented a real pillow?”

Mai grinned. “Not a bad idea – but maybe we should wait and consult with Sasuke when he gets back. So…?”

“So…?” It would be rude to hide under the blanket, but so very tempting.

“Ieyasu and Shohime?” Mai had her Yenta hat on.

“They’d have lovely green-eyed babies?” It still wasn’t going to happen. “I doubt Ieyasu can get past the hostage thing. Besides, she’s not even eighteen yet. Let her be a kid a while longer.”

As long as we steer that kid away from her flirtation festival with Masamune and Keiji.

Picking up on my thoughts, Mai said, “she’s driving all the warlords crazy.” She plopped down on a cushion, giving every indication that she intended to stay and chat. “Two of Masamune’s vassals almost came to blows the other day. Besides, it was only a few months ago, her family thought she was old enough to be betrothed to Iekane.”

And look how that turned out.

“She needs a hobby or a job. Not a boyfriend.” Screw it. I burrowed deeper under the blanket, hoping Mai would take the hint. “Talk to Hideyoshi. He’ll listen to you.” Not for the first time, I wondered if Mai was aware of how Hideyoshi felt about her.

“He takes on so much already.”

“And of all people, Shohime is the freest to help. She’s got the brains and the skills – Hideyoshi can keep an eye on her and she can take on some of his self-imposed duties.” Which of course would give the man time to invent new jobs for himself. But one problem at a time.

“Planning a take-over?” Mitsuhide leaned in the doorway, surveying my sickroom with his customary patronizing smirk (I was used to it). Hikosane, who, for better or worse, had become Mitsuhide’s shadow lately, leaned against the other side (sans smirk). The mini-Mitsuhide pose lasted only a moment before he caught me looking at him. He straightened his posture and smiled at me.

“No take-over.” I cleared my throat. “Only trying to figure out something for Shohime to do before she creates a riot.” I reflected his mocking smile back to him. “Unless you want to take her in hand?”

There was a long pause, during which I was almost certain he repressed a shudder. “While I am certain she would find it edifying, I believe that your initial idea to turn her over to Hideyoshi has more merit.” He gave me one of those ‘I can see through you’ looks. “Having one female in the castle with manipulative skills is quite enough.”

Manipulative? Moi? If I were actually and successfully manipulative, then I would be in here alone. Asleep. I coughed – not at all a faked cough, but potentially amplified, as to at least try and remind everyone that I came in here to sleep.

“Lass, rumor has it you’re feeling ill.” Masamune strode into the room with a container that I hoped contained soup. I couldn’t smell it, but even imagining hot steaming soup, already had me feeling better.

I sat up, just as Keiji came in lugging a koto that was nearly as tall as he was.

That… was an ominous sign.

“Okatsu!” They said you’re sick! I’ve composed a song and set it to music to sooth your feverish brow.” He set up the koto in the middle of the room and plucked a string… which broke in protest.

Kill me now.

“Why did you send her to help me?” The parade continued as Ieyasu marched into the room with an irate Princess at his heels. He thrust a jar at me. “Hachimitsu daikon. Better than willow bark. Have Mitsunari make it into a tea for you, if that fluff-for-brains can do that without setting the castle on fire.”

One time. It happened one time. I would have protested out loud, but was in the middle of another sneezing fit.

Shohime focused what was probably her best royal glare at Ieyasu. “Most people would have been thrilled with my assistance.”

Mitsuhide coughed loudly (his fake cough game much better than mine) and said to her, “Torikabuto tea.”

Ignoring the reminder of the time he’d stopped her from poisoning us all, Shohime turned her back on him to greet her two favorite admirers. “Hello Keiji. Lovely to see you, Masamune.”

“See. Shohime. Ieyasu. U.S.T. Am I right?” Mai punctuated her observation with a sharp little elbow to my ribs.

It seemed more like siblings than U.S.T., but I felt too rotten to give it much attention. So, I just smiled at her and concentrated on the soup. Masamune had early on learned my food preferences, so there were no mushrooms in this batch. He didn’t always omit the fungus – his view that mushrooms, like carrots, were necessary food sources and that Mitsunari and I should eat both – so this dish was likely a concession to my cold.

Meanwhile, Keiji had finished tuning (allegedly) the koto, and began singing at top volume an epic ode about the Battle of Genba, in which, I noted, both his and Shohime’s roles had been greatly exaggerated.

“Must you?” Ieyasu had to shout over Keiji to be heard. “In a moment, all the animals in the area will be howling.”

This, in turn, prompted Shohime to loudly defend Keiji.

“Enjoying being part of a family?” Oddly, Mitsuhide’s quiet tone travelled to my ears easier than everyone else’s yelling.

Well, yes, in general, although not quite at this specific moment.

Full Chapter Here:

@arrthurpendragon

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eirrw · 2 years

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spoilers are below the break and indented

2022-11-13, 15:13

so id written up this whole first impressions review after watching s2e1 of warrior nun but i think it disappeared into the aether?

im through s2e4 now and and opinions are pretty much the same. writing is better but still not great, feels like the got a better budget and/or practice on the vfx, storylines are interesting enough to make me want to keep watching

im sketch about the major new characters (but i always am (especially men)), but as theyre built out i am intrigued how things will go. there's some relationships hinted at that id love to see followed up on cause im a hopeless romantic at heart

theres also some kickass demon murder which is always cool

2022-11-14, 00:07

right so netflix already killed one show i loved this year (rip first kill, you were too stupid to live 🙏). if warrior nun doesnt get a third (final? wrap it up, dont push your luck) act i might actually fuckin riot.

and dont get me wrong, i have ~feelings~ about how the show went down (particularly e8), but those can (and should) be cleaned up

can we talk about the tropes that went into the last bit tho? kill your gays, forbidden lovers, borderline enemies-to-lovers, fuck! also the whole thing felt really male-gaze-ish

dont get me wrong, i was rooting for it the whole time (see: hopeless romantic), as someone who mostly ids as male it felt kinda icky. idk maybe im just drunk

but anyways, it was good solid fun and i think it deserves another go. give it a whirl netflix, take a risk, you have a content problem and making cool shows that ~some~ (not all!) people like helps

also it takes the piss outta the church. i think i make my view on religion fairly clear (and am happy to clarify them if i dont), but i am an absolute sucker for myth and legend and boy howdy do the abrahamics have a lot of that

christianity is of particular interest to me, maybe because its the predominant religion in my part of the world, and the one ive been exposed the most. i also find that in general its the least commonly to be used in a mythological sense

i love shit like warrior nun, or lucifer, or his dark materials (is the show good? i havent seen it), that use christian myth as an inspiration/basis and spiral out from there. like fuckin da vinci code is about the fake history, these build a fantasy out of the legends

i see "a lot" of stuff stemming out of islamic and jewish myths, and im not nearly well-versed enough to say why that is. maybe theyre older religions that hung on to some of the old gods cruft? the creatures and shit that dont really appear in christianity

and dont get me started on the ips that are built on other old religions. norse, greek, slavic, the "old gods" that are classified as myth solely cause no one really believes it any more

theres no difference to christianity, or judaism, or islam, outside of the fact that people still believe in it. its all stories to explain why the world is the way it is and codify a way to live

im mainly picking in the big three here, but i have the same feeling towards all the others. hinduism, shintō, etc dont get a pass

so yeah, more christian myth please. theres a lot of material there and making people mad is fun.

2022-11-14, 12:51

been thinking a bit more about why this bothered me so much can we talk about the tropes that went into the last bit tho? kill your gays, forbidden lovers, borderline enemies-to-lovers, fuck! also the whole thing felt really male-gaze-ish

i think its the build up. they were pushing this from e1 or e2 with the dance scene, but then did the ol classic "we're into each other but we're never gonna talk about it like normal people"

and the relationship never progressed. at all. until the last half hour when its just lets kiss and declare our love for each other

which fair, these chars are young and in a rough spot (mildly) so maybe theres no time for that. but it still felt weird

and something i see pretty often (from a certain crowd) in these situations is the "oh so youre just gonna make 'a' gay now? she never suggested anything like that", and its like, no

bi people exist. and if theyre in a heteronormative relationship then 1, good for them, and 2, they can still be into the same sex! they dont need to talk about it!

and in this case, 'a' had been confined to a bed in a catholic orphanage for most of her life. maybe the whole, oh i like girls too thing just didn't hit for a while.

and 'b' was obviously gay right from her exposition chat in s1, even if they didn't come right out and say it (see: catholics).

i love that it happened but im bothered that there was no depth to it. idk, maybe if they figured it out in like, e5, and were able to spend some time building up to that final release itd have gone down better

i.e. still tropey but at left i could have felt better about it

copied from twitter, 2022-11-13/14 https://twitter.com/virunus_/status/1591887046150340615

#twitter #rant #warrior nun #religion is a cult #mythology is cool though #warrior nun season 2 #spoilers #wn spoilers

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audioaujom · 3 months

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3: Who Was Right All Along

MITT Hub, <prev, next >

Welcome back! This is the last relatively light chapter (lol) before the real shit hits the fan and the whump I started this fic for begins. What ever could be happening to Logan in the time it takes for Virgil to find him? In other news, I’m considering whether or not to add enemies to friends/lovers to the overall tags. Anyway, enjoy!

Word Count: 1519

Virgil threaded his way through the more crowded streets, the sun rising higher in the sky as the day continued. He kept a careful eye on everyone around him as he followed Patton’s directions, but stopped upon seeing someone sitting off by themselves outside of the square.

The guy looked queasy, his face pale and body shaking a bit as he took small sips from a flask of water in his hands.

“You look pale there, you okay?” Virgil asked, pushing his hood back as he approached.

This guy has seen some shit. What the hell happened?

“Yeah, just… shaken up from something this morning.” The guy explained, brushing a hand back through his messy brown hair. He looked up at Virgil, offering him a drink. “…I’m Thomas.”

“Virgil.” Virgil hesitated a moment before taking it, sipping some water and passing it back. “So, Thomas, can you tell me what happened?”

“I had to get up early this morning to help pick up some deliveries for my mom. As I was heading through the town square, the Hanover twins stopped me. Real dicks, those guys, but you can’t exactly say no, you know?”

“Yeah. Keep going.” Virgil nodded, dread starting to creep into his mind as the twins were mentioned.

Why do I feel like I know where this is heading?

“Well, Prescott was bragging about some ritual thing that proved he was ‘worthy’.” Thomas was clearly uncomfortable, scratching at the back of his neck and staring down at the street. “All of a sudden this guy comes up to him and asks if he’s talking about this thing they do where they… murder… kids…” His voice waned and got quieter, Virgil’s eyes widening.

“What?”

He knew the family was crazy, but killing kids? That… seemed about right, actually.

Maybe Logan’s not so crazy after all.

“Worst thing is that neither of the twins denied it.” Thomas stared down at his hands, rubbing them together anxiously. “I felt sick after realizing that’s what he was talking about, so I got away from the conversation as fast as I could. Last I heard, Maxwell had run off to get their mother. I don’t know what happened after that.”

“...the guy who came up to them. What did he look like?”

“Uh… About my height, I guess? Sorta dark brown hair kinda swept out of his face, greenish eyes, glasses.” Thomas offered, Virgil sighing to himself as it all clicked into place.

“Let me guess, wearing a button up tucked into his slacks?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I know the guy.” Virgil admitted, Thomas nodding a bit to himself.

“Well, I hope he’s alright, then.”

“Yeah… We’ll see about that.” Virgil mumbled to himself, hoping Thomas couldn’t hear him. “You should be careful, though. Maybe take some time off.”

Thomas blinked, confused, but nodded nonetheless. “Okay. Thanks. For uh… listening. And the advice.”

“Yeah.” Virgil barely registered Thomas’ goodbye as he was too busy staring at the flash of plate armor from the nearby square. Stepping out of the street to get a better view, Virgil’s well-trained eyes narrowed in on the Hanover crest on the upper corner of the knight’s breastplate.

He took off through the crowd after putting his hood back up, expertly weaving unnoticed through the crowd to shadow the guard, waiting for him to head into an unoccupied street with one hand resting on the dagger concealed behind his back.

The moment the two were out of view Virgil threw an arm out, causing the knight to stumble back into the nearest wall as Virgil whirled around to pin him, using his other hand to draw his dagger and place the tip of the blade against his throat.

“You.” Virgil’s voice was low, the knight staring dumbfoundedly at him as his hands raised up towards his shoulders as best he could. “You work with them, don’t you?”

“Well now, I’m afraid I don’t know what—“

“Don’t lie. Besides, it was a rhetorical question.” Virgil cut him off by pressing the blade further into his skin, the first drop of blood starting to force its way out under the dagger. “I need to know if you were there this morning during the fight or not.”

“What ever could you be talking about?” The knight wheezed a little, trying to keep his breathing shallow so as to not cut himself further. It was mostly successful.

“Were you there this morning during the fight? Yes or no?” Virgil was losing his patience, the knight seeming to finally take notice of this as he sighed and gulped nervously.

“Well, I wasn’t there for the actual fight, I don't think. I was just posted outside the Hanover art gallery, so I was only involved after the guy ran.”

“Tall, brown hair, glasses?”

“What? Yeah, I guess.” The knight was confused, but still affirmed Virgil’s description. It’s not like he had many options. “We were ordered to catch him, so we did.”

“Shit, this is bad.” Virgil muttered to himself, glancing around a bit before glaring pointedly back up at him. “Where did you take him?”

“What?”

“It’s important!” Adjusting his grip on the dagger, Virgil huffed and got further up into the guy’s face. “Where the hell did you take him?”

“Jesus flipping Christ, man, what is your problem?” The guy cringed a little, turning his head a little to the side before realizing Virgil wasn’t going to let up. “Geez, alright! I took him back to the Hanover house, and that was that.”

“Dammit. He could already be dead.” Virgil let go of the knight, slipping the dagger back in its sheath as he all but paced in the street and began mumbling to himself. “How am I gonna tell Patton?”

“I’m sorry, dead? That can’t be right.” The guy chuckled nervously, watching Virgil. “What absurd reason would they have to kill a regular old guy like him?”

“Apparently he discovered they kill kids for shits. I’d say that warrants him being silenced.”

The knight stared at Virgil for a long moment, face flabbergasted as he desperately tried to catch up to what he just heard, breaking the silence a moment later with a loud and stuttered, “They what?!”

“How the hell do you work for them and not know what they do in their spare time?” Virgil stopped in his pacing, giving him a disgusted look that the knight very much did not appreciate.

“I’m not exactly privy to family matters, you… overgrown cloaked raccoon!” He crossed his arms, looking away defensively. “I barely even know their names, let alone know about their crazy murder rituals!”

“What, so you’re just some dumb pretty boy for show?” Virgil smirked, leaning back against the wall opposite him. “Do you even have any combat skills or are you just there to make the others look good?”

“How dare you say something so insulting! I am a knight of the Hanover family, and I—“

Waving a dismissive hand in the air, Virgil nervously bit at his lip and stared down at the stone road between his feet. “Yeah yeah, shut it, pretty boy. I need to make a plan and don’t need your ignorance rubbing off on me.”

The knight was silent for several long moments before he spoke up again, quieter. “You really think they’re going to kill him? For discovering they’re some crazy murder cult?”

“The only way to find out is to ask him.”

“Okay.” He nodded once, seeming more sure of himself. He smacked his cheeks hard a couple of times, before taking a deep breath and composing himself completely. “I can do that.”

Startled, Virgil looked back up. “What?”

“I’ve got unrestricted access to the house and I can find and talk to him. If there’s any truth to what he says, I… I can probably get him out.”

“You’d do that?” Virgil asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. “You know that if they catch you they could kill you too, right?”

“If they’re really as crazy as either of you say, I’d rather take my chances than just keep working for them.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I don’t think I could focus on working knowing what I know, anyway.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Whatever you find out, let’s meet again soon.” It’s not that Virgil trusted this guy, but if he wanted to find Logan—for Patton’s sake, of course, not because he was actually worried at all—this idiot was his best shot.

“When and where?”

“I’ll find you.”

“Well, that sounds very delightful and not ominous at all.” The knight nodded, before adding with a chuckle, “Sure you can?”

“Hey, remember that I got the jump on you this time, so I can easily do it again.” Virgil shrugged, smirking. “See you around, pretty boy.”

Virgil’s cloak swished behind him as he pulled the hood up, disappearing into the crowd as the now indigent knight called after him.

“My name is Roman!” He waited for a moment, seeing another smirk sent his way from a little ways off. “Not that you bothered to ask. Asshole.”

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gukyi · 4 years

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love me or we both go down | kth

summary: after going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.

{enemies to lovers!au, arranged marriage!au, rich kids!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, smut (i know, crazy right?) word count: 32k warnings: oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, multiple unprotected sex scenes (they’re married y’all), fat cock tae, tae has a wife kink, lots of praise, alcohol consumption (but they’re safe), minor character death (not explicit), mentions of heart attack, slow burn like there is no tomorrow a/n: hello and welcome to the fic everyone, literally everyone, has been waiting for! i am so, so, so excited to share this with you all, especially because none other than rose @kinktae helped me write the smut, and i am literally forever indebted to her. you all better go spam rose with all the love and support you can because this fic would not be here without her and i love her so much.

also, to all my readers who aren’t comfortable reading smut, please know that the smut in this fic is not imperative to the storyline, and you skipping past it will not affect your reading experience., enjoy!

Never in your life have wedding bells felt so ominous.

The sound of them is akin to the sound of strings, of a single piano note in a horror movie, right when the film opens and someone random is about to die on screen for the sake of proving to the audience that this is, in fact, a horror movie. Make no mistake about it; these wedding bells spell doom for you, too. And the most horrific part about them is that just like that poor, helpless soul in the movie, there is no way for you to escape your fate either.

With only seconds left to go before you have no choice but to promise yourself to the man waiting at the other end of the aisle, you desperately try to think of any last-ditch efforts to get out of this. Many, if not all of them, are utterly useless.

Feigning sudden illness won’t work, because then your parents will just reschedule the wedding to a later date. Running away is fruitless. Where will you go? The parking lot?

If only you had a lover out there in the audience somewhere that could object to the marriage when the officiant says, “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” A knight in shining armor that could whisk you out of the venue and off to a new life, far away from here. Too bad all of the people you’ve dated before hate you now.

Maybe getting married isn’t such a bad thing after all. Instead of having relationships with multiple people who will eventually despise your existence, you only have to have a relationship with one. And the feeling, as has always been, is mutual.

You bristle as your assistants do some last-minute prepping, fixing your sleeve and adjusting your necklace and making sure you don’t trip on your enormous train. They flutter around you like a swarm of well-meaning but ignorant butterflies complicit in the agenda of your family. None of them have said a word to you about the wedding ever since you arrived at the venue, choosing to talk more about things like the weather. Not that you were ever under the impression they had been hired to entertain you. Maybe they were told to not engage you, just in case you try to conspire with them.

As if they could be of any use in your wildly unrealistic escape plans.

The truth is that, unless you were to drop dead on this marble flooring right now, you’re getting married. Whether you like it or not.

The doors open.

You’ve attended red carpets, galas, award shows, and balls. You’ve had hundreds of cameras flashing in your face, the bright light capturing each and every centimeter of you. You’ve had paparazzi waiting outside the restaurants you eat at, the stores you shop at, desperate to catch a picture of you in sweatpants without a drop of makeup on. You’ve been on dates with ex-lovers that looked at you like you were a piece of meat with a credit card. And yet, for some goddamn reason, walking down the aisle in a white dress the size of Pluto, with the rest of your life waiting for you at the other end, makes you feel fucking transparent.

Face resolute, you clutch onto your bouquet so tightly the flowers feel like they’re about to pop right out of your grasp. Determined not to look at anybody in the audience, you stare straight ahead, right into the eyes of your future husband.

Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen multiple times drunk off his ass with hickies dotting his neck and jawline, cleans up pretty well. For someone getting married, at least. He dons a simple black tuxedo that still probably costs more than the average car, his caramel brown hair is pushed back off his forehead, and his expression is firm and still. He most certainly has had an equally expensive team prepping him, but they haven’t done too bad a job. The silver lining is that he doesn’t look any more thrilled than you are to be doing this, right here, right now. But to his credit, this is definitely the best he’s ever looked, as far as you’re concerned.

When you reach him, he offers his hand out to you, a hand that you only accept for the sake of professionalism. The bouquet in your hands is handed off to one of your bridesmaids, and the two of you take your position at the front. Your train drags along the aisle, draping over the few stairs you had to climb to reach the altar, this satin trail behind you that cements you to the floor. It may as well be a ball-and-chain. It’s about as heavy as one, anyway.

This is the longest you and Taehyung have ever held eye contact. Not that you’re really keeping track of how long the two of you have met each other’s gazes, but if you had to make an educated guess, this would definitely be the victor. Most of the time you end up sneering at each other ten seconds in, but to be fair, those other times you were also not getting married. To one another. In a ceremony attended by hundreds of people. And cameras.

There can be no sneering here.

“Don’t you look nice?” Taehyung whispers, loud enough so only the two of you can hear. He has that drawling, sickly sweet tone to his voice, the one that you hate because it makes him sound like he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else. “Surprised they were able to makeup that scowl off your face.”

This, of course, brings on a hearty scowl only he can see, your backs both facing the rows of attendees. “How much concealer are you wearing to cover up all of the hickies on your neck?” You quip back easily. It’s not like the two of you are going to pretend he doesn’t waltz around at every club or bar or private venue he can find, looking for his next treat.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Taehyung grins, and if you weren’t standing in front of hundreds of people about to get married, there’s no telling what next you would do.

The two of you would probably go on like that for another ten minutes if it’s not for the officiant, who coughs once he’s ready and opens the book in his hands. Next to you, Taehyung straightens, hands clasped together at his front, and lips pressed into a neat line. You do the same. There will be no giggles, no laughter nor smiles, nor any genuine emotion at this wedding. This is a wedding for the sake of politics, for economics, for security, and anyone in attendance would be a fool to think otherwise. Especially you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, loved ones, and esteemed guests,” the officiant bellows, listing off as many groups of people as he possibly can in an effort to both include and compliment every person in the audience, “We are gathered here to celebrate the wedding, and future life, of Taehyung and Y/N…”

Taehyung turns to you, grinning in that god-awful way, the way he does when he feels like he’s got something over you. And sure, you can’t think of any punishment quite as bad as this, but what’s Taehyung got to smile about? He’s marrying himself off to a woman he hates, kissing goodbye his days as a free-spirited, heartbreaking bachelor, and promising what may very well be the rest of his life to loving you. That is not cause for celebration.

But perhaps, to him, your suffering is enough to bring a smile to his face.

Your vows are, to put it simply, total bullshit. Your family hired someone to write yours and there’s not a doubt in your mind that his family did the same thing. This nonsense talk, this complete and utter garbage that spews from your perfectly-glossed lips, shit about how you promise to love each other until the end of your days, how you promise to take care of each other when you’re sick and accompany each other at every event, every gala, every ball. Shit about how you promise to look only at each other, promise to uphold your family traditions and become a dependable spouse.

The words don’t belong to you. But the thing is that this marriage was never yours anyway.

When the kiss comes, there’s a part of you that thinks maybe you should have psyched yourself up a little more for this. When Taehyung pulls you in, placing a stiff hand on your lower back as he brings you towards his chest, your stomach turns and shivers run down your spine. The feeling of his hand on your body, the breath from his lips brushing against your own, are enough to keep you frozen in place.

He smiles at you, almost as if to ask, “Are you ready?”

And you squeeze your eyes shut, almost as if to respond, “Let’s do this.”

When his lips meet yours, there is almost nothing. Nothing runs through you, nothing explodes, nothing strikes. But when he pulls away and cheers and applause rings out throughout the room, there is something. A little heat, a remnant of a flame, left on your lips. A little sting, just to remind you it happened.

The entire hall is cheering but nothing about this is worth celebrating. The fact of the matter is that you and Taehyung will never love each other the way that you are supposed to.

“Ugh, finally.”

The elevator doors haven’t even properly opened by the time Taehyung is loosening his tie, tugging it off over his head as he stretches his head back and runs a hand through his perfectly-styled hair. As he rakes his fingers through his caramel locks, the hairspray and gel loosens, strands falling down by the side of his face, framing his temple.

“Don’t sound so relieved,” you huff out, deciding now is as good a time as any to start getting undressed yourself. Reaching down to lift up the hem of your reception dress, you tug off your heels, already feeling lighter on your feet. Who cares if Taehyung is watching you pull off your stilettos like a defeated movie heroine? You don’t think you can walk another step in those shoes. “We still have to live together, you know.”

“Don’t remind me,” Taehyung says gruffly, brushing by you roughly as he stomps out of the elevator. “I’m just glad the fucking night is over. I swear, seeing that fake-ass smile on your face made me want to gouge my eyes out.”

You storm after him, refusing to be the helpless damsel in this situation. “Oh, like you didn’t also have that exact same fake-ass smile on your face. It almost made me think you were actually enjoying yourself tonight.”

“I was only enjoying the fact that I know you hate this just as much as I do.” It’s perhaps the only thing you will ever be able to empathize with him on. Mutually relishing in the other’s destruction. Taehyung fumbles with the keypad to the door to the penthouse for a moment before you hear the lock click, the door sliding open as the entrance lights flicker on.

The reason Taehyung’s penthouse is so clean is because he’s never lived here before. Neither of you have—Taehyung’s parents bought it just for the two of you. And as much as you absolutely despise the idea of having to live with him, at least it was not you who paid for your place of residence.

You can tell Taehyung’s never lived here before because it’s actually quite nicely decorated inside. The ceilings are high and the sleek velvet curtains are pulled open, revealing a shimmering skyline. The furniture is modern and functional, and the whole damn place smells brand new. You’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of entering the place Taehyung lived in before now, and it looked nothing like this. The furniture was worn and stained despite the live-in maid, the house reeked of five hundred different spices that wafted from the kitchen to the living room, and the bookshelves were covered with comics, graphic novels, and old textbooks.

If it weren’t for the fact that you and Taehyung are rich kids in their twenties that hate each other, you might have actually thought the place looked… homey.

You don’t have time to be impressed by the interior design and architecture skills of whoever designed this place. Right now, all you can think about is tugging yourself out of your airtight reception dress and passing out on the nearest bed. Which, hopefully, will be as far away as possible from Taehyung’s bed of choice.

“How many bedrooms does this place have?” You ask, shimmying along the floor so you don’t trip over the hem of your dress. From the looks of it, you can see one giant hallway to your right and a massive, double-sided staircase leading up.

“Enough,” Taehyung grumbles in response. The hazy stupor from all of the fancy champagne is starting to wear off for the both of you, leaving behind two grouchy, begrudgingly-married individuals who want absolutely nothing to do with each other and have no problems making that known. Whatever golden light of the evening that was making Taehyung at least a little bit more attractive than usual has faded, and now you see him for what he really is: an unceremoniously tired man in a suit. “You want upstairs or down?”

You gaze up at the marble staircase in front of you, then back down at your too-long dress. “Down.” The last thing you want is to trip in front of the man you have to see, every day, for the rest of your life.

“Fine by me.” Taehyung’s halfway up the stairs by the time he turns back around to say something else. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess?”

“Yeah.” There’s no point in being hostile now. The both of you are too exhausted to mean anything by it. Besides, what else can you say? Everything to complain about has already been complained about. At least the two of you managed to wrestle out from your parents the stipulation that you would not be going on a honeymoon together. Now that would have been your worst nightmare. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It’s as good of a goodnight either of you are going to get. Taehyung heads up the stairs and disappears around a corner, and you start wandering down the hallway. All the bedrooms look the exact same other than different colors on the walls and bedsheets, but they all look serviceable to you. Clean. Empty. Far away from wherever Taehyung is.

You pick the one at the very end of the hall just to be as much of a diva as possible, and don’t even bother drawing the curtains before tugging off your dress. It’s past one in the morning, and you’re so high up you don’t think anyone will be able to see you anyway. By the time you’ve stripped naked and are tugging up the too-tight sheets tucked into the mattress, your legs are about to give out beneath you. The bed could be made of rocks for all you care. Anything to lie down on is fine by you.

Sleep comes fairly easily to you tonight. Once your head hits the pillow you can already feel yourself drifting off, eyelids fluttering shut, but you don’t sleep quite yet. Not before you can think about how this is your life now, sleeping in a foreign bed in a foreign place with a foreign husband upstairs. This is what you will be living in now. Now and forever.

Living with Taehyung is, in both the best and worst ways possible, like living with a roommate that doesn’t give a shit about the fact that they live with another person. It’s good, because you and Taehyung hardly see each other and speak even less, which was pretty much the only thing you were asking for when it came to living with him. But it also sucks, because whenever you do happen to cross paths, Taehyung acts like you don’t exist, barely sparing you a hello or even that tight-lipped smile you send to drivers on the road when they let you cross the street.

Not that the two of you ever engaged in energetic conversation before you got married. But at least the two of you would acknowledge each other, even if only to shoot a glare and a scowl the other’s way from opposite sides of a hotel ballroom. Maybe it’s just because it’s him, but you did always find yourself actually relishing in those little interactions with Taehyung. In this strange, twisted way, it seemed to provide some sort of continuity to your ever-changing life. Like no matter what happened, at least you would know that the two of you would always despise each other.

To be frank, right now you’re not sure if Taehyung even remembers he got married at all.

Nights have been a lot more sleepless since your wedding day. After two weeks, the reality of it has finally started to settle in. This is your life now. And ever since you realized that, your bed has felt much less comfortable.

“But the place is nice, right?”

You look around the living room from where you’re sat on the sleek, white suede leather couch, eyes glossing over the bookshelves, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the draping velvet curtains. From here, you can see the entire city skyline, flecks of gold from the windows of skyscrapers against a navy blue background. Slowly, as the moon creeps over the sky and the clock gets later and later, those lights will soon begin to flicker off, one by one.

“Yeah, it’s not bad.” Nothing to write home about. That is, if home were a place other than here.

“That’s good. At least you don’t live in, like, a total dump or anything,” Victoria says on the other end of the line. “How’s Taehyung?”

His name alone elicits this deeply-exhausted sigh from your lips, like it’s been ten years since you married and every day has felt worse than the last. “Fine.” You can’t really complain about anything yet, considering that you hardly ever see the man.

“Just ‘fine’?” Victoria sounds skeptical.

“Yeah,” you draw out the word, as if trying to convince yourself of its truth. “I mean, it’s like he doesn’t even live here. I barely see him. And when I do, we don’t even speak to each other.”

“That’s good though, isn’t it? You hate him.” Victoria says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And in a sense, it kind of is.

“I mean…”

“I know that your life hasn’t exactly… gone the way you had planned, but isn’t this your best case scenario when considering everything?” She asks. “If Taehyung is as distant as you say he is, isn’t it almost like you never married him in the first place?”

As if on cue, you hear footsteps coming down the stairs, heels clicking on the marble as they make their way to the entrance. You whip your head around to find Taehyung, all dressed up in loose, flowy slacks and a flowery silk button-down, strolling down the staircase as he scrolls through his phone, paying you zero attention whatsoever.

He notices you briefly when he reaches the bottom, meeting your eyes with his own. He offers this measly, unenthused half-smile your way before he grabs his wallet and some house keys from the table by the entrance, opens the door, and vanishes off into the night.

If you hadn’t been in the living room, you probably wouldn’t have even realized he left. Not that you being present as he’s planning on leaving would have stopped him anyway. This is the sixth night he’s done this in the past two weeks. You could stand by the door and stare him down as he emerges from his bedroom, all dressed up for something you’re definitely not invited to, and he would offer you that same goddamn smile and walk out the door without even blinking. Who he was before you got married and who he is now are no different. Not even a ring could change that.

“I guess,” you tell Victoria. At least Taehyung hasn’t turned into a helicopter husband. “I don’t know. Maybe I just wish that I didn’t have to deal with him at all.”

Wish you could turn back time. Wish you could worm your way out of an arranged marriage before it was too late. Wish you could go back to the way things used to be.

You and Victoria talk for another couple of minutes before she regretfully has to end the call, citing both her beauty sleep and an 8AM meeting tomorrow morning as her reasons for hanging up. The moment you put the phone down, you sink back into the couch cushions, staring out the windows at the world below you.

Here’s the deal. What Taehyung does in his free time is none of your business. But also, it’s totally your business, because you are his spouse. A spouse who is an equal amount in the public eye as he is. What he does and does not do has a direct impact on what you do and do not do.

It’s no secret that when you catch Taehyung sauntering down the stairs looking like a Gucci runway model, it’s not because he’s planning on catching a movie with a college friend and then playing video games for four hours on a couch in a basement. He is going out. To clubs, to parties, to exclusive events that he’s been invited to by his equally-rich friends, all of whom are acting like he’s the same bachelor he’s always been.

And maybe that’s the real problem with your whole marriage—other than the glaringly obvious issue that it’s a marriage wholly unwanted by the two parties involved in it. Despite the ring on his finger, Taehyung is going out and pretending that nothing in his life has changed while you’re trapped at home, desperate to save you and your family’s reputation by keeping as low a profile as possible. You would give anything to march around the city all day, flashing middle fingers at paparazzi as you shop at your favorite high-end stores and frequent your favorite clubs. But you can’t, because your family’s fortune and influence is on the line.

And apparently, Taehyung’s isn’t.

It sort of makes you wonder why it was even Taehyung you ended up marrying anyway. His family isn’t any richer or more powerful than yours. Your spheres have always been sufficiently separate. What was it about him, and perhaps more importantly, his family that drew your parent’s eye? And what was it about marrying you that prevented him from saying no? Money? Prestige? Influence?

You suppose you’ll never know. But whatever mystical force that convinced Taehyung to agree to this must not be as important to him as your reasoning is to you, because it’s become exceedingly apparent that Taehyung does not care that he’s married. He doesn’t care about the ring on his finger, he doesn’t care about his public image, and he most certainly doesn’t care about you.

Perhaps you were naive for thinking this, but you actually believed marriage might tone him down a little. Might age him into a real adult with real world obligations. Instead, it’s only given you a firsthand look into who Kim Taehyung has been and always will be: a selfish rich kid.

You don’t bother waiting around in the living room until he gets back, but you are still awake by the time you hear the door creak open. Taehyung makes no efforts to hide his return. You can hear him chattering loudly on the phone as he stumbles up the stairs, can tell from his gait alone that he is most certainly wasted. You don’t want to know what he did tonight. You’ll probably be able to figure it out anyway when you wake up tomorrow morning and check your social media.

What were you thinking, marrying him? That he would change? That he would suddenly become someone that you could rely on? You had no choice when you said, “I do,” but you were at least hoping that maybe one day, one day in a long, long time, the two of you would finally see eye to eye. Maybe there would even come a time when you would genuinely love him. How foolish.

You close your eyes and try to imagine a world where you have married someone you love, someone who loves you back.

Not unlike the many nights preceding it, tonight is sleepless.

Unlike your marital status and general disposition, one thing that hasn’t changed about you is your love for extravagant events. Call you conceited, but there is something so much fun about putting on a fancy, expensive dress that you love and getting your hair and makeup done before going to an exclusive gala and posing in front of five hundred cameras.

Actually, now that you think about it, maybe your wedding could have actually been pretty good, considering it let you do all those things. It’s a real shame there happened to be a storm cloud in the form of Kim Taehyung there to ruin it. Otherwise, you think you would have rather enjoyed that day.

Tonight is the first event since your marriage where you and Taehyung are both required to show up and act like a happy married couple. Which would probably be a lot easier if you and Taehyung had exchanged more than ten words over the past two weeks. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but there was a part of you that thought you could use your arranged marriage to actually cultivate some sort of meaningful relationship between the two of you. So events like these wouldn’t be such a drain on both of you.

When Kim Taehyung comes down the stairs, he actually doesn’t look too bad. You don’t know why this sort of thing keeps catching you off guard—like you don’t expect him to look that good whenever you see him. The problem is that you can’t even chalk up the surprise to him wearing tailored clothes or having his hair done. He just looks… good.

Well, you suppose you do have to look at him every day for the rest of your life. It’s a good thing he’s attractive. At least he’s not sore on the eyes.

Taehyung and his unfortunate attractiveness aside, the two of you don’t say a word to each other as you join up at the entrance, grabbing any last-minute items like house keys, chapstick, and whatever dignity you have left to spare. You send forced smiles and tight nods each other’s way in the elevator, staring straight ahead in the lobby of your building as the car pulls up to the front door.

By the time the two of you sit down in the back of the limousine, the built-up tension between the two of you is so thick you’re almost positive that even the chauffeur can feel it through the closed partition.

If you were any more idyllic, you’d probably spend the drive over to the gala staring out the window and imagining yourself in a different life, on a train to nowhere, flowers in your hair and a journal in your hands. Or perhaps you’d be the CEO of your family’s company instead of having that responsibility passed down to a husband you don’t even want, sitting in an office at the top of a skyscraper overlooking the city. Anything. Anything but this.

But the idyllic part of you died when you realized that fantasies like that are nothing but distractions and that daydreams are for romantics and optimists and losers.

“What’s our plan for tonight?”

Taehyung scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘what’s our plan’?”

You frown. “Well, we’re married, so we at least have to act like it, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t standing there and smiling enough?” Taehyung asks, an unimpressed eyebrow raised.

You bristle. Maybe that sufficed for your wedding, but there was so much going on it was easy to distract yourself from the gravity of it all. But this event is not about you. It’s not even about either of your families. It’s about someone the two of you are, at best, distantly connected to, through work, through fame, through power. Which means that though the focus will not be on you, there will still be eyes looking your way. Eyes watching your every move.

“Do you think it will be?” You challenge. Doesn’t Taehyung realize that things are different now?

Taehyung’s lips curl downwards. “What do you expect us to do, shower each other in kisses? We don’t even sleep on the same fucking floor.”

“Maybe I just expected you to act less like a stranger and more like a husband!”

Taehyung sighs. “Don’t.” The word is clipped, short. “Don’t tell me you actually want to be married.”

“I don’t.” It’s a response that you hardly have to think twice about. “But we are, and nothing can change that.” Unfortunately. But it’s a fact that you and Taehyung have both had to grapple with over the past few weeks, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you are more aware of it than he is. If Taehyung could have his way, he would ignore you for the rest of his life and keep partying with the rest of his bachelor friends until he keeled over and died.

He huffs next to you, eyes staring straight ahead. You don’t think the two of you have met each other’s eyes in a week. Maybe more. They’re starting to feel as soulless as your marriage itself. “Whatever. What do you want me to do?”

“What do you think?” You cross your arms over your chest. “Just act like you don’t hate me. Can you do that?” The way Taehyung’s behaving right now, you expect that will be a challenge for the both of you.

“Only if you can. I’ll even hold your hand to prove that we love each other.”

“Fine.”

The idea of holding Taehyung’s hand makes you want to implode. The mere thought sends shivers down your spine. But it’s better than nothing, and that’s good enough for you. At least you won’t have to kiss.

The rest of the ride there is silent. You drive to this gorgeous mansion just outside the city, bathed in lights hidden amongst the bushes, illuminating both the architecture and the enormous fountain that sits in front of it. In a house this size, you imagine you could probably go your whole life without ever having to come across Taehyung. It actually makes you consider investing in a home that big.

Taehyung helps you out of the back of the limousine, a cold hand clasping your own as you rest your palm against his. You can feel the way his fingers hesitate as yours make to intertwine with his as you walk towards the entrance, smiling at whatever camera flashes you encounter on your way. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were holding hands with a ghost.

The moment you step inside and are ushered out of the door’s view, Taehyung’s grip relaxes on yours. For a moment, you think he’ll actually spend the rest of the night like this, a gentle hand wrapped around yours, but then he pulls it away entirely and shoves it back into his pocket. Oh. You frown quietly to yourself. So that’s how tonight’s going to go.

You don’t make an effort to reach out towards him again.

For an event concerning people you don’t know a damn thing about, everyone sure seems to know things about you. Other than greetings, you don’t think anyone’s said anything to you about anything other than your recent marriage to Taehyung. Every conversation is punctuated by a Congratulations! you do not feel that you have at all earned, considering you and Taehyung could barely look at each other on the way here.

Maybe Taehyung was right. All you really can do is stand there and smile.

“Oh, don’t tell me… Y/N, is that you?”

The champagne swirls around in the flute between your fingers as you turn towards the sound of your name, looking up to see a familiar face headed your way.

Kim Seokjin is nice enough. He’s terribly handsome and got a flawless smile, but you know better than to trust those pearly whites of his. The sight of him alone is enough to make your body tense up. There was a reason you had explicitly told your parents not to invite him to your wedding.

“Seokjin, what a surprise to see you here,” you say, forcing a smile. “I thought you were supposed to be in Switzerland right now.”

“Change of plans,” Seokjin grins back in that awful, awful way, the kind of grin that makes you feel like he’s looking right through you. “I came back early. It’s a shame, though, I missed your wedding.”

You shrug. “It was a humble affair.” It wasn’t. And you’re positive that Seokjin knows it wasn’t an accident that you didn’t extend an invitation to him or his family.

“Ah, I see,” Seokjin says, nodding his head. He turns to Taehyung next to you, who is making no effort to hide how wholly uninterested in this conversation he is, and holds out a hand. “You must be Kim Taehyung, then. I’m Kim Seokjin. Congratulations on your wedding.”

Taehyung shakes his hand firmly, the air between the three of you growing unbearably palpable.

“Seokjin’s father is the VP of News Daily,” You explain, eyebrows raised as you try to signal to Taehyung what exactly it means when Seokjin is speaking to the two of you. “And his mother is a popular journalist for the city’s post.”

Seokjin grew up in the world of media, and it seems he’s picked up his parent’s affinity for sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. You know he’s not talking to the both of you out of the goodness of his heart.

Seokjin laughs, his hand waving away the mention of his parents. “Oh, please. That’s them. I’m just a bored socialite like the rest of you.”

You resist the urge to scoff.

“Marriage treating the two of you well?” He changes the subject to what he really wants to talk about: you.

“Of course,” you say quickly, preventing any hesitation on your end. Your empty hand reaches towards Taehyung’s, fingers searching for his between the two of you. But his refusal to join hands does not go unnoticed by you nor Seokjin, who is eyeing the space between your bodies with an eyebrow raised. “It’s just been—well, it’s just been difficult to adjust to a new life. That’s all.”

If you were to describe the face of a non-believer, it would be the exact expression on Seokjin’s face. “Perfectly understandable,” he says, that same toothy smile lacing his features. “But it must be nice, you know, to marry someone you love.”

“I couldn’t be happier,” you say, almost challenging Seokjin to say something even more inflammatory. He must know that all you’re trying to do at this point is save face. Love? Ha! As if.

“And Taehyung?” Seokjin motions to your husband.

You can feel the way Taehyung is stiffening beside you. “I suppose we are both lucky and unlucky in many ways when it comes to who we love.”

It’s enough of an answer to get Seokjin off your tail. For now. He bids the two of you a tense goodbye before sauntering off to go poke his nose in someone else’s business, fish for drama, a thread of a rumor he can pick apart with nimble fingers. You wonder if anybody actually likes him.

The moment he disappears from earshot, you grab Taehyung’s wrist tightly and pull him close to you. “What the hell was that?” You hiss into his ear.

“What?” You can’t tell if he’s playing dumb or if he really is that dense.

“You!” You exclaim. “Kim Seokjin is the one person who could easily expose how fake this marriage is and you pull away from me? Right in front of him? You can’t even hold my hand for two seconds, that’s how much you hate me?”

“Who cares what he thinks?” Taehyung says. “He’s just another media rat. No one will even remember we were here tomorrow.”

“But if you keep acting like this, people will start to notice! Why can’t you just act like you don’t hate me, for one night? Is that so bad? Is it that torturous, to spend one night with me?”

“Do not turn this on me,” Taehyung orders harshly. “You’re making a scene. Come on.”

You don’t have time to shout at him for bossing you around like you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum before he drags you out of the venue, the two of you finding a back door to the building that leads outside. The cold air blows against your body, goosebumps popping up against your skin, but you find that the chilly night provides quite the respite after practically overheating indoors. Taehyung makes fire rush through your veins but at least the air can cool you back down.

Nevertheless, your conversation is not over. It’s just been moved to a more private location.

“You do realize that our marriage isn’t going to suddenly go away, right? That we’re going to have to keep doing this for the rest of our lives?” You remind him, eyebrows raised. There’s a part of you that genuinely thinks he’s completely forgotten that your marriage is permanent.

“Oh, and not holding hands for five minutes for this one event is totally going to change the course of our lives, isn’t it?” Taehyung fights back.

“Don’t act like you did the right thing,” you spit out. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I know you don’t give a shit about our marriage.”

“What marriage is there to even give a shit about? Just because we had a wedding and signed some documents does not mean there is a real marriage between us. Look at us,” he motions between the two of you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We hate each other. Is this what you would call marriage?”

“But at least I’m trying to get past that!” You exclaim. “You make it seem like being as miserable as possible is some sort of badge of honor. Do you actually want to spend the rest of your life hating the person you married? Or do you want to grow up and try and move on?”

Taehyung frowns. “What I want is for the person I married to stop acting like they’re doing me such a huge favor by pretending to care about us. Especially when all they really care about is their family’s goddamn reputation.”

“No,” you tell him sternly. You are doing him a favor. He just can’t admit that he actually needs help from you. “You are putting zero effort into this. What am I supposed to do?”

“Let it go!” Taehyung shouts. “Maybe one day we’ll actually start getting along, but right now it’s obvious that neither one of us can stand the other. I don’t need you to do favors for me. I can handle it myself.”

You look away, rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t look like it to me,” you mutter to yourself.

Taehyung cracks. “Fine. You want me to pretend that I actually care about us? I will.” Thank God. Maybe now the two of you will finally start seeing eye-to-eye. “But make no mistake about how I feel about you,” he spits. “Getting married to you ruined my life.”

You stare straight at him and his eyes are swirling, so obscured in the darkness of the night that you might even think he doesn’t have a soul at all. His pupils bore into yours and for once, for once in your goddamn life, after so many years of staring each other down at debutante balls, so many years of witty refrains and snarky insults hurled each other’s way, it feels like the two of you might actually snap.

Then, a camera flashes.

Trouble in Paradise! would be a suitable title for the front page of the city’s biggest tabloid… if anything about your life with Taehyung could be considered paradise. Unfortunately for the both of you, that is not the case.

You don’t need to keep reading the rest of the trashy article on the front page of the daily tabloid to know how much trouble you’re in, nor do you even have time to scroll beneath the terrible photo of you and Taehyung literally shouting at each other before you hear your phone ring.

You don’t even bother saying hello to whoever’s on the other end. You know it’ll go in one ear and out the other.

“I assume you know why I’m calling,” your mother’s harsh tone spits from the other end of the phone. There’s no doubt in your mind that she’s standing in the middle of her office, snapping her fingers at her fifteen secretaries as they partake in the worst damage control your family’s had to deal with since your cousin two years ago was caught with a mistress outside a high-profile restaurant.

“Can I take a wild guess?” You’re about to be scolded into the next century, so you might as well enjoy your last few moments.

“Don’t get cheeky with me,” your mother warns. “Care to explain why you and your beloved husband made the front page of the Daily Post today?”

“I know,” you sigh, a hand coming up to rub at your temples. It’s eight in the morning, you’ve barely looked at your phone, and you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet. It feels like you’re still asleep, and most certainly lack the energy to deal with this right now.

Your mother, on the other hand, thinks otherwise. “You know? You know, and you still go out and do this? For everyone to see?”

“We tried to take our argument outside,” you begin to explain, but your mother isn’t having a single word of it.

“The fact that you thought it was even appropriate to have an argument in a public setting at all astounds me, Y/N. We raised you better than that.” There’s no need for you to even see her face. You’ve grown so used to that disappointed frown over the years that it’s burned into your brain.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before marrying me off to a man I barely know so I could be someone else’s problem instead of yours,” you bite.

“We did this for your own good,” she hisses back. “You are married because we love you, and we want you to succeed outside of this family.”

“Then why do you care what the tabloids print about me?”

“Because being married does not mean you are no longer a part of this family,” your mother informs you sternly, lips smacking together. “Your marriage reflects on all of us, and you know that. What will people think of us when they see how terribly behaved you are?”

“Everyone acts like that, and you know it.” How could your mother preach good behavior when everyone, everyone you know, is just as spoiled and entitled as you? There’s no such thing as being altruistic when it comes to people like you. Being genuine, and good, and pure—that will get you ruined.

You can hear her breathing into the phone when your mother responds, “But not in public, and that is the point. We expect better from you.”

“If you were so worried about me behaving so badly, then why did you even marry me off anyway? You knew that I didn’t want to. What did you think would happen?” It’s a question you wouldn’t have dared ask three months ago. Hell, even a year ago, when it was first revealed you were to be engaged, you wouldn’t have dared open your lips. But things are different now. You’re married to a man that hates you just as much as you hate him. He is making no effort to improve your relationship and seems hellbent on despising you forever. There is no way to get out of it. And if your parents really foresaw all of that, then what was the point in the first place?

“Your grandmother.”

Your mouth shuts.

“You know she wanted to see you married before she passed,” your mother says, words clipped and biting and harsh. “She cares about you. She wanted to make sure you’d be taken care of.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you mutter to yourself like a petulant child. In a way, you sort of are.

“If you want to stay in her will, I suggest you change that mindset.”

You freeze in your tracks. The will?

“Is that a threat?” You ask, positively dumbfounded. Are you being coerced into staying in this marriage because of your grandmother’s will?

You can hear your mother laugh, that muted, knowing chuckle of hers. “It was the deal all along, remember?”

Vaguely, you do. You remember fighting your parents tooth and nail over getting married until your grandmother revealed it was her dream to see you wed. You remember the look on her old, wrinkled face, that soft, sad smile that said she knew she didn’t have much time left. You remember agreeing, because how could you deny her? You remember her promising to remember what you’re doing for her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“But—”

“That’s the end of this conversation, Y/N. You fix things with your husband or you’re out of her will. She’s made that clear. I expect you’ll make the right choice.”

She hangs up.

Well.

There are a lot of ways to describe how you’re currently feeling, and you most certainly had an expensive education that would provide you with plenty of the vocabulary, but you think the most appropriate words for the current situation would be: you’re fucked.

At least the feeling is mutual.

Hardly two minutes after your mother’s brutal phone call, Taehyung comes storming down the stairs, hair still mussed from the night prior, his own phone clenched tightly between is fingers. Even from where you stand in the middle of the living room, you can see the way his eyes are glinting with anger, the veins popping out from his skin.

“I just got off the phone with my parents,” Taehyung begins, not even bothering to spare a ‘good morning’ your way, “and they are fucking furious about last night.”

You shrug. “Join the club,” you mutter, arms crossed in front of you. What, does Taehyung really think you got off scot-free?

“Don’t act like this means nothing to you,” Taehyung says as he approaches you, footsteps calm despite his demeanor being anything but. “You’re the one who’s so obsessed with keeping up their family’s perfect reputation. You’re the reason we’re even in this mess in the first place.”

“What do you mean, ‘I’m the reason’?” You ask, astounded. Like he’s totally absolved of all blame and just an innocent third party. “You are the reason we went outside. You are the reason we had that argument, because you refuse to accept the fact that we’re actually married and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Right, because holding hands is really gonna show all those people how in love we are. I bet your parents are so thrilled right now.” Taehyung drawls.

“It’s a start!” You shriek. “God, you’re just so—so infuriating! You can’t accept that this was your fault, too. You just have to turn everything against me and you always, always have to get the last word. It’s like you think you’ll die if you don’t.”

“Like you’re any better,” Taehyung huffs back. “You think I’m the villain because I don’t want to pretend to be in love with someone I’m not in love with. You act like us not holding hands is going to ruin our lives. It was one event! One! It’s obvious we hate each other, so why even try?”

“What, do you expect me to just sit around and do nothing? To act like everything’s fine? Like I’m happy?” As if. This marriage is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. “While you prance around the city with your rich boy friends, going out to clubs and parties and pretending that I don’t exist? Is that what you expect from me?”

Taehyung laughs, this loud, disbelieving sort of noise, like he’s never heard such nonsense before. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean the rest of my life has to change. Am I not allowed to enjoy myself with my friends? Or are you determined to keep me chained to your side for the rest of our lives?”

“What I want,” you punctuate every word, “is for you to stop acting like you haven’t got stakes in this, too. You think I don’t know how your family works? What being married to me means for you? Because I do. And I know that if we were to divorce, it would be you who would get the short end of the stick. Make no mistake.”

That’s enough to shut Taehyung up for a good few seconds. And it shuts him up, because he knows it’s true. Taehyung’s family may have a little more money, a little more power than yours, but you’ve got a family intimately more connected with the media. One phone call and Taehyung may have a rather messy, rather public breakup to deal with.

“You wouldn’t,” he says, calling your bluff.

“Are you sure about that?” You say, sticking your ground. You would never really divorce him, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I am,” Taehyung says firmly. “Don’t think I don’t know what being married to me is in it for you. What is it? Money? Power? Your father’s CEO position?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap quickly. Maybe you’re more transparent than you thought. Bristling, you straighten your shoulders and turn back to meet his eyes. “Regardless, it seems we both have a reason to stay in this marriage.”

“It seems we do,” Taehyung agrees with a thin, contained smile. “Then I suppose we can reach some sort of agreement.”

“As in…?” Your interest in piqued.

“I’ll stop going out with my friends if you stop picking fights with me all the time,” he says economically, like he’s killing two birds with one stone.

“Only if you agree to also act more like my husband when we’re in public,” you tack on, because you just can’t settle for anything less.

“Public only,” Taehyung specifies.

You scoff. “Like I’d even want to pretend to be your wife when we’re in private.”

“Good. It seems we’ve come to a deal.”

“What’s in this for you, huh?” You prod, just to be annoying. Taehyung’s right. There’s a reason you’re not divorcing him the second you get the chance. But there must be a reason why he’s not doing the same thing.

“Does it matter?” He challenges, a single eyebrow raised. “My life is just as awful as yours.”

Fair enough.

“Do we have a deal?” Taehyung asks, holding out his hand, that sneaky, devilish grin lacing his features.

Taking his hand in yours and grasping it firmly is the easiest decision in the world. His palm presses against your own, hot hand meeting your cold skin, and it feels like the two of you are finally finding some sort of balance. You look up into his eyes, burn your gaze into his pupils, watch them glint in the white ceiling light of the living room.

“Deal.”

For two people raised on the values of reading the fine print and making educated choices when it comes to business deals, you and Taehyung sure haven’t worked out any of the intricacies of the deal the two of you agreed to. Unlike those business deals your parents constantly agreed to, however, knowing all of the stipulations and provisions of your strange, strange agreement with Taehyung may prove more harmful than helpful.

Like right now.

“Wait, we don’t have to be by each other’s side the whole night, do we?” Taehyung asks you, eyebrows furrowed in a knot, as you sit in the back of a big, black van on your way to a mutual friend’s twenty-first birthday bash.

“There are going to be a lot of cameras there,” you respond.

“Yeah, outside the entrance to the damn club. You know they won’t be allowed in, so who cares?” Taehyung rebukes.

You huff out a little sigh, not wanting to get into an argument when you’re literally minutes away from your first public appearance since the whole tabloid debacle from three weeks ago. You and Taehyung could both do with being a bit more relaxed than you normally are when you’re around each other.

“Hasn’t Clarissa invited hundreds of people? They’ll all notice if we aren’t together,” you remind pointedly. The girl whose birthday party you are attending is an heiress who grew up on the money of two people with a monopoly over the current artificial intelligence market and has millions of followers on social media. There will be notable people there. And people will know the two of you, as well.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “That’s the point, Y/N. There’ll be so many people, no one will even care. It’s her twenty-first birthday. Do you think people are going to be sober?”

You purse your lips together. He’s got a point. “How about when we are together, we hold hands. But if you see a friend or something then feel free to say hi.” Taehyung can be afforded that luxury. Especially because the chances of him not bumping into someone he knows is exceedingly low anyway.

Taehyung nods in agreement. “You too. But I won’t leave you unless I know you’re with someone you’re close with.”

“You don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine,” you say with a small chuckle. What, is Taehyung suddenly worried, or something?

“Yeah, but it would be in bad taste if I left you with someone you didn’t know well. Or alone. Just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.” He shrugs nonchalantly, turning back to look out of the window on his side of the car.

“Okay.”

You don’t really have anything else to say to that. You’re sure you can handle yourself if you’re left alone for a few minutes while Taehyung says hi, but you actually find yourself rather appreciative of his resolve to look after you. Or, at least, make sure someone else is looking after you. It’s quite… chivalrous. Strikingly out of character for the Taehyung you’ve become well-acquainted with over the past couple of months.

By the time you arrive, it’s obvious that Taehyung was right about there being so many people you two practically don’t even exist. Other than the herds of camera crews waiting outside the joint, photographing everyone that steps out of a black car to see what they’re wearing and who they’ve come with, no one seems to be paying you any attention. And in a way, that sort of nonexistence, that anonymity, it’s refreshing. Your entire life you’ve felt like all eyes were on you, like there was constantly a spotlight above your head, but here, the party centers around someone else.

Despite that fact, Taehyung keeps his promise. He keeps himself pressed closely against you when there’s not enough space for you two to stand side by side, and he makes sure to have a hand gently intertwined with your own as you weave your way through the dozens of bodies in the room. He doesn’t say anything, of course, always looking up and forward instead of beside him, where you stand, but you find that you’re actually quite relaxed with his presence. He spots a bit of a clearing near the back of the first floor of the club, where a whole bunch of leather couches are pressed up against the brick walls, where the two of you can take a breather.

“Damn, Clarissa knows a lot of people,” you say when you finally settle down, happily plucking a martini from a tray held by one of the many caterers wandering through the venue.

“I doubt she’s even spoken to half of them,” Taehyung comments. “She and I have maybe spoken once… three years ago.”

“It was enough to get you invited, wasn’t it?” You point out with an eyebrow raised.

Taehyung nods, chuckling a little. “Touché,” he says, clinking his own cocktail glass against yours.

You take a swig of the drink, letting it wash down your throat. You’re not exactly sure how else you’re supposed to survive the night. “You must enjoy this, huh?” You muse, looking up at Taehyung from where you’re seated on the couch. He’s standing next to you, looking around the room with a distant gaze in his eye.

“Enjoy what? The drink? It’s nice,” Taehyung says, having another sip.

“No, I mean this,” you say, motioning toward the crowd. “The clubbing, the dancing, the drinking. I’ll bet that if you could do this every day for the rest of your life, you would.”

“I’m honored that you think so highly of me,” he deadpans.

“Just making an observation,” you say, holding your hand up in surrender. “I mean, isn’t this what you used to do every weekend before we got married? Get wasted and party? Wake up in someone else’s bed the next morning? Muscle your way through the week just so you could do it all over again?”

Taehyung shakes his head, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like someone keeps up with her tabloids. Let me guess, you would scroll through all of those trashy articles on your phone whenever you woke up so you could see what your future husband was doing?”

“I could have never even met you and I would know that that’s exactly what you do,” you say, even though you definitely did do those things before your engagement was announced to the public. “You’re a heartbreaker, Kim Taehyung. I don’t need to read a tabloid to know that.”

“Well, you must be quite the lucky girl, then,” Taehyung comments. “You seem to be taking up so much of my energy that I don’t have the time for that anymore.”

You place a sarcastic hand on your heart. “I didn’t know you were always thinking about me. I’m touched.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Taehyung huffs out, making the two of you both shake your heads as you chuckle to yourselves. First civil conversation you’ve had with each other in a long while, even if there may have been a few blows exchanged.

The privacy doesn’t last long. Soon after, a huge crowd of people that could honestly still pass for teenagers herds towards the back of the club, all of them wanting to take pictures with each other. You and Taehyung do your best to stay out of the way, but one of the girls recognizes him from the Elle photoshoot he did about a year ago and begins to strike up a conversation with the both of you about your recent marriage. If she was paying attention to anything the tabloids leaked three weeks ago, she doesn’t mention it. Taehyung smiles and happily answers all of her questions, and even offers to take a picture of the group for them. The conversation ends before the two of you even catch her name.

You’re standing by the line of buffet tables laid out against the staircase leading up to the second floor, no doubt as crowded as this one, when the opportunity for you to speak to someone other than Taehyung finally presents itself.

“Y/N!”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. You turn around to see Victoria barreling towards the both of you, not even caring when she accidentally spills a bit of her piña colada on the floor as she does.

“Hey!” You exclaim excitedly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure Clarissa invited everyone on her, her best friend’s, her best friend’s cousin, and her best friend’s cousin’s dog’s contact list,” Victoria says with a laugh. “It’s nice to see you. I feel like you’ve been holed up in that big ol’ penthouse for weeks.”

“Damage control,” you remind her succinctly. Victoria knows enough that that’s all the explanation she really needs.

“I don’t know if the two of you have ever met formally,” you say, thinking back to your wedding, where Victoria spent most of her time schmoozing with your parents (who love her) and didn’t even engage with any of the people who Taehyung’s family had invited. “Taehyung, this is Victoria. Victoria, Taehyung.”

“Pleasure,” Victoria says in that loud, unabashedly forward way of hers, holding out a friendly hand. Taehyung smiles back curtly, taking her hand and shaking it gently, so as not to spill any more of her drink.

“Mine as well. I remember you were at our wedding.” Oh? So he does know her?

“That I was. Oh, I miss that day. The food was excellent. Tonight’s isn’t too bad either. Hope you’re doing well, the two of you. It’s nice to see you getting along,” she says, always the observer.

Taehyung’s eyes widen a little when he picks up what Victoria is not-so-subtly putting down, but you place a hand on his upper arm to calm him. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “She won’t say anything.”

“My lips are sealed,” Victoria adds.

“If you wanna go spend time with some of your friends, you can,” you say, giving Taehyung a nudge. He looks positively helpless standing in between the two of you as Victoria out-extroverts him.

“Alright,” he says hesitantly, even though you know he’s already spotted at least ten people you’re sure he’d want to spend time with over you. “I’ll come find you soon, okay? Don’t go too far.”

You nod, and Taehyung disappears off into the crowd. Not two seconds later, you hear someone else call his name in a familiar tone.

“I thought you said you hated him,” Victoria points out as the two of you watch his caramel brown hair makes its way throughout the crowd.

You take another sip of your drink. “I do,” you say.

Victoria looks at you like you’ve just told her you’ve sworn off custard-filled doughnuts.

“What?” You ask, feeling suddenly defensive.

“Nothing,” Victoria singsongs. “It just doesn’t look like that to me.”

“We just need to keep up a good appearance in public, that’s all. You know how mad my parents got when the tabloids leaked all that shit a few weeks ago,” you explain. You’re not sure what all the fuss is about. Taehyung said he would do these things. And he did. That was him upholding his end of the deal. This is you upholding yours.

“If you say so…” Victoria says, not looking at all convinced. “I guess I’m just surprised that—that you two seem to be getting along so well. Maybe you being married isn’t going to be the worst thing after all.”

You stare back out into the crowd, scanning the top of people’s heads for Taehyung’s familiar locks. In the dim light of the club, you have a difficult time finding his, squinting your eyes slightly as you look around, but eventually you spot him, dancing happily with some old friends of his you recognize. He looks like he’s having a good time. And that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might end up alright.

“Yeah,” you say, though with the pounding of the bass and the alcohol already rushing through your veins, it doesn’t really feel like your voice belongs to you. You look back at Taehyung, knowing exactly where he is now, and you smile. Just a little. “I guess he’s not so bad.”

You never do get a chance to meet Taehyung’s friends that night. By the time he joins back up with you and Victoria he’s by himself, a little more drunk than when he left, and ready to go home. And for once, instead of fighting him, instead of insisting you stay an hour more just to make sure you’ve done all of your rounds, you let him take you home.

Taehyung has been spending a lot more time at the penthouse lately. Perhaps his family’s business happenings are slow, or perhaps he’s actually starting to get more comfortable with inhabiting the same space as you, but he has definitely found himself quite the rhythm in that house of yours. He even comes down to the first floor rather regularly.

When he’s home, Taehyung is a lot quieter than you thought he would be. Granted, you don’t exactly know what you were expecting in the first place, but it certainly wasn’t him ruminating in one of the home offices while the Beatles play softly on the stereo, nor was it him reading a book in French in one of those big old grandfather chairs in the living room. If you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was still absent in that old way of his, ghostlike and silent, like he was occupying the space instead of truly living in it.

But you do know better, and even though Taehyung is just as noiseless as he used to be, the house already feels a little bit fuller.

Perhaps the reason you’ve become so keenly aware of his presence over the past few days is because of the notable fact that Taehyung has indeed held up his end of the deal, and no longer goes out with his friends in the evening. Or at all, for that matter. Which strikes you as rather odd, because he’s the epitome of a social butterfly, a thousand contacts in his phone and a whole group of friends he regularly spends time with. Maybe his parents told him to tone down the public appearances, too. And that’s understandable, but don’t they know Taehyung? Can’t they see how much he thrives on social interaction? It almost makes you feel… bad for him.

To remedy this, you suggest he invite over his friends. Just for a few hours, you swear you won’t mind.

“Seriously?” Taehyung looks positively shocked when you tell him he can, standing in the doorway of the office he seems to have designated as his own.

“Yeah, why not?” You say with a carefree shrug. Besides, you’ve never met his friends anyway, and now seems as good a chance as any to introduce yourself. You are his wife, after all. “Unless your parents say you can’t. But it’s not a problem for me.”

“You… don’t mind if I have my friends over for a bit? Honest to God, we’re probably just going to play FIFA for three hours straight,” Taehyung says like it’s some sort of warning. Like the idea of him and his buddies from college are going to sit in the living room screaming at the television, leaving you alone to do literally anything else, is somehow bad.

You laugh. “It’s fine, really. Call them. I’d actually quite like to meet them.”

Taehyung picks up his phone almost instantly, as if you’ll change your mind in the next five minutes so he better get them over soon, and already you can see the way his face is lighting up, the way his eyes crinkle as he chats to his friends and the way his lips curl upwards when they crack a joke back. Isn’t it obvious? He feeds off of the energy of others. Who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?

As it turns out, Taehyung’s friends actually end up being quite nice anyway.

He invites over three, because four people is apparently the perfect number for a hardcore game of FIFA on his Playstation, and they are all very handsome men you have never met before. You suppose like attracts like, after all.

“You must be Y/N,” says the first one you see when you open the door to let them in. He doesn’t look a day over twenty-one—in fact, he could probably still pass as a college student—and has rather long dark hair that drapes over the sides of his face, covering the edges of his big doe eyes. “I’m Jungkook. This is Jimin and Hoseok.”

“Nice to meet you all,” you say, stepping aside so they can enter.

The shortest one, Jimin, grins in response, and Hoseok, behind him, gives you a wave. It’s refreshing enough as is, not having to exchange formal greetings and shake each other’s hands like you do with everyone else. Hoseok even gives you a bit of a nod, too.“You, too,” he says. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Oh, have they, now? Interesting.

“All good things, I hope,” you say awkwardly, forcing a small smile as Taehyung comes bounding into the room, ears perked up at the sound of his friends’ voices.

“Definitely. Thanks for having us over. We didn’t wanna intrude on the sanctity of your new place,” Jungkook says, gesturing vaguely to the house as a whole. He’s got this excellent, genuine grin on his face, the kind that people who are just happy to be alive always wear.

Already he’s said enough to charm the shit out of you. Who knew Taehyung’s friends could be so… friendly? “Please, you’re welcome any time. I was just thinking Taehyung was getting a little lonely.”

“There he is!” Jimin shouts excitedly when he spots Taehyung behind the two of you, looking a lot more casual than he normally does when he’s alone with you, having abandoned his usual silky button-down and wide-leg slacks for a loose shirt and some sweatpants. You didn’t even know he had those things in his closet.

“Hey, everyone’s here!” Taehyung exclaims, just as happy. He squeezes past you to give the three of them a big hug, and it almost makes you feel like you’re intruding on something you shouldn’t be in. Even though this is literally your house.

“Nice place you got here,” Hoseok comments, eyes drifting around the living room. “Very minimalist, I like it.”

“Sure hope you don’t spill anything on those nice leather couches of yours,” Jungkook says.

“Yeah, unlike Kook, who has spilled tomato soup on every shirt he’s ever owned,” Jimin jokes, earning laughs from Taehyung and Hoseok and a punch from Jungkook.

“Moved after we married,” Taehyung says simply, shrugging his shoulders. It’s an easy enough explanation for why it doesn’t look at all lived in. Here’s hoping none of them realize you sleep in different bedrooms.

“Yeah, congratulations on that, man,” Hoseok says, giving Taehyung a celebratory nudge in the shoulder. “Who’d have thought, out of the four of us, Kim Taehyung would be the first one to settle down.”

The way Taehyung’s body tenses up at that comment does not go unnoticed by you.

“Seriously, I would have never guessed,” Jimin adds on. “You’re showing us a new side of yourself, Tae. But I’m happy for you.”

Normally, you’d probably take offense at such blatant insinuations that your husband was a former playboy, especially from his equally noncommittal friends. But truthfully, it’s not like you were blind to Taehyung’s transgressions either. And what matters most is the fact that since it was announced publicly, you are the only woman he’s been seen with since your engagement.

“Me too. You seem to really like her. I’m glad,” Jungkook pipes up, sending a smile your way. You definitely feel like you don’t belong in this conversation. “I think the two of you will be good for each other.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Taehyung says with a nervous chuckle. His eyes quickly shoot your way, the two of you meeting gazes, your hesitant expressions matching. At least the two of you are on the same page. “Alright, alright, enough,” Jungkook says. “Who’s ready to get their ass kicked in FIFA?”

“You’re on, Jeon. But when I win, you owe me a five-star dinner,” Hoseok challenges.

“Deal.”

Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately crowd towards the couch, and you take that as your cue to leave. But before you can disappear down the hallway, you and Taehyung look awkwardly at each other, hands tied. It’s not like you can say anything to them.

The truth is that, sometimes, it’s easy to forget that not everyone else knows that your marriage is just for business. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that there are still people out there that believe you marry for love.

Isn’t it crazy to think that you used to be one of those people, too?

“Hey,” Taehyung says when you meet up at the bottom of the stairs again.

“Hey,” you respond.

“You look nice.”

You scoff a little to yourself. What, are you exchanging compliments now? “Thanks,” you say, looking him up and down. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Like he ever is.

“I knew you had taste,” Taehyung teases, and it’s the sort of comment that would have earned him a melon ball to the face back when the two of you were teenagers at a debutante ball, but today only earns him a roll of your eyes as you join hands. You don’t have anything big tonight—just a small dinner to celebrate some sort of business accomplishment for your family, which means that all you have to manage is not ending up in some sort of food fight by the end of the night.

“I didn’t have a choice, did I?” You retort easily as you get into the car.

You don’t normally speak a lot on the way to events. Not that you ever did, but even as your relationship has slowly faded from pure hatred to attempts at compromise, you both seem to relish in being able to stare out of your respective backseat windows and into the city that surrounds you. Just out of curiosity, about halfway through the ride you look towards Taehyung to see what he’s up to, and find yourself genuinely surprised to see him leaning against the window with his eyes closed. Is he sleeping? A couple more minutes of gazing at him tells you he is, because his body has gone lax and his breathing has evened out, soft snores leaving his mouth. This ride can’t be longer than twenty minutes. Has he not been sleeping well? Up in that enormous second-floor bedroom of his?

He’s awake by the time the car parks outside the restaurant, this fancy name brand steak place that was chosen solely because the biggest beneficiaries of your family’s new business deal are two sixty-year-old men whose entire diet consists of beef and beer. No cameras tonight, just a small family affair. You and Taehyung hold hands as you enter the restaurant and are led to the private room in the back anyway.

You and him are seated on the far end of the long, rectangular table, alongside all of the other adult children dragged along to celebrate something that has no effect on their lives. But it’s nice, because the space alone prevents your parents from actively speaking with you, and you and Taehyung can stay in your own little bubble, only chiming in for a toast when necessary.

“What are you going to get?” He asks you, the two of you gazing at the menu. No matter how fancy this place is, all the options seem to boil down to steak, steak, steak, steak, and caesar salad. Classic.

“Oh, so you actually care now?” You counter, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Taehyung laughs. “Aren’t I supposed to?”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, wise to his usual shenanigans. It’s hard to tell if Taehyung really means what he says, or if it’s all for show. But perhaps he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious, since no one else seems to be paying you any attention.

“The choices on this menu are simply overwhelming,” you say, motioning to the six options in front of you.

“I know, I’m so torn,” Taehyung jokes, making you huff out a little giggle. At least he’s still got that same sense of humor.

You both end up going for a pretty classic steak dinner, which neither of the two of you finish because the damn portions are the size of your head. Dinner is, in and of itself, absolutely mindless, all of your parents talking about things that don’t concern you whatsoever, leaving you and Taehyung to your own devices as you desperately try to make the night go by faster.

At one point, you notice Taehyung’s foot brushing up against yours, the leather of his loafers brushing against the toe of your patent heel. Thinking someone of it, you push back, foot nudging his back to his own chair. It’s not a second later that Taehyung retaliates, the two of you dancing around each other underneath the table.

If the two of you were any younger, or perhaps any less resigned to your fate, there’s no doubt in your mind you would be attempting to get Taehyung to fall off his chair in an effort to do the same to you. Footsie means war. But when the both of you know that, at the end of the day, you’ll still be going home to the same place, and waking up the next morning in the same house, it doesn’t feel like this is a battle.

It’s just life.

Eventually, you meet Taehyung’s eyes with a hesitant smile, shoe pressed against his, stuck in ceasefire. And for once, he doesn’t have that devilish look in his eye, that smug little grin on his face that tells you that he’s going to make you regret whatever it is you just did. He’s just smiling back at you, all pink lips, having found real fun in the little things.

And that makes you happy.

The rest of the dinner is uneventful, which, in your book, is about as good as a dinner can go. You cheers to the future of your parents’ relationship with their newfound partners and say a quick goodbye to them both, hurrying out of there before they can ask you any questions on your relationship with your husband. But you don’t spend the car ride in silence on the way back.

Instead, you say, “Have you been sleeping well?”

The question seems to catch Taehyung off guard. He was already getting in position to take a power nap on the ride home, head pressed up against the window of the car.

“What?”

“Have you been sleeping well?” You repeat. “I noticed you fell asleep on the way here.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess,” he says, a hand scratching the nape of his neck. “I mean, it’s been hard adjusting, I suppose. But I’ll get over it.”

Hard adjusting? You’ve been together for nearly three months now. Three months worth of sleeping in the same penthouse bedroom, on the same soft-as-a-cloud mattress, underneath the same weighted blanket. And he’s still having trouble?

“Oh. I mean, I just wanted to ask because you seem really tired lately.”

“I got a lot on my plate, what can I say,” Taehyung says with an empty smile, forcing a chuckle. “I’ll be fine, seriously. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Isn’t that my job?” You remind him. “I am your wife.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything to that. He just lets out an audible breath, the kind you let out when you’re amused and have something snarky to say, but don’t have the energy to get the words off your tongue.

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet.

When you get home, you place your house keys in the bowl by the entrance and take off your shoes, just about ready to take a hot shower and collapse in bed, when Taehyung’s voice stops you.

“Hey,” he begins, almost hesitantly. You look back at him inquisitively. “I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, we could start sleeping in the same bed?”

You scrunch your nose up. Not in disgust, but in surprise. In bewilderment. What brought this on, all of a sudden?

“Really?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. “I thought we liked the separate bed thing. Gives us privacy.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says with a shrug, “but—I don’t know, it’s stupid. I just thought, you know, since we’re married and all. And it’s been three months.” He looks about two seconds away from backtracking, from shaking his head and going upstairs before you can say anything else.

“Alright,” you say quickly, nodding your assent. Taehyung’s eyes widen when he hears the word, like he had completely expected you to shut him down the moment he made the suggestion. “If that’s what you want. We can try it.”

“You sure?” He asks, that same hesitant smile from earlier lacing his features. It’s strange. He almost looks… sweet. Nervous.

You grin back at him. “Yeah, I am.”

Taehyung lets you grab some of your toiletries and your pajamas from your designated bedroom before you head up the stairs together, towards the bedroom he’s claimed for himself. Funnily enough, this is the first time you’ve been in his room. Three months of living together and you haven’t dared step foot on the second floor.

You don’t know what you were expecting when he opens the door to let you inside. Maybe a room that screamed ‘Taehyung’ a little more than this one does. One that looks like an actual human has been living here. But other than one of his classic silk button-downs draped over a chair, there’s not a shred of evidence someone has actually been sleeping here. You could honestly be fooled rather easily that the shirt, too, is just decoration.

“You can pick a side,” Taehyung says casually. He grabs his own sleepwear—an old t-shirt and some sweats—and heads into the bathroom to change.

You wonder why Taehyung has had such a difficult time adjusting. This room is about as lavish as a bedroom can get. And yet.

Sitting down on the left side of the bed, you begin to remove your own clothes, unzipping tonight’s dress and stepping quickly into your pajamas, hurrying to make sure Taehyung doesn’t catch you half-naked. How funny is that, you think to yourself. You’ve been married for three months and you still can’t bear the thought of Taehyung seeing you without a shirt on.

When Taehyung comes out of the bathroom, hair all messy and clothes all casual, he grins lazily to himself. “I sleep on the right anyway,” he comments mindlessly.

Within twenty minutes the both of you are about as ready to pass out as you have ever been, the only lights still on the ones on your respective nightstands.

“Goodnight,” Taehyung says, reaching an arm over to switch his off.

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning off yours as well. And all of a sudden, the room is shrouded in darkness.

You fall asleep instantly.

When Taehyung wakes up the next morning, the first thing he says to you is that he hasn’t slept that well in ages.

“You slept together?” Victoria shrieks, so loud you actually have to move your phone away from your ear as you punch in the code inside the elevator for access to your floor.

“We did not sleep together,” you emphasize. “Okay, well, we sleep together, as in, in the same bed. But we are fully clothed. And not the slightest bit interested in doing anything other than sleeping.”

“I thought you said you liked having your own space,” Victoria points out. “When was the first time you—uh…” she pauses to find the right words, “shared a bed?”

“A couple weeks ago. It’s really not so bad, I don’t know why you’re so hung up over it,” you say, lips pursed. You squeeze the phone between the side of your head and your shoulder, hands full of shopping bags, the string of the handles burning your skin. Maybe you should look into getting a personal shopper.

“I’m hung up over it because, for the longest time, you have sworn off Kim Taehyung. Called him dead to you. Insulted him every chance you get.”

You scoff. You don’t need reminding of how much you hated him, how much you can’t believe you have to spend the rest of your life with him. “It’s different now. We’re married. And he said he wasn’t sleeping well. I felt bad.”

“He wasn’t?”

“Enough about him,” you say, shutting her up. You don’t feel like talking about him with Victoria anymore. “Word through the grapevine says that your parents are actually thinking of letting you start your own company?”

It’s enough to distract Victoria. For the rest of the ride in the elevator, she talks animatedly about a new streaming service her parents are considering letting her launch, under their parent business, of course, but it’s her own company nonetheless. And you’re proud of her. Proud she could do something your parents would never dream of letting you do. Proud she could make that happen.

You push open the front door with the side of your hip after entering in the security code, phone still snug between your ear and your shoulder, when you hear Taehyung call out your name.

He comes into view from the kitchen, which surprises you because you have, on multiple occasions, made fun of how much of a disaster chef he is, especially because he’s admitted to you he’s not a very good cook.

“I made brownies,” he says, holding out a plate of the chocolate treats in front of you. Instinct has you dropping your bags on the floor by your feet and reaching out, but you eye him first, suspicious.

“I have to go,” you tell Victoria, hanging up before she even gets a chance to object to your sudden departure. “You made these?”

“Yes, I did,” Taehyung says, rather proud.

“And the kitchen is… still standing?” You ask, skeptical.

Taehyung frowns at you, clearly unimpressed. “How bad of a chef do you think I am?”

“Pretty bad,” you admit with a shrug.

Taehyung pouts sadly to himself for a moment. “These are good, I swear. Nothing weird in them like vegetables or anything either. I used a box mix.”

“No wonder they look so nice,” you comment snidely, hesitant hand reaching out to grab one. They feel like brownies. So that’s good.

“Hey, I was the one who had to crack the eggs and shit. Three eggs! And not one eggshell in the bowl!” Taehyung says, clearly very pleased with himself.

You laugh at his enthusiasm, taking a bite. It’s good. And exactly what you needed after a long day of shopping. “I’m proud of you. They taste good.”

“I knew you wouldn’t doubt me.” Taehyung grins.

“They’re really good, actually,” You amend, genuinely surprised. And the best part is that you can count at least ten brownies left on that plate, which means that you get at least five more. Which, if you had any less self-restraint, you would probably eat all at once within the day.

“I’m glad you like them. They’re all for us, you know. No one else to share them with,” he says.

“Honestly, I’m probably going to finish them by tonight. You’ll have to make more tomorrow,” you say sheepishly.

“We can make some together,” Taehyung suggests.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you respond. The words come off your mouth easily, tumbling from your lips without you having to think about it. You aren’t saying them because you have to. You’re saying them because you want to. Because baking with Taehyung doesn’t actually sound too bad. Especially if it means more brownies.

“You’ve, uh, you’ve got something,” Taehyung says, gesturing vaguely to the side of his lip.

“Oh, I do? Yikes,” you say, a little embarrassed. Your hand comes up to wipe at the left side of your mouth. “Is it gone?”

“Wait, here, let me do it,” Taehyung says, reaching out towards you. He presses his palm against the side of your face, cradling your cheek and jaw in his enormous hands, and all at once it feels like your skin is on fire.

Your body freezes up at the touch, at the way his thumb swipes at the corner of your mouth, right against your lips, wiping away nothing but a goddamn brownie crumb. You look at him, look right at him, how can you look anywhere else when he’s right in front of you like this, and it feels like you are caught in his gaze, a rain droplet trapped on a web, a bee stuck in its own honey. His big, brown eyes sparkle from the ceiling lights, a chocolate sky that mirrors the food he just made for you. He looks at you and his eyes are so soft, so open, so happy to be looking right back at you. God.

“There,” he says, a moment too late.

“Thanks,” you stammer out, speechless otherwise.

You both stand there, looking at each other, wordless expressions drawn all over your faces, no idea what to do next.

After a while, Taehyung breaks the silence. “Do you wanna order takeout tonight?”

“Okay,” you nod, still a little breathless. Taehyung smiles before retreating back to the kitchen, leaving you standing in the entranceway, shopping bags abandoned by your side.

You look over to where he’s vanished. There’s a part of you that wishes he hadn’t left. A part of you that makes you want to see him again.

Phone calls from your mother are never good. The last time she called… well, you know how that went. So when you see her contact information light up your home screen, it’s only instinct that you feel your heart rate spike.

“Hello?” The voice that comes out doesn’t even sound like yours.

There’s no good way to put what comes next. Your grandmother has died. Heart attack. The paramedics got there too late. It was over before it even started.

For a moment, for a split second, it feels like everything is frozen. Like the world has come to standstill. Your mother’s voice echoes in your ears, suspended in time, the words turning into stone as they crash onto the floor. And when they do, it is as if everything comes back to life.

Truth be told, you don’t know how long you stay there, sitting on the edge of the left side of the bed, your phone resting lifelessly in the palm of your hand. It feels at once like an eternity and only a second in time. You spoke to your grandmother two days ago. You had promised that you and Taehyung would visit her soon. How can this be happening?

Your phone buzzes relentlessly in your hands, condolences pouring in from every person in your contacts, sorry’s and heart emoticons and If you need anything, I’m always here’s filling up your screen. There’s a part of you that vaguely registers your mother, alongside some of the other members of your family, trying to call you. But nothing can seem to shake you.

Until—

“Y/N? You still up here?”

You hear Taehyung before you see him. Hear his voice, hear his footsteps, hear the door creak open as he enters your bedroom. Slowly, almost sluggishly, you twist around to look at him, the mere act knocking the wind out of you. Or maybe you were already breathless.

“Hey, you alright?” Taehyung knows instantly that something is wrong.

“My grandmother died.” The words sit heavy on your tongue. There’s no point in not telling him. He’ll find out soon enough. He’s… he’s family, isn’t he?

“What?” Taehyung freezes in place. “I—I’m so sorry to hear that, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, voice weak but steady. You blink up at him, once, twice, three times, and then suddenly you feel tears running down your cheeks.

Taehyung doesn’t say anything else. He rushes to your side and sits himself down on the bed next to you, arms wrapping around your body. And you don’t think about the fact that it’s him, about the fact that this is the closest the two of you have ever been. You just let yourself be engulfed in his frame, let yourself be enveloped in his hold as the tears stream down your skin, little hiccups jolting your throat. You close your eyes and press yourself into his arms, head resting against his chest, and wish so desperately that so many things about your life were just a little bit different.

It must be at least five minutes before either one of you dares to move. Your phone begins to rattle incessantly, that familiar and insistent buzz that the both of you are hard-pressed to ignore.

“I think you should answer that,” Taehyung whispers into your skin, lips right by your forehead.

“Yeah,” you sniffle, sitting up next to him and wiping the remnants of wetness by your eyes. Well, Taehyung’s seen you cry. There’s no going back now. “You’re probably right.” You look down at the phone. It’s your father.

“I’ll be downstairs, okay? Unless you want me to stay,” he offers, looking hesitant.

You shake your head. “No, it’s—it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Call me if you need me,” he makes you give him a nod of understanding before he finally gets up, hands slowly removing themselves from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake. Remnants of warmth. Suddenly, you feel much colder. Hardly a minute later he’s out of the room, and you can hear his distant footsteps as they make their way down the stairs.

Sighing, blinking, and swallowing all at once, you pick up.

The call passes by in a blur. Your father says the will will take at least half a year to be executed, but that the funeral is already being planned. Your grandmother had hoped you would eulogize her. You agree, but you have no idea what you will say. He says Taehyung is invited but does not need to come if he cannot make it. He says a lot of other things too, about your mother, about your cousins, about your aunts and uncles and your poor grandfather, who passed five years ago, but you can’t even remember them moments after he’s said them.

When he hangs up, the tears on your cheeks have dried, patches of them left along your skin. You head to the bathroom, getting off your bed for the first time that day, and try to wash away everything that has stained the morning. A part of you doesn’t even want to bother, just wants to slug downstairs and eat as much sugary cereal as you can get your hands on, but you can’t go down there looking like this. Looking so helpless.

By the time you reach the kitchen, Taehyung is already standing there, on the opposite side of the counter island, a big stack of pancakes in front of him. They look mouth-watering.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Thought you might want something to cheer you up.”

“Did you make these?” You ask, a little endeared. That was thoughtful of him.

“Yeah. They’re still warm,” Taehyung says. He holds out a fork.

You grin.

The funeral is a week later. It sucks in every way that something can suck. But not in the same way your wedding sucked, or even the announcement of your engagement. It sucks because it’s a funeral, because you have to stare down your grandmother’s casket when a part of you still doesn’t even believe that she’s gone. Because everyone there is so sad, so melancholy, dressed in all black and looking down at their feet. Because everyone is so sorry for you, so sorry for your loss, everyone has nothing but condolences to offer you. What will those do? They won’t bring her back. They won’t change things. They won’t make you feel even the slightest bit better.

Taehyung comes. He comes because he offers, and because you want him to. You want someone whose hand to hold. Want someone to smile at you when you’re speaking in front of your entire extended family and trying not to cry. You want someone who is familiar, and warm, and there for you.

And most of all, you want someone who won’t keep the conversation going when you get home.

“Do you wanna order Chinese?” He asks, coming into the living room, where you have been sulking on the couch ever since you stepped foot inside the door.

“That sounds nice,” you force out.

“Okay. Your usual?”

“Yes, please.” You don’t bother asking how Taehyung already remembers what you like to order when you’ve only gotten Chinese twice in the last three months.

“I’ll call them.” He disappears off into the kitchen.

What you do appreciate about Taehyung is how he has defaulted to food as a comfort measure, and how the thought alone genuinely brightens you up a little bit. You don’t know each other very well—still, after three months, you couldn’t even say his favorite color—but he is doing his best, and he is trying his hardest. In some ways, you were unlucky to marry him. To marry someone you didn’t love. To be forced into a union you had no say in, with someone you had so much antagonistic history with.

But in some ways, your luck has changed. In some ways, marrying him was perhaps the best thing that could happen to you. Taehyung is snarky, a little devilish, and absolutely full of himself, but he is not thoughtless. He is not heartless. He has proven that he is willing to put in the work. That he can grow to care. To change. To compromise. And isn’t that the luckiest thing you could have gotten?

“I’m sure you’re probably sick of hearing people tell you they’re sorry for your loss.”

His voice breaks your reverie, carrying throughout the wide open space of your living room. He’s grinning honestly where he stands, slowly making his way over to you.

“Kind of, yeah,” you admit. “It’s not going to bring her back. Most of those people probably don’t even mean it.”

“Don’t say that,” Taehyung says, sitting down next to you. “I’m sure they do.”

You look at him skeptically.

“I mean, they’re sorry for your loss because that loss is causing you pain. And that sucks,” Taehyung explains, albeit a little less eloquently than you thought he would. “I know it sucks for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like seeing you sad,” Taehyung says honestly, shrugging to himself.

You scoff a little to yourself. “I would have thought my downfall would be the exact thing the great Kim Taehyung would wish for himself.”

“Maybe a couple of years ago.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Okay, maybe even a few months ago,” Taehyung admits with a laugh, making you smile, ever so slightly. “But it’s different now. I like it when you’re happy. When you’re snarky and funny and a little evil. Seeing you like this… I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

“That’s called empathy,” you point out.

“I’m trying to tell you that seeing you sad makes me sad, stop being a smartass,” Taehyung chides, and that really makes you grin. “There. There’s that smile I was looking for.”

“You’re so annoying,” you say, even though there’s no malice behind it. You give him a little push, palms of your hand pressing lightly against his shoulder as you roll your eyes.

“Only for you,” he promises. He manages to grab a hold of your wrist as your hand meets his torso, pulling you into him as he wraps an arm around your torso. You gasp a little at the sensation, head falling against his body, fitting snugly in the crook of his neck. He gives your side a comforting rub. “I’m sorry today was so shitty.”

“It was,” you agree. “But Chinese food will make it a little bit better.”

Taehyung looks positively scandalized. “What? ‘Chinese food will make it better’? But not your loving, doting husband?”

You pretend to think for a little bit, tilting your head up to the sky as you tap your chin with your finger. “Okay. Maybe that, too,” you cave after a bit of waiting, just to be extra bothersome.

“That’s what I thought,” Taehyung says proudly, looking down at you, eyes sparkling. You can feel his grip tighten as he presses you against his body, letting you rest your head on his side. It feels like the longest hug ever, like you’re wrapped up in a weighted blanket. Only it’s not a blanket. It’s Taehyung. It’s your husband.

He’s your husband.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he says, and it sounds a lot like a promise.

You nod against him, letting your eyes drift shut. Things are pretty awful right now. Your grandmother’s dead. The funeral was the saddest family event you have ever attended. You have no idea what’s supposed to happen next.

But he’s right. He seems to be right a lot these days, actually.

Tomorrow will be better.

Taehyung lets you sleep in for the next few days. Next several days, actually. Every time you wake up it’s close to noon and your husband is nowhere to be seen, the right side of the bed cold to the touch. It’s nothing to be worried about, though, because you can still see the noticeable dip in the bed from where he lies upon it, sinking his weight into the mattress. Taehyung’s an early bird and you’ve been having fitful nights ever since your grandmother passed.

Today, you pull yourself out from underneath the covers around noon, sluggish and still tired, squinting as the near-afternoon light streams through the enormous windows of the bedroom. Taehyung must have thought to keep the curtains open today.

You pull on the first casual clothes you see in your shared closet, some wide-leg sweatpants and a drapey t-shirt, and trudge downstairs like a raccoon to a trash can, hoping to fish through the kitchen cabinets to find something to eat.

Taehyung is, as far as you can tell, nowhere to be seen. You can’t seem to hear him anywhere, and a part of you wonders where he’s at when you stumble upon the note left on the granite counter.

Had a meeting downtown, be back around 1! There should be smoked salmon and some cream cheese and bagels in the fridge.

Taehyung.

You chuckle to yourself as you read his flowy handwriting, amused that he thought to let you know of, of all things, the available breakfast foods in the kitchen. You check the clock. It’s nearly noon. Which means you have just over an hour of the house all to yourself.

Having the house to yourself for five minutes is infrequent enough as it is, let alone for a whole hour. So often is Taehyung around, somewhere, holing himself up in one of the dozens of rooms or mindlessly wandering down the hallways. And for how much Taehyung is present, the funny part is that you still have no idea what he gets up to most of the time. Despite your voluntary abandoning of the separate bedroom rule, the two of you are still firm proponents of the sanctity of your personal spaces. There are rooms in the penthouse Taehyung has never been in, rooms filled with your clothes and makeup and accessories for when stylists come over before an event. A sewing room that you had specifically asked your parents for, because a part of you never let go of that childhood dream of being a fashion designer.

And there are rooms in the penthouse that you have never been in. Rooms with dark wooden doors that have always been kept closed, that you have never stepped foot in. It’s not that you aren’t curious as to what Taehyung gets up to. He could have a goddamn evil lair in one of those rooms and you would be none the wiser. But you don’t go, because he doesn’t go into your rooms. Because you two, despite all the vows you have broken, promised each other you wouldn’t.

An hour to yourself is almost a good enough excuse for you to head back up to the bedroom and take a nap. Not that you don’t get enough sleep on a regular basis, or that you even had a fitful night last night—hell, you woke up near noon today and already you want to go back to sleep—but what else is there to do when he’s not around? What new freedoms have suddenly been given to you?

You head back upstairs, much less groggy after that delicious bagel of yours, when you catch a whiff of what smells like wet paint coming from down the hallway. It’s potent and immediately invades your senses, prompting you to wonder if that has always been there, or just magically appeared. Maybe you were so sleepy earlier, you didn’t notice it.

Well, you notice it now. Unable to help yourself, you start to wander down the hallway, towards the source of the smell. God, it stinks. It takes you back to those days in middle school, when you would spray paint projects inside a tiny little classroom, have to step outside for fifteen minutes while you cracked the windows and aired it out. It gets stronger the further down the corridor you go, like a thick, smelly cloud stationed firmly within the walls of the penthouse. And then you realize where it’s coming from.

It’s an art studio.

A very messy art studio, you amend to yourself, as you peek inside. The door is wide open, and all of the windows are popped too, but the extra air circulation doesn’t seem to have made a dent in the scent. And all over the floor, the walls, and the tables are canvases covered in paint, denim jackets and pants and shirts with these wide, unafraid brushstrokes. Open cans of spray paint lie discarded on the hardwood floor stained with splotches of red, yellow, and green.

Is this what Taehyung does in his free time? Is this where he goes, this bright, sunny room at the end of the second floor hallway? Is this what he is making?

You look down in awe at the clothes resting on the floor, splayed out to maximize dry time. Abstract faces, landscapes, and words are painted onto the backs of jackets, the fronts of old white t-shirts. What hasn’t made it onto the clothes has been put on canvases instead, blurs of color mixed together in this purposeful pattern, confidence emanating from every stroke, every dot. It’s not art in the way that the gorgeous landscapes of Monet, the picture-perfect portraits of Kahlo, the messy, unplanned splatters of Pollock are. It’s art in a different way. In a Taehyung way.

Who knew he loved it so much?

You almost feel like an invader encroaching on his territory when you lean down to start cleaning up some of the mess, throwing out empty spray-paint cans and tossing out grey paint water. You don’t dare touch any of the work, don’t dare try to move it. You do what you can, washing out the brushes resting in the water and cleaning up the wet splotches of paint on the hardwood. Over time, the thick scent of still-wet paint slowly fades, disappearing out the window as the fresh afternoon air seeps in. And you stand there, in a room full of art, in a room full of pieces that Taehyung has undoubtedly poured his heart into creating, and you smile to yourself.

That’s how Taehyung finds you ten minutes later, peering into the room after declaring that his meeting had ended early.

“Thought I’d find you in here,” Taehyung says with a grin as you jump at the sound of his voice, eyes widen when you turn around to see him standing by the door.

“Oh, hey,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Maybe because this is the farthest room in the house from the front door,” Taehyung teases lightly, coming up behind you. “I see you found my studio.”

“I know I’m not allowed in here,” you admit.

Taehyung scoffs. “Who says?”

“Didn’t we both agree on that?”

He shrugs. “Sort of. I think we just reached an unspoken understanding we wouldn’t invade each other’s personal space. But it was not in the fine print, no.”

“The fine print of what?”

“That deal we made.”

Right. That deal you made, four months ago, That deal, where the two of you agreed to pretend to be in love with each other during public appearances so you wouldn’t get burned at the stake by your families. Where the two of you agreed not to interact with each other otherwise because you hated each other so much.

“Oh, yeah,” you say distantly, feeling naive for already forgetting about it. It doesn’t seem to have slipped Taehyung’s mind whatsoever.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind that you’re up here,” Taehyung says, interrupting that piercing little voice in the back of your head that is asking you why on earth you forgot about that deal in the first place.

“Yeah, I—” You scratch at the nape of your neck, trying to find the words to say. “It just smelled like paint, so I wanted to see what you get up too. And it’s this, apparently.” You motion vaguely to the entire room.

“You sound… surprised,” Taehyung muses correctly.

“I guess I am,” you surmise. “I’m rather impressed, too, actually.”

“Really?” It’s Taehyung’s turn to sound surprised.

“Yeah,” you tell him honestly, looking into his eyes. “I—you know, I just came in here because the entire hallway smelled like wet paint and I wanted to know why. But I didn’t know you loved art so much.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Taehyung points out.

You suppose that’s true. You don’t know his favorite color. His favorite song. His favorite book. For a long time, you didn’t know what he got up to on his side of the penthouse. You don’t know how he met his friends. What he studied in university. Who he has loved in the past. Who he loves now. You don’t know why he does the things he does, and why he doesn’t do the things he doesn’t do.

But you do know his Chinese takeout order.

And you do know his hobbies. Well, one of them, at least.

Who’s to say you can’t learn more?

“Well,” you start with a smile. “I’m your wife, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I begin to learn?”

Taehyung picks up what you’re putting down instantly, grinning in response. “Only if you’ll tell me things about you, too,” he requisitions.

“I will,” you promise. It’s the easiest one you’ve ever had to make.

His face is light, bright, bathed in the rays of the afternoon sun. His eyes shimmer as they meet yours, golden flecks more pronounced like this, in this gorgeous, open space, daylight streaming through the windows. Looking at him makes you feel like you are surrounded by warmth, makes you feel like the sun is opening its arms out to you. He has always been gorgeous. Beautiful. But looking at him like this, standing in the middle of a room filled with all the things he loves, a yellow halo surrounding him—he is ethereal.

Taehyung smiles. “Then I will, too.”

The hand-holding comes naturally tonight.

The funny thing is, actually, you don’t need to hold hands at this gathering. It’s not an event. Or a public appearance. It’s not even a business dinner. It’s your aunt’s sixtieth birthday party, reserved exclusively for family. Isn’t that strange? That Taehyung is, technically, family now?

For so long you had vowed to stay as far away from him as possible. Vowed to stick it to him whenever and wherever you could, do anything you could to get on his nerves, rile him up. Vowed that when you, one day, took over your family affairs, you would never, ever invite him. Make it known that he wasn’t to be a part of your life. And yet, here you are. Clinging to him despite being well-acquainted with—loved by, even—every other person in the room. Holding his hand like a goddamn lifeline.

To be fair, Taehyung doesn’t look a hair out of place here. Dressed relatively casually, a smart sweater with a collared shirt underneath it, he smiles warmly at all of your relatives and presents your aunt with a beautiful and very expensive scarf the two of you had commissioned from a designer in Italy, which she absolutely loves. She pinches his cheek and proceeds to wear it for the rest of the night.

“Damn,” you murmur to yourself as you wander around your aunt’s house, hand wrapped around his arm. “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”

“When was the last time you were here?” Taehyung asks.

The question actually makes you think for a moment. “I don’t know, maybe five years ago? Last couple of birthdays I was overseas or in school. Had to send her a card.”

“Bet your parents were real pleased with that,” he jokes, making you both laugh. At least you two will always be able to share your experiences of domineering and influential parents with each other.

“Oh, I’m sure. Just as pleased as they were when they realized how much we hated each other.” You expect that little jest to elicit a laugh out of Taehyung as well, but he just smiles tightly, huffing out a breath of acknowledgement.

“Eh, it’s not like that now, is it?” He offers up.

“I suppose not,” you muse, sitting down together on her ancient grandma couch in the living room. No matter how rich your family gets, she’ll never get rid of this thing, that’s for sure.

One thing you’ve picked up over time is that, for every second Taehyung spends basking in the spotlight, he spends an equal amount of time lingering by the wall, watching the rest of the world turn without him. He’s an observer. He is one by nature, feeling an irresistible pull to understand humans in a way only artists could ever do. He sits down next to you and watches your family in an environment where they can relax, where they can feel comfortable and be casual with one another.

Very seldom have you ever brought friends to events like these. Small family affairs. But Taehyung isn’t a friend, is he? No, he’s your husband. He belongs here just as much as you do.

“My family seems to really like you,” you point out. Not that anybody has ever harbored as much disdain for him as you. Your parents called him respectable and polite when they told you you were to be wed. Your grandmother had said he was a dashing young man. He doesn’t exactly have to reach far to be loved around here.

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” He replies snidely.

“Oh, just take the compliment,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Taehyung always has to be so difficult. “I’m surprised you aren’t nervous as hell. Last boyfriend I brought to meet my parents was shaking in his Louis Vuitton shoes.”

“Last boyfriend, huh?” Taehyung’s interest has been sufficiently piqued. “And, uh, how many of those have you had?”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, smile twitching on your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Heartbreaker.” Pretty rich of Taehyung to be asking you such a question when he’s probably had more girlfriends than you can count on both hands. “Not as many as you’ve had girlfriends, that’s for sure.”

“Guess I’m a lot different than all those trashy guys you’ve dated, aren’t I?” He asks, an eyebrow raised as he looks at you.

“You are?”

Taehyung nods assertively. “Well, yeah. First of all, I’m your husband. Second of all, your parents love me. Third of all, you love me, too.”

You scoff. “Don’t humble yourself. You don’t know me that well.”

“Speaking of which,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as he points to you knowingly, “how about you tell me a little fact about yourself? It’s my job to learn about you, isn’t it?”

“That is my line, watch it,” you sneer, pointing back at him. You wrack your brain for a fact that you can tell him, something more exciting than your favorite color but less weird than one of those terrible icebreaker exercises you had to do in college seminars. Something that has pertinence to who you are. Who you’ve become. “Alright. I used to want to be a fashion designer when I was little.”

Now that catches Taehyung off guard. “Really?” He says, genuinely intrigued.

You shrug. “Yeah. I learned to sew when I was really little. Been tailoring and hemming clothes all my life. But I always wanted to design my own stuff.”

“Is that what’s in your room?” Taehyung asks. “A sewing machine?”

“Bingo.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says. “I didn’t know that.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?” You say, just to be smart.

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes rolling.

“What about you?” You ask. You can’t imagine what he’ll say. Astronaut. Veterinarian. Or, if he really wants to surprise you, a business executive.

“A museum curator.”

It is an answer that simultaneously surprises and doesn’t surprise you at all.

“Fitting,” you muse. “You could have put your own art on display.”

“Pretty sure that’s, like, super unethical,” Taehyung reminds you.

“So? You’re rich. Start your own museum. Put your own art on display. Live your dream,” you amend. “It shouldn’t be holed up in that studio of yours forever. It deserves to be seen.”

Taehyung smiles at you. “You think so?”

You nod. “Of course. You create beautiful things, Tae.” It’s the first time you’ve ever called him that. And that is not lost on Taehyung, either.

“Thank you,” he says softly, blinking as he looks at you. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

Later that night, when everyone’s gotten a few drinks into their systems and Bruce Springsteen is playing low on the stereo, Taehyung disappears off towards the bathroom, no doubt because of the excellent soup that was served that night. All by your lonesome, you feel a little stranded, surrounded by your old relatives dancing on the hardwood floor of the dining room, your other cousins too young to actually spend time with.

In the commotion, your mother comes up to you, swirling a rather large glass of red wine in her hand.

“Where’s Taehyung?” She asks.

“Bathroom.”

“No wonder you were alone,” she says with a hearty laugh. “The two of you have been glued to each other’s sides all evening.”

“He’s my husband,” you offer as an explanation.

“I know, I know,” she says, shaking you off with a smile. Your mother is a lot more casual once she’s had her fill of wine, no doubt her favorite, Bordeaux. A lot more loving, too. “You really made your grandmother proud, you know? She loved you so much.”

“I know,” you say, trying not to get choked up at the mere mention of your grandmother.

“She was so happy to see you with Taehyung. It made her feel safe that you would be taken care of,” she continues on, barely paying you and your swimming eyes any attention. “She would be so happy to see you with him now, too. How much you love her.”

“I miss her,” you hiccup out, trying to compose yourself. Nothing kills a birthday party like some sad sack crying over her deceased grandmother.

“I know, darling,” your mother says, calling you by a nickname she has hardly used ever since you turned eighteen. She squeezes you tightly, a small hug of comfort. “I miss her, too.”

Someone calls your mother’s name, distracting her as she wanders off to your uncle, who is asking what the best way to cut the three-tiered cake on the dining room table is. She bids you a goodbye before disappearing towards the kitchen, no doubt ready to make the cutting of the cake an affair all on its own.

Taehyung comes back soon after, spotting you instantly as you stand around in the living room.

“Hey,” he says, noticing the wet shimmer of your eyes. “You alright?”

You nod, feeling better already now that he has returned. Now that he is by your side. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I hope those tears aren’t because you missed me,” he says, wiping away a stray one that has escaped from your eyes. You close them as his thumb brushes against your upper cheek, your eyelashes, opening them only when you’ve felt his touch vanish from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake.

“No,” you say. But the night makes you honest, and a couple of drinks, even more so. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Taehyung smiles. “Me, too.”

For all those days you have spent together, never have you and Taehyung had a night in. Which isn’t necessarily completely surprising, considering how many evening events the two of you have had obligations to attend, considering your differing work schedules and meeting times. Considering that, for a very long time, the two of you had no desire to spend any time with each other at all.

But tonight, there is nothing on your calendar. No galas, no dinners, no meetings, no schedules. There is only Taehyung, who has spent the entire afternoon up in his studio, inhaling spray paint fumes and doing what he loves. And there is only you, who has spent the entire afternoon wondering what the hell you’re going to do tonight when there is nothing else planned.

You knock on the door to his studio, catching him right as he’s finishing up another piece. This one is a single flower, painted in broad, confident strokes, bright green and red and sunflower yellow decorating the canvas.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, turning around to face you.

“Wanna order takeout tonight?” You suggest.

Taehyung grins.

Thirty minutes and your favorite Chinese food later, you and Taehyung have settled onto the couch, trays of dumplings and noodles and rice in front of you, an unfunny movie playing in the background.

You can’t remember the last time the two of you sat on this couch together. Maybe that night you had made the deal? Perhaps not even then. It wouldn’t at all surprise you if you found out that this was the very first time you and Taehyung have sat together on your couch, in your living room, in your house. So often is it occupied by others—Victoria, who sometimes comes over to ooh and ahh at your closet, Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok, who sit on this couch and play FIFA like it’s their job, your mother, when she wants to make herself at home in a place that doesn’t belong to her—but never you. Never you and him.

“This is kinda nice, isn’t it?” You ask, swallowing a bite of dumpling.

“Chinese food is always nice,” Taehyung responds over a mouthful of cold noodles.

“Not that,” you say with a sigh, “this. Sitting together. Watching this shitty movie.”

“It’s not that shitty,” Taehyung tries to reason. On screen, the main character is getting pied in the face during some weird college fundraiser. “Okay, it’s a little shitty. But it’s good background noise, right?”

You nod halfheartedly. “I guess.” Silence. You take another bite of your dumpling, not really sure how to continue the conversation. “We don’t really get to do this a lot, you know? Sit and eat dinner and watch a movie together. Like a date.”

“We’re on a date now, are we?” Taehyung muses, eyeing you snarkily.

“Isn’t that what this is?” You retort.

He shrugs. “I suppose it is.”

“Tell me another fact about you,” you request, looking over to him where he sits on the opposite side of the couch.

“About what?”

“Anything.”

Taehyung pauses, ponders for a moment. But he could never say anything wrong. Not when there is still so much you don’t know about him. Still so much you want to learn, so much you want to commit to memory. For so long you have stared at the planes of his face, the curve of his nose, the twinkle in those dark brown eyes. Those you will always remember. But what about who he is? What he loves? Those are things you still don’t know.

“The very first time I met you,” Taehyung begins, “I asked Jimin what your name was.”

“When was that?” You ask. Despite you being someone who has spent the better part of the last several years vowing never to give Taehyung the time of day, you sure don’t remember when it all started.

“That debutante ball,” Taehyung remembers fondly, “when we were fifteen. I asked Jimin what your name was because I wanted to ask you to dance.”

“Shut up, no you didn’t,” you say with a scoff.

“It’s true. You were standing there in that poofy white dress and I wanted to ask you to dance,” Taehyung points out. The fact that he even remembers what you were wearing is shocking.

Who knew. Who knew, back then, that you would one day grow up to marry him.

“And what did I say?” You demand more.

Taehyung laughs at the memory. “I came up to you, and I asked you if you wanted to dance, and you said, and I quote, ‘Who are you?’”

“No,” you say, aghast at your own behavior. Were those really the first words you ever said to KIm Taehyung?

“You did. Don’t you remember?”

You think back. Think back to every year you have ever known Taehyung, every year you have spent scowling at him from across ballroom floors, making some snide remark as you pass by each other in the hallway. Every year you have spent cursing his existence, willing him away from you so he could bother someone else. Every year you have listened to rumor after rumor of girlfriend after girlfriend. You think back and somewhere, somewhere in there, in those dusty corners of your brain and cobwebbed boxes of your heart, is that first memory of Taehyung, too.

Of him standing there in some generic black suit, black hair swept over his forehead, shoes too big. Of him coming up to you, trying to be as suave as a fifteen year old could be. Of you saying to him, instead of a hello, or even a what’s your name, “who are you?”

Of him saying—

“And you said, ‘your dream come true’.” Like a dam bursting open, the memories flood back to you all at once. “I remember that.”

Taehyung laughs out loud at the thought of him saying something so cheesy. “Unsurprisingly, you didn’t want to dance with me.”

“You were so—” you begin, but you don’t have the words. Don’t have the words to express how you felt about him that night. Don’t have the words to express how you feel about him now. Thinking about this, talking about it, it is a bridge. A bridge between what was then and what is now. A bridge between who Taehyung was and who you were and who Taehyung is and who you are. “—so unthinkable. I couldn’t believe you had come up to me and said that. I couldn’t believe you had the audacity. But something about that night made me remember you. Made me remember your name.”

“You thought about me after that?” Taehyung asks. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“There is something about you that is unforgettable,” you say, honest and real and true. What else can you tell him? The truth is that you have always thought about him. Whether you liked him or not.

You finish your dinner and place your trays on the end tables next to you, stacking your empty bowls and plates on top of one another as the movie rumbles on in the background.

“It is kind of a shitty movie,” Taehyung admits after a while of being wholly unenthused.

“Yeah,” you agree. “But it’s good background noise.”

Taehyung laughs at your little mockery, warm and deep and from his belly. You look at him. He feels so far away, on the other side of the couch. Feels like he’s miles apart from you. You have spent countless nights clinging to his harm, hand gripped tight in his. And sitting like this, a full couch cushion of space between the two of you—it isn’t enough anymore. So you inch closer.

And closer.

And a little closer.

Until you’re pressed up against his side, legs touching as they rest neatly in front of you, backs stick straight as you stare at the television.

Taehyung holds his arm up. An open invitation.

Without asking, you lean into him, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder, in the space right underneath his jaw. You pull your feet up onto the couch and curl into his frame, pressing yourself against him. He is warm and firm and inescapable. He smells of coffee and paint and Chinese spices. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in, as if there were any other place you’d rather be.

You sit like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other. Lazing around on the couch as the stars twinkle above your head. The movie ends and the two of you don’t even bother skipping the credits, letting them and the cheesy 80’s pop song play on, a distant soundtrack.

“I never thought any of this would happen,” you breathe out.

Taehyung looks down at you curiously. “What? This?”

“All of it,” you admit. “Us. Getting married. That stupid tabloid picture. My grandmother. This. It’s all so new.”

“New things will happen all the time,” Taehyung muses aloud. “We can’t help when things change.”

“You don’t have any regrets?” You have plenty. Regrets that you’ll never become the CEO you wanted to be in college. Regrets that you’ll never become the fashion designer you wanted to be as a little girl. Regrets that you will come to resent this marriage, resent Taehyung more than you have in years past, all because you had no choice. Regrets that your grandmother couldn’t see you now. Regrets that there were so many things in your life you could have changed, but didn’t.

“I thought I did,” Taehyung tells you. “I wanted to spend more time with my friends. I wanted to major in art in college. I didn’t want to marry you. I know you didn’t want to marry me.” He looks down and you look up at the same time, eyes locking, inches apart. “But looking back on it, I’m happy where I am. With what I have.”

“I never thought it could ever be like this,” you say, words falling off your tongue before you even ask them to.

“What?”

“Us.”

There’s no need to elaborate. Taehyung understands. He understands that, half a year ago, you both would have thrown yourselves into a volcano before holding hands with each other. He understands that getting over your hatred for each other seemed like an absolutely insurmountable task. He understands that you had never wanted to marry each other, that you couldn’t believe you would have to spend the rest of your lives with each other.

And he understands that now, things are different.

“I’m glad things happened the way they did,” Taehyung begins. “I’m grateful for us.”

You press yourself impossibly closer to him, feel his grip tighten around you. Like this, you can hear his heartbeat. Hear it thump like a drum, steady and firm and unwavering. His heart beats against his chest and you wonder.

You wonder if he can hear the way yours beats for him, too.

There were lots of things that made your night in together special. But one of them is the glaring fact that you don’t get them very often. That their infrequency makes them all the more valuable.

This has become blatantly obvious to you, because right now you are not spending a night in together. Right now you are stuck at a gala that you have to attend for the sake of business, drinking thin flutes of champagne and mingling with people you barely speak to.

The one good thing about nights like these is that Taehyung looks positively gorgeous in suits. He sort of always has, but you’d never admit that to his face. At least not until now. And as his wife, you are lucky enough to have a front-row seat.

“I can feel you staring at me all the way from over here,” Taehyung deadpans as he helps himself to a chocolate-covered strawberry from the buffet table.

You’re too obvious to have any shame about it. “What can I say, I like the view.”

“Hard to believe I was the once the one being shouted at for being inappropriate in public,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. He bites into the strawberry and eats it all in a single go, tossing the stems into a bin nearby as you join back up in the heart of the crowd.

“It’s only inappropriate if other people hear,” you tease, letting him guide you, hand intertwined with yours, towards an empty corner where the two of you can snuggle up to one another in (relative) peace.

“I don’t think the champagne was very good for your filter, Miss Y/N,” Taehyung hisses into your ear, warm breath tickling your skin.

“Don’t you mean Mrs. Kim?” You pose, an eyebrow raised.

That seems to do something to Taehyung. It’s not very bright in here, with it being nighttime and all, but even still you can see the way his eyes darken. See the way his lips curl upwards, feel the way his grip on you tightens. It sparks something within you. Something deep in the pit of your belly.

Something that makes you want more.

You test the waters. “Mrs. Kim has a nice ring to it, don’t you think, Tae?”

Taehyung looks about a moment away from losing control. But instead of slamming you against the wall in front of all of these people and giving you what you really want, he growls out, low and powerful, “Home. Now.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

You hail your car outside of the venue and it’s all the both of you can do to not jump on each other right then and there, in the backseat of this giant black van, overcome with want, with need, with everything in between. Taehyung’s leg bounces impatiently the entire ride back, and the feeling of your hand pressed against his doesn’t seem to be calming him down. He pulls you close to him in the backseat of the car, a hand resting on your thigh. You eye him carefully, as if challenging him to be any more daring. He grins.

Home cannot come soon enough. The two of you tumble out of the backseat and into the elevators, where you mash the top floor button after entering in the security access code, desperate and shameless. The ride seems to take hours, and the heat that surrounds you practically smothers you, covers you, fills up your lungs and chokes you.

There is nothing left by the time you reach your door. The moment it slams shut behind you Taehyung presses you up against the back of it, pins you against the wood as he hovers over you, eyes tracing your lips.

“Tell me something,” he demands.

“What?”

“A fact. Something I don’t know.”

It doesn’t take much thinking. “I want you,” you breathe out, watch it hit his skin, watch the way his eyes glint in the light of the entranceway. “Please, Tae. I want you.”

It’s enough for him.

This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed. The first time was nearly five months ago, in a chapel, at an altar, surrounded by hundreds of people. It was so unfun that you seem to have eradicated the mere thought from your memory. But you remember that feeling from that day. That feeling you got when you pressed your lips against his, cemented your marriage with a kiss. That heat. That sting.

Kissing him now—that feeling has returned tenfold. When his lips meet yours, it feels like fire is rushing through your veins, setting alight every nerve it passes, unforgiving and relentless. His enormous hands come up to cup your jaw, fingers pressing against the skin of your cheeks as they pull you close to him, keep you trapped in his hold. This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed but it feels like it is—it feels like there is a lotus blooming on a lilypad in your heart, it feels like you have been struck by lightning, it feels like nothing else you have ever felt before. It feels brand new.

Pressing back against him, he slowly releases you from the cage he has created against the door, spinning around so the two of you can tumble up the stairs and into your bedroom, unable to resist sneaking in pecks here and there as you make your way upstairs. Every step you take you stop, giggle as he presses you against the railing just so he can steal another kiss from you, put his hands all over your body. It’s a wonder the two of you even make it into your bedroom at all.

When you do, however, all bets are off. Taehyung presses you against the still-made bedsheets with a glint in his eye and a growl on his lips, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, at your body.

"Aren't you a sight? Laid out so pretty for me," he purrs, robbing a breath from you.

It's a tone you have yet to hear from him. You find yourself growing impossibly hot under his stare, burning with an uncharted desire.

You can hardly wrap your brain around it. Here you are, craving the man you had spent the better half of your young adult life loathing. Maybe it’s the champagne; maybe it’s the way his fingers are running slowly up the length of your clothed torso. Whatever it is, your stomach does flips, unfamiliar to the way your body preens under his touch.

"Don't let it go to your head," you tease, simply because you could.

Taehyung hums disapprovingly, pressing kisses into your neck as he grabs one of your thighs and wraps it around his waist, riding your dress up in the process.

You sigh, exposing your neck further for him as he paints bruises into your neck. It feels like just yesterday you had called him out at the altar for his habit of sporting the very same marks you were soon to wear.

Perhaps you should have thought twice about letting the man you had married purely under business pretenses press his hips against your clothed center, but as he rolls his into yours, your mind falls blank, silencing any and all reservations you should have.

Whimpering, you beckon his mouth back onto yours, tongue meeting his wantonly.

You feel his fingers creep up the outside of your bare thigh, thrilling you in the most primal way. Reaching the band of your underwear after what felt like entirely too long, he runs the pad of his thumb against the lacy fabric.

You could scream. He is doing this on purpose. He must be. Surely he knows how badly you were aching for him? For him to fill you– whatever the manner may be.

You let out a whine before you can help yourself, frowning as Taehyung looks pleased with himself, confirming his knowledge of your prolonged pleasure.

"What's that? Did you say something?" he mocks, looking cruel and yet strikingly gorgeous as he smirks above you.

"God, you're irritating,” you huff, hips jerking up against his as he pulls at the band of your underwear, the elastic snapping back into the flesh of your hip. "Just fuck me already."

He tuts, clearly unimpressed by your impatience, "Now, where is the fun in that?"

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers suddenly snake their way between your thighs. Mouth falling ajar, you grip his shoulders as he runs his middle finger against your clothed slit, trailing up and down your warmth. To think he was still dressed while he was touching you like this...

"No... I think I'll take my time with you," he says.

You mew against his hand, arousal forming against his long digits' ministrations. You have to hand it to him. Taehyung knows what he’s doing. The life of a bachelor has seemingly served him well.

You aren’t usually vocal in bed, but the way he’s purring words of filth to you, breath hot against the shell of your ear as he tells you how hot and slick your pretty pussy felt against his hand, has you gasping and sputtering, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist.

The fabric of your panties provides a friction that toys the line of pleasure and pain, making you thrust up to meet his motions, your humility slipping from you.

Taehyung watches you intently, cock growing hard under the constraints of his dress pants. You look better than he could've imagined, eyes watering and body shivering under his touch, his fingers soaking with your arousal. He can only imagine what you'd feel like with his fingers fully buried into you, rocking them against your velvety walls.

He lets out a groan of his own, turned on by the idea of you fucking yourself onto his fingers, whimpering out his name in ecstasy.

There’s this part of you that faintly recognizes that Taehyung has done this plenty of times before. Plenty of times with plenty of other lovers. But there is a different part of you, that part that bursts with light and hope, that reminds you that he was never married to those other ones. That his allegiance lies with you. And that thought, knowing that deep within you, he is yours, makes your jaw fall slack, pretty noises tumbling from your lips and your thighs clamping around him.

You were close, closer than you care to admit. Every touch against you is careful yet deliberate as he reads the signs of your body, the way it keens and arches into him, offering you words of encouragement as your climax finally hits.

"That's right. Good girl. Let go for me," Taehyung coos, eyes dark and focused on your writhing form.

You cry out into the familiar space of your shared room, head thrown back as you ride out the high, letting it wrack your body, send jolts throughout your veins.

You barely have time to catch your breath when he presses his mouth back onto yours, kiss still as eager as it was when you both first entered your home. You are alight with satisfaction as he pulls away to press a trail of kisses against your jaw.

"I want—f-fuck," you stutter as he finds your already hypersensitive clit once more, rolling his thumb over your now soaked panties in tantalizing circles, "want to make you feel good, too."

Admittedly, this fantasy had crossed your mind once or twice, brought on by the way he carried himself in a suit and the way his large fingers wrapped around the champagne glass; confident, collected, and entirely charming. Who are you to shy away from a man like him? He certainly has always been rather good-looking.

He pauses his motions, pulling his hand back to sit on your waist. Your dress is of the finest, most delicate satin, and after tonight's activities, completely wrinkled. You can almost hear your stylist's cries of dismay. Whatever. You have a steamer. And why focus on the dress when it’s obvious the two of you are focused on what lies underneath it?

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod, skin still burning from your past climax.

Helping you back up, Taehyung stands. You lick your lips as you sit back up on the edge of the bed, watching intently as he unbuckles his belt, audibly hissing as his pants fall to his ankles, cock visibly straining against the fabric of his underwear. Thank God you don’t have to stand. With the way your thighs still felt weak and how your husband looks like a goddamn Adonis towering above you? Your legs surely would give out underneath you if you rose.

Brows furrowed, Taehyung palms over himself briefly before pulling down the waistband of his underwear, his painfully hard member slapping against his torso.

Your eyes widened on instinct. While the last thing you wanted to do was help inflate Taehyung's already large ego, you were certainly impressed at his size; thick and girthy, his tip red and shining with precum.

He couldn't help but smirk, thoroughly pleased by the way you stared at him unabashedly, chest rising and falling heavily.

"Open up for me," he orders.

And who are you to deny a request from your dear husband?

Your pretty lips wrap themselves around his engorged tip, all remnants of lipstick long gone by now. Taehyung hisses, a hand finding the side of your jaw as you run your tongue against the underside of his cock.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he grunts, fighting off the urge to grip the back of your head and fuck your throat. As much as he'd love your have you choking and drooling all over his cock – and boy would he – he lets you set your own pace, not wanting to overwhelm you.

It doesn't take long for you to sink your mouth further down, however, clearly set on making Taehyung feel as good as you could.

A low moan erupts from his throat, digits pressing into your jaw in request to take more of him in, which you happily oblige.

You had your eyes trained on him, completely obsessed with the way he panted through pink lips, hissing slightly every time your tongue rolled over his sensitive tip.

Lolling his head to a side, his eyes meet yours, gaze primal and wolfish as he watches the way you worked his cock.

"Doing so good, love. Doing so fucking good for me,” he murmurs.

You hum against his skin at the sound of the sudden pet name, an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in your belly. You push aside the feeling, focusing instead on the way he grunts at the new sensation you had just given him.

Giggling, you pull off his cock, opting instead to press a kiss against his leaking tip, making sure to hold his eyes as you run kitten licks against it.

"God, you're such a tease." He shakes his head in disbelief.

He looks so good above you, shivering and cursing out praises on how good your mouth feels, how well you take his cock. Running your tongue along the length of his shaft, you become certain that this is a display you can’t imagine yourself ever getting tired of. But you have all the time in the world, right?

"Y/N,” he gasps suddenly, hips jerking towards your face. "Love, I'm gonna-- gonna cum."

"Cum in my mouth, please." Your voice was pleading and desperate. Taehyung had never heard such words spoken more sweetly.

"Fuck's sake."

You let out a yelp in surprise as his fingers work their way through your hair, bringing your head back down onto his cock. You relax, though, when you feel the hot ropes of his cum hit the back of your throat, your hands finding purchase on his thighs as you do your best to swallow it all down.

Pulling yourself off him, you let out a small cough, eyes watering slightly as you hadn’t managed to prepare yourself with a breath before his release. His large palm runs across the top of your head as you caught your breath, expression flickering with something unfamiliar. Could it be... fondness?

Your heart stammers at the thought as you stand, slowly stepping out of your dress, letting it drape off of your figure. Taehyung looks absolutely gobsmacked, pupils dark as he gazes at you, eyes unabashedly raking your body. He’s shameless.

You both are.

Slowly, you step towards him, fingers reaching out towards his shirt, carefully undoing the buttons as you gaze at each other, expressions unreadable.

"Tae?” You ask innocently, blinking up at him. “Fuck me?"

Your polite request makes Taehyung chuckle.

"Please?" You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes blinking up at him adoringly for good measure. You reach the last button, let his dress shirt drape open. He brushes it off himself, stands there for a few seconds just to let the way you’re ogling his toned chest go to his head. At least he’s good-looking.

He sighs, probably contemplating some clever rebuttal, but eventually decides against it as his cock is already twitching back to life.

"Alright, love. Turn around. On your knees for me," He orders, making your stomach flip.

To your surprise, you are hardly in place when the warmth of his large hands finds the soft of your tummy, pressing you back into his chest as he pressed a peck to the back of your neck.

You squirm in his hold, whining as that same hand of his grabs hold of your breast, long digit rolling your nipple between their tips. You can’t help but press your ass back into him. His cock feels hot and heavy, pressing against the back of your thigh, making your pussy clench in anticipation.

You want him.

You want him so bad that you don't know what to do with yourself, shuddering as his free hand runs along the side of your ass, leaving scorching hot trails on your skin wherever he kneads into your flesh. He's touching you everywhere – everywhere but where you need him the most, and the arousal that drips down your thigh mocks you.

"Dammit, please!" You exclaim, running out of patience.

"Please what?" He says, an eyebrow arched.

You shiver, committing the way his middle finger traced your pelvic bone to memory forever.

You puff out a frustrated breath, nearly at your wit's end. "Please fuck me, Tae."

Taehyung pauses, grip on your breast and hip tightening as he lets out a moan. You let one out yourself as you feel him readjust, cock pressing against your slick entrance.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty when you say my name," He grunts. "Okay, baby. I'll fuck you. Begging so nicely for my cock."

You let out a squeak as you're suddenly pushed down onto your hands, back arching as he pushes his fat cock inside your heavenly cunt. He's thick, so thick, that you instinctively grip the sheet underneath you, fingers curled around them tightly as if it means to hold onto your sanity.

Taehyung lets out a shaky breath, angling your hips up so that you could take more of him.

"You feel—feel so good," he admits above you, and suddenly you wish you could see him. See the way his bangs stick to his damp forehead—see the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip wickedly.

You let that thought go, however, as he thrust into you, making your jaw fall slack and eyes flutter shut. Profanities roll off your tongue unabashedly, helpless under the way his thick member pulls out of you, only to slam back into you.

You weren't expecting this. The way he stretches you out further than anyone had before. Your pussy clenches around him, reveling in the sweet, sweet burn.

He digs into the flesh of your hips, holding you steady as you mew and cry out, pushing your hips back in time to his, trying your best to meet his movements.

"Tae... fuck, fuck, fuck—"

He was filling you to the brim. Filling you tight and deep.

God, the way he was panting behind you was music to your ears. His cock pulses every time you call out his name, voice muffled and buried as you had your head pressed into the mattress, hair messy and bouncing with every hard thrust.

"S'good! Fuck... so, ah, big..." you cry out.

You feel drunk. Intoxicated off this beautiful man and the way he makes you feel a way only he can.

You nearly let out a sob as the rough pads of Taehyung's fingertips suddenly reach around you and find your neglected clit, rolling light circles on the soft and swollen bundle of nerves skillfully.

You are a mess, whimpering and drooling into your expensive sheets, and he filled every inch of you, leaving no place undiscovered. Your high nears, stewing on low heat somewhere near the pit of your belly, waiting for a chance to erupt and wash all over you. Taehyung must be close to, you realize, as his thrusts began to slow down, slamming into you roughly as if chasing after his high.

"Gonna take this load? Huh? Gonna let me cum inside your pretty little pussy?" His voice is straining, as if trying to breathe evenly but merely moments from falling apart.

If only you could formulate an intelligent response, but instead, you are a blubbering wreck, thighs shaking as they threatened to give out underneath you. But somehow, Taehyung knew. He had you. Quicking his motions against your delicate pearl, he could tell you were close too, and he was going to make sure you got there.

Suddenly, you're crying out and convulsing, tears brimming at the ends of your eyes as you feel Taehyung empty into you, collapsing onto his hands as well.

You feel his hot breath against the back of your neck as he pants, breath growing more and more even as the two of you regain control of your bodies and minds.

Pulling out of you, he plops down beside you, and for a moment, the two of you hold each other's gazes, eyes speaking in ways words never could.

Finally, after what feels both like an eternity and just a moment, you work up the courage to say something, moving closer to him as you place a hand on his chest, cushioning your chin as you rested on top of it.

"Psst," you beckon, voice hushed.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky and tired.

"I’m grateful, too."

"Huh?"

"I’m grateful for us, too."

Taehyung's gaze is soft, and it lingers on you for a second before the sides of his mouth curl up tenderly. He grins down at you, eyes drifting shut. You feel him squeeze you closer, pressing you against his skin. And then, you hear his breathing steady, see his lips part slightly.

You lean into his chest, eyelids fluttering. “Thank you, Tae.”

Not unlike the many other mornings you have awoken in this bed, when you open your eyes as the morning sunlight streams through the windows, Taehyung is nowhere to be found. The sheets on his side of the bed are flipped aside, revealing that soft outline of his body from the night before left imprinted into the sheets, a dip in the mattress where he slept. You had fallen asleep all wrapped up in each other, tangled up like vines, but must have separated sometime during the night. Distantly, you register Taehyung’s voice outside, notice his phone missing from his bedside table. He must be on an early morning call.

You check your phone for the time. Ten o’clock.

A late morning call, then.

Still basking in the afterglow of the night prior, you slowly inch your way out of bed, shivering as you pull the covers off you and scoot your legs around so they hang over the edge of the bed. You rub at your eyes until you faintly remember you did not take your makeup off last night, and when your hand comes away covered with black streaks and flecks of mascara, you wince to yourself. There goes five hundred dollars worth of a skincare routine.

After washing yourself up and applying as many serums as you can to your skin, you wrap yourself up in one of his button-up shirts, the torso so wide that it drapes over you. The tips of your fingers peek out from the ends of the sleeves, and you cross your arms lightly over your chest as you make your way to the door, ready to entice your husband back to bed for round two. What? It’s Saturday.

You peer around the door to find Taehyung standing a few feet away, facing away from you. He’s shirtless, and as his wife you have absolutely no problems ogling him, the toned curves of his back, the muscles in his arms. He’s always been a looker. You just finally have an excuse to look for yourself.

You approach him quietly, not wanting to interrupt nor broadcast your sex life to anybody on the other side who may be listening. Already, the idea of crawling back in bed together sends goosebumps along your skin, makes you giddy with anticipation. You’re just about to tap him on the shoulder, lips curled upwards in suggestion, when he says—

“And my inheritance? That’s secured now, right? Because I said I would pretend to be in love with her in public—?”

And it is as if Medusa herself appeared in this room, turning you to stone as your heart thuds to the floor, a hollow, empty noise.

You don’t hear the rest of Taehyung’s conversation. You don’t even hear the sound of your own heartbeat. This terrible, aching sound rings in your ears, silencing everything in its wake, drowning out even the sighs of your own breath. It is as if you have been frozen solid. As if you have been shot in the stomach. You stand there, feeling absolutely nothing, and all you can do is brace yourself for what is to come. Taehyung’s words were the knife but his next actions will be its removal, leaving in its wake an irreparable wound.

He turns around, casual and cool, voice still hushed. As if you were still asleep. As if you hadn’t heard anything at all. But when he twists his body and sees you standing there, staring back up at him, lips parted in shock.

“I’ll call you back,” he tells whoever was on the other side of the line, looking more panicked by the second. He opens his mouth so he can explain himself, but you don’t need him to. You’ve heard everything already.

“I should have known,” you say, feeling angry and betrayed and sad all at once. “I should have known it was all an act.”

“Y/N, wait, let me explain—”

“What is there to tell me, Taehyung? What are you going to say? That you didn’t mean it? That you thought I wouldn’t find out? That last night was just a one-off?” You demand. The heat from your veins hasn’t left. Still, it simmers through your blood, burning you up from the inside out. “That you didn’t want to lie to me?”

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Taehyung says defensively, brows furrowed. “Just give me a chance to explain myself.”

“Explain yourself? How you pretended, every day and every night, just so you could get some more money in your bank account? So you could make sure you would get your father’s business when he died?”

Taehyung bites back easily. “Don’t act like you weren’t also faking it at some point. I know you were almost removed from your grandmother’s will.”

Your tongue is bitter at the mention of your grandmother. As if Taehyung ever even knew her. “My grandmother has nothing to do with this.”

“Really?” Taehyung challenges. “So you wanting to stay in her will was just a little bonus, right?”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “It’s different.”

“Different how?” Taehyung spits. “Because right now, to me, it looks pretty similar to what I’ve done.”

“My grandmother died months ago,” you remind him. Her will is no longer the question. It has been written, settled, and executed. There was no reason for you to continue playing along once she took her last breath. No reason—unless you wanted to. “Meanwhile you’ve been keeping your inheritance a secret from me this entire time.”

“We made a deal,” Taehyung says. “A deal that said we would both act happy and pretend to be in love because we both had things we needed to worry about. Family things. Money things. You were a part of this, just like I was. You pretended, too.”

“Well, maybe I stopped pretending!”

You can’t take it anymore. All this anger, all this emptiness, it’s been bubbling up inside you ever since you heard those first words come out of his mouth. It spills out of you all at once, an eruption from your lips, your heart’s doors bursting open. You have held his hand tightly in your own. You have pressed your lips to his. You have laid yourself bare in front of him. What is there left to protect? What part of you has not already been stained by him, by his touch, by the feeling of his fingers against your skin?

The hallway is silent, but you can hear your cry echo down the corridor. Hear the way it bounces along the walls before fading away.

“Maybe I stopped pretending,” you repeat, softer this time. You blink and already can feel the streaks along your skin, the tears falling from your eyes. “Did you ever think about that?”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Taehyung looks like he’s in disbelief. Like he cannot believe the words you are saying to him.

Well, that makes two of you.

“Can’t you see, Tae? Can’t you tell?” You ask, the nickname falling from your lips before you can even help it. You must remind yourself to change that, later. “I’m in love with you.”

They are words you have never said to someone before. Not even your old boyfriends. Words that you always knew you would reserve for someone special. Someone who would touch your heart and make it their own, someone who would leave imprints of their fingers against your chest. Someone who would brighten you up from the inside out, leave you bursting with light.

Ironic, that Taehyung has become that someone. When he is the one person you never thought could.

When he has proven, time and time again, that you two just cannot mix. Oil and water. Pastel and acrylic. Satin and silk.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you spit out quickly, before Taehyung has a chance to respond. “I know it doesn’t matter to you.”

“Y/N, yes it does,” Taehyung begins, desperate and pleading. “I know you heard what I said, but I swear, it stopped being an act for me, too. Things are different now, just like you said.”

“Don’t. Please.” You pull away as he reaches out towards you. Faintly, you remember that it is his shirt you are wearing. Remember that no matter what you do, he will always surround you. “Please, Tae.” You have nothing left. You can’t bear to look at him, but where else will you go? You cannot believe the things he’s said, the things he’s done, but where else would you go?

“I love you, too,” Taehyung says, and a part of you wants so badly to believe him.

A part of you wants so badly to ingrain those words into your head, carve them into your heart, let him wrap his arms around you and promise that everything will be alright. But things are different now. Just like you said. You and Taehyung are not the same people you were six months ago. Or six weeks ago. Or even six minutes ago. You are helpless and he has proven that he does not care.

“I have to go,” you say, looking away. You don’t think you could handle turning back to him again. “Please, Tae.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, and he reaches out once more but you are not there to meet him halfway. Were you ever?

“I know,” you whisper back.

You duck into your bedroom and pack a suitcase of everything you need. Being here is suffocating. Being with him is like setting yourself alight.

Victoria has no questions when you show up at her door later that day, suitcase by your side and this ridiculous bottle of Merlot in your hands. You had picked it up on the way over. You sort of figured you might need it.

“You don’t wanna talk about it, do you?” Victoria asks.

“Tell me about your streaming service,” you hiccup in response.

Victoria is happy to oblige. She even tells you that she still hasn’t picked a CFO, and that the position would be open for you if you ever wished to take it.

Funnily enough, what will become of you once your father retires and passes along the company is the furthest away from your thoughts.

You remember being so worried about that. Being so worried that, once they married you off like every good daughter should be, you would be absorbed into your husband’s life, cut out of your family’s. Your father would choose a cousin, an uncle, or even a friend to take after the business, bestowing upon you a thoughtful inheritance but nothing more than that. All of those years of schooling, finance in college, your MBA soon after, would be wasted, just so you could hang on the arm of your husband for the rest of your life.

It’s thoughtful of Victoria to think of you for the position. She knows just as well as anyone else that you would be an excellent fit. And if things were just a little bit different, you would be jumping at the offer.

But your future career plans are on the backburner, along with the rest of your life.

All you can really do, right now, at this very moment, is wait for things to change. As they always do.

“Don’t you have an event tonight?” Victoria asks about three days into your stay. She’s given you her favorite (her words, not yours) guest bedroom and an enormous closet to match, despite you only coming over with a carry-on’s worth of clothes.

You scoff to yourself. “Like I’d want to go to anything with him.”

“Have you even called your parents?”

“No,” you say, not even caring about the repercussions. There’s no doubt in your mind that they’ll be ringing you soon. And when they do, maybe then you’ll finally work up the courage to tell them what really happened. Tell them that you can’t go back there. Not yet, at least.

“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” Victoria says as she hands you a bowl of vegetable soup, homemade from a couple of days ago. You nod to yourself, sniffling as you curl into the couch cushions and wish they would absorb you whole.

There’s no need to ask her what she means by ‘this’. Everything. From your engagement to the marriage, from those tabloids to the deal, from your grandmother’s death to now. It has all been unfair. Life is unfair. And while you’ve always known that, it has been particularly cruel to you as of late.

Still, when you wake up sometimes, you can still feel him tracing over your skin. Feel his lips hovering over yours, breath fanning out over your cheeks. You turn over and expect to see him lying there, on the right side of the bed, sheets mussed as they cover his figure. You wake up and for a brief moment, for that split, split second, there is peace. And happiness. And love.

And then there is nothing.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me, too.”

Maybe he really does love you. Maybe things really did change. But you have always been a pragmatic person, always let your head guide you rather than your heart. The secret’s out. Taehyung had an inheritance he needed to secure. You were his path to doing so. Those things haven’t changed. No matter if his feelings did.

“Hey, look at this,” Victoria says, brows furrowed as she holds out her phone in front of you, revealing a livestreamed interview from the event tonight.

You peer over.

It’s Taehyung.

Of course it’s Taehyung. Who else would she be showing you?

He stands in a clean-cut gray coat, draping over his figure, black dress shirt and slacks underneath, belt wrapped neatly around his hips. He holds his hand up in a wave and smiles politely to the cameras, to the reporters, letting the flashes wash over him like waves in the ocean.

“Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim!” Someone calls. “Where’s your wife?”

Oh, God.

Taehyung grimaces a little, pursing his lips. “My wife won’t be joining me tonight.”

“Can you tell us why?” They shout.

“Sorry, no more questions. Thank you for asking though. She’s well,” he says, quickly ushering himself along, entering the venue so no more reporters can bombard him. When he disappears, the livestream immediately moves on to the next guest, but you hardly pay them any attention.

“Huh,” Victoria says aloud.

Indeed. Taehyung’s response strikes you as rather odd. Why would he tell the public that? Why not make up a lie, say you’re sick, or you’re overseas, or you’re just late? Why simply tell them that you won’t be there? Surely, Taehyung is just as aware of the consequences of arriving at an event without you as you are. There’s no doubt that his parents will be in contact with him soon, too. No doubt that this will leave a stain on his family. His image. It might even threaten his inheritance after all.

So why not lie?

You frown to yourself, nose scrunching up in confusion. You don’t like where this train of thought leads.

“You okay?” Victoria asks when she sees the bewildered expression on your face.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you say. Just completely befuddled. It escapes you, why Taehyung wouldn’t just make up some sort of excuse as to reasoning behind your absence. Why he would even show up at the event at all. Certainly, going to the event without you is worse than not going at all. It prompts questions. It spreads rumors.

Later that night, you get a call from your parents, demanding to know why you weren’t there with him. You say you got sick. You plead with them not to question anything.

You wonder what happens next. You and Taehyung still have two more events this week. A dinner and a ball. What will you do then?

Taehyung goes solo for the dinner. You suppose you could have predicted that, considering his apparent willingness to arrive alone for the first event, too. He hasn’t made any efforts to contact you and for once, you’re glad for his silence. Not that you even know what he would say to you, anyway, but at least he isn’t begging you to come back to him.

The sad truth is that if he did, if he got down on his knees right in front of you and willed you to come back home, you probably would. He has always been impossible to resist. Even when you first met him, when he sauntered up towards you and told you he was your dream come true. You didn’t know it then. But he was. He was everything you would ever want.

Why would he lie?

Why would he do that?

You can’t wrap your head around it. What is he getting out of it by telling the truth? By admitting to the paparazzi, to the reporters and the cameramen, that you won’t be there with him. That you will not be joining him. Nothing, certainly. His parents must be furious. His inheritance may be on the rocks. His image might tank.

So then, why do it at all?

Could it… could it be?

Is it true?

You have loved Taehyung for a long time. Longer than you probably even care to admit. You have always held your head high at events, spoken loudly and without fear, but being with him made you feel safe. Secure. You would hold his hand and know, know that he was holding yours, too. It grounded you. It soothed your worries.

Does he really love you back?

Taehyung smiles politely and laughs when he needs to at these events, but he doesn’t look the same. Even through the screen you can see those bags under his eyes, that spark that has faded. You hardly recognize him. He looks so lonely, without someone by his side. So distant.

When you know the dinner has ended, you almost pick up the phone and call him.

Almost.

Instead, when the ball rolls around, you ask Victoria if she’s got a spare dress she can lend you.

Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen covered in paint splotches, wearing old college hoodies, and fresh out of a restless night’s sleep, cleans up pretty well. For a married man, at least.

You wonder what the past few days must have been like for him. If they have been as empty as your own. Wonder what it was like, riding alone in a big black van to this hotel ballroom, no one to tease, no one to laugh with, no one to hold. No one to poke him awake if he accidentally fell asleep. No one to make sure he’s okay.

Taehyung stands right outside of the entrance, waving politely to all of the paparazzi, smiling as the cameras flash, giving them the time of day for a moment before he heads inside and muscles his way through another event without you.

Or so he thinks.

You spot him just as he opens his mouth, ready to repeat those same lines all over again.

My wife won’t be joining me tonight. She’s well, though.

And maybe it’s just because you haven’t seen him in nearly a week. Maybe it’s just because he is about to lie to those reporters once more, ready to face whatever consequences come his way.

Or maybe it’s just because you miss him. Miss him terribly, have been missing him terribly. Being away from him was necessary, but that didn’t make it any less unbearable. Not getting to hold his hand, see his smile, meet his eyes. You and Taehyung may not have always liked each other, but you saw him every day regardless. He became a constant in your life. Not an if, but a when. If everything went to shit, you always knew he would still be there.

And there he is.

“Wait! Taehyung!”

Taehyung’s eyes widen as he hears your voice, gaze darting around wildly, mouth parted in surprise. He looks around desperately, scanning the crowd, meeting the eyes of every single person in front of him until he finally looks to the left, sees you rushing up towards him, hiking up the skirt of your dress as your heels tap against the sidewalk.

And when he spots you, sees you running up to him, his body relaxes, a weight lifted from his shoulders as he beams back at you, relieved and thankful and filled with joy, all at once. And you know, then.

You know that everything will be okay.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say sheepishly, cheeks burning as he looks at you, takes in every inch of you, breathes you in and lets you fill him up.

Taehyung doesn’t respond. You reach out to hold his hand but he grabs your wrist and pulls you in, presses you against his body as he presses his hands against your cheeks, palms burning as they meet your skin, and he kisses you. In front of all these people, he kisses you.

And goddamnit, you will kiss him back.

It feels like lightning, like a thunderstorm, like the waves of the ocean are crashing against your heart. It feels like fire, like flames are licking at your veins, sending sparks through your blood. It feels like home.

You and Taehyung ignore the shouts of reporters, the flashes of cameras, the honks of the cars on the other side of the road. When you part, he presses his forehead against yours and lets the tip of your nose meet his. And you smile.

“Don’t be alone any longer, Mr. Kim,” you whisper, loud enough so only he can hear.

“When I’m with you, I never am, Mrs. Kim,” he murmurs back.

You wonder what those tabloids will be saying about you tomorrow.

The rest of the night finds the two of you pretty much inseparable. You wrap yourself around his arm and for the first time in a long time, he presses his hand against the small of your back, keeping you close. Like he’d ever lose you again.

One of your least favorite parts about attending balls used to be the dancing. As a young and eligible bachelorette, you would always have to lock hands with another, let him awkwardly guide you along to the music as you made the worst small talk imaginable, forcing laughter and smiles whenever he said something he thought was particularly funny.

But, like so many others, things have changed. Things are different now.

The waltz comes on and you and Taehyung are the first to reach the center of the ballroom floor, letting him rest his hand on your waist as you press yours on top of his shoulder. Let him twirl you around the room as the orchestra plays in the background, a soft, sweet, light little melody that carries you along.

“I missed this,” you say softly.

“I missed us,” Taehyung corrects. He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my inheritance.”

“I’m sorry for storming out. I should have listened to you.” you respond easily. You both have plenty to apologize for. But night is darkest right before dawn.

“I should have said something,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. “But I was just so—so worried that something would go wrong. And I didn’t know how to explain how I felt about you. I acted in the beginning, too, but then things changed.”

“They always do,” you muse with a grin.

“I couldn’t believe I had you,” Taehyung admits. “I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous. And funny. And true.”

“Go on,” you tease, even though you do nothing to hide the smile inching its way across your face, the heating of your cheeks, the simmering of your skin.

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I just—I felt something for you I couldn’t explain. I still can’t.”

You don’t have to prod any further. You know. Deep within your heart, you know. There is love blossoming in his to match the garden that has bloomed in your own. The flowers that have sprouted in the ashes. He has them, too. And when those petals open and the light streams in, he will know. He will know, too.

“You make me crazy,” you tell him, whispering gently into his skin. “But I’m a better person when I’m with you. I know I am.”

“I meant what I said, that night,” Taehyung says. Makes you wonder which night he’s actually talking about. “That I’m happy that things have changed. That things happened the way they did. I’m grateful for us.”

“I am, too,” you say. And you are.

You rest your head against his chest as you dance together, swaying back and forth to the beat of the drums, to the strums of the violins, all wrapped up together like ivy, like vines. Those, too, sit in that garden of yours. Keep you tethered to his side, keep him close to yours. He holds you in his arms and he smiles, because he knows, too. Knows that that garden in your heart will soon have a matching one in his. A mirror image of who you are. Who you’ve become.

Things change. They always will. But so long as he is by your side, and so long as you are by his, you know. Everything will be okay.

It's different, this time, when Taehyung presses you into the mattress.

There is no rush. Because now you know for certain that all the time in the world is yours. He is yours forever. You are his.

The two of you are a mixture of tangled limbs and shared breaths, the feverish, irrepressible need to give yourself to each other nearly tangible. He breaks the kiss suddenly, and you’re about to break out in protest. That is, until you see him unbuttoning his shirt.

Inspired, you wiggle out of your own clothes, eyes locked on Taehyung's soft torso and the idea that you had married such a beautiful man, inside and out.

Looking back, you wonder if that was always inevitable. If you and Taehyung falling into each other had been written in the stars from day one, sealed as your fate from the moment he came up to you at that ball when you were teenagers. He was going to be a part of your life no matter what. Whether or not you ended up marrying him. But having him like this?

It makes it all worth it.

"Do you like what you see?" That old cocky smirk of his makes an appearance.

You raise a brow, choosing to omit a response as you unclasp your bra, letting it fall from your chest.

Taehyung swallows.

"Do you?" You tease.

His response comes in the form of bites down your necks and licks down your chest, stealing your breath from you.

Your clothes are somewhere dispelled beside your passionate bodies, growing cold beside the way your two hot bodies warmed one another.

"You are so beautiful," Taehyung praises, fingers coming up to cup your breast, bringing it up to his mouth.

You mewl, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as his tongue toys with your pert bud, teeth grazing it ever so often just to hear the broken gasp that'd always follow.

"And so sensitive too," he giggles, making you pout. His hands are gentle as if every touch means something. As if you mean something—no, everything—to him. And the most wonderful part is that he means everything to you, too.

"Shut up." You roll your eyes playfully, gasping as his palm comes down the side of your thigh suddenly in warning. You bite down your swollen bottom lip at the gush of arousal that dampened your underwear in response.

"Watch your tone, love. Of both our positions, you are in the most compromising one." He reminds you. It isn't a threat, and while usually, that kind of tone would thrill you, you couldn't help but want his mouth back on yours already.

"You talk too much." You flop back onto the bed with a sigh. Taehyung watches with interest as your pretty tits bounce in consequence. Extending your hands out towards him, you give him a pouty look. "Just wanna kiss you."

"Is that all I am to you? Just a pair of lips for you to mack on? I've got news for you, sweetheart, there's a brain behind these ravishing good looks." He scoffs in feigned offense, sitting back on his heels.

You giggle.

It seems as though even during the most intimate of moments, Taehyung still found a way to be, well, Taehyung. At least that hasn’t changed.

"Whatever, pretty boy. Why don't you come over here and put that mouth of yours to good use?" You purr, making his eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Oh? I don't remember you being this assertive when I was pounding you into the mattress last time."

“What, I can’t have a little fun as well?” You tease, grinning as you look up at him, raking your eyes over his figure.

"Wanna have fun, love?," He murmurs into your ears, hands gripping either of your plush thighs. "Then spread those pretty legs for me, and I'll show you exactly how much fun you can have."

God, you love this man.

You oblige eagerly, breath quickening as he helped you press your knees by your chest, leaving the wet patch in your underwear on full display.

"My pretty little wife." He sighs dreamily, making heat rush to your core.

Taehyung's cock stood loud and proud, a hot reminder of where the night would eventually lead to. Seriously, how did you get so lucky? You must've been a saint in a previous life, you decide right then. Or at least, the stars have chosen to be rather kind to you in this one.

"Gonna take these off," he mutters, mostly to himself, tugging the ruined fabric over your ass and down your legs, with your help, of course.

Despite your usual display of confidence, lying beneath your husband, spread out like this, has you feeling vulnerable and slightly insecure. But that insecurity vanishes, however, as he lets out a soft moan, fingers moving to spread your glossed lips apart.

"So fucking pretty, baby. Gonna make you feel so fucking good," he groans, leaning down to press his face near your most intimate part.

Pressing a tentatively lick against, his eyes flicker up to yourself, curious to see if you’re okay with him proceeding. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to say no, are you?

Embarrassingly, you rut against him, making him laugh as you drown in your own mortification.

"Need it that bad, huh?" He coos.

"Yes, please."

The rest of your plea is lost in a moan as Taehyung finds your clit, wrapping his pink lips around the sensitive muscle and giving it a generous suck. Your hands are in his hair before you can think to stop yourself, tugging at his scalp deliciously as his mouth makes its way with you.

Thank goodness for this apartment belonging to just the two of you as the noises that tumbled from your lips surely would've left a roommate blushing.

You're panting, begging for more even though you aren't sure how you'd even handle more. It comes as a delight and slight surprise as fingers suddenly slip inside, wasting no time to rub against your velvety smooth walls, curling themselves inside you.

"Fuck, Tae!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.

It was pure reflex. Up until now, you had been watching Taehyung intently, completely consumed by the way his mouth moves against you. How his tongue flicks against your needy clit cruelly. It just felt too fucking good.

You're so wet, positively dripping down his chin as he runs his hot muscle up and down the length of your pussy, devouring you like he hadn't eaten in months, and you were his first meal.

Taehyung’s nothing short of addicting, completely and utterly intoxicating, and you slip further and further to your demise with every lick he takes, every press of his tongue against your clit.

He has a hand pressed against the lower half of your torso, feeling the way you jerk and squirm as he makes a mess of you. You’re close and you know it, too, if not by the way you’re calling his name over and over again, then by the way your thighs tremble, hardly even strong enough to stay up.

"Let go for me, love. I've got you." He sounds so sweet, so angelic, despite how filthy what he was doing to you was.

His words are the push you need, and, like a rubber band that has been stretched past its limit, you finally snap, back arching off the bed as you come with a cry. White fills your vision, and your mind goes blank, only sounds of blissful static filling your ears.

His fingers hold up your quivering legs, mouth pressing kisses onto your pussy encouragingly until you simply can't bear it any longer, pushing his mouth away as you stutter out words of sensitivity and overstimulation.

“I’m going to have to request more of that throughout this marriage.” You manage to say once your vision and breath come back to you.

Grabbing one of your hands, Taehyung brings it to his mouth.

“All you need do is ask,” he replies, making you laugh as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, always a gentleman

Not long after, you find yourself pressed against Taehyung, tongue running against his as he presses his hips into yours. He isn’t coy about his want for you, rolling his cock against your already sensitive center. Warm precum leaks onto your lower abdomen, and suddenly, all you can think about is having him inside you again.

“Taehyung?”

You don’t even need to ask. Hitching your leg around his thigh, he knows exactly what you’re seeking, lining up his leaking cock with your swollen entrance.

Pressing into you, he buries himself to the hilt, groaning out as your warmth envelopes him. You moan out so prettily for him, feeling tight and full with your first orgasm only minutes ago.

“You okay?” he hums, kissing your cheek.

You nod, ears warm at the intimacy of the moment. In many ways, this is nothing like your first time together. You are face to face, eye to eye, heart to heart. Between your bodies could be found more than just desire, but commitment. Devotion. Love.

“I love you, Tae.” You gush, sighing out as he begins to rock into you.

He falters slightly at your confession but recovers quickly, intertwining his hand with yours and pressing it by your head.

Faintly, you realize.

That was the first time you had ever told him that.

You look up at him, expecting some wide eyes or even a bit of a nervous tilt to his lips, but all you are met with is a glow. He beams down at you, and your heart swells.

“I love you, too, Y/N,” he whispers, but you hear the words in your ears loud and clear.

Soft noises fill the room as the two of you become one—hearts synchronizing with one another in silent promise.

It was a promise unlike the one you had made to each other that day at the altar, for this one was real. This one was true.

You shutter with every thrust of his hips, your abused clit finding itself in the crossfire of Taehyung’s passionate motions.

Whimpering, you cling to him, overwhelmed and emotional, like your heart was about to burst. Taehyung lights a fire in you, sends lightning straight through your core. Every word, every smile, every kiss, every touch, they send shivers down your spine, tingles throughout your skin. It’s like you’re falling in love with him all over whenever you see him, whenever his deep brown eyes meet your own.

You remember being so afraid of love that you broke up with all your old boyfriends because of it. Because you couldn’t commit, because you were worried about your career, because they just didn’t give you that spark. But lying here pressed against him, against your husband, you aren’t afraid. Wrapped up around him, tangled up in him, you know.

Between messy kisses and words of adoration, you find yourself growing closer and closer to your release. Brows furrowed and neck flushed, you come with a soft whimper of his name, coaxing his own orgasm out of him. He lets go inside you, painting you with his seed in a way that pleases you to no end.

Hand still in yours, he gives it a squeeze, pressing a kiss onto your damp chest, right over where your heart beats for him.

“I love you,” Taehyung says again when you meet his eyes, firmer this time, louder. Like he’s worried you didn’t believe him the first time.

“I know,” you say with a giggle, the words going straight to your head—and your heart.

Taehyung scowls. “What, no ‘I love you’ back? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Well, only because you want one so badly,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his round button nose. “I love you, too, Tae. Always will.”

“I think I knew, then,” Taehyung says with a fond sigh, nostalgia overcoming his expression. “That first time we met. I knew you would be mine, one day.”

“You got lucky,” you scoff slightly. “But I’m glad things happened the way they did.”

“You’re my dream come true, Y/N,” he says.

“And you are mine,” you murmur.

As the two of you drift off, all twisted up in each other, so mixed up you can’t figure out where you end and he begins, you think back to that night. That ball.

“Who are you?” You ask, nose scrunched up in distaste. Before you stood a boy you had never met before, wearing shoes that were too big for him and a suit that was a touch too small.

He grins at you, running a hand through his perfectly-styled hair fringe swiped neatly over his forehead, and he says, “your dream come true.”

And so it was.

don’t forget to message me! ~ and don’t forget to message rose!

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