#it definitely helps to read multiple books together with the same group of people because you slowly gain more similar references

[13eyond13]

You’re about to start a secondhand book club off of your followers reading your book club books

Hahaha wouldn't that be amazing! Maybe we should have a long distance book club

[wexhappyxfew]

"Hello, love! Could you please write from seeking out physical affection”, specifically comparing hand sizes, holding their hands against each other's, and then just holding hands” Could you also add a kiss on the cheek? For Judy and Rosie.

Tarzan and Jane vibes!

P.S Resending this, because I forgot to say that it is for Judy and Rosie 😆

Love you ❤️

AH HELLO!!!!! thank you so so much for sending this in! both you and @archival-hogwash sent in Judy x Rosie for this AND the same prompt so i hope you *both* enjoy this one!!!! i certainly had a GREAT time writing this, as i haven't done judy x rosie in what feels like AGES!!!!! SO!!! this is probably one of my favorite things for judy and rosie because we really get into their connection on multiple levels, along with their emotions and a piece purely focused on them. i would say this is purely self-indulgent on my part haha! so, i truly hope you enjoy! <3 THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN BOTH OF YOU!! :D

know it's you

(a/n): to the judy x rosie girlies, your joy and support and love for this duo has truly transcended, and so this piece is for you! judy rybinski is an OC i hold incredibly near and dear to my heart and it seems she's made quite the impact as well. plus - her and rosie make my heart melt and there's a whole lot of that here. so please, truly, enjoy! :) definitely love the jane/tarzan vibes in the gifs too hehe - that's so them in ways!!! AND -- to the judy anons earlier talking and asking about judy's past, we see a bit of why that is important to her character right here! ps — there’s some intimacy here but nothing super intense past that! just incase there are some not interested parties!

The barracks were much emptier these days - it still housed the Silver Bullets group, but with them 40% down their normal crew, which was now dispersed halfway across continental Europe, with the other 60% obtaining various positions in the air and on base - quiet was the new normal.

It was an off day and Judy hadn't been one to complain - they'd been doing missions and training relentlessly for days and by this point, to say the exhaustion wasn't getting to her would be a whole other level of lying lunacy. She'd had dinner with the rest of the girls - Dougie joining in beside Carrie because ever since they'd seemed to silently make it official between them, they'd been attached at the hip when they didn't have to be apart.

By that point, everyone else had gone out to the flying club, but Judy wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and read the rest of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen - she'd gotten close to the part with the love confession - she could feel it.

Freshly showered, hair nearly dry as it clung to her nightshirt and neck, she sat crossed-legged sideways on her bed, back leaned up against the wall of the barracks, listening to the silent hum of all the bugs outside, the crackle of voices somewhere in the distance and the hum of the lantern light turned on beside her.

If this was peace, she never wanted to let go of it.

It was almost a weird comfort that reminded her of training days - first getting the group of women together when Birdie had called on a crew. Meeting the girls, hanging out late into their off-day nights, talking, hearing peoples' stories and backgrounds and family history. By that point, Judy had taken to wearing her PT shorts to bed with one of the pale wool button-ups that Birdie had requested for the crew. Now, cuddled with her blanket, her button-up and her book, she was as happy as a damn lark. A gentle knock came from the door.

"You in there, Judy?" the voice called through. The corner of Judy's lip drew upwards.

"Who's asking?" She knew. She always did. She grinned wider.

"Who do you think?" the voice called back, a slight chuckle on their lips.

"I don't know…."Judy called back, "kinda hard to distinguish entirely with a wooden door breaking up the noise." She heard the laugh behind the door and couldn't help but take a split-second to brush her lose strands of hair behind her ears and rub a bit underneath her eyes, hoping the dark circles weren't as big as they had been earlier.

"Am I good to come in?"

"All clear." Judy called back. The door slowly pushed open and Judy couldn't help but feel her heart spin a bit out of control at the sight of Rosie Rosenthal stepping inside, crusher cap perched on his head, layered in his A2 and button-up, that look on his face that was a mixture of soft worry and concern all at once.

"Hi." Judy said, watching as he shut the barrack door behind him, waltzing over towards her with that silent look on his face and lips.

"Hey." he said back, pulling over one of the chairs from a table and placing it beside her cot and settling himself into the chair comfortably before leaning forward, "You doing okay? Didn't see you at the officers' club." She could feel the tension in her shoulders slowly unknotting at his worrying question, watching him peel off the A2 and crusher cap; it only took her a matter of seconds to slowly nod, a small smile on her face as she tilted her head.

"Yes," she said quietly, "just didn't feel up for being out tonight, I'll be honest. What about you though?" Rosie watched her as she let her eyes gently draw over his entire face, taking in each aspect of his eyes, his cheeks, his lips that made her feel all over the place on the inside. He grinned.

"Well, I'm glad you're here then," he said quietly with a nod, "sometimes you need a night away." She grinned. "I was at the officers' club. But, I don't know….didn't feel up for being out tonight. Wanted to come and see what you were up to." Judy let out a laugh and gently closed her book and leaned towards him over her crossed legs with a smile.

"Thanks for joining me then," Judy said, "can't promise to be as much entertainment as Dougie thinking he can dance, but….I can tell some pretty good campfire stories around the potbelly stove, I must admit." Rosie chuckled at her words, before looking up at her with a quiet look on his face, blue eyes watching her intently.

Rosie Rosenthal was like that though - he knew there was more behind it. He always did and with the way his mood had shifted, she knew in an instance that he'd been worrying for her longer than just the past hour when he came to see her. He could be in the flying club with the rest of the crews, drinking, having a grand old time, but instead he was here. With her.

"Just you here?" Rosie asked her, a slight tinge of concern in his voice and Judy nodded.

"It's okay," Judy said, looking down at her nails and picking at the edges of them with a shrug, "the other girls needed a night and I just wasn't feeling it. Didn't want them to miss out though. And sometimes just being here is what I need." Judy nodded towards the four usually empty and fresh-made cots. "Sometimes it's like they're here, ya know?"

They glanced towards the footlockers and cots across from Judy - mainly at the end of what was still Lieutenant Bradshaw's cot. Francis generally didn't allow anyone to touch it, open it, hardly even look at it. She always told people that they were coming back - if there was no word on any of the missing members of Silver Bullets or their bodies - they weren't dead. It'd be there until they got back. And Judy always believed Francis, she always did.

Judy couldn't help but feel her emotions wrangle with her heart as she stared at those four lone footlockers, untouched for months, cots forever-made on that last morning they'd been here.

The chair screeched slightly closer and she felt warmth overwhelm her hands, Rosie's large palms taking her small fists into his own hands, the nerves and tension immediately seeming to dissipate. Looking back towards him, she couldn't help but feel a small smile grow on her face, his face inches from her own.

"They're still out there," Rosie whispered quietly, his thumb running circles underneath the knuckles on her left hand, "I know that." Judy slowly nodded, knowing her words would fail her if she tried to talk. Rosie seemed to catch that in a matter of seconds and let out a deep breath.

"Tell me about what you were reading," he said quietly, nearly therapeutically, "that's a good one."

"You've read it?"

"I have." Rosie said, his voice a soothing sound to her ears, "When you have sisters, they convince you to read books like that." Judy gave him a look and he chuckled. "Didn't complain, I promise." Judy laughed lightly, eyes growing soft at his gaze on her as she smiled lazily.

"Mr. Darcy has just confessed his love for Elizabeth Bennet." Judy said quietly, retracting one of her hands to reach up and brush her fingers past some of his lose curls near his forehead, smiling slightly at the chill racing across his body underneath her touch, the way his eyes shut slightly and a small breath left his lips, "I would say it didn't entirely go as planned, but it has been one of my favorite things to read, I must say."

"You think it's a good book so far?" he asked her quietly, and she nodded, hand continuing to slowly careen back and forth over those few curls on his forehead.

"It blows some other books I've read out of the water." she said and she watched as he grinned, his eyes refusing to leave hers as he continued to watch her, the two of them falling into silence.

Watching each other in this quiet way was far more intimate than anything else she'd experienced in life and she hadn't experienced much. Her hand running through his hair, his hands holding her other, inches from each other's faces. Inches.

They each seemed to linger closer to one another, their eyes holding one another's gazes and she found herself welcoming his touch up onto her neck, the warmth making her whole body feel as if it were on fire.

It was always this.

Never touching this way, but still going to an extent before they'd back away. But now, they were alone and it was a warm, spring night and it was different; she wanted to feel something different than grief and loss.

Feeling his fingers grow up her neck towards her cheeks, her eyes shut at his touch; it was a little crazy to think about how close they were, his touch on her neck and face, breath fanning across her face. Maybe this crush wasn't as stupid as she had thought it to be. She was scared to open her eyes that had since closed and look at him, feeling his continual warm breath inches from her lips.

Kiss me, her voice seemed to whisper inside her head, please kiss me. His thumb brushed her warm cheek and she shivered a bit at the touch.

"You're shaking." Rosie whispered, and she shivered again, her heart racing inside her chest. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't do it.

"You make me nervous." she whispered back, her voice sounding light, almost like she was floating. Slowly, she opened her eyes - he was right there. He was so close, staring at her face like she was staring at something holy. His eyes were beautiful so close to her face, deep and caring and full. She had never been touched by someone like him, cared for, held and loved by.

"May I kiss you?" he whispered, his own voice sounding strained, "Please?"

"Please do." she whispered and it was in what felt like milliseconds where she was engulfed by him. His arms wrapped around her back, pulling her into him, his lips pressing earnestly against her own, her body snaking into his lap on the chair and her hands crawling into his hair and messing up those curls that were so perfectly done day in and day out.

Judy melted into him, his hands going up her back into her neckline, her body hot all over the place it felt as he tugged at her bottom lip, a small sigh escaping as she pressed her lips back to his.

It was such a quick-paced and desperate array of kisses - something she had never even experienced in her life. Rosie made a noise at the back of his throat, which made Judy pull back for a second, almost caught off guard - she'd never done this before, what was she even doing - were her hands in the right place? Could she even kiss well enough for it to be worth it? Did it mean anything? For him? For her? For them?

"Hey, you okay?" managed Rosie, trying to catch his breath, his lips a deep red - she realized she'd been sucking a bit on his bottom lip - his cheeks an equally similar color.

"Yeah, yeah," Judy said, her body clinging onto him with her arms and legs latched around his frame, "fine, this….wow."

Words, Judy, words.

It was so intimate to be so close to his face, almost like it was some secret thing no one had ever gotten the pleasure of doing before. She stared at him and watched as he licked his lips and glanced at her lips.

"Just…." Judy started as he watched her, his hands softly clinging to her back, his fingertips sending sparks along the fabric atop her skin, "I…..I've never been like this with someone."

"Like this?" Rosie whispered back, reaching up a hand to clutch at her cheek, brushing her flaming skin and smiling. Judy nodded.

"This….close." Judy whispered, "But for the first time in my life, I trust someone to be like this with." Rosie stared at her, a tender look on his face.

"I feel safe with you." Judy said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Rosie continued to watch her and then smiled.

"Thank you." he whispered softly back, "I feel safe with you, too." Judy felt her heart skip a beat - multiple beats if anything - and smiled.

Within seconds of such a thing to say, Judy was kissing him, wrapping her body around him, pulling her hands up through his hair, every part of her body feeling her heart continuing to race faster and faster.

There was a deep-seeded need, but gentleness that came with his touch to her lips, the exhaustion of the day ever-present, but the want to feel showing in ways she couldn't quite understand as he deepened the kiss there in front of the fire. He slowly bit at her bottom lip as they parted, the two of them shaking, deep labored breaths escaping their lips as Judy slowly looked upwards towards Rosie, staring at his eyes in the quiet darkness that evaded nearly all the light. Judy's hands slowly moved down from his hair to his olive button-up, her fingertips dancing on the buttons.

"Do it." Rosie whispered, his breathing heavy, "It's yours." Just those words seemed to flip a switch in her head as she slowly, button by button undid both the shirt and him.

As she came to the bottom, his bare chest began to show and she slowly let her hands move towards his shoulders, peeling the fabric from his form, down his arms and to the ground. Her body was on fire, as she looked back up towards him, staring at her with those darkened blue eyes that made her go slightly insane. His hands lingered on her waist, hers on his now bare arms, their bated breath held for a moment as they watched one another.

Every movement made her want more, every look, every touch.

Everything made her live with want. Her hands slowly trailed down to his own hands, which felt like they were equally on fire, and she slowly guided them to the front of her wool button-up.

"Judy…." Rosie whispered. She slowly looked up and met his firm gaze and she sucked in a breath. It was so insanely attractive to her to know he was looking at her like this. She leaned slightly closer, still holding his hands to the buttons and watched his gaze.

"Will you help me?" she whispered.

"Yes." Rosie said, almost without any hesitation and immediately began unbuttoning her top, her heart pounding, the need growing.

As soon as the button on the bottom was undone, the top slid off her shoulders to expose her bare chest - and if she was honest, her rather sorry-excuse of a bra - his lips were pressing on her own and goosebumps danced over her skin at the slightly cool air and his touch. His lips were so gentle and soft, placed there on her own, a distant hunger behind each deepening of touch that made her crave more.

Taking in a shuddering breath, his lips moved to a tender spot on her neck and a small noise in the back of her throat escaped - it was almost so light-hearted as Rosie pulled back and softly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and chuckled that soft, breathy laugh.

"You okay?" he whispered and she looked to him, a smile on her breathless face as she looked at him.

"Yeah," she whispered shakily, "yeah. Wow." Rosie smiled at her through the darkness before slowly leaning forward and bringing her into another kiss, him biting her lip, a groan from the back of his throat and a whimper from her own mouth.

The slight grind of his body against hers was making it much harder to just focus on him and his lips. He was kissing her neck again, his lips exploring the whole of her neck, arching down to her collarbone as her eyes shut and far too many pleasant thoughts entered her brain. She was unbecoming in front of him, as he clung to her in a God-like way.

Slowly, Rosie shifted, clutching her to him and moving her to the cot, the blanket soft on her back as he laid her there and then pressed down onto her, his larger form a comforting weight there on top of her.

God, if someone walked in now, what would she say?

But, it was Rosie.

With Rosie, she was safe.

Rosie sucked on her neck, before pulling back for a second, his entire body shuttering as he looked towards her and then smiled, hovering overtop of her and softly kissing her forehead.

"You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met." he whispered softly, eyes honest, almost like he spoke and got choked up in the middle and recovered.

"Thank you." she whispered back, her own throat choking up as she stared at him, the light from the lantern tickling his features, making his face a honey gold.

No one ever had told her such things, touching her and holding her as gently as he had, caring for her like he did. Rosie smiled and then Judy followed, a giggle along with it. Then, they were kissing, their bodies pressed against each other again.

At some point, his lips were on her collarbone and her lips had traversed his face and neck and then they were curled into each other's bodies, as he traced her bare back with a warm finger and she stared at his soft, cuddly face that she planted a kiss to every so often.

Rosie Rosenthal was shy when he wanted to be, but he was nowhere shy about where he wanted to put his hands and mouth.

But in this moment, quiet and intimate, all she could do was watch him.

"I'll admit, I've never been like this with someone," she whispered quietly as his light finger touch sent chills down her spine, "I'm sorry if my kissing didn't offer much." Rosie watched her and then shook his head with a playful scoff, and continued tracing her back.

"Don't say that," Rosie whispered quietly and then brought his lips to her ear, "your lips were reverent."

Judy could feel her body get hot just at his words and slowly turned to look at him as they lied there under the blanket. Her heart pounded as her cheeks grew hot, staring at his devastatingly handsome face watch her right back, like he could see all of her - which in ways, he definitely could.

She leaned forward and captured his lips again in hers, hungrily deepening the kiss, both their lips red and swollen as she bit down tenderly and a groan filled his mouth. She was sinking underneath him as he deepened the kiss against her lips this time. His warm hands were dancing across her bare-skinned chest and eventually reached the waistline of her shorts.

And the second she felt a finger on her waistline, her entire body grew cold and froze. She stopped kissing him, her lips growing shut, her eyes blasted wide-open and her shoulders immediately tense. Rosie pulled back in an instant, his hands on her cheeks gently, his own eyes open above her, worry pooling in his blue eyes as he looked down.

"You okay, Judy?" he whispered quietly, slightly out of breath, "We can stop." Judy looked at him, her eyes suddenly filling with tears she hadn't quite expected.

She didn't want to cry, why was she crying. No, no, no.

"Oh, hey, hey, c'mere." Judy put a hand over her mouth, Rosie coming off the top of her, reaching over the edge of the bed to grab his collared button-up. As tears grew down her cheeks, Rosie gently guided her arms into the long sleeves of his button-up, pulling it overtop her bare shoulders, before slowly buttoning it up, button by button.

"C'mere, Judy." Rosie whispered quietly, positioning himself sitting up against the pillows on the cot, allowing her to curl into his body, head snuggled against his bare chest, comforted by his presence, the scent of his shirt that always smelled like that pleasant cologne he always wore, and the quietness of the world surrounding them, "You okay, Jude?"

Whenever he kept repeating her name, it always brought her back, it allowed her to ground herself and think and keep her mind clear. Because it usually meant he was trying to get through to her and calm her down. And it always worked.

Judy could feel his hand around her waist, his other hand gently brushing through her hair, over and over in the most soothing manner. A mixture of embarrassment and guilt hit her in that moment curled beside him.

Would he think that he'd done something wrong?

Would he not like her because she couldn't do it?

Whatever it really was?

Would he think she was too inexperienced and naive?

Would he-?

"I'm sorry," she whispered out against his chest, the tears continuing to well in her eyes as she let out a shaky breath, "I just….it's me."

"No, no, it's okay," Rosie whispered quietly above her, gently pressing a kiss to her head - she could hear the smile in his voice, "it's okay." Judy snuggled closer into him and let out another shaky sigh.

"I'm not ready," she whispered through tears, "to do that yet. I'm sorry."

"No, no," Rosie said quietly - quickly, "don't apologize. You don't have to apologize to me, okay? Or…better yet, at all. You're ready when you're ready and if it's not yet, that's okay." Judy slowly peaked up at him, red-rimmed eyes, her nose probably getting drippy, looking far less unpleasant than she had earlier.

"Are you sure?" she asked him quietly and he gave her the sweetest smile she'd ever seen.

"I am." he said quietly, reaching up to brush at some tears on her cheeks, "I just want to be with you, Judy, that's all. In anyway I can." Her heart released the tension it had held for a brief moment and she nodded, a small smile peaking out.

"There's that grin," he whispered, pressing another kiss to her forehead this time, "there it is." Judy smiled wider and couldn't help but press closer to him, trying to gain access to every part of him there, curled into him in anyway she could. In a quick second though - she came quickly to the realization of what had just occurred and looked up at him.

Kissing him, kissing Rosie Rosenthal, kissing him the way she had and him kissing her back with just as much desperation as she did to him.

"That was my first kiss." Judy whispered quietly, staring out in front of them, towards where the sun had finally set out that little window, "My first….anything like that."

Maybe Judy should've held off saying that because Rosie froze there beside her, the hand on her hair going still, the hand on her waist tightening. She slowly peaked up at him and saw him watching her, a mixture of worry and concern mixed in his eyes and maybe a slight bit of nervousness that wasn't there before? She sat up a bit, and reached forward with her free hand that wasn't tucked against her body and lightly brushed her fingers against his face, smiling automatically, his own grin growing on his face afterwards.

"I'm…quite honored to be your first, Judy." he said quietly, the nervousness in his voice probably one of the cutest things she'd heard in a while, "Firsts are always special, so…."

"You always make everything special for me, you know that?" she said quietly, tilting her head against him, "That was really special though. Truly." Rosie watched her with that soft grin and she couldn't help but lean forward and press a soft kiss to his lips, the quickness of the familiarity of his lips almost insane to her - that her body could so instantly store in her mind the touch and feel of his lips just like that, his presence, his touch, him. Pulling back slightly, she watched him.

"Even if my first didn't…..go all the way, I guess." she said.

A few years ago, she remembered when all the towns girls would talk about their firsts - she remembered some were even getting married or having their first born! And there'd been Judy, waiting and waiting. Feeling left behind, embarrassed, too quiet not to say anything, too much of an outlier to say that she felt she was behind in the first place.

In her mind, she knew she was being too hard on herself, but it was something about her past few years that did it to her. But Rosie was stopping that and telling her there was no rush - he just wanted to be there. With her. And that was more important than anything.

"It doesn't have to," Rosie said quietly, cupping her cheek and smiling tenderly, "it doesn't need to. It's whatever you want it to be. And to even just….know it's you…." Judy watched him, eyes darting back and forth between his eyes as her cheeks slowly heated, despite the realization she'd been heavily making out with him moments earlier. He'd probably always have that effect on her.

"Know it's me?" she whispered. Rosie smiled, lovingly running his hand back through her hair before coming to dote underneath her chin, raising it up gently and pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Yes." he said quietly.

"What does that mean?" He watched her and grinned again.

"Ask me again in a few months." he whispered back to her, pressing another kiss to her forehead, making her feel all warm and fuzzy. Slowly, he held up his hand and she reached out her own hand to press against his - she giggled.

"Your hand is so big, Rosie, God," she said with a laugh, hearing his chuckle from somewhere above her, "mine is so tiny."

"It's cute." he whispered quietly, clasping his fingers around her hand, holding it there against his chest.

Staring at their intertwined hands against his chest, an aggressive feeling for him suddenly took shape and she realized how quick it was that it was in fact the feeling of genuine love.

Affection.

Adoration.

Love. For someone like him. For every part of him in every way.

Judy looked up at him, meeting his gaze again there in the lantern light and couldn't help it as she leaned towards him and lovingly pressed a kiss to his lips that slowly got deepened and rather emotional and slow and infused with a tenderness that she'd never felt before. It was slow movements, their heads and lips moving in unison, breaking every so often for a collection of air, before connecting again, their noses brushing, bits of laughter escaping every so often. Judy couldn't help but laugh at how ticklish his mustache was against her upper lip. It was all so gentle and peaceful - she had never felt so at peace with someone like this.

"If one of the girls came in now…."Judy whispered, before breaking into a laugh, "I'd probably never live it down." Rosie let out a small chuckle and shook his head against her softly, before pressing another kiss to her lips.

"You're something else, Judy Rybinski," he said quietly, eyes meeting hers again and she couldn't help but swell with emotion, "ever since I met you. Something special."

[alldaysarenights]

On Discworld…

…and the things I’ve learned so far.

I know, I’m late, but sometimes it’s fun to discover something on your own and in your time.

Recently, I’ve started reading the Discworld series, beginning with Rincewind. And there are so many tiny things I’ve discovered, I don’t even know where to start.

I’ll give D&D a go first. As a passionate player and also a I-once-ran-a-short-campaign DM, I couldn’t but notice all the references there to find, especially with Rincewind. Right now I’m 4 books into his story, barely at the beginning, yet I’ve laughed my a** off a few times. Always wondering what he took from a former campaign. Well, at first I wondered if Sir Pratchett actually played. The internet was quick to answer the question, yes, yes of course he did. Would have been more surprised, if he didn’t.

I discovered stuff about the gods playing dice and there are sorcerer, barbarians and the luggage, which slightly reminds me of a mimic. But I guess this beast came afterwards. I told the other players of my group, and they agreed on the resemblance. Now we definitely have the plan, to tame a mimic, lol.

I could quote you so much stuff, but I’d fancy you going on an adventure and see it for yourself. Read the books, assemble some good friends, and have some fun on a silly campaign. Not necessarily in this order.

Next thing that keeps popping up in my mind, while reading, is Good Omens. I came from the Neil Gaiman side, getting lured in by Morpheus, whom I met doing some research. My comic book dealer was happy to help. Naturally, there was a point where I did read Good Omens. And it was weird, this was Gaiman, but also not, and it was so funny. I knew one day I would have to read Discworld. Unfortunately, I was a bit discouraged by the massive amount of books. The problem sorted out itself, after a friend, I’ve talked to about it, enabled me to read them.

With it came a list in which order I should proceed, so I happily jumped in, secretly nurturing the idea of reading all the books within a year. If it works out, no idea, we’ll see. If so, I might write another article on the experience.

Anyway, the point is, knowing Good Omens well as for watching the series multiple times and doing the same to the book (reading actually), I couldn’t but notice some stuff that definitely came from Terry’s side. Like phrases, he kept using. I did read: “Not as such” as an answer more than once. No matter who said it, in my imagination it was Crowley for a split second.

The first book got me so confused, I completely forgot that this was Terry Pratchett. I caught myself thinking, I was reading Neil Gaiman. This set my brain on halt and the world stood for a second. Amazing what books can do to you.

I’ve realised Death and the horsemen and how they seem unable to start a proper apocalypse. Also, sometimes there were phrases sounding a lot like Agnes Nutter. As well as the tone it is written in, the tiny wordings you sometimes aren’t aware of as an author. And it led me to the conclusion, (of course there is no other evidence and I could be totally wrong), that Neil must have invested a lot of time in re-reading the Discworld or maybe already know them by heart. For some of the things I’ve realised definitely played a part in GO2.

It is amazing how much two people can morph into one, and yet there must be a lot of work behind the scenes. I for my part can only hope that my writing buddy and I can get to this point some day. At least I’ll have to convince him to write a full-grown novel together first.

So you might ask yourself, and I know because so did I, what’s the whole point of this article? Fair enough. I came to the conclusion, that fun expands with knowledge. And I know, my sense of fun probably differs from that of others a lot. But if you are able to grasp those tiny hints and hidden pleasures, it can make a story twice as joyful.

So go out there and consume all those stories. Not just by reading. Listen to people telling their stories, watch movies, series, anime. Maybe go to the opera or watch a play. Memorise a poem or play a game. Find the medium which suits you well but keep on searching, you’ll never know what you might learn from it and what pleasures and magic are hidden in those stories. Because our world is built, or maybe better, powered by storytelling.

[pyxaperson]

I am procrastinating on my uni assignments so here’s the 2012!TMNT main cast ranked on who would be homophobic/transphobic

1 being the most and 6 being the least

this is my opinion and my interpretation. i will fight people for one of these rankings if they disagree with me

6 - April

You cannot convince me she isn’t a 2012 Tumblr girl like… look at her. She spent most of her teenage years debating with homophobes on the internet. She would 100% watch supernatural and 100% ship Castiel.

"Would she fetishise mlm relationships?" NO. She would also watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and ship Fuffy. She reads yaoi AND yuri in her spare time.

If she swoons over a mutant and an alien getting together, she will 100% do the same for a gay couple.

Probably taught the others not to be homophobic (mostly the top 3).

If you believe she hates the LGBT+ community, I am sorry but you are objectively wrong I will be hunting you for sport right now. I am outside your house with the episode "Karai's Vendetta" playing loudly on my laptop.

5 - Donnie

“Erm actually, homosexual behaviour has been heavily documented in animals such as penguins, bats and hyenas. It’s very much natural.“

While I cannot imagine him ever being homophobic, I can imagine him being transphobic when he was younger.

BUT I only think that because the primary school biology textbook was his bible when he was five.

As soon as he had access to a more “advanced” biology book, he learnt his mistakes.

Had a deep understanding of gender before his brother understood the differences between them as a result of this.

4 - Mikey

Thinks LGBT+ people are awesome, however his only exposure to gay people is rupaul drag race so his views on them are stereotypical.

He would probably be taken aback if you introduced him to a gay man who isn’t flamboyant, but he would adjust after a bit.

He would definitely say “You don’t look gay” though.

Aside from April, he would be the most angry when hearing homophobic/transphobic comments.

3 - Leo

The middle point between homophobic and not homophobic for the group (even though she's seconds lmao, the group is just not really homophobic).

I headcanon her as a trans lesbian so any homophobic/transphobic thoughts she would have are a mixture of her sheltered life and internalised issues.

Nothing extreme though, but her mind would get hung up on two girls holding hands on the street for multiple days.

She would also go through the 5 stages of grief for every unprompted homophobic thought she gets.

Everyone helps her overcome this, especially after she discovers herself and comes out.

2 - Raph

I am sorry, but he would probably use homophobic language before meeting April.

However, that’s due to him not understanding what he was saying. He probably thought gay was a synonym for stupid.

Once he understands who LGBT+ people are and what they face (AKA being scolded by April), he would probably feel really bad about it.

He wouldn’t really apologise for it verbally, but he would 100% kill a homophobe after that so everyone understands he’s changed.

Mikey would then make fun of him for being homophobic which would get him really mad. It's revenge for Raph calling him gay to insult him and brushing his genuine anger off.

“At least I’m not-“ “I’M NOT HOMOPHOBIC MIKEY!”

1 - Casey

I am not sorry, this dude was definitely homophobic before meeting the Turtles + April. Like, actually homophobic.

His dad is homophobic so it comes from that.

He called Donnie the f-slur behind his back to the rest of the group. To put it lightly, they were not impressed.

The first moment where he questions his behaviour is when April rips him to shreds over it, but it’s not until Raph pulls him aside to express disappointment that he realises how bad his behaviour is.

Probably goes MIA for a couple of days undergoing serious reflection on his life and beliefs. He then comes back to apologise for his behaviour.

He takes some time to truly overcome his bigotry, but he gets there eventually. Like Raph, he'll kill a homophobe after the ordeal.

[gorogues]

Fictober 2023

Prompt number #13 Fanfiction Fandom: Flash Rogues Rating: T – Teen and up Warnings: Injuries, mentions of death, profanity.

Day Thirteen: “Come with me, hurry.”

It was a quiet afternoon, and the Rogues were together in their current warehouse hang-out, mostly doing their own things.  Some worked, some played cards, and the remainder were reading or socializing.  There was a relaxed, happy vibe.

Until Hartley looked up from his book, listening intently to distant sounds with widened eyes.

“Take cover!  Something’s coming!” he shouted, and the other Rogues knew his hearing abilities well enough to pay attention.  Everyone ducked to the ground and under something if possible, and moments later there was a blast of concussive energy which blew out all the windows.

Silence reigned for a few moments -- aside from the cacophony of car alarms outside -- and there didn’t appear to be a second explosion. 

“Everyone okay?  Lisa?” Len called, coughing from the dust and debris which covered them all.

“I’m fine,” she answered wearily as Roscoe pulled himself off her, having tried to shield her before the blast.  His nose was bleeding and his ears were ringing, but he insisted he was also fine.

Mick had ducked under a table, which splintered but fortunately protected him from a large chunk of ceiling that had collapsed onto it.  He climbed out from underneath with some pained grumbling, but was mostly unhurt.

“I’m all right, but that was intense,” Hartley announced as he stood up, though visibly unsteady.  “So, so loud.”

“Thanks for the warning.  You saved us,” Len said appreciatively, offering him a supportive hand for balance.  Soon the Rogues had staggered to their feet, all battered and bruised but with no serious injuries.

“We should get out of here in case this place crumbles,” Len told the assembled group.  “And these kinds of explosions usually come with other bullshit, like aliens or some kind of multiversal crap.  We don’t wanna get stuck in their path.”

The others nodded and made their way out through the debris, stepping gingerly around the broken glass.  There was destruction all around their building but not many people to be seen, since the Rogues typically chose their headquarters in quiet warehouse districts for a reason.

“Let’s head to the city centre.  I’m sure we’ll run into some speedsters soon enough,” Len said to the others, who agreed.

“It’s so eerie,” Lisa remarked as they trudged around the mess in the street.  Alarms were still blaring, but otherwise there wasn’t as much noise or signs of life as she’d expected.

“Maybe everyone is dead,” Roscoe suggested, blunt as always.  Possibly more so than usual, because a nasty goose egg was beginning to appear on his forehead and he seemed vaguely dazed.

“Shut up, Dillon,” Len said tersely, though he’d been thinking the same thing.  He couldn’t allow his people to get distracted while they were still in crisis mode and needing to achieve an objective.

“Wait, I hear somebody,” Hartley said, pointing just up ahead.  The Rogues walked in that direction and found a man trapped behind a pile of rubble, though it wasn’t difficult to free him with multiple pairs of hands working in unison.

“Thank you!” the man exclaimed as Len helped him climb out to freedom.  He wasn’t badly injured, but was scraped and completely covered in dust just as his rescuers were.  “Wait, are you the Rogues?!  Like the criminals?”

“Yup.  Come with us and hurry, we’re looking for help and not seeing anybody,” Lisa replied briskly.  “We need to keep moving.”

“I don’t hear anyone else,” Hartley said softly, shaking his head, which seemed like a definitive answer for the moment.  He and Roscoe were beginning to tire, so Mick did his best to support them both.

The group continued trekking towards the downtown core, occasionally collecting stragglers and sometimes passing by people they couldn’t help.  Hartley perked up once they’d left the warehouse district, telling the others he heard speedsters on the move, which was cheering news for everyone.

Suddenly, a young man in yellow and red came to a screeching halt in front of them.

“Rogues!  Were you part of all this?” Kid Flash demanded in an agitated state, unusually out of breath.

“Nope, but we got people in need of help,” Len said defiantly, stepping between his sister and the teen hero.  Lisa firmly pushed her brother aside and stood in front of him.

“Sorry,I’mjustbeingpulledintwentydirectionsatonce!” Wally replied quickly, almost too garbled to understand.  He picked up a woman who seemed to be the most injured amongst their group and ran her to safety, then returned and took the other stragglers one by one to the triage area in the city centre.

Once there, the Rogues looked around at the injured people who’d already flooded the area, and realized that most of the civilians appeared worse off than they were; more reason to be grateful for Hartley’s early warning.

“We’ll be okay on our own, we know how to patch each other up,” Mick said, and the others nodded.  They were no strangers to mild and moderate injuries from their physically demanding line of work.

“Yeah, we’d just be taking up space somebody else needs more,” Hartley agreed.

Wally ran back to where he’d dropped off the Rogues a minute earlier, feeling like he needed to apologize for accusing them of responsibility for the blast.  He was sure they were waiting their turn for medical treatment, or perhaps pushing their way to the front of the line…he’d always known them to be egocentric and self-interested.

But they were nowhere to be found.

[culttvblog]

Blake and/et Mortimer: The Yellow Mark/La Marque Jaune

I see from the Cambridge Dictionary that 'cult' in the sense it is used in the title of this blog is defined as appealing to a particular group of people, and honestly using that definition a TV based on Belgian Francophone comic books about two stiff-upper lipped British men, bizarrely translated into English and turned into a TV series, is probably about as cult as it can get, so of course it had to appear here.

Les Aventures de Blake et Mortimer is a long-running (1946 to the present) series of Belgian comics starring the two eponymous heroes. Professor Philip Mortimer is a leading Scottish scientist who gets into all sorts of adventures because he tends to be a bit impulsive. Captain Francis Blake is one of these people who have definitely been in the armed services but now probably aren't allowed to tell you what they do for a living because of the Official Secrets Act. They live together in London. There's nothing going on, of course, this is the 1950s. Their adventures tend to span traditional detection/security and some much more science fiction subjects. If you haven't come across them the closest comparison I can think of is a cross between Dick Barton and 1930s cinema serials. They are very much of their time, and as such are glorious.

They aren't all set in Britain obviously (one adventure is about Atlantis, for example, and others take place all over the world), but a lot of the point of them is the perceived Britishness of the protagonists. What makes this perception unique to this programme is that the Britishisness isn't seen through the eyes of either Americans or our former colonies. This gives it a distinctively French take on les biftecks.

The series of books was faithfully adapted into an animated series in 1997, with some new adventures added. It is available in both French and dubbed into English. They are exactly the same show with all the titles in French, just with an English soundtrack. In the UK you can buy it on region 2 DVD with just the English soundtrack, but I see from Canadian and French Amazon there is a huge array of different DVD releases in multiple languages, formats, and nary a mention of region, and many of which seem to be priced at huge prices.

Regular readers of the blog will not be surprised in the slightest to know that I think a minority of the reviews online of this particular episode are slightly unfair. Don't quote me on this, but my understanding of Francophone BD culture is that the comic books can be read by the kids (and in my French exchange days the kids would sit on the floor of the hypermarket reading them) but that there isn't any shame in adults reading or collecting them either. Certainly La Marque Jaune first appeared in instalments in 1953 to 1954 in Tintin magazine, which subtitles itself as the magazine for youth from 7 to 77. I think it's not really fair to expect a level of plot that you would get in an adult detective novel. There is an additional adjustment to make, which is that while the show is a faithful adaptation, time constraints necessarily mean that some layers of Jacobs's famous byzantine plotting have had to be omitted. But I just think it's not really fair to criticise thiese things too much.

La Marque Jaune is set in London, which for some time has been terrorised (much of this summary is lifted from the Wikipedia entry) by a mysterious thief who tells the press about the crimes he is going to commit and then commits them, leaving a yellow M behind in a circle. Ultimately he escalates to stealing the Imperial State Crown from the Tower of London and the Home Office asks captain Francis Blake to help Scotland Yard solve these crimes. We are introduced to a selection of the great and the good, one of whom, Vernay, is abducted and a yellow M left behind.

Even though this sounds, and is, predominantly a straightforward detective story, there is a hint of science fiction present, and what I love about it most is that the villain is absolutely deranged. We're talking Avengers villain levels of derangement and the whole plot takes place amongst people who are definitely Our Sort of People. But luckily ultimately the crown is saved. You have no idea how much difficulty I have had stopping myself giving it away, but I suspect this show may not be so well known to cult TV fans, so I will leave the solution for your delectation.

I have a couple of criticisms. One which drives me spare is that the unnamed person who translated the script used to dub the show into English made the decision to translate 'the yellow mark' as 'the yellow brand'. This drives me crazy, and I have even looked it up in a couple of north American dictionaries to see whether it just isn't British English, but no. As far as I can see the verb brand used a sort of mark only means marks made by hot metal, which isn't what is happening. Perhaps they realised that this wasn't the right English translation of La Marque Jaune, since the title of the episode is The Yellow Mark and the English title of the translated book is The Yellow "M", either of which would have been perfectly sensible translations. I may be nit picking if I also point out that in the show the M is described by Professor Mortimer as a Greek mu. Honestly I wish they'd just picked one thing which was actually English and stuck to it.

I'm not convinced I'm being fair, given that this is a fictional work depicting British people as seen (stereotyped?) by outsiders but I'm not convinced any Scottish person has ever exclaimed the thing Mortimer keeps saying, 'By the tartan of Clan MacGregor!' I really hope no Belgian or Canadian kids use this to learn English because the results would be hilarious.

Otherwise, I cannot recommend this show (and the books which inspired it) highly enough and definitely think you should all watch them.

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Archives from 2013 to September 2023 may be found at culttvblog.blogspot.com and there is an index to the tags used on the Tumblr version at https://www.tumblr.com/culttvblog/729194158177370112/this-blog

[elliepassmore]

Zhara review

5/5 stars Recommended if you like: fantasy, multiple POVs, secret groups, humor Big thanks to Netgalley, Wednesday Books, and the author for an ARC in exchange for an honest review! While there are two POVs in this book, it's really Zhara's story. She undergoes a lot of development throughout this book and comes out stronger, and more herself, on the other side. At the same time, Han does play a major role in the story and has some of his own growth, it's just at a milder scale than Zhara. It's clear from the beginning that Zhara loves her sister and would do pretty much anything for her, even if it means dealing with her stepmother. That loyalty and sense of protection also carries through to some of the other people, particularly the kids, that Zhara comes across that are in need of help. She's also smart and fairly resourceful, despite her not thinking much of herself at times. Han is definitely a himbo. He works out a lot and prizes being in physical shape but is often one of, if not the last, person to put things together. Like Zhara, Han is also desperate to try and save his younger brother, though from a very different threat. He is fairly innocent (and as the synopsis says, easily flustered), which the other characters tease him mercilessly about, and makes him a fun character to read. Xu is Han's best friend and might be one of my favorite characters. I love how upbeat they are and yet at the same time they have their moments when they can be more serious. I also feel like Xu has a very strong sense of identity. They don't get a POV, but they have a lot of character to them that I enjoyed and I think it would be fun if we do get their POV at some point. I also really treasure their friendships with Han, Zhara, and Jiyi. Jiyi comes into the story a bit later and is endearing for different reasons. She's fairly straightforward about things, to the point of coming across as gruff, but it's clear that she's very knowledgeable about her field of study (and very accomplished) and that she cares about what happens if the worst were to come to pass. Yulana is also a late-comer in the story, but I absolutely love her. She's got somewhat of a mysterious vibe when she's first introduced, and things stay like that for a bit, but she's actually a pretty open person once we get past that. Like with Xu, I hope we get her POV at some point, and I suspect she's a more likely candidate for that than Xu is, lol. This book does a good job of including some lighter and more humorous moments amid the more high drama/stakes scenes. At times it did feel a but juvenile, but overall I think the effect worked. The funny moments allowed for relationships to develop between the characters and so we as readers cared when those relationships were put to the test or were in jeopardy. On the surface, magic is banned because magicians turn into abominations, but of course things are never so simple. Learning about the magic system and how things had gotten bad was interesting. The linguistic element of magic was definitely something that I enjoyed. There's a whole history and culture that's been driven underground or erased because of the abominations, but so few people know the truth of what happened, and what happened is very different from what people think it is. Of course there are allegories a plenty here, and a lot of aspects of the magical purge can be related to history or current events in our world in a way that's written very neatly without being overbearing. Overall, I enjoyed this book and that the high stakes were interspersed with lighter moments. I look forward to seeing the characters in the future books and am definitely hoping for more page time from Xu and Yulana in particular.

[gukyi]

love me or we both go down | kth

summary: after going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.

{enemies to lovers!au, arranged marriage!au, rich kids!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, smut (i know, crazy right?) word count: 32k warnings: oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, multiple unprotected sex scenes (they’re married y’all), fat cock tae, tae has a wife kink, lots of praise, alcohol consumption (but they’re safe), minor character death (not explicit), mentions of heart attack, slow burn like there is no tomorrow a/n: hello and welcome to the fic everyone, literally everyone, has been waiting for! i am so, so, so excited to share this with you all, especially because none other than rose @kinktae​ helped me write the smut, and i am literally forever indebted to her. you all better go spam rose with all the love and support you can because this fic would not be here without her and i love her so much. 

also, to all my readers who aren’t comfortable reading smut, please know that the smut in this fic is not imperative to the storyline, and you skipping past it will not affect your reading experience., enjoy!

Never in your life have wedding bells felt so ominous.

The sound of them is akin to the sound of strings, of a single piano note in a horror movie, right when the film opens and someone random is about to die on screen for the sake of proving to the audience that this is, in fact, a horror movie. Make no mistake about it; these wedding bells spell doom for you, too. And the most horrific part about them is that just like that poor, helpless soul in the movie, there is no way for you to escape your fate either. 

With only seconds left to go before you have no choice but to promise yourself to the man waiting at the other end of the aisle, you desperately try to think of any last-ditch efforts to get out of this. Many, if not all of them, are utterly useless. 

Feigning sudden illness won’t work, because then your parents will just reschedule the wedding to a later date. Running away is fruitless. Where will you go? The parking lot?

If only you had a lover out there in the audience somewhere that could object to the marriage when the officiant says, “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” A knight in shining armor that could whisk you out of the venue and off to a new life, far away from here. Too bad all of the people you’ve dated before hate you now. 

Maybe getting married isn’t such a bad thing after all. Instead of having relationships with multiple people who will eventually despise your existence, you only have to have a relationship with one. And the feeling, as has always been, is mutual. 

You bristle as your assistants do some last-minute prepping, fixing your sleeve and adjusting your necklace and making sure you don’t trip on your enormous train. They flutter around you like a swarm of well-meaning but ignorant butterflies complicit in the agenda of your family. None of them have said a word to you about the wedding ever since you arrived at the venue, choosing to talk more about things like the weather. Not that you were ever under the impression they had been hired to entertain you. Maybe they were told to not engage you, just in case you try to conspire with them.

As if they could be of any use in your wildly unrealistic escape plans. 

The truth is that, unless you were to drop dead on this marble flooring right now, you’re getting married. Whether you like it or not.

The doors open. 

You’ve attended red carpets, galas, award shows, and balls. You’ve had hundreds of cameras flashing in your face, the bright light capturing each and every centimeter of you. You’ve had paparazzi waiting outside the restaurants you eat at, the stores you shop at, desperate to catch a picture of you in sweatpants without a drop of makeup on. You’ve been on dates with ex-lovers that looked at you like you were a piece of meat with a credit card. And yet, for some goddamn reason, walking down the aisle in a white dress the size of Pluto, with the rest of your life waiting for you at the other end, makes you feel fucking transparent. 

Face resolute, you clutch onto your bouquet so tightly the flowers feel like they’re about to pop right out of your grasp. Determined not to look at anybody in the audience, you stare straight ahead, right into the eyes of your future husband.

Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen multiple times drunk off his ass with hickies dotting his neck and jawline, cleans up pretty well. For someone getting married, at least. He dons a simple black tuxedo that still probably costs more than the average car, his caramel brown hair is pushed back off his forehead, and his expression is firm and still. He most certainly has had an equally expensive team prepping him, but they haven’t done too bad a job. The silver lining is that he doesn’t look any more thrilled than you are to be doing this, right here, right now. But to his credit, this is definitely the best he’s ever looked, as far as you’re concerned. 

When you reach him, he offers his hand out to you, a hand that you only accept for the sake of professionalism. The bouquet in your hands is handed off to one of your bridesmaids, and the two of you take your position at the front. Your train drags along the aisle, draping over the few stairs you had to climb to reach the altar, this satin trail behind you that cements you to the floor. It may as well be a ball-and-chain. It’s about as heavy as one, anyway. 

This is the longest you and Taehyung have ever held eye contact. Not that you’re really keeping track of how long the two of you have met each other’s gazes, but if you had to make an educated guess, this would definitely be the victor. Most of the time you end up sneering at each other ten seconds in, but to be fair, those other times you were also not getting married. To one another. In a ceremony attended by hundreds of people. And cameras.

There can be no sneering here. 

“Don’t you look nice?” Taehyung whispers, loud enough so only the two of you can hear. He has that drawling, sickly sweet tone to his voice, the one that you hate because it makes him sound like he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else. “Surprised they were able to makeup that scowl off your face.”

This, of course, brings on a hearty scowl only he can see, your backs both facing the rows of attendees. “How much concealer are you wearing to cover up all of the hickies on your neck?” You quip back easily. It’s not like the two of you are going to pretend he doesn’t waltz around at every club or bar or private venue he can find, looking for his next treat. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Taehyung grins, and if you weren’t standing in front of hundreds of people about to get married, there’s no telling what next you would do.

The two of you would probably go on like that for another ten minutes if it’s not for the officiant, who coughs once he’s ready and opens the book in his hands. Next to you, Taehyung straightens, hands clasped together at his front, and lips pressed into a neat line. You do the same. There will be no giggles, no laughter nor smiles, nor any genuine emotion at this wedding. This is a wedding for the sake of politics, for economics, for security, and anyone in attendance would be a fool to think otherwise. Especially you. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, loved ones, and esteemed guests,” the officiant bellows, listing off as many groups of people as he possibly can in an effort to both include and compliment every person in the audience, “We are gathered here to celebrate the wedding, and future life, of Taehyung and Y/N…”

Taehyung turns to you, grinning in that god-awful way, the way he does when he feels like he’s got something over you. And sure, you can’t think of any punishment quite as bad as this, but what’s Taehyung got to smile about? He’s marrying himself off to a woman he hates, kissing goodbye his days as a free-spirited, heartbreaking bachelor, and promising what may very well be the rest of his life to loving you. That is not cause for celebration. 

But perhaps, to him, your suffering is enough to bring a smile to his face. 

Your vows are, to put it simply, total bullshit. Your family hired someone to write yours and there’s not a doubt in your mind that his family did the same thing. This nonsense talk, this complete and utter garbage that spews from your perfectly-glossed lips, shit about how you promise to love each other until the end of your days, how you promise to take care of each other when you’re sick and accompany each other at every event, every gala, every ball. Shit about how you promise to look only at each other, promise to uphold your family traditions and become a dependable spouse. 

The words don’t belong to you. But the thing is that this marriage was never yours anyway. 

When the kiss comes, there’s a part of you that thinks maybe you should have psyched yourself up a little more for this. When Taehyung pulls you in, placing a stiff hand on your lower back as he brings you towards his chest, your stomach turns and shivers run down your spine. The feeling of his hand on your body, the breath from his lips brushing against your own, are enough to keep you frozen in place. 

He smiles at you, almost as if to ask, “Are you ready?”

And you squeeze your eyes shut, almost as if to respond, “Let’s do this.”

When his lips meet yours, there is almost nothing. Nothing runs through you, nothing explodes, nothing strikes. But when he pulls away and cheers and applause rings out throughout the room, there is something. A little heat, a remnant of a flame, left on your lips. A little sting, just to remind you it happened. 

The entire hall is cheering but nothing about this is worth celebrating. The fact of the matter is that you and Taehyung will never love each other the way that you are supposed to. 

“Ugh, finally.”

The elevator doors haven’t even properly opened by the time Taehyung is loosening his tie, tugging it off over his head as he stretches his head back and runs a hand through his perfectly-styled hair. As he rakes his fingers through his caramel locks, the hairspray and gel loosens, strands falling down by the side of his face, framing his temple.

“Don’t sound so relieved,” you huff out, deciding now is as good a time as any to start getting undressed yourself. Reaching down to lift up the hem of your reception dress, you tug off your heels, already feeling lighter on your feet. Who cares if Taehyung is watching you pull off your stilettos like a defeated movie heroine? You don’t think you can walk another step in those shoes. “We still have to live together, you know.”

“Don’t remind me,” Taehyung says gruffly, brushing by you roughly as he stomps out of the elevator. “I’m just glad the fucking night is over. I swear, seeing that fake-ass smile on your face made me want to gouge my eyes out.”

You storm after him, refusing to be the helpless damsel in this situation. “Oh, like you didn’t also have that exact same fake-ass smile on your face. It almost made me think you were actually enjoying yourself tonight.”

“I was only enjoying the fact that I know you hate this just as much as I do.” It’s perhaps the only thing you will ever be able to empathize with him on. Mutually relishing in the other’s destruction. Taehyung fumbles with the keypad to the door to the penthouse for a moment before you hear the lock click, the door sliding open as the entrance lights flicker on. 

The reason Taehyung’s penthouse is so clean is because he’s never lived here before. Neither of you have—Taehyung’s parents bought it just for the two of you. And as much as you absolutely despise the idea of having to live with him, at least it was not you who paid for your place of residence. 

You can tell Taehyung’s never lived here before because it’s actually quite nicely decorated inside. The ceilings are high and the sleek velvet curtains are pulled open, revealing a shimmering skyline. The furniture is modern and functional, and the whole damn place smells brand new. You’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of entering the place Taehyung lived in before now, and it looked nothing like this. The furniture was worn and stained despite the live-in maid, the house reeked of five hundred different spices that wafted from the kitchen to the living room, and the bookshelves were covered with comics, graphic novels, and old textbooks. 

If it weren’t for the fact that you and Taehyung are rich kids in their twenties that hate each other, you might have actually thought the place looked… homey. 

You don’t have time to be impressed by the interior design and architecture skills of whoever designed this place. Right now, all you can think about is tugging yourself out of your airtight reception dress and passing out on the nearest bed. Which, hopefully, will be as far away as possible from Taehyung’s bed of choice. 

“How many bedrooms does this place have?” You ask, shimmying along the floor so you don’t trip over the hem of your dress. From the looks of it, you can see one giant hallway to your right and a massive, double-sided staircase leading up. 

“Enough,” Taehyung grumbles in response. The hazy stupor from all of the fancy champagne is starting to wear off for the both of you, leaving behind two grouchy, begrudgingly-married individuals who want absolutely nothing to do with each other and have no problems making that known. Whatever golden light of the evening that was making Taehyung at least a little bit more attractive than usual has faded, and now you see him for what he really is: an unceremoniously tired man in a suit. “You want upstairs or down?”

You gaze up at the marble staircase in front of you, then back down at your too-long dress. “Down.” The last thing you want is to trip in front of the man you have to see, every day, for the rest of your life. 

“Fine by me.” Taehyung’s halfway up the stairs by the time he turns back around to say something else. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess?”

“Yeah.” There’s no point in being hostile now. The both of you are too exhausted to mean anything by it. Besides, what else can you say? Everything to complain about has already been complained about. At least the two of you managed to wrestle out from your parents the stipulation that you would not be going on a honeymoon together. Now that would have been your worst nightmare. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It’s as good of a goodnight either of you are going to get. Taehyung heads up the stairs and disappears around a corner, and you start wandering down the hallway. All the bedrooms look the exact same other than different colors on the walls and bedsheets, but they all look serviceable to you. Clean. Empty. Far away from wherever Taehyung is. 

You pick the one at the very end of the hall just to be as much of a diva as possible, and don’t even bother drawing the curtains before tugging off your dress. It’s past one in the morning, and you’re so high up you don’t think anyone will be able to see you anyway. By the time you’ve stripped naked and are tugging up the too-tight sheets tucked into the mattress, your legs are about to give out beneath you. The bed could be made of rocks for all you care. Anything to lie down on is fine by you. 

Sleep comes fairly easily to you tonight. Once your head hits the pillow you can already feel yourself drifting off, eyelids fluttering shut, but you don’t sleep quite yet. Not before you can think about how this is your life now, sleeping in a foreign bed in a foreign place with a foreign husband upstairs. This is what you will be living in now. Now and forever. 

Living with Taehyung is, in both the best and worst ways possible, like living with a roommate that doesn’t give a shit about the fact that they live with another person. It’s good, because you and Taehyung hardly see each other and speak even less, which was pretty much the only thing you were asking for when it came to living with him. But it also sucks, because whenever you do happen to cross paths, Taehyung acts like you don’t exist, barely sparing you a hello or even that tight-lipped smile you send to drivers on the road when they let you cross the street. 

Not that the two of you ever engaged in energetic conversation before you got married. But at least the two of you would acknowledge each other, even if only to shoot a glare and a scowl the other’s way from opposite sides of a hotel ballroom. Maybe it’s just because it’s him, but you did always find yourself actually relishing in those little interactions with Taehyung. In this strange, twisted way, it seemed to provide some sort of continuity to your ever-changing life. Like no matter what happened, at least you would know that the two of you would always despise each other. 

To be frank, right now you’re not sure if Taehyung even remembers he got married at all.

Nights have been a lot more sleepless since your wedding day. After two weeks, the reality of it has finally started to settle in. This is your life now. And ever since you realized that, your bed has felt much less comfortable. 

“But the place is nice, right?”

You look around the living room from where you’re sat on the sleek, white suede leather couch, eyes glossing over the bookshelves, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the draping velvet curtains. From here, you can see the entire city skyline, flecks of gold from the windows of skyscrapers against a navy blue background. Slowly, as the moon creeps over the sky and the clock gets later and later, those lights will soon begin to flicker off, one by one. 

“Yeah, it’s not bad.” Nothing to write home about. That is, if home were a place other than here. 

“That’s good. At least you don’t live in, like, a total dump or anything,” Victoria says on the other end of the line. “How’s Taehyung?”

His name alone elicits this deeply-exhausted sigh from your lips, like it’s been ten years since you married and every day has felt worse than the last. “Fine.” You can’t really complain about anything yet, considering that you hardly ever see the man. 

“Just ‘fine’?” Victoria sounds skeptical. 

“Yeah,” you draw out the word, as if trying to convince yourself of its truth. “I mean, it’s like he doesn’t even live here. I barely see him. And when I do, we don’t even speak to each other.”

“That’s good though, isn’t it? You hate him.” Victoria says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And in a sense, it kind of is. 

“I mean…”

“I know that your life hasn’t exactly… gone the way you had planned, but isn’t this your best case scenario when considering everything?” She asks. “If Taehyung is as distant as you say he is, isn’t it almost like you never married him in the first place?”

As if on cue, you hear footsteps coming down the stairs, heels clicking on the marble as they make their way to the entrance. You whip your head around to find Taehyung, all dressed up in loose, flowy slacks and a flowery silk button-down, strolling down the staircase as he scrolls through his phone, paying you zero attention whatsoever. 

He notices you briefly when he reaches the bottom, meeting your eyes with his own. He offers this measly, unenthused half-smile your way before he grabs his wallet and some house keys from the table by the entrance, opens the door, and vanishes off into the night. 

If you hadn’t been in the living room, you probably wouldn’t have even realized he left. Not that you being present as he’s planning on leaving would have stopped him anyway. This is the sixth night he’s done this in the past two weeks. You could stand by the door and stare him down as he emerges from his bedroom, all dressed up for something you’re definitely not invited to, and he would offer you that same goddamn smile and walk out the door without even blinking. Who he was before you got married and who he is now are no different. Not even a ring could change that. 

“I guess,” you tell Victoria. At least Taehyung hasn’t turned into a helicopter husband. “I don’t know. Maybe I just wish that I didn’t have to deal with him at all.”

Wish you could turn back time. Wish you could worm your way out of an arranged marriage before it was too late. Wish you could go back to the way things used to be. 

You and Victoria talk for another couple of minutes before she regretfully has to end the call, citing both her beauty sleep and an 8AM meeting tomorrow morning as her reasons for hanging up. The moment you put the phone down, you sink back into the couch cushions, staring out the windows at the world below you.

Here’s the deal. What Taehyung does in his free time is none of your business. But also, it’s totally your business, because you are his spouse. A spouse who is an equal amount in the public eye as he is. What he does and does not do has a direct impact on what you do and do not do. 

It’s no secret that when you catch Taehyung sauntering down the stairs looking like a Gucci runway model, it’s not because he’s planning on catching a movie with a college friend and then playing video games for four hours on a couch in a basement. He is going out. To clubs, to parties, to exclusive events that he’s been invited to by his equally-rich friends, all of whom are acting like he’s the same bachelor he’s always been. 

And maybe that’s the real problem with your whole marriage—other than the glaringly obvious issue that it’s a marriage wholly unwanted by the two parties involved in it. Despite the ring on his finger, Taehyung is going out and pretending that nothing in his life has changed while you’re trapped at home, desperate to save you and your family’s reputation by keeping as low a profile as possible. You would give anything to march around the city all day, flashing middle fingers at paparazzi as you shop at your favorite high-end stores and frequent your favorite clubs. But you can’t, because your family’s fortune and influence is on the line. 

And apparently, Taehyung’s isn’t. 

It sort of makes you wonder why it was even Taehyung you ended up marrying anyway. His family isn’t any richer or more powerful than yours. Your spheres have always been sufficiently separate. What was it about him, and perhaps more importantly, his family that drew your parent’s eye? And what was it about marrying you that prevented him from saying no? Money? Prestige? Influence?

You suppose you’ll never know. But whatever mystical force that convinced Taehyung to agree to this must not be as important to him as your reasoning is to you, because it’s become exceedingly apparent that Taehyung does not care that he’s married. He doesn’t care about the ring on his finger, he doesn’t care about his public image, and he most certainly doesn’t care about you.

Perhaps you were naive for thinking this, but you actually believed marriage might tone him down a little. Might age him into a real adult with real world obligations. Instead, it’s only given you a firsthand look into who Kim Taehyung has been and always will be: a selfish rich kid.

You don’t bother waiting around in the living room until he gets back, but you are still awake by the time you hear the door creak open. Taehyung makes no efforts to hide his return. You can hear him chattering loudly on the phone as he stumbles up the stairs, can tell from his gait alone that he is most certainly wasted. You don’t want to know what he did tonight. You’ll probably be able to figure it out anyway when you wake up tomorrow morning and check your social media. 

What were you thinking, marrying him? That he would change? That he would suddenly become someone that you could rely on? You had no choice when you said, “I do,” but you were at least hoping that maybe one day, one day in a long, long time, the two of you would finally see eye to eye. Maybe there would even come a time when you would genuinely love him. How foolish. 

You close your eyes and try to imagine a world where you have married someone you love, someone who loves you back.

Not unlike the many nights preceding it, tonight is sleepless. 

Unlike your marital status and general disposition, one thing that hasn’t changed about you is your love for extravagant events. Call you conceited, but there is something so much fun about putting on a fancy, expensive dress that you love and getting your hair and makeup done before going to an exclusive gala and posing in front of five hundred cameras. 

Actually, now that you think about it, maybe your wedding could have actually been pretty good, considering it let you do all those things. It’s a real shame there happened to be a storm cloud in the form of Kim Taehyung there to ruin it. Otherwise, you think you would have rather enjoyed that day. 

Tonight is the first event since your marriage where you and Taehyung are both required to show up and act like a happy married couple. Which would probably be a lot easier if you and Taehyung had exchanged more than ten words over the past two weeks. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but there was a part of you that thought you could use your arranged marriage to actually cultivate some sort of meaningful relationship between the two of you. So events like these wouldn’t be such a drain on both of you. 

When Kim Taehyung comes down the stairs, he actually doesn’t look too bad. You don’t know why this sort of thing keeps catching you off guard—like you don’t expect him to look that good whenever you see him. The problem is that you can’t even chalk up the surprise to him wearing tailored clothes or having his hair done. He just looks… good. 

Well, you suppose you do have to look at him every day for the rest of your life. It’s a good thing he’s attractive. At least he’s not sore on the eyes. 

Taehyung and his unfortunate attractiveness aside, the two of you don’t say a word to each other as you join up at the entrance, grabbing any last-minute items like house keys, chapstick, and whatever dignity you have left to spare. You send forced smiles and tight nods each other’s way in the elevator, staring straight ahead in the lobby of your building as the car pulls up to the front door.

By the time the two of you sit down in the back of the limousine, the built-up tension between the two of you is so thick you’re almost positive that even the chauffeur can feel it through the closed partition. 

If you were any more idyllic, you’d probably spend the drive over to the gala staring out the window and imagining yourself in a different life, on a train to nowhere, flowers in your hair and a journal in your hands. Or perhaps you’d be the CEO of your family’s company instead of having that responsibility passed down to a husband you don’t even want, sitting in an office at the top of a skyscraper overlooking the city. Anything. Anything but this.

But the idyllic part of you died when you realized that fantasies like that are nothing but distractions and that daydreams are for romantics and optimists and losers. 

“What’s our plan for tonight?”

Taehyung scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘what’s our plan’?”

You frown. “Well, we’re married, so we at least have to act like it, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t standing there and smiling enough?” Taehyung asks, an unimpressed eyebrow raised. 

You bristle. Maybe that sufficed for your wedding, but there was so much going on it was easy to distract yourself from the gravity of it all. But this event is not about you. It’s not even about either of your families. It’s about someone the two of you are, at best, distantly connected to, through work, through fame, through power. Which means that though the focus will not be on you, there will still be eyes looking your way. Eyes watching your every move. 

“Do you think it will be?” You challenge. Doesn’t Taehyung realize that things are different now?

Taehyung’s lips curl downwards. “What do you expect us to do, shower each other in kisses? We don’t even sleep on the same fucking floor.”

“Maybe I just expected you to act less like a stranger and more like a husband!”

Taehyung sighs. “Don’t.” The word is clipped, short. “Don’t tell me you actually want to be married.”

“I don’t.” It’s a response that you hardly have to think twice about. “But we are, and nothing can change that.” Unfortunately. But it’s a fact that you and Taehyung have both had to grapple with over the past few weeks, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you are more aware of it than he is. If Taehyung could have his way, he would ignore you for the rest of his life and keep partying with the rest of his bachelor friends until he keeled over and died. 

He huffs next to you, eyes staring straight ahead. You don’t think the two of you have met each other’s eyes in a week. Maybe more. They’re starting to feel as soulless as your marriage itself. “Whatever. What do you want me to do?”

“What do you think?” You cross your arms over your chest. “Just act like you don’t hate me. Can you do that?” The way Taehyung’s behaving right now, you expect that will be a challenge for the both of you.

“Only if you can. I’ll even hold your hand to prove that we love each other.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The idea of holding Taehyung’s hand makes you want to implode. The mere thought sends shivers down your spine. But it’s better than nothing, and that’s good enough for you. At least you won’t have to kiss. 

The rest of the ride there is silent. You drive to this gorgeous mansion just outside the city, bathed in lights hidden amongst the bushes, illuminating both the architecture and the enormous fountain that sits in front of it. In a house this size, you imagine you could probably go your whole life without ever having to come across Taehyung. It actually makes you consider investing in a home that big. 

Taehyung helps you out of the back of the limousine, a cold hand clasping your own as you rest your palm against his. You can feel the way his fingers hesitate as yours make to intertwine with his as you walk towards the entrance, smiling at whatever camera flashes you encounter on your way. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were holding hands with a ghost. 

The moment you step inside and are ushered out of the door’s view, Taehyung’s grip relaxes on yours. For a moment, you think he’ll actually spend the rest of the night like this, a gentle hand wrapped around yours, but then he pulls it away entirely and shoves it back into his pocket. Oh. You frown quietly to yourself. So that’s how tonight’s going to go. 

You don’t make an effort to reach out towards him again. 

For an event concerning people you don’t know a damn thing about, everyone sure seems to know things about you. Other than greetings, you don’t think anyone’s said anything to you about anything other than your recent marriage to Taehyung. Every conversation is punctuated by a Congratulations! you do not feel that you have at all earned, considering you and Taehyung could barely look at each other on the way here.

Maybe Taehyung was right. All you really can do is stand there and smile.

“Oh, don’t tell me… Y/N, is that you?”

The champagne swirls around in the flute between your fingers as you turn towards the sound of your name, looking up to see a familiar face headed your way. 

Kim Seokjin is nice enough. He’s terribly handsome and got a flawless smile, but you know better than to trust those pearly whites of his. The sight of him alone is enough to make your body tense up. There was a reason you had explicitly told your parents not to invite him to your wedding. 

“Seokjin, what a surprise to see you here,” you say, forcing a smile. “I thought you were supposed to be in Switzerland right now.”

“Change of plans,” Seokjin grins back in that awful, awful way, the kind of grin that makes you feel like he’s looking right through you. “I came back early. It’s a shame, though, I missed your wedding.”

You shrug. “It was a humble affair.” It wasn’t. And you’re positive that Seokjin knows it wasn’t an accident that you didn’t extend an invitation to him or his family. 

“Ah, I see,” Seokjin says, nodding his head. He turns to Taehyung next to you, who is making no effort to hide how wholly uninterested in this conversation he is, and holds out a hand. “You must be Kim Taehyung, then. I’m Kim Seokjin. Congratulations on your wedding.”

Taehyung shakes his hand firmly, the air between the three of you growing unbearably palpable. 

“Seokjin’s father is the VP of News Daily,” You explain, eyebrows raised as you try to signal to Taehyung what exactly it means when Seokjin is speaking to the two of you. “And his mother is a popular journalist for the city’s post.”

Seokjin grew up in the world of media, and it seems he’s picked up his parent’s affinity for sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. You know he’s not talking to the both of you out of the goodness of his heart. 

Seokjin laughs, his hand waving away the mention of his parents. “Oh, please. That’s them. I’m just a bored socialite like the rest of you.”

You resist the urge to scoff. 

“Marriage treating the two of you well?” He changes the subject to what he really wants to talk about: you. 

“Of course,” you say quickly, preventing any hesitation on your end. Your empty hand reaches towards Taehyung’s, fingers searching for his between the two of you. But his refusal to join hands does not go unnoticed by you nor Seokjin, who is eyeing the space between your bodies with an eyebrow raised. “It’s just been—well, it’s just been difficult to adjust to a new life. That’s all.”

If you were to describe the face of a non-believer, it would be the exact expression on Seokjin’s face. “Perfectly understandable,” he says, that same toothy smile lacing his features. “But it must be nice, you know, to marry someone you love.”

“I couldn’t be happier,” you say, almost challenging Seokjin to say something even more inflammatory. He must know that all you’re trying to do at this point is save face. Love? Ha! As if. 

“And Taehyung?” Seokjin motions to your husband. 

You can feel the way Taehyung is stiffening beside you. “I suppose we are both lucky and unlucky in many ways when it comes to who we love.”

It’s enough of an answer to get Seokjin off your tail. For now. He bids the two of you a tense goodbye before sauntering off to go poke his nose in someone else’s business, fish for drama, a thread of a rumor he can pick apart with nimble fingers. You wonder if anybody actually likes him. 

The moment he disappears from earshot, you grab Taehyung’s wrist tightly and pull him close to you. “What the hell was that?” You hiss into his ear. 

“What?” You can’t tell if he’s playing dumb or if he really is that dense. 

“You!” You exclaim. “Kim Seokjin is the one person who could easily expose how fake this marriage is and you pull away from me? Right in front of him? You can’t even hold my hand for two seconds, that’s how much you hate me?”

“Who cares what he thinks?” Taehyung says. “He’s just another media rat. No one will even remember we were here tomorrow.”

“But if you keep acting like this, people will start to notice! Why can’t you just act like you don’t hate me, for one night? Is that so bad? Is it that torturous, to spend one night with me?”

“Do not turn this on me,” Taehyung orders harshly. “You’re making a scene. Come on.”

You don’t have time to shout at him for bossing you around like you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum before he drags you out of the venue, the two of you finding a back door to the building that leads outside. The cold air blows against your body, goosebumps popping up against your skin, but you find that the chilly night provides quite the respite after practically overheating indoors. Taehyung makes fire rush through your veins but at least the air can cool you back down. 

Nevertheless, your conversation is not over. It’s just been moved to a more private location.

“You do realize that our marriage isn’t going to suddenly go away, right? That we’re going to have to keep doing this for the rest of our lives?” You remind him, eyebrows raised. There’s a part of you that genuinely thinks he’s completely forgotten that your marriage is permanent.

“Oh, and not holding hands for five minutes for this one event is totally going to change the course of our lives, isn’t it?” Taehyung fights back.

“Don’t act like you did the right thing,” you spit out. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I know you don’t give a shit about our marriage.”

“What marriage is there to even give a shit about? Just because we had a wedding and signed some documents does not mean there is a real marriage between us. Look at us,” he motions between the two of you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We hate each other. Is this what you would call marriage?”

“But at least I’m trying to get past that!” You exclaim. “You make it seem like being as miserable as possible is some sort of badge of honor. Do you actually want to spend the rest of your life hating the person you married? Or do you want to grow up and try and move on?”

Taehyung frowns. “What I want is for the person I married to stop acting like they’re doing me such a huge favor by pretending to care about us. Especially when all they really care about is their family’s goddamn reputation.”

“No,” you tell him sternly. You are doing him a favor. He just can’t admit that he actually needs help from you. “You are putting zero effort into this. What am I supposed to do?”

“Let it go!” Taehyung shouts. “Maybe one day we’ll actually start getting along, but right now it’s obvious that neither one of us can stand the other. I don’t need you to do favors for me. I can handle it myself.”

You look away, rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t look like it to me,” you mutter to yourself. 

Taehyung cracks. “Fine. You want me to pretend that I actually care about us? I will.” Thank God. Maybe now the two of you will finally start seeing eye-to-eye. “But make no mistake about how I feel about you,” he spits. “Getting married to you ruined my life.”

You stare straight at him and his eyes are swirling, so obscured in the darkness of the night that you might even think he doesn’t have a soul at all. His pupils bore into yours and for once, for once in your goddamn life, after so many years of staring each other down at debutante balls, so many years of witty refrains and snarky insults hurled each other’s way, it feels like the two of you might actually snap. 

Then, a camera flashes.

Trouble in Paradise! would be a suitable title for the front page of the city’s biggest tabloid… if anything about your life with Taehyung could be considered paradise. Unfortunately for the both of you, that is not the case. 

You don’t need to keep reading the rest of the trashy article on the front page of the daily tabloid to know how much trouble you’re in, nor do you even have time to scroll beneath the terrible photo of you and Taehyung literally shouting at each other before you hear your phone ring. 

You don’t even bother saying hello to whoever’s on the other end. You know it’ll go in one ear and out the other. 

“I assume you know why I’m calling,” your mother’s harsh tone spits from the other end of the phone. There’s no doubt in your mind that she’s standing in the middle of her office, snapping her fingers at her fifteen secretaries as they partake in the worst damage control your family’s had to deal with since your cousin two years ago was caught with a mistress outside a high-profile restaurant. 

“Can I take a wild guess?” You’re about to be scolded into the next century, so you might as well enjoy your last few moments. 

“Don’t get cheeky with me,” your mother warns. “Care to explain why you and your beloved husband made the front page of the Daily Post today?”

“I know,” you sigh, a hand coming up to rub at your temples. It’s eight in the morning, you’ve barely looked at your phone, and you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet. It feels like you’re still asleep, and most certainly lack the energy to deal with this right now. 

Your mother, on the other hand, thinks otherwise. “You know? You know, and you still go out and do this? For everyone to see?”

“We tried to take our argument outside,” you begin to explain, but your mother isn’t having a single word of it. 

“The fact that you thought it was even appropriate to have an argument in a public setting at all astounds me, Y/N. We raised you better than that.” There’s no need for you to even see her face. You’ve grown so used to that disappointed frown over the years that it’s burned into your brain. 

“Maybe you should have thought about that before marrying me off to a man I barely know so I could be someone else’s problem instead of yours,” you bite. 

“We did this for your own good,” she hisses back. “You are married because we love you, and we want you to succeed outside of this family.”

“Then why do you care what the tabloids print about me?”

“Because being married does not mean you are no longer a part of this family,” your mother informs you sternly, lips smacking together. “Your marriage reflects on all of us, and you know that. What will people think of us when they see how terribly behaved you are?”

“Everyone acts like that, and you know it.” How could your mother preach good behavior when everyone, everyone you know, is just as spoiled and entitled as you? There’s no such thing as being altruistic when it comes to people like you. Being genuine, and good, and pure—that will get you ruined. 

You can hear her breathing into the phone when your mother responds, “But not in public, and that is the point. We expect better from you.”

“If you were so worried about me behaving so badly, then why did you even marry me off anyway? You knew that I didn’t want to. What did you think would happen?” It’s a question you wouldn’t have dared ask three months ago. Hell, even a year ago, when it was first revealed you were to be engaged, you wouldn’t have dared open your lips. But things are different now. You’re married to a man that hates you just as much as you hate him. He is making no effort to improve your relationship and seems hellbent on despising you forever. There is no way to get out of it. And if your parents really foresaw all of that, then what was the point in the first place?

“Your grandmother.”

Your mouth shuts. 

“You know she wanted to see you married before she passed,” your mother says, words clipped and biting and harsh. “She cares about you. She wanted to make sure you’d be taken care of.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you mutter to yourself like a petulant child. In a way, you sort of are.

“If you want to stay in her will, I suggest you change that mindset.”

You freeze in your tracks. The will?

“Is that a threat?” You ask, positively dumbfounded. Are you being coerced into staying in this marriage because of your grandmother’s will?

You can hear your mother laugh, that muted, knowing chuckle of hers. “It was the deal all along, remember?”

Vaguely, you do. You remember fighting your parents tooth and nail over getting married until your grandmother revealed it was her dream to see you wed. You remember the look on her old, wrinkled face, that soft, sad smile that said she knew she didn’t have much time left. You remember agreeing, because how could you deny her? You remember her promising to remember what you’re doing for her. 

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“But—”

“That’s the end of this conversation, Y/N. You fix things with your husband or you’re out of her will. She’s made that clear. I expect you’ll make the right choice.”

She hangs up. 

Well. 

There are a lot of ways to describe how you’re currently feeling, and you most certainly had an expensive education that would provide you with plenty of the vocabulary, but you think the most appropriate words for the current situation would be: you’re fucked. 

At least the feeling is mutual. 

Hardly two minutes after your mother’s brutal phone call, Taehyung comes storming down the stairs, hair still mussed from the night prior, his own phone clenched tightly between is fingers. Even from where you stand in the middle of the living room, you can see the way his eyes are glinting with anger, the veins popping out from his skin. 

“I just got off the phone with my parents,” Taehyung begins, not even bothering to spare a ‘good morning’ your way, “and they are fucking furious about last night.”

You shrug. “Join the club,” you mutter, arms crossed in front of you. What, does Taehyung really think you got off scot-free?

“Don’t act like this means nothing to you,” Taehyung says as he approaches you, footsteps calm despite his demeanor being anything but. “You’re the one who’s so obsessed with keeping up their family’s perfect reputation. You’re the reason we’re even in this mess in the first place.”

“What do you mean, ‘I’m the reason’?” You ask, astounded. Like he’s totally absolved of all blame and just an innocent third party. “You are the reason we went outside. You are the reason we had that argument, because you refuse to accept the fact that we’re actually married and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Right, because holding hands is really gonna show all those people how in love we are. I bet your parents are so thrilled right now.” Taehyung drawls. 

“It’s a start!” You shriek. “God, you’re just so—so infuriating! You can’t accept that this was your fault, too. You just have to turn everything against me and you always, always have to get the last word. It’s like you think you’ll die if you don’t.”

“Like you’re any better,” Taehyung huffs back. “You think I’m the villain because I don’t want to pretend to be in love with someone I’m not in love with. You act like us not holding hands is going to ruin our lives. It was one event! One! It’s obvious we hate each other, so why even try?”

“What, do you expect me to just sit around and do nothing? To act like everything’s fine? Like I’m happy?” As if. This marriage is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. “While you prance around the city with your rich boy friends, going out to clubs and parties and pretending that I don’t exist? Is that what you expect from me?”

Taehyung laughs, this loud, disbelieving sort of noise, like he’s never heard such nonsense before. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean the rest of my life has to change. Am I not allowed to enjoy myself with my friends? Or are you determined to keep me chained to your side for the rest of our lives?”

“What I want,” you punctuate every word, “is for you to stop acting like you haven’t got stakes in this, too. You think I don’t know how your family works? What being married to me means for you? Because I do. And I know that if we were to divorce, it would be you who would get the short end of the stick. Make no mistake.”

That’s enough to shut Taehyung up for a good few seconds. And it shuts him up, because he knows it’s true. Taehyung’s family may have a little more money, a little more power than yours, but you’ve got a family intimately more connected with the media. One phone call and Taehyung may have a rather messy, rather public breakup to deal with. 

“You wouldn’t,” he says, calling your bluff. 

“Are you sure about that?” You say, sticking your ground. You would never really divorce him, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I am,” Taehyung says firmly. “Don’t think I don’t know what being married to me is in it for you. What is it? Money? Power? Your father’s CEO position?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap quickly. Maybe you’re more transparent than you thought. Bristling, you straighten your shoulders and turn back to meet his eyes. “Regardless, it seems we both have a reason to stay in this marriage.”

“It seems we do,” Taehyung agrees with a thin, contained smile. “Then I suppose we can reach some sort of agreement.”

“As in…?” Your interest in piqued. 

“I’ll stop going out with my friends if you stop picking fights with me all the time,” he says economically, like he’s killing two birds with one stone. 

“Only if you agree to also act more like my husband when we’re in public,” you tack on, because you just can’t settle for anything less. 

“Public only,” Taehyung specifies. 

You scoff. “Like I’d even want to pretend to be your wife when we’re in private.”

“Good. It seems we’ve come to a deal.”

“What’s in this for you, huh?” You prod, just to be annoying. Taehyung’s right. There’s a reason you’re not divorcing him the second you get the chance. But there must be a reason why he’s not doing the same thing. 

“Does it matter?” He challenges, a single eyebrow raised. “My life is just as awful as yours.”

Fair enough. 

“Do we have a deal?” Taehyung asks, holding out his hand, that sneaky, devilish grin lacing his features. 

Taking his hand in yours and grasping it firmly is the easiest decision in the world. His palm presses against your own, hot hand meeting your cold skin, and it feels like the two of you are finally finding some sort of balance. You look up into his eyes, burn your gaze into his pupils, watch them glint in the white ceiling light of the living room. 

“Deal.”

For two people raised on the values of reading the fine print and making educated choices when it comes to business deals, you and Taehyung sure haven’t worked out any of the intricacies of the deal the two of you agreed to. Unlike those business deals your parents constantly agreed to, however, knowing all of the stipulations and provisions of your strange, strange agreement with Taehyung may prove more harmful than helpful. 

Like right now. 

“Wait, we don’t have to be by each other’s side the whole night, do we?” Taehyung asks you, eyebrows furrowed in a knot, as you sit in the back of a big, black van on your way to a mutual friend’s twenty-first birthday bash. 

“There are going to be a lot of cameras there,” you respond. 

“Yeah, outside the entrance to the damn club. You know they won’t be allowed in, so who cares?” Taehyung rebukes. 

You huff out a little sigh, not wanting to get into an argument when you’re literally minutes away from your first public appearance since the whole tabloid debacle from three weeks ago. You and Taehyung could both do with being a bit more relaxed than you normally are when you’re around each other. 

“Hasn’t Clarissa invited hundreds of people? They’ll all notice if we aren’t together,” you remind pointedly. The girl whose birthday party you are attending is an heiress who grew up on the money of two people with a monopoly over the current artificial intelligence market and has millions of followers on social media. There will be notable people there. And people will know the two of you, as well. 

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “That’s the point, Y/N. There’ll be so many people, no one will even care. It’s her twenty-first birthday. Do you think people are going to be sober?”

You purse your lips together. He’s got a point. “How about when we are together, we hold hands. But if you see a friend or something then feel free to say hi.” Taehyung can be afforded that luxury. Especially because the chances of him not bumping into someone he knows is exceedingly low anyway. 

Taehyung nods in agreement. “You too. But I won’t leave you unless I know you’re with someone you’re close with.”

“You don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine,” you say with a small chuckle. What, is Taehyung suddenly worried, or something?

“Yeah, but it would be in bad taste if I left you with someone you didn’t know well. Or alone. Just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.” He shrugs nonchalantly, turning back to look out of the window on his side of the car. 

“Okay.” 

You don’t really have anything else to say to that. You’re sure you can handle yourself if you’re left alone for a few minutes while Taehyung says hi, but you actually find yourself rather appreciative of his resolve to look after you. Or, at least, make sure someone else is looking after you. It’s quite… chivalrous. Strikingly out of character for the Taehyung you’ve become well-acquainted with over the past couple of months. 

By the time you arrive, it’s obvious that Taehyung was right about there being so many people you two practically don’t even exist. Other than the herds of camera crews waiting outside the joint, photographing everyone that steps out of a black car to see what they’re wearing and who they’ve come with, no one seems to be paying you any attention. And in a way, that sort of nonexistence, that anonymity, it’s refreshing. Your entire life you’ve felt like all eyes were on you, like there was constantly a spotlight above your head, but here, the party centers around someone else. 

Despite that fact, Taehyung keeps his promise. He keeps himself pressed closely against you when there’s not enough space for you two to stand side by side, and he makes sure to have a hand gently intertwined with your own as you weave your way through the dozens of bodies in the room. He doesn’t say anything, of course, always looking up and forward instead of beside him, where you stand, but you find that you’re actually quite relaxed with his presence. He spots a bit of a clearing near the back of the first floor of the club, where a whole bunch of leather couches are pressed up against the brick walls, where the two of you can take a breather. 

“Damn, Clarissa knows a lot of people,” you say when you finally settle down, happily plucking a martini from a tray held by one of the many caterers wandering through the venue. 

“I doubt she’s even spoken to half of them,” Taehyung comments. “She and I have maybe spoken once… three years ago.”

“It was enough to get you invited, wasn’t it?” You point out with an eyebrow raised. 

Taehyung nods, chuckling a little. “Touché,” he says, clinking his own cocktail glass against yours. 

You take a swig of the drink, letting it wash down your throat. You’re not exactly sure how else you’re supposed to survive the night. “You must enjoy this, huh?” You muse, looking up at Taehyung from where you’re seated on the couch. He’s standing next to you, looking around the room with a distant gaze in his eye. 

“Enjoy what? The drink? It’s nice,” Taehyung says, having another sip. 

“No, I mean this,” you say, motioning toward the crowd. “The clubbing, the dancing, the drinking. I’ll bet that if you could do this every day for the rest of your life, you would.”

“I’m honored that you think so highly of me,” he deadpans. 

“Just making an observation,” you say, holding your hand up in surrender. “I mean, isn’t this what you used to do every weekend before we got married? Get wasted and party? Wake up in someone else’s bed the next morning? Muscle your way through the week just so you could do it all over again?”

Taehyung shakes his head, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like someone keeps up with her tabloids. Let me guess, you would scroll through all of those trashy articles on your phone whenever you woke up so you could see what your future husband was doing?”

“I could have never even met you and I would know that that’s exactly what you do,” you say, even though you definitely did do those things before your engagement was announced to the public. “You’re a heartbreaker, Kim Taehyung. I don’t need to read a tabloid to know that.”

“Well, you must be quite the lucky girl, then,” Taehyung comments. “You seem to be taking up so much of my energy that I don’t have the time for that anymore.”

You place a sarcastic hand on your heart. “I didn’t know you were always thinking about me. I’m touched.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Taehyung huffs out, making the two of you both shake your heads as you chuckle to yourselves. First civil conversation you’ve had with each other in a long while, even if there may have been a few blows exchanged. 

The privacy doesn’t last long. Soon after, a huge crowd of people that could honestly still pass for teenagers herds towards the back of the club, all of them wanting to take pictures with each other. You and Taehyung do your best to stay out of the way, but one of the girls recognizes him from the Elle photoshoot he did about a year ago and begins to strike up a conversation with the both of you about your recent marriage. If she was paying attention to anything the tabloids leaked three weeks ago, she doesn’t mention it. Taehyung smiles and happily answers all of her questions, and even offers to take a picture of the group for them. The conversation ends before the two of you even catch her name. 

You’re standing by the line of buffet tables laid out against the staircase leading up to the second floor, no doubt as crowded as this one, when the opportunity for you to speak to someone other than Taehyung finally presents itself. 

“Y/N!”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. You turn around to see Victoria barreling towards the both of you, not even caring when she accidentally spills a bit of her piña colada on the floor as she does. 

“Hey!” You exclaim excitedly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure Clarissa invited everyone on her, her best friend’s, her best friend’s cousin, and her best friend’s cousin’s dog’s contact list,” Victoria says with a laugh. “It’s nice to see you. I feel like you’ve been holed up in that big ol’ penthouse for weeks.”

“Damage control,” you remind her succinctly. Victoria knows enough that that’s all the explanation she really needs. 

“I don’t know if the two of you have ever met formally,” you say, thinking back to your wedding, where Victoria spent most of her time schmoozing with your parents (who love her) and didn’t even engage with any of the people who Taehyung’s family had invited. “Taehyung, this is Victoria. Victoria, Taehyung.”

“Pleasure,” Victoria says in that loud, unabashedly forward way of hers, holding out a friendly hand. Taehyung smiles back curtly, taking her hand and shaking it gently, so as not to spill any more of her drink. 

“Mine as well. I remember you were at our wedding.” Oh? So he does know her?

“That I was. Oh, I miss that day. The food was excellent. Tonight’s isn’t too bad either. Hope you’re doing well, the two of you. It’s nice to see you getting along,” she says, always the observer. 

Taehyung’s eyes widen a little when he picks up what Victoria is not-so-subtly putting down, but you place a hand on his upper arm to calm him. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “She won’t say anything.”

“My lips are sealed,” Victoria adds. 

“If you wanna go spend time with some of your friends, you can,” you say, giving Taehyung a nudge. He looks positively helpless standing in between the two of you as Victoria out-extroverts him. 

“Alright,” he says hesitantly, even though you know he’s already spotted at least ten people you’re sure he’d want to spend time with over you. “I’ll come find you soon, okay? Don’t go too far.”

You nod, and Taehyung disappears off into the crowd. Not two seconds later, you hear someone else call his name in a familiar tone. 

“I thought you said you hated him,” Victoria points out as the two of you watch his caramel brown hair makes its way throughout the crowd. 

You take another sip of your drink. “I do,” you say. 

Victoria looks at you like you’ve just told her you’ve sworn off custard-filled doughnuts. 

“What?” You ask, feeling suddenly defensive. 

“Nothing,” Victoria singsongs. “It just doesn’t look like that to me.”

“We just need to keep up a good appearance in public, that’s all. You know how mad my parents got when the tabloids leaked all that shit a few weeks ago,” you explain. You’re not sure what all the fuss is about. Taehyung said he would do these things. And he did. That was him upholding his end of the deal. This is you upholding yours. 

“If you say so…” Victoria says, not looking at all convinced. “I guess I’m just surprised that—that you two seem to be getting along so well. Maybe you being married isn’t going to be the worst thing after all.”

You stare back out into the crowd, scanning the top of people’s heads for Taehyung’s familiar locks. In the dim light of the club, you have a difficult time finding his, squinting your eyes slightly as you look around, but eventually you spot him, dancing happily with some old friends of his you recognize. He looks like he’s having a good time. And that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might end up alright. 

“Yeah,” you say, though with the pounding of the bass and the alcohol already rushing through your veins, it doesn’t really feel like your voice belongs to you. You look back at Taehyung, knowing exactly where he is now, and you smile. Just a little. “I guess he’s not so bad.”

You never do get a chance to meet Taehyung’s friends that night. By the time he joins back up with you and Victoria he’s by himself, a little more drunk than when he left, and ready to go home. And for once, instead of fighting him, instead of insisting you stay an hour more just to make sure you’ve done all of your rounds, you let him take you home. 

Taehyung has been spending a lot more time at the penthouse lately. Perhaps his family’s business happenings are slow, or perhaps he’s actually starting to get more comfortable with inhabiting the same space as you, but he has definitely found himself quite the rhythm in that house of yours. He even comes down to the first floor rather regularly. 

When he’s home, Taehyung is a lot quieter than you thought he would be. Granted, you don’t exactly know what you were expecting in the first place, but it certainly wasn’t him ruminating in one of the home offices while the Beatles play softly on the stereo, nor was it him reading a book in French in one of those big old grandfather chairs in the living room. If you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was still absent in that old way of his, ghostlike and silent, like he was occupying the space instead of truly living in it. 

But you do know better, and even though Taehyung is just as noiseless as he used to be, the house already feels a little bit fuller. 

Perhaps the reason you’ve become so keenly aware of his presence over the past few days is because of the notable fact that Taehyung has indeed held up his end of the deal, and no longer goes out with his friends in the evening. Or at all, for that matter. Which strikes you as rather odd, because he’s the epitome of a social butterfly, a thousand contacts in his phone and a whole group of friends he regularly spends time with. Maybe his parents told him to tone down the public appearances, too. And that’s understandable, but don’t they know Taehyung? Can’t they see how much he thrives on social interaction? It almost makes you feel… bad for him. 

To remedy this, you suggest he invite over his friends. Just for a few hours, you swear you won’t mind. 

“Seriously?” Taehyung looks positively shocked when you tell him he can, standing in the doorway of the office he seems to have designated as his own. 

“Yeah, why not?” You say with a carefree shrug. Besides, you’ve never met his friends anyway, and now seems as good a chance as any to introduce yourself. You are his wife, after all. “Unless your parents say you can’t. But it’s not a problem for me.”

“You… don’t mind if I have my friends over for a bit? Honest to God, we’re probably just going to play FIFA for three hours straight,” Taehyung says like it’s some sort of warning. Like the idea of him and his buddies from college are going to sit in the living room screaming at the television, leaving you alone to do literally anything else, is somehow bad. 

You laugh. “It’s fine, really. Call them. I’d actually quite like to meet them.”

Taehyung picks up his phone almost instantly, as if you’ll change your mind in the next five minutes so he better get them over soon, and already you can see the way his face is lighting up, the way his eyes crinkle as he chats to his friends and the way his lips curl upwards when they crack a joke back. Isn’t it obvious? He feeds off of the energy of others. Who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?

As it turns out, Taehyung’s friends actually end up being quite nice anyway. 

He invites over three, because four people is apparently the perfect number for a hardcore game of FIFA on his Playstation, and they are all very handsome men you have never met before. You suppose like attracts like, after all. 

“You must be Y/N,” says the first one you see when you open the door to let them in. He doesn’t look a day over twenty-one—in fact, he could probably still pass as a college student—and has rather long dark hair that drapes over the sides of his face, covering the edges of his big doe eyes. “I’m Jungkook. This is Jimin and Hoseok.”

“Nice to meet you all,” you say, stepping aside so they can enter.

The shortest one, Jimin, grins in response, and Hoseok, behind him, gives you a wave. It’s refreshing enough as is, not having to exchange formal greetings and shake each other’s hands like you do with everyone else. Hoseok even gives you a bit of a nod, too.“You, too,” he says. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Oh, have they, now? Interesting. 

“All good things, I hope,” you say awkwardly, forcing a small smile as Taehyung comes bounding into the room, ears perked up at the sound of his friends’ voices. 

“Definitely. Thanks for having us over. We didn’t wanna intrude on the sanctity of your new place,” Jungkook says, gesturing vaguely to the house as a whole. He’s got this excellent, genuine grin on his face, the kind that people who are just happy to be alive always wear. 

Already he’s said enough to charm the shit out of you. Who knew Taehyung’s friends could be so… friendly? “Please, you’re welcome any time. I was just thinking Taehyung was getting a little lonely.”

“There he is!” Jimin shouts excitedly when he spots Taehyung behind the two of you, looking a lot more casual than he normally does when he’s alone with you, having abandoned his usual silky button-down and wide-leg slacks for a loose shirt and some sweatpants. You didn’t even know he had those things in his closet. 

“Hey, everyone’s here!” Taehyung exclaims, just as happy. He squeezes past you to give the three of them a big hug, and it almost makes you feel like you’re intruding on something you shouldn’t be in. Even though this is literally your house. 

“Nice place you got here,” Hoseok comments, eyes drifting around the living room. “Very minimalist, I like it.”

“Sure hope you don’t spill anything on those nice leather couches of yours,” Jungkook says. 

“Yeah, unlike Kook, who has spilled tomato soup on every shirt he’s ever owned,” Jimin jokes, earning laughs from Taehyung and Hoseok and a punch from Jungkook. 

“Moved after we married,” Taehyung says simply, shrugging his shoulders. It’s an easy enough explanation for why it doesn’t look at all lived in. Here’s hoping none of them realize you sleep in different bedrooms. 

“Yeah, congratulations on that, man,” Hoseok says, giving Taehyung a celebratory nudge in the shoulder. “Who’d have thought, out of the four of us, Kim Taehyung would be the first one to settle down.”

The way Taehyung’s body tenses up at that comment does not go unnoticed by you. 

“Seriously, I would have never guessed,” Jimin adds on. “You’re showing us a new side of yourself, Tae. But I’m happy for you.”

Normally, you’d probably take offense at such blatant insinuations that your husband was a former playboy, especially from his equally noncommittal friends. But truthfully, it’s not like you were blind to Taehyung’s transgressions either. And what matters most is the fact that since it was announced publicly, you are the only woman he’s been seen with since your engagement. 

“Me too. You seem to really like her. I’m glad,” Jungkook pipes up, sending a smile your way. You definitely feel like you don’t belong in this conversation. “I think the two of you will be good for each other.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Taehyung says with a nervous chuckle. His eyes quickly shoot your way, the two of you meeting gazes, your hesitant expressions matching. At least the two of you are on the same page. “Alright, alright, enough,” Jungkook says. “Who’s ready to get their ass kicked in FIFA?”

“You’re on, Jeon. But when I win, you owe me a five-star dinner,” Hoseok challenges. 

“Deal.”

Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately crowd towards the couch, and you take that as your cue to leave. But before you can disappear down the hallway, you and Taehyung look awkwardly at each other, hands tied. It’s not like you can say anything to them. 

The truth is that, sometimes, it’s easy to forget that not everyone else knows that your marriage is just for business. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that there are still people out there that believe you marry for love. 

Isn’t it crazy to think that you used to be one of those people, too?

“Hey,” Taehyung says when you meet up at the bottom of the stairs again. 

“Hey,” you respond. 

“You look nice.”

You scoff a little to yourself. What, are you exchanging compliments now? “Thanks,” you say, looking him up and down. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Like he ever is. 

“I knew you had taste,” Taehyung teases, and it’s the sort of comment that would have earned him a melon ball to the face back when the two of you were teenagers at a debutante ball, but today only earns him a roll of your eyes as you join hands. You don’t have anything big tonight—just a small dinner to celebrate some sort of business accomplishment for your family, which means that all you have to manage is not ending up in some sort of food fight by the end of the night. 

“I didn’t have a choice, did I?” You retort easily as you get into the car. 

You don’t normally speak a lot on the way to events. Not that you ever did, but even as your relationship has slowly faded from pure hatred to attempts at compromise, you both seem to relish in being able to stare out of your respective backseat windows and into the city that surrounds you. Just out of curiosity, about halfway through the ride you look towards Taehyung to see what he’s up to, and find yourself genuinely surprised to see him leaning against the window with his eyes closed. Is he sleeping? A couple more minutes of gazing at him tells you he is, because his body has gone lax and his breathing has evened out, soft snores leaving his mouth. This ride can’t be longer than twenty minutes. Has he not been sleeping well? Up in that enormous second-floor bedroom of his?

He’s awake by the time the car parks outside the restaurant, this fancy name brand steak place that was chosen solely because the biggest beneficiaries of your family’s new business deal are two sixty-year-old men whose entire diet consists of beef and beer. No cameras tonight, just a small family affair. You and Taehyung hold hands as you enter the restaurant and are led to the private room in the back anyway. 

You and him are seated on the far end of the long, rectangular table, alongside all of the other adult children dragged along to celebrate something that has no effect on their lives. But it’s nice, because the space alone prevents your parents from actively speaking with you, and you and Taehyung can stay in your own little bubble, only chiming in for a toast when necessary. 

“What are you going to get?” He asks you, the two of you gazing at the menu. No matter how fancy this place is, all the options seem to boil down to steak, steak, steak, steak, and caesar salad. Classic. 

“Oh, so you actually care now?” You counter, an eyebrow raised in amusement. 

Taehyung laughs. “Aren’t I supposed to?”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, wise to his usual shenanigans. It’s hard to tell if Taehyung really means what he says, or if it’s all for show. But perhaps he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious, since no one else seems to be paying you any attention. 

“The choices on this menu are simply overwhelming,” you say, motioning to the six options in front of you. 

“I know, I’m so torn,” Taehyung jokes, making you huff out a little giggle. At least he’s still got that same sense of humor. 

You both end up going for a pretty classic steak dinner, which neither of the two of you finish because the damn portions are the size of your head. Dinner is, in and of itself, absolutely mindless, all of your parents talking about things that don’t concern you whatsoever, leaving you and Taehyung to your own devices as you desperately try to make the night go by faster. 

At one point, you notice Taehyung’s foot brushing up against yours, the leather of his loafers brushing against the toe of your patent heel. Thinking someone of it, you push back, foot nudging his back to his own chair. It’s not a second later that Taehyung retaliates, the two of you dancing around each other underneath the table. 

If the two of you were any younger, or perhaps any less resigned to your fate, there’s no doubt in your mind you would be attempting to get Taehyung to fall off his chair in an effort to do the same to you. Footsie means war. But when the both of you know that, at the end of the day, you’ll still be going home to the same place, and waking up the next morning in the same house, it doesn’t feel like this is a battle.

It’s just life. 

Eventually, you meet Taehyung’s eyes with a hesitant smile, shoe pressed against his, stuck in ceasefire. And for once, he doesn’t have that devilish look in his eye, that smug little grin on his face that tells you that he’s going to make you regret whatever it is you just did. He’s just smiling back at you, all pink lips, having found real fun in the little things. 

And that makes you happy. 

The rest of the dinner is uneventful, which, in your book, is about as good as a dinner can go. You cheers to the future of your parents’ relationship with their newfound partners and say a quick goodbye to them both, hurrying out of there before they can ask you any questions on your relationship with your husband. But you don’t spend the car ride in silence on the way back. 

Instead, you say, “Have you been sleeping well?”

The question seems to catch Taehyung off guard. He was already getting in position to take a power nap on the ride home, head pressed up against the window of the car. 

“What?”

“Have you been sleeping well?” You repeat. “I noticed you fell asleep on the way here.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess,” he says, a hand scratching the nape of his neck. “I mean, it’s been hard adjusting, I suppose. But I’ll get over it.”

Hard adjusting? You’ve been together for nearly three months now. Three months worth of sleeping in the same penthouse bedroom, on the same soft-as-a-cloud mattress, underneath the same weighted blanket. And he’s still having trouble? 

“Oh. I mean, I just wanted to ask because you seem really tired lately.”

“I got a lot on my plate, what can I say,” Taehyung says with an empty smile, forcing a chuckle. “I’ll be fine, seriously. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Isn’t that my job?” You remind him. “I am your wife.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything to that. He just lets out an audible breath, the kind you let out when you’re amused and have something snarky to say, but don’t have the energy to get the words off your tongue. 

The rest of the ride is pretty quiet. 

When you get home, you place your house keys in the bowl by the entrance and take off your shoes, just about ready to take a hot shower and collapse in bed, when Taehyung’s voice stops you. 

“Hey,” he begins, almost hesitantly. You look back at him inquisitively. “I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, we could start sleeping in the same bed?”

You scrunch your nose up. Not in disgust, but in surprise. In bewilderment. What brought this on, all of a sudden?

“Really?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. “I thought we liked the separate bed thing. Gives us privacy.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says with a shrug, “but—I don’t know, it’s stupid. I just thought, you know, since we’re married and all. And it’s been three months.” He looks about two seconds away from backtracking, from shaking his head and going upstairs before you can say anything else. 

“Alright,” you say quickly, nodding your assent. Taehyung’s eyes widen when he hears the word, like he had completely expected you to shut him down the moment he made the suggestion. “If that’s what you want. We can try it.”

“You sure?” He asks, that same hesitant smile from earlier lacing his features. It’s strange. He almost looks… sweet. Nervous. 

You grin back at him. “Yeah, I am.”

Taehyung lets you grab some of your toiletries and your pajamas from your designated bedroom before you head up the stairs together, towards the bedroom he’s claimed for himself. Funnily enough, this is the first time you’ve been in his room. Three months of living together and you haven’t dared step foot on the second floor. 

You don’t know what you were expecting when he opens the door to let you inside. Maybe a room that screamed ‘Taehyung’ a little more than this one does. One that looks like an actual human has been living here. But other than one of his classic silk button-downs draped over a chair, there’s not a shred of evidence someone has actually been sleeping here. You could honestly be fooled rather easily that the shirt, too, is just decoration. 

“You can pick a side,” Taehyung says casually. He grabs his own sleepwear—an old t-shirt and some sweats—and heads into the bathroom to change. 

You wonder why Taehyung has had such a difficult time adjusting. This room is about as lavish as a bedroom can get. And yet. 

Sitting down on the left side of the bed, you begin to remove your own clothes, unzipping tonight’s dress and stepping quickly into your pajamas, hurrying to make sure Taehyung doesn’t catch you half-naked. How funny is that, you think to yourself. You’ve been married for three months and you still can’t bear the thought of Taehyung seeing you without a shirt on. 

When Taehyung comes out of the bathroom, hair all messy and clothes all casual, he grins lazily to himself. “I sleep on the right anyway,” he comments mindlessly. 

Within twenty minutes the both of you are about as ready to pass out as you have ever been, the only lights still on the ones on your respective nightstands. 

“Goodnight,” Taehyung says, reaching an arm over to switch his off. 

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning off yours as well. And all of a sudden, the room is shrouded in darkness. 

You fall asleep instantly. 

When Taehyung wakes up the next morning, the first thing he says to you is that he hasn’t slept that well in ages. 

“You slept together?” Victoria shrieks, so loud you actually have to move your phone away from your ear as you punch in the code inside the elevator for access to your floor. 

“We did not sleep together,” you emphasize. “Okay, well, we sleep together, as in, in the same bed. But we are fully clothed. And not the slightest bit interested in doing anything other than sleeping.”

“I thought you said you liked having your own space,” Victoria points out. “When was the first time you—uh…” she pauses to find the right words, “shared a bed?”

“A couple weeks ago. It’s really not so bad, I don’t know why you’re so hung up over it,” you say, lips pursed. You squeeze the phone between the side of your head and your shoulder, hands full of shopping bags, the string of the handles burning your skin. Maybe you should look into getting a personal shopper. 

“I’m hung up over it because, for the longest time, you have sworn off Kim Taehyung. Called him dead to you. Insulted him every chance you get.” 

You scoff. You don’t need reminding of how much you hated him, how much you can’t believe you have to spend the rest of your life with him. “It’s different now. We’re married. And he said he wasn’t sleeping well. I felt bad.”

“He wasn’t?”

“Enough about him,” you say, shutting her up. You don’t feel like talking about him with Victoria anymore. “Word through the grapevine says that your parents are actually thinking of letting you start your own company?”

It’s enough to distract Victoria. For the rest of the ride in the elevator, she talks animatedly about a new streaming service her parents are considering letting her launch, under their parent business, of course, but it’s her own company nonetheless. And you’re proud of her. Proud she could do something your parents would never dream of letting you do. Proud she could make that happen. 

You push open the front door with the side of your hip after entering in the security code, phone still snug between your ear and your shoulder, when you hear Taehyung call out your name. 

He comes into view from the kitchen, which surprises you because you have, on multiple occasions, made fun of how much of a disaster chef he is, especially because he’s admitted to you he’s not a very good cook. 

“I made brownies,” he says, holding out a plate of the chocolate treats in front of you. Instinct has you dropping your bags on the floor by your feet and reaching out, but you eye him first, suspicious. 

“I have to go,” you tell Victoria, hanging up before she even gets a chance to object to your sudden departure. “You made these?”

“Yes, I did,” Taehyung says, rather proud. 

“And the kitchen is… still standing?” You ask, skeptical. 

Taehyung frowns at you, clearly unimpressed. “How bad of a chef do you think I am?”

“Pretty bad,” you admit with a shrug. 

Taehyung pouts sadly to himself for a moment. “These are good, I swear. Nothing weird in them like vegetables or anything either. I used a box mix.”

“No wonder they look so nice,” you comment snidely, hesitant hand reaching out to grab one. They feel like brownies. So that’s good. 

“Hey, I was the one who had to crack the eggs and shit. Three eggs! And not one eggshell in the bowl!” Taehyung says, clearly very pleased with himself. 

You laugh at his enthusiasm, taking a bite. It’s good. And exactly what you needed after a long day of shopping. “I’m proud of you. They taste good.”

“I knew you wouldn’t doubt me.” Taehyung grins.

“They’re really good, actually,” You amend, genuinely surprised. And the best part is that you can count at least ten brownies left on that plate, which means that you get at least five more. Which, if you had any less self-restraint, you would probably eat all at once within the day. 

“I’m glad you like them. They’re all for us, you know. No one else to share them with,” he says.

“Honestly, I’m probably going to finish them by tonight. You’ll have to make more tomorrow,” you say sheepishly. 

“We can make some together,” Taehyung suggests. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” you respond. The words come off your mouth easily, tumbling from your lips without you having to think about it. You aren’t saying them because you have to. You’re saying them because you want to. Because baking with Taehyung doesn’t actually sound too bad. Especially if it means more brownies. 

“You’ve, uh, you’ve got something,” Taehyung says, gesturing vaguely to the side of his lip. 

“Oh, I do? Yikes,” you say, a little embarrassed. Your hand comes up to wipe at the left side of your mouth. “Is it gone?”

“Wait, here, let me do it,” Taehyung says, reaching out towards you. He presses his palm against the side of your face, cradling your cheek and jaw in his enormous hands, and all at once it feels like your skin is on fire. 

Your body freezes up at the touch, at the way his thumb swipes at the corner of your mouth, right against your lips, wiping away nothing but a goddamn brownie crumb. You look at him, look right at him, how can you look anywhere else when he’s right in front of you like this, and it feels like you are caught in his gaze, a rain droplet trapped on a web, a bee stuck in its own honey. His big, brown eyes sparkle from the ceiling lights, a chocolate sky that mirrors the food he just made for you. He looks at you and his eyes are so soft, so open, so happy to be looking right back at you. God. 

“There,” he says, a moment too late. 

“Thanks,” you stammer out, speechless otherwise. 

You both stand there, looking at each other, wordless expressions drawn all over your faces, no idea what to do next. 

After a while, Taehyung breaks the silence. “Do you wanna order takeout tonight?”

“Okay,” you nod, still a little breathless. Taehyung smiles before retreating back to the kitchen, leaving you standing in the entranceway, shopping bags abandoned by your side. 

You look over to where he’s vanished. There’s a part of you that wishes he hadn’t left. A part of you that makes you want to see him again. 

Phone calls from your mother are never good. The last time she called… well, you know how that went. So when you see her contact information light up your home screen, it’s only instinct that you feel your heart rate spike. 

“Hello?” The voice that comes out doesn’t even sound like yours. 

There’s no good way to put what comes next. Your grandmother has died. Heart attack. The paramedics got there too late. It was over before it even started. 

For a moment, for a split second, it feels like everything is frozen. Like the world has come to standstill. Your mother’s voice echoes in your ears, suspended in time, the words turning into stone as they crash onto the floor. And when they do, it is as if everything comes back to life. 

Truth be told, you don’t know how long you stay there, sitting on the edge of the left side of the bed, your phone resting lifelessly in the palm of your hand. It feels at once like an eternity and only a second in time. You spoke to your grandmother two days ago. You had promised that you and Taehyung would visit her soon. How can this be happening?

Your phone buzzes relentlessly in your hands, condolences pouring in from every person in your contacts, sorry’s and heart emoticons and If you need anything, I’m always here’s filling up your screen. There’s a part of you that vaguely registers your mother, alongside some of the other members of your family, trying to call you. But nothing can seem to shake you. 

Until—

“Y/N? You still up here?”

You hear Taehyung before you see him. Hear his voice, hear his footsteps, hear the door creak open as he enters your bedroom. Slowly, almost sluggishly, you twist around to look at him, the mere act knocking the wind out of you. Or maybe you were already breathless. 

“Hey, you alright?” Taehyung knows instantly that something is wrong. 

“My grandmother died.” The words sit heavy on your tongue. There’s no point in not telling him. He’ll find out soon enough. He’s… he’s family, isn’t he?

“What?” Taehyung freezes in place. “I—I’m so sorry to hear that, Y/N. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, voice weak but steady. You blink up at him, once, twice, three times, and then suddenly you feel tears running down your cheeks. 

Taehyung doesn’t say anything else. He rushes to your side and sits himself down on the bed next to you, arms wrapping around your body. And you don’t think about the fact that it’s him, about the fact that this is the closest the two of you have ever been. You just let yourself be engulfed in his frame, let yourself be enveloped in his hold as the tears stream down your skin, little hiccups jolting your throat. You close your eyes and press yourself into his arms, head resting against his chest, and wish so desperately that so many things about your life were just a little bit different. 

It must be at least five minutes before either one of you dares to move. Your phone begins to rattle incessantly, that familiar and insistent buzz that the both of you are hard-pressed to ignore. 

“I think you should answer that,” Taehyung whispers into your skin, lips right by your forehead. 

“Yeah,” you sniffle, sitting up next to him and wiping the remnants of wetness by your eyes. Well, Taehyung’s seen you cry. There’s no going back now. “You’re probably right.” You look down at the phone. It’s your father. 

“I’ll be downstairs, okay? Unless you want me to stay,” he offers, looking hesitant. 

You shake your head. “No, it’s—it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Call me if you need me,” he makes you give him a nod of understanding before he finally gets up, hands slowly removing themselves from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake. Remnants of warmth. Suddenly, you feel much colder. Hardly a minute later he’s out of the room, and you can hear his distant footsteps as they make their way down the stairs. 

Sighing, blinking, and swallowing all at once, you pick up. 

The call passes by in a blur. Your father says the will will take at least half a year to be executed, but that the funeral is already being planned. Your grandmother had hoped you would eulogize her. You agree, but you have no idea what you will say. He says Taehyung is invited but does not need to come if he cannot make it. He says a lot of other things too, about your mother, about your cousins, about your aunts and uncles and your poor grandfather, who passed five years ago, but you can’t even remember them moments after he’s said them. 

When he hangs up, the tears on your cheeks have dried, patches of them left along your skin. You head to the bathroom, getting off your bed for the first time that day, and try to wash away everything that has stained the morning. A part of you doesn’t even want to bother, just wants to slug downstairs and eat as much sugary cereal as you can get your hands on, but you can’t go down there looking like this. Looking so helpless. 

By the time you reach the kitchen, Taehyung is already standing there, on the opposite side of the counter island, a big stack of pancakes in front of him. They look mouth-watering. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Thought you might want something to cheer you up.”

“Did you make these?” You ask, a little endeared. That was thoughtful of him. 

“Yeah. They’re still warm,” Taehyung says. He holds out a fork. 

You grin. 

The funeral is a week later. It sucks in every way that something can suck. But not in the same way your wedding sucked, or even the announcement of your engagement. It sucks because it’s a funeral, because you have to stare down your grandmother’s casket when a part of you still doesn’t even believe that she’s gone. Because everyone there is so sad, so melancholy, dressed in all black and looking down at their feet. Because everyone is so sorry for you, so sorry for your loss, everyone has nothing but condolences to offer you. What will those do? They won’t bring her back. They won’t change things. They won’t make you feel even the slightest bit better. 

Taehyung comes. He comes because he offers, and because you want him to. You want someone whose hand to hold. Want someone to smile at you when you’re speaking in front of your entire extended family and trying not to cry. You want someone who is familiar, and warm, and there for you. 

And most of all, you want someone who won’t keep the conversation going when you get home. 

“Do you wanna order Chinese?” He asks, coming into the living room, where you have been sulking on the couch ever since you stepped foot inside the door. 

“That sounds nice,” you force out. 

“Okay. Your usual?”

“Yes, please.” You don’t bother asking how Taehyung already remembers what you like to order when you’ve only gotten Chinese twice in the last three months. 

“I’ll call them.” He disappears off into the kitchen. 

What you do appreciate about Taehyung is how he has defaulted to food as a comfort measure, and how the thought alone genuinely brightens you up a little bit. You don’t know each other very well—still, after three months, you couldn’t even say his favorite color—but he is doing his best, and he is trying his hardest. In some ways, you were unlucky to marry him. To marry someone you didn’t love. To be forced into a union you had no say in, with someone you had so much antagonistic history with. 

But in some ways, your luck has changed. In some ways, marrying him was perhaps the best thing that could happen to you. Taehyung is snarky, a little devilish, and absolutely full of himself, but he is not thoughtless. He is not heartless. He has proven that he is willing to put in the work. That he can grow to care. To change. To compromise. And isn’t that the luckiest thing you could have gotten?

“I’m sure you’re probably sick of hearing people tell you they’re sorry for your loss.”

His voice breaks your reverie, carrying throughout the wide open space of your living room. He’s grinning honestly where he stands, slowly making his way over to you. 

“Kind of, yeah,” you admit. “It’s not going to bring her back. Most of those people probably don’t even mean it.”

“Don’t say that,” Taehyung says, sitting down next to you. “I’m sure they do.”

You look at him skeptically. 

“I mean, they’re sorry for your loss because that loss is causing you pain. And that sucks,” Taehyung explains, albeit a little less eloquently than you thought he would. “I know it sucks for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like seeing you sad,” Taehyung says honestly, shrugging to himself. 

You scoff a little to yourself. “I would have thought my downfall would be the exact thing the great Kim Taehyung would wish for himself.”

“Maybe a couple of years ago.”

You narrow your eyes. 

“Okay, maybe even a few months ago,” Taehyung admits with a laugh, making you smile, ever so slightly. “But it’s different now. I like it when you’re happy. When you’re snarky and funny and a little evil. Seeing you like this… I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

“That’s called empathy,” you point out. 

“I’m trying to tell you that seeing you sad makes me sad, stop being a smartass,” Taehyung chides, and that really makes you grin. “There. There’s that smile I was looking for.”

“You’re so annoying,” you say, even though there’s no malice behind it. You give him a little push, palms of your hand pressing lightly against his shoulder as you roll your eyes. 

“Only for you,” he promises. He manages to grab a hold of your wrist as your hand meets his torso, pulling you into him as he wraps an arm around your torso. You gasp a little at the sensation, head falling against his body, fitting snugly in the crook of his neck. He gives your side a comforting rub. “I’m sorry today was so shitty.”

“It was,” you agree. “But Chinese food will make it a little bit better.”

Taehyung looks positively scandalized. “What? ‘Chinese food will make it better’? But not your loving, doting husband?” 

You pretend to think for a little bit, tilting your head up to the sky as you tap your chin with your finger. “Okay. Maybe that, too,” you cave after a bit of waiting, just to be extra bothersome. 

“That’s what I thought,” Taehyung says proudly, looking down at you, eyes sparkling. You can feel his grip tighten as he presses you against his body, letting you rest your head on his side. It feels like the longest hug ever, like you’re wrapped up in a weighted blanket. Only it’s not a blanket. It’s Taehyung. It’s your husband. 

He’s your husband.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he says, and it sounds a lot like a promise. 

You nod against him, letting your eyes drift shut. Things are pretty awful right now. Your grandmother’s dead. The funeral was the saddest family event you have ever attended. You have no idea what’s supposed to happen next. 

But he’s right. He seems to be right a lot these days, actually. 

Tomorrow will be better.

Taehyung lets you sleep in for the next few days. Next several days, actually. Every time you wake up it’s close to noon and your husband is nowhere to be seen, the right side of the bed cold to the touch. It’s nothing to be worried about, though, because you can still see the noticeable dip in the bed from where he lies upon it, sinking his weight into the mattress. Taehyung’s an early bird and you’ve been having fitful nights ever since your grandmother passed. 

Today, you pull yourself out from underneath the covers around noon, sluggish and still tired, squinting as the near-afternoon light streams through the enormous windows of the bedroom. Taehyung must have thought to keep the curtains open today. 

You pull on the first casual clothes you see in your shared closet, some wide-leg sweatpants and a drapey t-shirt, and trudge downstairs like a raccoon to a trash can, hoping to fish through the kitchen cabinets to find something to eat. 

Taehyung is, as far as you can tell, nowhere to be seen. You can’t seem to hear him anywhere, and a part of you wonders where he’s at when you stumble upon the note left on the granite counter. 

Had a meeting downtown, be back around 1! There should be smoked salmon and some cream cheese and bagels in the fridge. 

Taehyung.

You chuckle to yourself as you read his flowy handwriting, amused that he thought to let you know of, of all things, the available breakfast foods in the kitchen. You check the clock. It’s nearly noon. Which means you have just over an hour of the house all to yourself. 

Having the house to yourself for five minutes is infrequent enough as it is, let alone for a whole hour. So often is Taehyung around, somewhere, holing himself up in one of the dozens of rooms or mindlessly wandering down the hallways. And for how much Taehyung is present, the funny part is that you still have no idea what he gets up to most of the time. Despite your voluntary abandoning of the separate bedroom rule, the two of you are still firm proponents of the sanctity of your personal spaces. There are rooms in the penthouse Taehyung has never been in, rooms filled with your clothes and makeup and accessories for when stylists come over before an event. A sewing room that you had specifically asked your parents for, because a part of you never let go of that childhood dream of being a fashion designer. 

And there are rooms in the penthouse that you have never been in. Rooms with dark wooden doors that have always been kept closed, that you have never stepped foot in. It’s not that you aren’t curious as to what Taehyung gets up to. He could have a goddamn evil lair in one of those rooms and you would be none the wiser. But you don’t go, because he doesn’t go into your rooms. Because you two, despite all the vows you have broken, promised each other you wouldn’t.

An hour to yourself is almost a good enough excuse for you to head back up to the bedroom and take a nap. Not that you don’t get enough sleep on a regular basis, or that you even had a fitful night last night—hell, you woke up near noon today and already you want to go back to sleep—but what else is there to do when he’s not around? What new freedoms have suddenly been given to you?

You head back upstairs, much less groggy after that delicious bagel of yours, when you catch a whiff of what smells like wet paint coming from down the hallway. It’s potent and immediately invades your senses, prompting you to wonder if that has always been there, or just magically appeared. Maybe you were so sleepy earlier, you didn’t notice it. 

Well, you notice it now. Unable to help yourself, you start to wander down the hallway, towards the source of the smell. God, it stinks. It takes you back to those days in middle school, when you would spray paint projects inside a tiny little classroom, have to step outside for fifteen minutes while you cracked the windows and aired it out. It gets stronger the further down the corridor you go, like a thick, smelly cloud stationed firmly within the walls of the penthouse. And then you realize where it’s coming from. 

It’s an art studio. 

A very messy art studio, you amend to yourself, as you peek inside. The door is wide open, and all of the windows are popped too, but the extra air circulation doesn’t seem to have made a dent in the scent. And all over the floor, the walls, and the tables are canvases covered in paint, denim jackets and pants and shirts with these wide, unafraid brushstrokes. Open cans of spray paint lie discarded on the hardwood floor stained with splotches of red, yellow, and green. 

Is this what Taehyung does in his free time? Is this where he goes, this bright, sunny room at the end of the second floor hallway? Is this what he is making?

You look down in awe at the clothes resting on the floor, splayed out to maximize dry time. Abstract faces, landscapes, and words are painted onto the backs of jackets, the fronts of old white t-shirts. What hasn’t made it onto the clothes has been put on canvases instead, blurs of color mixed together in this purposeful pattern, confidence emanating from every stroke, every dot. It’s not art in the way that the gorgeous landscapes of Monet, the picture-perfect portraits of Kahlo, the messy, unplanned splatters of Pollock are. It’s art in a different way. In a Taehyung way. 

Who knew he loved it so much? 

You almost feel like an invader encroaching on his territory when you lean down to start cleaning up some of the mess, throwing out empty spray-paint cans and tossing out grey paint water. You don’t dare touch any of the work, don’t dare try to move it. You do what you can, washing out the brushes resting in the water and cleaning up the wet splotches of paint on the hardwood. Over time, the thick scent of still-wet paint slowly fades, disappearing out the window as the fresh afternoon air seeps in. And you stand there, in a room full of art, in a room full of pieces that Taehyung has undoubtedly poured his heart into creating, and you smile to yourself. 

That’s how Taehyung finds you ten minutes later, peering into the room after declaring that his meeting had ended early. 

“Thought I’d find you in here,” Taehyung says with a grin as you jump at the sound of his voice, eyes widen when you turn around to see him standing by the door. 

“Oh, hey,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Maybe because this is the farthest room in the house from the front door,” Taehyung teases lightly, coming up behind you. “I see you found my studio.”

“I know I’m not allowed in here,” you admit. 

Taehyung scoffs. “Who says?”

“Didn’t we both agree on that?”

He shrugs. “Sort of. I think we just reached an unspoken understanding we wouldn’t invade each other’s personal space. But it was not in the fine print, no.”

“The fine print of what?”

“That deal we made.”

Right. That deal you made, four months ago, That deal, where the two of you agreed to pretend to be in love with each other during public appearances so you wouldn’t get burned at the stake by your families. Where the two of you agreed not to interact with each other otherwise because you hated each other so much. 

“Oh, yeah,” you say distantly, feeling naive for already forgetting about it. It doesn’t seem to have slipped Taehyung’s mind whatsoever. 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind that you’re up here,” Taehyung says, interrupting that piercing little voice in the back of your head that is asking you why on earth you forgot about that deal in the first place.

“Yeah, I—” You scratch at the nape of your neck, trying to find the words to say. “It just smelled like paint, so I wanted to see what you get up too. And it’s this, apparently.” You motion vaguely to the entire room.

“You sound… surprised,” Taehyung muses correctly. 

“I guess I am,” you surmise. “I’m rather impressed, too, actually.”

“Really?” It’s Taehyung’s turn to sound surprised. 

“Yeah,” you tell him honestly, looking into his eyes. “I—you know, I just came in here because the entire hallway smelled like wet paint and I wanted to know why. But I didn’t know you loved art so much.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Taehyung points out. 

You suppose that’s true. You don’t know his favorite color. His favorite song. His favorite book. For a long time, you didn’t know what he got up to on his side of the penthouse. You don’t know how he met his friends. What he studied in university. Who he has loved in the past. Who he loves now. You don’t know why he does the things he does, and why he doesn’t do the things he doesn’t do. 

But you do know his Chinese takeout order. 

And you do know his hobbies. Well, one of them, at least. 

Who’s to say you can’t learn more?

“Well,” you start with a smile. “I’m your wife, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I begin to learn?”

Taehyung picks up what you’re putting down instantly, grinning in response. “Only if you’ll tell me things about you, too,” he requisitions. 

“I will,” you promise. It’s the easiest one you’ve ever had to make. 

His face is light, bright, bathed in the rays of the afternoon sun. His eyes shimmer as they meet yours, golden flecks more pronounced like this, in this gorgeous, open space, daylight streaming through the windows. Looking at him makes you feel like you are surrounded by warmth, makes you feel like the sun is opening its arms out to you. He has always been gorgeous. Beautiful. But looking at him like this, standing in the middle of a room filled with all the things he loves, a yellow halo surrounding him—he is ethereal. 

Taehyung smiles. “Then I will, too.”

The hand-holding comes naturally tonight.

The funny thing is, actually, you don’t need to hold hands at this gathering. It’s not an event. Or a public appearance. It’s not even a business dinner. It’s your aunt’s sixtieth birthday party, reserved exclusively for family. Isn’t that strange? That Taehyung is, technically, family now?

For so long you had vowed to stay as far away from him as possible. Vowed to stick it to him whenever and wherever you could, do anything you could to get on his nerves, rile him up. Vowed that when you, one day, took over your family affairs, you would never, ever invite him. Make it known that he wasn’t to be a part of your life. And yet, here you are. Clinging to him despite being well-acquainted with—loved by, even—every other person in the room. Holding his hand like a goddamn lifeline. 

To be fair, Taehyung doesn’t look a hair out of place here. Dressed relatively casually, a smart sweater with a collared shirt underneath it, he smiles warmly at all of your relatives and presents your aunt with a beautiful and very expensive scarf the two of you had commissioned from a designer in Italy, which she absolutely loves. She pinches his cheek and proceeds to wear it for the rest of the night. 

“Damn,” you murmur to yourself as you wander around your aunt’s house, hand wrapped around his arm. “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”

“When was the last time you were here?” Taehyung asks. 

The question actually makes you think for a moment. “I don’t know, maybe five years ago? Last couple of birthdays I was overseas or in school. Had to send her a card.”

“Bet your parents were real pleased with that,” he jokes, making you both laugh. At least you two will always be able to share your experiences of domineering and influential parents with each other. 

“Oh, I’m sure. Just as pleased as they were when they realized how much we hated each other.” You expect that little jest to elicit a laugh out of Taehyung as well, but he just smiles tightly, huffing out a breath of acknowledgement. 

“Eh, it’s not like that now, is it?” He offers up. 

“I suppose not,” you muse, sitting down together on her ancient grandma couch in the living room. No matter how rich your family gets, she’ll never get rid of this thing, that’s for sure. 

One thing you’ve picked up over time is that, for every second Taehyung spends basking in the spotlight, he spends an equal amount of time lingering by the wall, watching the rest of the world turn without him. He’s an observer. He is one by nature, feeling an irresistible pull to understand humans in a way only artists could ever do. He sits down next to you and watches your family in an environment where they can relax, where they can feel comfortable and be casual with one another. 

Very seldom have you ever brought friends to events like these. Small family affairs. But Taehyung isn’t a friend, is he? No, he’s your husband. He belongs here just as much as you do. 

“My family seems to really like you,” you point out. Not that anybody has ever harbored as much disdain for him as you. Your parents called him respectable and polite when they told you you were to be wed. Your grandmother had said he was a dashing young man. He doesn’t exactly have to reach far to be loved around here. 

“That’s my job, isn’t it?” He replies snidely. 

“Oh, just take the compliment,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Taehyung always has to be so difficult. “I’m surprised you aren’t nervous as hell. Last boyfriend I brought to meet my parents was shaking in his Louis Vuitton shoes.”

“Last boyfriend, huh?” Taehyung’s interest has been sufficiently piqued. “And, uh, how many of those have you had?”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, smile twitching on your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Heartbreaker.” Pretty rich of Taehyung to be asking you such a question when he’s probably had more girlfriends than you can count on both hands. “Not as many as you’ve had girlfriends, that’s for sure.”

“Guess I’m a lot different than all those trashy guys you’ve dated, aren’t I?” He asks, an eyebrow raised as he looks at you. 

“You are?”

Taehyung nods assertively. “Well, yeah. First of all, I’m your husband. Second of all, your parents love me. Third of all, you love me, too.”

You scoff. “Don’t humble yourself. You don’t know me that well.”

“Speaking of which,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as he points to you knowingly, “how about you tell me a little fact about yourself? It’s my job to learn about you, isn’t it?”

“That is my line, watch it,” you sneer, pointing back at him. You wrack your brain for a fact that you can tell him, something more exciting than your favorite color but less weird than one of those terrible icebreaker exercises you had to do in college seminars. Something that has pertinence to who you are. Who you’ve become. “Alright. I used to want to be a fashion designer when I was little.”

Now that catches Taehyung off guard. “Really?” He says, genuinely intrigued. 

You shrug. “Yeah. I learned to sew when I was really little. Been tailoring and hemming clothes all my life. But I always wanted to design my own stuff.”

“Is that what’s in your room?” Taehyung asks. “A sewing machine?”

“Bingo.”

“Wow,” Taehyung says. “I didn’t know that.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?” You say, just to be smart. 

Taehyung shakes his head, eyes rolling. 

“What about you?” You ask. You can’t imagine what he’ll say. Astronaut. Veterinarian. Or, if he really wants to surprise you, a business executive. 

“A museum curator.”

It is an answer that simultaneously surprises and doesn’t surprise you at all. 

“Fitting,” you muse. “You could have put your own art on display.”

“Pretty sure that’s, like, super unethical,” Taehyung reminds you. 

“So? You’re rich. Start your own museum. Put your own art on display. Live your dream,” you amend. “It shouldn’t be holed up in that studio of yours forever. It deserves to be seen.”

Taehyung smiles at you. “You think so?”

You nod. “Of course. You create beautiful things, Tae.” It’s the first time you’ve ever called him that. And that is not lost on Taehyung, either.

“Thank you,” he says softly, blinking as he looks at you. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

Later that night, when everyone’s gotten a few drinks into their systems and Bruce Springsteen is playing low on the stereo, Taehyung disappears off towards the bathroom, no doubt because of the excellent soup that was served that night. All by your lonesome, you feel a little stranded, surrounded by your old relatives dancing on the hardwood floor of the dining room, your other cousins too young to actually spend time with. 

In the commotion, your mother comes up to you, swirling a rather large glass of red wine in her hand. 

“Where’s Taehyung?” She asks. 

“Bathroom.”

“No wonder you were alone,” she says with a hearty laugh. “The two of you have been glued to each other’s sides all evening.”

“He’s my husband,” you offer as an explanation. 

“I know, I know,” she says, shaking you off with a smile. Your mother is a lot more casual once she’s had her fill of wine, no doubt her favorite, Bordeaux. A lot more loving, too. “You really made your grandmother proud, you know? She loved you so much.”

“I know,” you say, trying not to get choked up at the mere mention of your grandmother. 

“She was so happy to see you with Taehyung. It made her feel safe that you would be taken care of,” she continues on, barely paying you and your swimming eyes any attention. “She would be so happy to see you with him now, too. How much you love her.”

“I miss her,” you hiccup out, trying to compose yourself. Nothing kills a birthday party like some sad sack crying over her deceased grandmother. 

“I know, darling,” your mother says, calling you by a nickname she has hardly used ever since you turned eighteen. She squeezes you tightly, a small hug of comfort. “I miss her, too.”

Someone calls your mother’s name, distracting her as she wanders off to your uncle, who is asking what the best way to cut the three-tiered cake on the dining room table is. She bids you a goodbye before disappearing towards the kitchen, no doubt ready to make the cutting of the cake an affair all on its own. 

Taehyung comes back soon after, spotting you instantly as you stand around in the living room. 

“Hey,” he says, noticing the wet shimmer of your eyes. “You alright?”

You nod, feeling better already now that he has returned. Now that he is by your side. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I hope those tears aren’t because you missed me,” he says, wiping away a stray one that has escaped from your eyes. You close them as his thumb brushes against your upper cheek, your eyelashes, opening them only when you’ve felt his touch vanish from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake. 

“No,” you say. But the night makes you honest, and a couple of drinks, even more so. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Taehyung smiles. “Me, too.”

For all those days you have spent together, never have you and Taehyung had a night in. Which isn’t necessarily completely surprising, considering how many evening events the two of you have had obligations to attend, considering your differing work schedules and meeting times. Considering that, for a very long time, the two of you had no desire to spend any time with each other at all. 

But tonight, there is nothing on your calendar. No galas, no dinners, no meetings, no schedules. There is only Taehyung, who has spent the entire afternoon up in his studio, inhaling spray paint fumes and doing what he loves. And there is only you, who has spent the entire afternoon wondering what the hell you’re going to do tonight when there is nothing else planned. 

You knock on the door to his studio, catching him right as he’s finishing up another piece. This one is a single flower, painted in broad, confident strokes, bright green and red and sunflower yellow decorating the canvas. 

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, turning around to face you. 

“Wanna order takeout tonight?” You suggest. 

Taehyung grins. 

Thirty minutes and your favorite Chinese food later, you and Taehyung have settled onto the couch, trays of dumplings and noodles and rice in front of you, an unfunny movie playing in the background. 

You can’t remember the last time the two of you sat on this couch together. Maybe that night you had made the deal? Perhaps not even then. It wouldn’t at all surprise you if you found out that this was the very first time you and Taehyung have sat together on your couch, in your living room, in your house. So often is it occupied by others—Victoria, who sometimes comes over to ooh and ahh at your closet, Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok, who sit on this couch and play FIFA like it’s their job, your mother, when she wants to make herself at home in a place that doesn’t belong to her—but never you. Never you and him. 

“This is kinda nice, isn’t it?” You ask, swallowing a bite of dumpling. 

“Chinese food is always nice,” Taehyung responds over a mouthful of cold noodles. 

“Not that,” you say with a sigh, “this. Sitting together. Watching this shitty movie.”

“It’s not that shitty,” Taehyung tries to reason. On screen, the main character is getting pied in the face during some weird college fundraiser. “Okay, it’s a little shitty. But it’s good background noise, right?”

You nod halfheartedly. “I guess.” Silence. You take another bite of your dumpling, not really sure how to continue the conversation. “We don’t really get to do this a lot, you know? Sit and eat dinner and watch a movie together. Like a date.”

“We’re on a date now, are we?” Taehyung muses, eyeing you snarkily. 

“Isn’t that what this is?” You retort. 

He shrugs. “I suppose it is.”

“Tell me another fact about you,” you request, looking over to him where he sits on the opposite side of the couch. 

“About what?”

“Anything.”

Taehyung pauses, ponders for a moment. But he could never say anything wrong. Not when there is still so much you don’t know about him. Still so much you want to learn, so much you want to commit to memory. For so long you have stared at the planes of his face, the curve of his nose, the twinkle in those dark brown eyes. Those you will always remember. But what about who he is? What he loves? Those are things you still don’t know. 

“The very first time I met you,” Taehyung begins, “I asked Jimin what your name was.”

“When was that?” You ask. Despite you being someone who has spent the better part of the last several years vowing never to give Taehyung the time of day, you sure don’t remember when it all started. 

“That debutante ball,” Taehyung remembers fondly, “when we were fifteen. I asked Jimin what your name was because I wanted to ask you to dance.”

“Shut up, no you didn’t,” you say with a scoff. 

“It’s true. You were standing there in that poofy white dress and I wanted to ask you to dance,” Taehyung points out. The fact that he even remembers what you were wearing is shocking. 

Who knew. Who knew, back then, that you would one day grow up to marry him. 

“And what did I say?” You demand more. 

Taehyung laughs at the memory. “I came up to you, and I asked you if you wanted to dance, and you said, and I quote, ‘Who are you?’”

“No,” you say, aghast at your own behavior. Were those really the first words you ever said to KIm Taehyung?

“You did. Don’t you remember?”

You think back. Think back to every year you have ever known Taehyung, every year you have spent scowling at him from across ballroom floors, making some snide remark as you pass by each other in the hallway. Every year you have spent cursing his existence, willing him away from you so he could bother someone else. Every year you have listened to rumor after rumor of girlfriend after girlfriend. You think back and somewhere, somewhere in there, in those dusty corners of your brain and cobwebbed boxes of your heart, is that first memory of Taehyung, too. 

Of him standing there in some generic black suit, black hair swept over his forehead, shoes too big. Of him coming up to you, trying to be as suave as a fifteen year old could be. Of you saying to him, instead of a hello, or even a what’s your name, “who are you?” 

Of him saying—

“And you said, ‘your dream come true’.” Like a dam bursting open, the memories flood back to you all at once. “I remember that.”

Taehyung laughs out loud at the thought of him saying something so cheesy. “Unsurprisingly, you didn’t want to dance with me.”

“You were so—” you begin, but you don’t have the words. Don’t have the words to express how you felt about him that night. Don’t have the words to express how you feel about him now. Thinking about this, talking about it, it is a bridge. A bridge between what was then and what is now. A bridge between who Taehyung was and who you were and who Taehyung is and who you are. “—so unthinkable. I couldn’t believe you had come up to me and said that. I couldn’t believe you had the audacity. But something about that night made me remember you. Made me remember your name.”

“You thought about me after that?” Taehyung asks. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“There is something about you that is unforgettable,” you say, honest and real and true. What else can you tell him? The truth is that you have always thought about him. Whether you liked him or not. 

You finish your dinner and place your trays on the end tables next to you, stacking your empty bowls and plates on top of one another as the movie rumbles on in the background. 

“It is kind of a shitty movie,” Taehyung admits after a while of being wholly unenthused. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “But it’s good background noise.”

Taehyung laughs at your little mockery, warm and deep and from his belly. You look at him. He feels so far away, on the other side of the couch. Feels like he’s miles apart from you. You have spent countless nights clinging to his harm, hand gripped tight in his. And sitting like this, a full couch cushion of space between the two of you—it isn’t enough anymore. So you inch closer. 

And closer. 

And a little closer. 

Until you’re pressed up against his side, legs touching as they rest neatly in front of you, backs stick straight as you stare at the television. 

Taehyung holds his arm up. An open invitation. 

Without asking, you lean into him, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder, in the space right underneath his jaw. You pull your feet up onto the couch and curl into his frame, pressing yourself against him. He is warm and firm and inescapable. He smells of coffee and paint and Chinese spices. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in, as if there were any other place you’d rather be. 

You sit like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other. Lazing around on the couch as the stars twinkle above your head. The movie ends and the two of you don’t even bother skipping the credits, letting them and the cheesy 80’s pop song play on, a distant soundtrack. 

“I never thought any of this would happen,” you breathe out. 

Taehyung looks down at you curiously. “What? This?”

“All of it,” you admit. ���Us. Getting married. That stupid tabloid picture. My grandmother. This. It’s all so new.”

“New things will happen all the time,” Taehyung muses aloud. “We can’t help when things change.”

“You don’t have any regrets?” You have plenty. Regrets that you’ll never become the CEO you wanted to be in college. Regrets that you’ll never become the fashion designer you wanted to be as a little girl. Regrets that you will come to resent this marriage, resent Taehyung more than you have in years past, all because you had no choice. Regrets that your grandmother couldn’t see you now. Regrets that there were so many things in your life you could have changed, but didn’t.

“I thought I did,” Taehyung tells you. “I wanted to spend more time with my friends. I wanted to major in art in college. I didn’t want to marry you. I know you didn’t want to marry me.” He looks down and you look up at the same time, eyes locking, inches apart. “But looking back on it, I’m happy where I am. With what I have.”

“I never thought it could ever be like this,” you say, words falling off your tongue before you even ask them to.

“What?”

“Us.”

There’s no need to elaborate. Taehyung understands. He understands that, half a year ago, you both would have thrown yourselves into a volcano before holding hands with each other. He understands that getting over your hatred for each other seemed like an absolutely insurmountable task. He understands that you had never wanted to marry each other, that you couldn’t believe you would have to spend the rest of your lives with each other. 

And he understands that now, things are different. 

“I’m glad things happened the way they did,” Taehyung begins. “I’m grateful for us.”

You press yourself impossibly closer to him, feel his grip tighten around you. Like this, you can hear his heartbeat. Hear it thump like a drum, steady and firm and unwavering. His heart beats against his chest and you wonder. 

You wonder if he can hear the way yours beats for him, too.

There were lots of things that made your night in together special. But one of them is the glaring fact that you don’t get them very often. That their infrequency makes them all the more valuable. 

This has become blatantly obvious to you, because right now you are not spending a night in together. Right now you are stuck at a gala that you have to attend for the sake of business, drinking thin flutes of champagne and mingling with people you barely speak to. 

The one good thing about nights like these is that Taehyung looks positively gorgeous in suits. He sort of always has, but you’d never admit that to his face. At least not until now. And as his wife, you are lucky enough to have a front-row seat. 

“I can feel you staring at me all the way from over here,” Taehyung deadpans as he helps himself to a chocolate-covered strawberry from the buffet table. 

You’re too obvious to have any shame about it. “What can I say, I like the view.”

“Hard to believe I was the once the one being shouted at for being inappropriate in public,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. He bites into the strawberry and eats it all in a single go, tossing the stems into a bin nearby as you join back up in the heart of the crowd. 

“It’s only inappropriate if other people hear,” you tease, letting him guide you, hand intertwined with yours, towards an empty corner where the two of you can snuggle up to one another in (relative) peace. 

“I don’t think the champagne was very good for your filter, Miss Y/N,” Taehyung hisses into your ear, warm breath tickling your skin. 

“Don’t you mean Mrs. Kim?” You pose, an eyebrow raised. 

That seems to do something to Taehyung. It’s not very bright in here, with it being nighttime and all, but even still you can see the way his eyes darken. See the way his lips curl upwards, feel the way his grip on you tightens. It sparks something within you. Something deep in the pit of your belly. 

Something that makes you want more. 

You test the waters. “Mrs. Kim has a nice ring to it, don’t you think, Tae?”

Taehyung looks about a moment away from losing control. But instead of slamming you against the wall in front of all of these people and giving you what you really want, he growls out, low and powerful, “Home. Now.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. 

You hail your car outside of the venue and it’s all the both of you can do to not jump on each other right then and there, in the backseat of this giant black van, overcome with want, with need, with everything in between. Taehyung’s leg bounces impatiently the entire ride back, and the feeling of your hand pressed against his doesn’t seem to be calming him down. He pulls you close to him in the backseat of the car, a hand resting on your thigh. You eye him carefully, as if challenging him to be any more daring. He grins. 

Home cannot come soon enough. The two of you tumble out of the backseat and into the elevators, where you mash the top floor button after entering in the security access code, desperate and shameless. The ride seems to take hours, and the heat that surrounds you practically smothers you, covers you, fills up your lungs and chokes you. 

There is nothing left by the time you reach your door. The moment it slams shut behind you Taehyung presses you up against the back of it, pins you against the wood as he hovers over you, eyes tracing your lips. 

“Tell me something,” he demands. 

“What?” 

“A fact. Something I don’t know.”

It doesn’t take much thinking. “I want you,” you breathe out, watch it hit his skin, watch the way his eyes glint in the light of the entranceway. “Please, Tae. I want you.”

It’s enough for him. 

This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed. The first time was nearly five months ago, in a chapel, at an altar, surrounded by hundreds of people. It was so unfun that you seem to have eradicated the mere thought from your memory. But you remember that feeling from that day. That feeling you got when you pressed your lips against his, cemented your marriage with a kiss. That heat. That sting. 

Kissing him now—that feeling has returned tenfold. When his lips meet yours, it feels like fire is rushing through your veins, setting alight every nerve it passes, unforgiving and relentless. His enormous hands come up to cup your jaw, fingers pressing against the skin of your cheeks as they pull you close to him, keep you trapped in his hold. This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed but it feels like it is—it feels like there is a lotus blooming on a lilypad in your heart, it feels like you have been struck by lightning, it feels like nothing else you have ever felt before. It feels brand new. 

Pressing back against him, he slowly releases you from the cage he has created against the door, spinning around so the two of you can tumble up the stairs and into your bedroom, unable to resist sneaking in pecks here and there as you make your way upstairs. Every step you take you stop, giggle as he presses you against the railing just so he can steal another kiss from you, put his hands all over your body. It’s a wonder the two of you even make it into your bedroom at all. 

When you do, however, all bets are off. Taehyung presses you against the still-made bedsheets with a glint in his eye and a growl on his lips, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, at your body.

"Aren't you a sight? Laid out so pretty for me," he purrs, robbing a breath from you.

It's a tone you have yet to hear from him. You find yourself growing impossibly hot under his stare, burning with an uncharted desire.

You can hardly wrap your brain around it. Here you are, craving the man you had spent the better half of your young adult life loathing. Maybe it’s the champagne; maybe it’s the way his fingers are running slowly up the length of your clothed torso. Whatever it is, your stomach does flips, unfamiliar to the way your body preens under his touch.

"Don't let it go to your head," you tease, simply because you could.

Taehyung hums disapprovingly, pressing kisses into your neck as he grabs one of your thighs and wraps it around his waist, riding your dress up in the process.

You sigh, exposing your neck further for him as he paints bruises into your neck. It feels like just yesterday you had called him out at the altar for his habit of sporting the very same marks you were soon to wear.

Perhaps you should have thought twice about letting the man you had married purely under business pretenses press his hips against your clothed center, but as he rolls his into yours, your mind falls blank, silencing any and all reservations you should have.

Whimpering, you beckon his mouth back onto yours, tongue meeting his wantonly. 

You feel his fingers creep up the outside of your bare thigh, thrilling you in the most primal way. Reaching the band of your underwear after what felt like entirely too long, he runs the pad of his thumb against the lacy fabric.

 You could scream. He is doing this on purpose. He must be. Surely he knows how badly you were aching for him? For him to fill you– whatever the manner may be.

You let out a whine before you can help yourself, frowning as Taehyung looks pleased with himself, confirming his knowledge of your prolonged pleasure.

"What's that? Did you say something?" he mocks, looking cruel and yet strikingly gorgeous as he smirks above you.

"God, you're irritating,” you huff, hips jerking up against his as he pulls at the band of your underwear, the elastic snapping back into the flesh of your hip. "Just fuck me already."

He tuts, clearly unimpressed by your impatience, "Now, where is the fun in that?"

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers suddenly snake their way between your thighs. Mouth falling ajar, you grip his shoulders as he runs his middle finger against your clothed slit, trailing up and down your warmth. To think he was still dressed while he was touching you like this...

"No... I think I'll take my time with you," he says.

You mew against his hand, arousal forming against his long digits' ministrations. You have to hand it to him. Taehyung knows what he’s doing. The life of a bachelor has seemingly served him well.

You aren’t usually vocal in bed, but the way he’s purring words of filth to you, breath hot against the shell of your ear as he tells you how hot and slick your pretty pussy felt against his hand, has you gasping and sputtering, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist.

The fabric of your panties provides a friction that toys the line of pleasure and pain, making you thrust up to meet his motions, your humility slipping from you.

Taehyung watches you intently, cock growing hard under the constraints of his dress pants. You look better than he could've imagined, eyes watering and body shivering under his touch, his fingers soaking with your arousal. He can only imagine what you'd feel like with his fingers fully buried into you, rocking them against your velvety walls.

He lets out a groan of his own, turned on by the idea of you fucking yourself onto his fingers, whimpering out his name in ecstasy.

There’s this part of you that faintly recognizes that Taehyung has done this plenty of times before. Plenty of times with plenty of other lovers. But there is a different part of you, that part that bursts with light and hope, that reminds you that he was never married to those other ones. That his allegiance lies with you. And that thought, knowing that deep within you, he is yours, makes your jaw fall slack, pretty noises tumbling from your lips and your thighs clamping around him.

You were close, closer than you care to admit. Every touch against you is careful yet deliberate as he reads the signs of your body, the way it keens and arches into him, offering you words of encouragement as your climax finally hits.

"That's right. Good girl. Let go for me," Taehyung coos, eyes dark and focused on your writhing form.

You cry out into the familiar space of your shared room, head thrown back as you ride out the high, letting it wrack your body, send jolts throughout your veins.

You barely have time to catch your breath when he presses his mouth back onto yours, kiss still as eager as it was when you both first entered your home. You are alight with satisfaction as he pulls away to press a trail of kisses against your jaw.

"I want—f-fuck," you stutter as he finds your already hypersensitive clit once more, rolling his thumb over your now soaked panties in tantalizing circles, "want to make you feel good, too."

Admittedly, this fantasy had crossed your mind once or twice, brought on by the way he carried himself in a suit and the way his large fingers wrapped around the champagne glass; confident, collected, and entirely charming. Who are you to shy away from a man like him? He certainly has always been rather good-looking. 

He pauses his motions, pulling his hand back to sit on your waist. Your dress is of the finest, most delicate satin, and after tonight's activities, completely wrinkled. You can almost hear your stylist's cries of dismay. Whatever. You have a steamer. And why focus on the dress when it’s obvious the two of you are focused on what lies underneath it?

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod, skin still burning from your past climax.

Helping you back up, Taehyung stands. You lick your lips as you sit back up on the edge of the bed, watching intently as he unbuckles his belt, audibly hissing as his pants fall to his ankles, cock visibly straining against the fabric of his underwear. Thank God you don’t have to stand. With the way your thighs still felt weak and how your husband looks like a goddamn Adonis towering above you? Your legs surely would give out underneath you if you rose.

Brows furrowed, Taehyung palms over himself briefly before pulling down the waistband of his underwear, his painfully hard member slapping against his torso.

Your eyes widened on instinct. While the last thing you wanted to do was help inflate Taehyung's already large ego, you were certainly impressed at his size; thick and girthy, his tip red and shining with precum.

He couldn't help but smirk, thoroughly pleased by the way you stared at him unabashedly, chest rising and falling heavily.

"Open up for me," he orders.

And who are you to deny a request from your dear husband?

Your pretty lips wrap themselves around his engorged tip, all remnants of lipstick long gone by now. Taehyung hisses, a hand finding the side of your jaw as you run your tongue against the underside of his cock.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he grunts, fighting off the urge to grip the back of your head and fuck your throat. As much as he'd love your have you choking and drooling all over his cock – and boy would he – he lets you set your own pace, not wanting to overwhelm you.

It doesn't take long for you to sink your mouth further down, however, clearly set on making Taehyung feel as good as you could.

A low moan erupts from his throat, digits pressing into your jaw in request to take more of him in, which you happily oblige.

You had your eyes trained on him, completely obsessed with the way he panted through pink lips, hissing slightly every time your tongue rolled over his sensitive tip.

Lolling his head to a side, his eyes meet yours, gaze primal and wolfish as he watches the way you worked his cock.

"Doing so good, love. Doing so fucking good for me,” he murmurs.

You hum against his skin at the sound of the sudden pet name, an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in your belly. You push aside the feeling, focusing instead on the way he grunts at the new sensation you had just given him.

Giggling, you pull off his cock, opting instead to press a kiss against his leaking tip, making sure to hold his eyes as you run kitten licks against it.

"God, you're such a tease." He shakes his head in disbelief. 

He looks so good above you, shivering and cursing out praises on how good your mouth feels, how well you take his cock. Running your tongue along the length of his shaft, you become certain that this is a display you can’t imagine yourself ever getting tired of. But you have all the time in the world, right?

"Y/N,” he gasps suddenly, hips jerking towards your face. "Love, I'm gonna-- gonna cum."

"Cum in my mouth, please." Your voice was pleading and desperate. Taehyung had never heard such words spoken more sweetly. 

"Fuck's sake."

You let out a yelp in surprise as his fingers work their way through your hair, bringing your head back down onto his cock. You relax, though, when you feel the hot ropes of his cum hit the back of your throat, your hands finding purchase on his thighs as you do your best to swallow it all down.

Pulling yourself off him, you let out a small cough, eyes watering slightly as you hadn’t managed to prepare yourself with a breath before his release. His large palm runs across the top of your head as you caught your breath, expression flickering with something unfamiliar. Could it be... fondness? 

Your heart stammers at the thought as you stand, slowly stepping out of your dress, letting it drape off of your figure. Taehyung looks absolutely gobsmacked, pupils dark as he gazes at you, eyes unabashedly raking your body. He’s shameless. 

You both are. 

Slowly, you step towards him, fingers reaching out towards his shirt, carefully undoing the buttons as you gaze at each other, expressions unreadable. 

"Tae?” You ask innocently, blinking up at him. “Fuck me?" 

Your polite request makes Taehyung chuckle. 

"Please?" You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes blinking up at him adoringly for good measure. You reach the last button, let his dress shirt drape open. He brushes it off himself, stands there for a few seconds just to let the way you’re ogling his toned chest go to his head. At least he’s good-looking. 

He sighs, probably contemplating some clever rebuttal, but eventually decides against it as his cock is already twitching back to life.

"Alright, love. Turn around. On your knees for me," He orders, making your stomach flip.

To your surprise, you are hardly in place when the warmth of his large hands finds the soft of your tummy, pressing you back into his chest as he pressed a peck to the back of your neck.

You squirm in his hold, whining as that same hand of his grabs hold of your breast, long digit rolling your nipple between their tips. You can’t help but press your ass back into him. His cock feels hot and heavy, pressing against the back of your thigh, making your pussy clench in anticipation. 

You want him.

You want him so bad that you don't know what to do with yourself, shuddering as his free hand runs along the side of your ass, leaving scorching hot trails on your skin wherever he kneads into your flesh. He's touching you everywhere – everywhere but where you need him the most, and the arousal that drips down your thigh mocks you.

"Dammit, please!" You exclaim, running out of patience.

"Please what?" He says, an eyebrow arched.

You shiver, committing the way his middle finger traced your pelvic bone to memory forever.

You puff out a frustrated breath, nearly at your wit's end. "Please fuck me, Tae."

Taehyung pauses, grip on your breast and hip tightening as he lets out a moan. You let one out yourself as you feel him readjust, cock pressing against your slick entrance.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty when you say my name," He grunts. "Okay, baby. I'll fuck you. Begging so nicely for my cock."

You let out a squeak as you're suddenly pushed down onto your hands, back arching as he pushes his fat cock inside your heavenly cunt. He's thick, so thick, that you instinctively grip the sheet underneath you, fingers curled around them tightly as if it means to hold onto your sanity.

Taehyung lets out a shaky breath, angling your hips up so that you could take more of him.

"You feel—feel so good," he admits above you, and suddenly you wish you could see him. See the way his bangs stick to his damp forehead—see the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip wickedly.

You let that thought go, however, as he thrust into you, making your jaw fall slack and eyes flutter shut. Profanities roll off your tongue unabashedly, helpless under the way his thick member pulls out of you, only to slam back into you.

You weren't expecting this. The way he stretches you out further than anyone had before. Your pussy clenches around him, reveling in the sweet, sweet burn.

He digs into the flesh of your hips, holding you steady as you mew and cry out, pushing your hips back in time to his, trying your best to meet his movements.

"Tae... fuck, fuck, fuck—"

He was filling you to the brim. Filling you tight and deep.

God, the way he was panting behind you was music to your ears. His cock pulses every time you call out his name, voice muffled and buried as you had your head pressed into the mattress, hair messy and bouncing with every hard thrust.

"S'good! Fuck... so, ah, big..." you cry out.

You feel drunk. Intoxicated off this beautiful man and the way he makes you feel a way only he can.

You nearly let out a sob as the rough pads of Taehyung's fingertips suddenly reach around you and find your neglected clit, rolling light circles on the soft and swollen bundle of nerves skillfully.

You are a mess, whimpering and drooling into your expensive sheets, and he filled every inch of you, leaving no place undiscovered. Your high nears, stewing on low heat somewhere near the pit of your belly, waiting for a chance to erupt and wash all over you. Taehyung must be close to, you realize, as his thrusts began to slow down, slamming into you roughly as if chasing after his high.

"Gonna take this load? Huh? Gonna let me cum inside your pretty little pussy?" His voice is straining, as if trying to breathe evenly but merely moments from falling apart.

If only you could formulate an intelligent response, but instead, you are a blubbering wreck, thighs shaking as they threatened to give out underneath you. But somehow, Taehyung knew. He had you. Quicking his motions against your delicate pearl, he could tell you were close too, and he was going to make sure you got there.

Suddenly, you're crying out and convulsing, tears brimming at the ends of your eyes as you feel Taehyung empty into you, collapsing onto his hands as well.

You feel his hot breath against the back of your neck as he pants, breath growing more and more even as the two of you regain control of your bodies and minds.

Pulling out of you, he plops down beside you, and for a moment, the two of you hold each other's gazes, eyes speaking in ways words never could.

Finally, after what feels both like an eternity and just a moment, you work up the courage to say something, moving closer to him as you place a hand on his chest, cushioning your chin as you rested on top of it.  

"Psst," you beckon, voice hushed.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky and tired.

"I’m grateful, too."

"Huh?"

"I’m grateful for us, too."

Taehyung's gaze is soft, and it lingers on you for a second before the sides of his mouth curl up tenderly. He grins down at you, eyes drifting shut. You feel him squeeze you closer, pressing you against his skin. And then, you hear his breathing steady, see his lips part slightly. 

You lean into his chest, eyelids fluttering. “Thank you, Tae.”

Not unlike the many other mornings you have awoken in this bed, when you open your eyes as the morning sunlight streams through the windows, Taehyung is nowhere to be found. The sheets on his side of the bed are flipped aside, revealing that soft outline of his body from the night before left imprinted into the sheets, a dip in the mattress where he slept. You had fallen asleep all wrapped up in each other, tangled up like vines, but must have separated sometime during the night. Distantly, you register Taehyung’s voice outside, notice his phone missing from his bedside table. He must be on an early morning call. 

You check your phone for the time. Ten o��clock. 

A late morning call, then. 

Still basking in the afterglow of the night prior, you slowly inch your way out of bed, shivering as you pull the covers off you and scoot your legs around so they hang over the edge of the bed. You rub at your eyes until you faintly remember you did not take your makeup off last night, and when your hand comes away covered with black streaks and flecks of mascara, you wince to yourself. There goes five hundred dollars worth of a skincare routine. 

After washing yourself up and applying as many serums as you can to your skin, you wrap yourself up in one of his button-up shirts, the torso so wide that it drapes over you. The tips of your fingers peek out from the ends of the sleeves, and you cross your arms lightly over your chest as you make your way to the door, ready to entice your husband back to bed for round two. What? It’s Saturday. 

You peer around the door to find Taehyung standing a few feet away, facing away from you. He’s shirtless, and as his wife you have absolutely no problems ogling him, the toned curves of his back, the muscles in his arms. He’s always been a looker. You just finally have an excuse to look for yourself. 

You approach him quietly, not wanting to interrupt nor broadcast your sex life to anybody on the other side who may be listening. Already, the idea of crawling back in bed together sends goosebumps along your skin, makes you giddy with anticipation. You’re just about to tap him on the shoulder, lips curled upwards in suggestion, when he says—

“And my inheritance? That’s secured now, right? Because I said I would pretend to be in love with her in public—?”

And it is as if Medusa herself appeared in this room, turning you to stone as your heart thuds to the floor, a hollow, empty noise. 

You don’t hear the rest of Taehyung’s conversation. You don’t even hear the sound of your own heartbeat. This terrible, aching sound rings in your ears, silencing everything in its wake, drowning out even the sighs of your own breath. It is as if you have been frozen solid. As if you have been shot in the stomach. You stand there, feeling absolutely nothing, and all you can do is brace yourself for what is to come. Taehyung’s words were the knife but his next actions will be its removal, leaving in its wake an irreparable wound. 

He turns around, casual and cool, voice still hushed. As if you were still asleep. As if you hadn’t heard anything at all. But when he twists his body and sees you standing there, staring back up at him, lips parted in shock. 

“I’ll call you back,” he tells whoever was on the other side of the line, looking more panicked by the second. He opens his mouth so he can explain himself, but you don’t need him to. You’ve heard everything already. 

“I should have known,” you say, feeling angry and betrayed and sad all at once. “I should have known it was all an act.”

“Y/N, wait, let me explain—”

“What is there to tell me, Taehyung? What are you going to say? That you didn’t mean it? That you thought I wouldn’t find out? That last night was just a one-off?” You demand. The heat from your veins hasn’t left. Still, it simmers through your blood, burning you up from the inside out. “That you didn’t want to lie to me?”

“It’s not like that and you know it,” Taehyung says defensively, brows furrowed. “Just give me a chance to explain myself.”

“Explain yourself? How you pretended, every day and every night, just so you could get some more money in your bank account? So you could make sure you would get your father’s business when he died?”

Taehyung bites back easily. “Don’t act like you weren’t also faking it at some point. I know you were almost removed from your grandmother’s will.”

Your tongue is bitter at the mention of your grandmother. As if Taehyung ever even knew her. “My grandmother has nothing to do with this.”

“Really?” Taehyung challenges. “So you wanting to stay in her will was just a little bonus, right?”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “It’s different.”

“Different how?” Taehyung spits. “Because right now, to me, it looks pretty similar to what I’ve done.”

“My grandmother died months ago,” you remind him. Her will is no longer the question. It has been written, settled, and executed. There was no reason for you to continue playing along once she took her last breath. No reason—unless you wanted to. “Meanwhile you’ve been keeping your inheritance a secret from me this entire time.”

“We made a deal,” Taehyung says. “A deal that said we would both act happy and pretend to be in love because we both had things we needed to worry about. Family things. Money things. You were a part of this, just like I was. You pretended, too.”

“Well, maybe I stopped pretending!” 

You can’t take it anymore. All this anger, all this emptiness, it’s been bubbling up inside you ever since you heard those first words come out of his mouth. It spills out of you all at once, an eruption from your lips, your heart’s doors bursting open. You have held his hand tightly in your own. You have pressed your lips to his. You have laid yourself bare in front of him. What is there left to protect? What part of you has not already been stained by him, by his touch, by the feeling of his fingers against your skin?

The hallway is silent, but you can hear your cry echo down the corridor. Hear the way it bounces along the walls before fading away. 

“Maybe I stopped pretending,” you repeat, softer this time. You blink and already can feel the streaks along your skin, the tears falling from your eyes. “Did you ever think about that?”

“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Taehyung looks like he’s in disbelief. Like he cannot believe the words you are saying to him. 

Well, that makes two of you. 

“Can’t you see, Tae? Can’t you tell?” You ask, the nickname falling from your lips before you can even help it. You must remind yourself to change that, later. “I’m in love with you.”

They are words you have never said to someone before. Not even your old boyfriends. Words that you always knew you would reserve for someone special. Someone who would touch your heart and make it their own, someone who would leave imprints of their fingers against your chest. Someone who would brighten you up from the inside out, leave you bursting with light. 

Ironic, that Taehyung has become that someone. When he is the one person you never thought could. 

When he has proven, time and time again, that you two just cannot mix. Oil and water. Pastel and acrylic. Satin and silk. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” you spit out quickly, before Taehyung has a chance to respond. “I know it doesn’t matter to you.”

“Y/N, yes it does,” Taehyung begins, desperate and pleading. “I know you heard what I said, but I swear, it stopped being an act for me, too. Things are different now, just like you said.”

“Don’t. Please.” You pull away as he reaches out towards you. Faintly, you remember that it is his shirt you are wearing. Remember that no matter what you do, he will always surround you. “Please, Tae.” You have nothing left. You can’t bear to look at him, but where else will you go? You cannot believe the things he’s said, the things he’s done, but where else would you go?

“I love you, too,” Taehyung says, and a part of you wants so badly to believe him. 

A part of you wants so badly to ingrain those words into your head, carve them into your heart, let him wrap his arms around you and promise that everything will be alright. But things are different now. Just like you said. You and Taehyung are not the same people you were six months ago. Or six weeks ago. Or even six minutes ago. You are helpless and he has proven that he does not care. 

“I have to go,” you say, looking away. You don’t think you could handle turning back to him again. “Please, Tae.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, and he reaches out once more but you are not there to meet him halfway. Were you ever?

“I know,” you whisper back.

You duck into your bedroom and pack a suitcase of everything you need. Being here is suffocating. Being with him is like setting yourself alight. 

Victoria has no questions when you show up at her door later that day, suitcase by your side and this ridiculous bottle of Merlot in your hands. You had picked it up on the way over. You sort of figured you might need it. 

“You don’t wanna talk about it, do you?” Victoria asks. 

“Tell me about your streaming service,” you hiccup in response.

Victoria is happy to oblige. She even tells you that she still hasn’t picked a CFO, and that the position would be open for you if you ever wished to take it. 

Funnily enough, what will become of you once your father retires and passes along the company is the furthest away from your thoughts. 

You remember being so worried about that. Being so worried that, once they married you off like every good daughter should be, you would be absorbed into your husband’s life, cut out of your family’s. Your father would choose a cousin, an uncle, or even a friend to take after the business, bestowing upon you a thoughtful inheritance but nothing more than that. All of those years of schooling, finance in college, your MBA soon after, would be wasted, just so you could hang on the arm of your husband for the rest of your life. 

It’s thoughtful of Victoria to think of you for the position. She knows just as well as anyone else that you would be an excellent fit. And if things were just a little bit different, you would be jumping at the offer. 

But your future career plans are on the backburner, along with the rest of your life. 

All you can really do, right now, at this very moment, is wait for things to change. As they always do. 

“Don’t you have an event tonight?” Victoria asks about three days into your stay. She’s given you her favorite (her words, not yours) guest bedroom and an enormous closet to match, despite you only coming over with a carry-on’s worth of clothes. 

You scoff to yourself. “Like I’d want to go to anything with him.”

“Have you even called your parents?” 

“No,” you say, not even caring about the repercussions. There’s no doubt in your mind that they’ll be ringing you soon. And when they do, maybe then you’ll finally work up the courage to tell them what really happened. Tell them that you can’t go back there. Not yet, at least. 

“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” Victoria says as she hands you a bowl of vegetable soup, homemade from a couple of days ago. You nod to yourself, sniffling as you curl into the couch cushions and wish they would absorb you whole. 

There’s no need to ask her what she means by ‘this’. Everything. From your engagement to the marriage, from those tabloids to the deal, from your grandmother’s death to now. It has all been unfair. Life is unfair. And while you’ve always known that, it has been particularly cruel to you as of late. 

Still, when you wake up sometimes, you can still feel him tracing over your skin. Feel his lips hovering over yours, breath fanning out over your cheeks. You turn over and expect to see him lying there, on the right side of the bed, sheets mussed as they cover his figure. You wake up and for a brief moment, for that split, split second, there is peace. And happiness. And love. 

And then there is nothing. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me, too.”

Maybe he really does love you. Maybe things really did change. But you have always been a pragmatic person, always let your head guide you rather than your heart. The secret’s out. Taehyung had an inheritance he needed to secure. You were his path to doing so. Those things haven’t changed. No matter if his feelings did. 

“Hey, look at this,” Victoria says, brows furrowed as she holds out her phone in front of you, revealing a livestreamed interview from the event tonight. 

You peer over. 

It’s Taehyung. 

Of course it’s Taehyung. Who else would she be showing you?

He stands in a clean-cut gray coat, draping over his figure, black dress shirt and slacks underneath, belt wrapped neatly around his hips. He holds his hand up in a wave and smiles politely to the cameras, to the reporters, letting the flashes wash over him like waves in the ocean. 

“Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim!” Someone calls. “Where’s your wife?”

Oh, God.

Taehyung grimaces a little, pursing his lips. “My wife won’t be joining me tonight.”

“Can you tell us why?” They shout. 

“Sorry, no more questions. Thank you for asking though. She’s well,” he says, quickly ushering himself along, entering the venue so no more reporters can bombard him. When he disappears, the livestream immediately moves on to the next guest, but you hardly pay them any attention. 

“Huh,” Victoria says aloud. 

Indeed. Taehyung’s response strikes you as rather odd. Why would he tell the public that? Why not make up a lie, say you’re sick, or you’re overseas, or you’re just late? Why simply tell them that you won’t be there? Surely, Taehyung is just as aware of the consequences of arriving at an event without you as you are. There’s no doubt that his parents will be in contact with him soon, too. No doubt that this will leave a stain on his family. His image. It might even threaten his inheritance after all.

So why not lie?

You frown to yourself, nose scrunching up in confusion. You don’t like where this train of thought leads.

“You okay?” Victoria asks when she sees the bewildered expression on your face.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you say. Just completely befuddled. It escapes you, why Taehyung wouldn’t just make up some sort of excuse as to reasoning behind your absence. Why he would even show up at the event at all. Certainly, going to the event without you is worse than not going at all. It prompts questions. It spreads rumors. 

Later that night, you get a call from your parents, demanding to know why you weren’t there with him. You say you got sick. You plead with them not to question anything. 

You wonder what happens next. You and Taehyung still have two more events this week. A dinner and a ball. What will you do then?

Taehyung goes solo for the dinner. You suppose you could have predicted that, considering his apparent willingness to arrive alone for the first event, too. He hasn’t made any efforts to contact you and for once, you’re glad for his silence. Not that you even know what he would say to you, anyway, but at least he isn’t begging you to come back to him. 

The sad truth is that if he did, if he got down on his knees right in front of you and willed you to come back home, you probably would. He has always been impossible to resist. Even when you first met him, when he sauntered up towards you and told you he was your dream come true. You didn’t know it then. But he was. He was everything you would ever want. 

Why would he lie? 

Why would he do that?

You can’t wrap your head around it. What is he getting out of it by telling the truth? By admitting to the paparazzi, to the reporters and the cameramen, that you won’t be there with him. That you will not be joining him. Nothing, certainly. His parents must be furious. His inheritance may be on the rocks. His image might tank. 

So then, why do it at all?

Could it… could it be?

Is it true?

You have loved Taehyung for a long time. Longer than you probably even care to admit. You have always held your head high at events, spoken loudly and without fear, but being with him made you feel safe. Secure. You would hold his hand and know, know that he was holding yours, too. It grounded you. It soothed your worries. 

Does he really love you back?

Taehyung smiles politely and laughs when he needs to at these events, but he doesn’t look the same. Even through the screen you can see those bags under his eyes, that spark that has faded. You hardly recognize him. He looks so lonely, without someone by his side. So distant. 

When you know the dinner has ended, you almost pick up the phone and call him. 

Almost. 

Instead, when the ball rolls around, you ask Victoria if she’s got a spare dress she can lend you.

 Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen covered in paint splotches, wearing old college hoodies, and fresh out of a restless night’s sleep, cleans up pretty well. For a married man, at least. 

You wonder what the past few days must have been like for him. If they have been as empty as your own. Wonder what it was like, riding alone in a big black van to this hotel ballroom, no one to tease, no one to laugh with, no one to hold. No one to poke him awake if he accidentally fell asleep. No one to make sure he’s okay. 

Taehyung stands right outside of the entrance, waving politely to all of the paparazzi, smiling as the cameras flash, giving them the time of day for a moment before he heads inside and muscles his way through another event without you. 

Or so he thinks. 

You spot him just as he opens his mouth, ready to repeat those same lines all over again.

My wife won’t be joining me tonight. She’s well, though.

And maybe it’s just because you haven’t seen him in nearly a week. Maybe it’s just because he is about to lie to those reporters once more, ready to face whatever consequences come his way. 

Or maybe it’s just because you miss him. Miss him terribly, have been missing him terribly. Being away from him was necessary, but that didn’t make it any less unbearable. Not getting to hold his hand, see his smile, meet his eyes. You and Taehyung may not have always liked each other, but you saw him every day regardless. He became a constant in your life. Not an if, but a when. If everything went to shit, you always knew he would still be there. 

And there he is. 

“Wait! Taehyung!”

Taehyung’s eyes widen as he hears your voice, gaze darting around wildly, mouth parted in surprise. He looks around desperately, scanning the crowd, meeting the eyes of every single person in front of him until he finally looks to the left, sees you rushing up towards him, hiking up the skirt of your dress as your heels tap against the sidewalk. 

And when he spots you, sees you running up to him, his body relaxes, a weight lifted from his shoulders as he beams back at you, relieved and thankful and filled with joy, all at once. And you know, then. 

You know that everything will be okay. 

“Sorry I’m late,” you say sheepishly, cheeks burning as he looks at you, takes in every inch of you, breathes you in and lets you fill him up. 

Taehyung doesn’t respond. You reach out to hold his hand but he grabs your wrist and pulls you in, presses you against his body as he presses his hands against your cheeks, palms burning as they meet your skin, and he kisses you. In front of all these people, he kisses you. 

And goddamnit, you will kiss him back. 

It feels like lightning, like a thunderstorm, like the waves of the ocean are crashing against your heart. It feels like fire, like flames are licking at your veins, sending sparks through your blood. It feels like home. 

You and Taehyung ignore the shouts of reporters, the flashes of cameras, the honks of the cars on the other side of the road. When you part, he presses his forehead against yours and lets the tip of your nose meet his. And you smile. 

“Don’t be alone any longer, Mr. Kim,” you whisper, loud enough so only he can hear. 

“When I’m with you, I never am, Mrs. Kim,” he murmurs back. 

You wonder what those tabloids will be saying about you tomorrow. 

The rest of the night finds the two of you pretty much inseparable. You wrap yourself around his arm and for the first time in a long time, he presses his hand against the small of your back, keeping you close. Like he’d ever lose you again. 

One of your least favorite parts about attending balls used to be the dancing. As a young and eligible bachelorette, you would always have to lock hands with another, let him awkwardly guide you along to the music as you made the worst small talk imaginable, forcing laughter and smiles whenever he said something he thought was particularly funny. 

But, like so many others, things have changed. Things are different now. 

The waltz comes on and you and Taehyung are the first to reach the center of the ballroom floor, letting him rest his hand on your waist as you press yours on top of his shoulder. Let him twirl you around the room as the orchestra plays in the background, a soft, sweet, light little melody that carries you along. 

“I missed this,” you say softly. 

“I missed us,” Taehyung corrects. He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my inheritance.”

“I’m sorry for storming out. I should have listened to you.” you respond easily. You both have plenty to apologize for. But night is darkest right before dawn. 

“I should have said something,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. “But I was just so—so worried that something would go wrong. And I didn’t know how to explain how I felt about you. I acted in the beginning, too, but then things changed.”

“They always do,” you muse with a grin. 

“I couldn’t believe I had you,” Taehyung admits. “I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous. And funny. And true.”

“Go on,” you tease, even though you do nothing to hide the smile inching its way across your face, the heating of your cheeks, the simmering of your skin. 

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I just—I felt something for you I couldn’t explain. I still can’t.”

You don’t have to prod any further. You know. Deep within your heart, you know. There is love blossoming in his to match the garden that has bloomed in your own. The flowers that have sprouted in the ashes. He has them, too. And when those petals open and the light streams in, he will know. He will know, too. 

“You make me crazy,” you tell him, whispering gently into his skin. “But I’m a better person when I’m with you. I know I am.”

“I meant what I said, that night,” Taehyung says. Makes you wonder which night he’s actually talking about. “That I’m happy that things have changed. That things happened the way they did. I’m grateful for us.”

“I am, too,” you say. And you are. 

You rest your head against his chest as you dance together, swaying back and forth to the beat of the drums, to the strums of the violins, all wrapped up together like ivy, like vines. Those, too, sit in that garden of yours. Keep you tethered to his side, keep him close to yours. He holds you in his arms and he smiles, because he knows, too. Knows that that garden in your heart will soon have a matching one in his. A mirror image of who you are. Who you’ve become. 

Things change. They always will. But so long as he is by your side, and so long as you are by his, you know. Everything will be okay. 

It's different, this time, when Taehyung presses you into the mattress. 

There is no rush. Because now you know for certain that all the time in the world is yours. He is yours forever. You are his.

The two of you are a mixture of tangled limbs and shared breaths, the feverish, irrepressible need to give yourself to each other nearly tangible. He breaks the kiss suddenly, and you’re about to break out in protest. That is, until you see him unbuttoning his shirt.

Inspired, you wiggle out of your own clothes, eyes locked on Taehyung's soft torso and the idea that you had married such a beautiful man, inside and out.

Looking back, you wonder if that was always inevitable. If you and Taehyung falling into each other had been written in the stars from day one, sealed as your fate from the moment he came up to you at that ball when you were teenagers. He was going to be a part of your life no matter what. Whether or not you ended up marrying him. But having him like this?

It makes it all worth it.

"Do you like what you see?" That old cocky smirk of his makes an appearance.

You raise a brow, choosing to omit a response as you unclasp your bra, letting it fall from your chest.

Taehyung swallows.

"Do you?" You tease.

His response comes in the form of bites down your necks and licks down your chest, stealing your breath from you. 

Your clothes are somewhere dispelled beside your passionate bodies, growing cold beside the way your two hot bodies warmed one another.

"You are so beautiful," Taehyung praises, fingers coming up to cup your breast, bringing it up to his mouth.

You mewl, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as his tongue toys with your pert bud, teeth grazing it ever so often just to hear the broken gasp that'd always follow. 

"And so sensitive too," he giggles, making you pout. His hands are gentle as if every touch means something. As if you mean something—no, everything—to him. And the most wonderful part is that he means everything to you, too. 

"Shut up." You roll your eyes playfully, gasping as his palm comes down the side of your thigh suddenly in warning. You bite down your swollen bottom lip at the gush of arousal that dampened your underwear in response.

"Watch your tone, love. Of both our positions, you are in the most compromising one." He reminds you. It isn't a threat, and while usually, that kind of tone would thrill you, you couldn't help but want his mouth back on yours already.

"You talk too much." You flop back onto the bed with a sigh. Taehyung watches with interest as your pretty tits bounce in consequence. Extending your hands out towards him, you give him a pouty look. "Just wanna kiss you."

"Is that all I am to you? Just a pair of lips for you to mack on? I've got news for you, sweetheart, there's a brain behind these ravishing good looks." He scoffs in feigned offense, sitting back on his heels.

You giggle.

It seems as though even during the most intimate of moments, Taehyung still found a way to be, well, Taehyung. At least that hasn’t changed. 

"Whatever, pretty boy. Why don't you come over here and put that mouth of yours to good use?" You purr, making his eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Oh? I don't remember you being this assertive when I was pounding you into the mattress last time."

“What, I can’t have a little fun as well?” You tease, grinning as you look up at him, raking your eyes over his figure. 

"Wanna have fun, love?," He murmurs into your ears, hands gripping either of your plush thighs. "Then spread those pretty legs for me, and I'll show you exactly how much fun you can have."

God, you love this man.

You oblige eagerly, breath quickening as he helped you press your knees by your chest, leaving the wet patch in your underwear on full display. 

"My pretty little wife." He sighs dreamily, making heat rush to your core.

Taehyung's cock stood loud and proud, a hot reminder of where the night would eventually lead to. Seriously, how did you get so lucky? You must've been a saint in a previous life, you decide right then. Or at least, the stars have chosen to be rather kind to you in this one.

"Gonna take these off," he mutters, mostly to himself, tugging the ruined fabric over your ass and down your legs, with your help, of course.

Despite your usual display of confidence, lying beneath your husband, spread out like this, has you feeling vulnerable and slightly insecure. But that insecurity vanishes, however, as he lets out a soft moan, fingers moving to spread your glossed lips apart.

"So fucking pretty, baby. Gonna make you feel so fucking good," he groans, leaning down to press his face near your most intimate part.

Pressing a tentatively lick against, his eyes flicker up to yourself, curious to see if you’re okay with him proceeding. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to say no, are you?

Embarrassingly, you rut against him, making him laugh as you drown in your own mortification.

"Need it that bad, huh?" He coos.

"Yes, please."

The rest of your plea is lost in a moan as Taehyung finds your clit, wrapping his pink lips around the sensitive muscle and giving it a generous suck. Your hands are in his hair before you can think to stop yourself, tugging at his scalp deliciously as his mouth makes its way with you.

Thank goodness for this apartment belonging to just the two of you as the noises that tumbled from your lips surely would've left a roommate blushing.

You're panting, begging for more even though you aren't sure how you'd even handle more. It comes as a delight and slight surprise as fingers suddenly slip inside, wasting no time to rub against your velvety smooth walls, curling themselves inside you.

"Fuck, Tae!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.

It was pure reflex. Up until now, you had been watching Taehyung intently, completely consumed by the way his mouth moves against you. How his tongue flicks against your needy clit cruelly. It just felt too fucking good.

You're so wet, positively dripping down his chin as he runs his hot muscle up and down the length of your pussy, devouring you like he hadn't eaten in months, and you were his first meal.

Taehyung’s nothing short of addicting, completely and utterly intoxicating, and you slip further and further to your demise with every lick he takes, every press of his tongue against your clit.

He has a hand pressed against the lower half of your torso, feeling the way you jerk and squirm as he makes a mess of you. You’re close and you know it, too, if not by the way you’re calling his name over and over again, then by the way your thighs tremble, hardly even strong enough to stay up.

"Let go for me, love. I've got you." He sounds so sweet, so angelic, despite how filthy what he was doing to you was.

His words are the push you need, and, like a rubber band that has been stretched past its limit, you finally snap, back arching off the bed as you come with a cry. White fills your vision, and your mind goes blank, only sounds of blissful static filling your ears.

His fingers hold up your quivering legs, mouth pressing kisses onto your pussy encouragingly until you simply can't bear it any longer, pushing his mouth away as you stutter out words of sensitivity and overstimulation.

“I’m going to have to request more of that throughout this marriage.” You manage to say once your vision and breath come back to you.

Grabbing one of your hands, Taehyung brings it to his mouth.

“All you need do is ask,” he replies, making you laugh as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, always a gentleman

Not long after, you find yourself pressed against Taehyung, tongue running against his as he presses his hips into yours. He isn’t coy about his want for you, rolling his cock against your already sensitive center. Warm precum leaks onto your lower abdomen, and suddenly, all you can think about is having him inside you again.

“Taehyung?”

You don’t even need to ask. Hitching your leg around his thigh, he knows exactly what you’re seeking, lining up his leaking cock with your swollen entrance.

Pressing into you, he buries himself to the hilt, groaning out as your warmth envelopes him. You moan out so prettily for him, feeling tight and full with your first orgasm only minutes ago.

“You okay?” he hums, kissing your cheek.

You nod, ears warm at the intimacy of the moment. In many ways, this is nothing like your first time together. You are face to face, eye to eye, heart to heart. Between your bodies could be found more than just desire, but commitment. Devotion. Love. 

“I love you, Tae.” You gush, sighing out as he begins to rock into you.

He falters slightly at your confession but recovers quickly, intertwining his hand with yours and pressing it by your head.

Faintly, you realize. 

That was the first time you had ever told him that.

You look up at him, expecting some wide eyes or even a bit of a nervous tilt to his lips, but all you are met with is a glow. He beams down at you, and your heart swells. 

“I love you, too, Y/N,” he whispers, but you hear the words in your ears loud and clear.

Soft noises fill the room as the two of you become one—hearts synchronizing with one another in silent promise.

It was a promise unlike the one you had made to each other that day at the altar, for this one was real. This one was true.

You shutter with every thrust of his hips, your abused clit finding itself in the crossfire of Taehyung’s passionate motions.

Whimpering, you cling to him, overwhelmed and emotional, like your heart was about to burst. Taehyung lights a fire in you, sends lightning straight through your core. Every word, every smile, every kiss, every touch, they send shivers down your spine, tingles throughout your skin. It’s like you’re falling in love with him all over whenever you see him, whenever his deep brown eyes meet your own.

You remember being so afraid of love that you broke up with all your old boyfriends because of it. Because you couldn’t commit, because you were worried about your career, because they just didn’t give you that spark. But lying here pressed against him, against your husband, you aren’t afraid. Wrapped up around him, tangled up in him, you know. 

Between messy kisses and words of adoration, you find yourself growing closer and closer to your release. Brows furrowed and neck flushed, you come with a soft whimper of his name, coaxing his own orgasm out of him. He lets go inside you, painting you with his seed in a way that pleases you to no end.

Hand still in yours, he gives it a squeeze, pressing a kiss onto your damp chest, right over where your heart beats for him.

“I love you,” Taehyung says again when you meet his eyes, firmer this time, louder. Like he’s worried you didn’t believe him the first time. 

“I know,” you say with a giggle, the words going straight to your head—and your heart. 

Taehyung scowls. “What, no ‘I love you’ back? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“Well, only because you want one so badly,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his round button nose. “I love you, too, Tae. Always will.”

“I think I knew, then,” Taehyung says with a fond sigh, nostalgia overcoming his expression. “That first time we met. I knew you would be mine, one day.”

“You got lucky,” you scoff slightly. “But I’m glad things happened the way they did.”

“You’re my dream come true, Y/N,” he says. 

“And you are mine,” you murmur.

As the two of you drift off, all twisted up in each other, so mixed up you can’t figure out where you end and he begins, you think back to that night. That ball. 

“Who are you?” You ask, nose scrunched up in distaste. Before you stood a boy you had never met before, wearing shoes that were too big for him and a suit that was a touch too small. 

He grins at you, running a hand through his perfectly-styled hair fringe swiped neatly over his forehead, and he says, “your dream come true.”

And so it was. 

don’t forget to message me! ~ and don’t forget to message rose!

[that-disabled-radfem]

Happy back-to-school y’all

I’ve attended and worked at a couple of super liberal universities. I avoid the gender studies departments for obvious reasons and I still had a lecture in which the female prof gave a brief overview of TERFs and proclaimed her hatred of JKR. Being openly critical of gender ideology, the porn industry, kinks, and ‘sex work’ are the kind of things that can ruin your future in academia. Not to mention the fact that any speech or actions that could be labelled transphobic (ie. defining woman as adult human female) can get you a suspension according to many universities anti-hate-speech policies. 

So, here’s a list of small and smallish (small in terms of overt TERFery, some may require more effort than others) radical feminist actions you can take as a university student:

(this is a liberal arts perspective so if you’re a stem gal this may not apply. but also if you’re in stem maybe you can actually acknowledge that women are oppressed as a sex class without getting kicked out of school. idk)

(Note for TRAs hate reading this: One of the core actions of radical feminism is creating female networks. This is not so that we can brainwash people into being anti-trans. This is because female solidarity is necessary for creating class consciousness and overturning patriarchy. It is harder to subjugate the female sex when we stand together.)

Take classes with female profs. Multiple sections of a class? Pick the one taught by a woman. Have to chose an elective? Only look at electives offered by women. When classes have low numbers they get cancelled. When classes are super popular, universities are forced to consider promoting the faculty that teach them

Make relationships with these female profs. Go to office hours. Chat after class. Ask them about their research. Building female networks is sooooo important!

Actually fill in your end of year course feedback forms. Profs often need these when applying for tenure or applying for a job at another university so it is very important (especially with young and/or new profs) that you fill out these forms and give specific examples of how great these women are. Go off about what you love about them! Give her a brilliant review because you know the idiot boy in that class who won’t shut up even though he knows nothing is going to give her only negative feedback because he thinks any woman who leaves the house is a feminazi b*tch. 

(note: obviously don’t go praising any prof - female or male - who is blatantly racist, homophobic, etc.)

(Also if you have shitty male profs write down all the horrible things they have done and said and put it in these forms because once a shitty man gets tenure they are virtually untouchable)

(also also, leave a good review on rate my profs or whatever other thing students use to figure out if they want to take classes. idc if you copy paste your feedback from the formal review. rave about the class to your friends. do what you can to get good enrolment for that prof for reasons above.)

Participate in class. Talk over the male students. Say what you mean and mean it. Call out the boys when they say dumb shit

Write about women. If you have the option to make a text written by a woman your primary text in an essay, do it. Pick the female-centred option if you’re writing an exam-essay with multiple prompts. (Profs often look at what works on their syllabus are being written about/engaged with as a marker of whether to keep those texts the next time they teach the class. If there are badass women on your syllabus, write about them to keep them on the syllabus) Use female-written secondary sources whenever possible. 

(pro tip: many women in academia are more than happy to talk to you about their papers. expand your female networks by reaching out to article authors through email and asking them about their cool shit)

Get your essays published! Many departments have undergrad journals you can publish in. This will ensure more people read about the women you write about and will demonstrate to the department that people like learning about women

Consider trying to publish your undergrad essay with a legit peer-reviewed journal. If you can do it, your use of female-written secondary sources boosts the reputations of the women who wrote those secondary sources. Also this helps generally to increase scholarship about women’s writing!

Present your papers at conferences! Many schools have their own undergraduate/departmental conferences that you can present at. Push yourself by submitting to outside conferences. Bring attention to women’s works by presenting your papers. Take a space at a conference that would otherwise be reserved for mediocre men

Talk to your profs and/or your department and/or your university about mandating the inclusion of female works in classes if this isn’t something they do already

Sit next to other women in your classes. Talk to them. Make friends. Form study groups. Proofread each other’s essays. Give each other knowing looks when the boys are being dumb. Just interact with other women! Build those female networks!

Be generous with your compliments. A female classmate and I were talking to a prof after class and the classmate told me (out of the blue) that I always have such interesting things to say. I think about that whenever I’m lacking confidence about my academic skills. Compliment the women in your classes for speaking up, for sharing their opinions, for challenging your classmates/profs, for doing cool presentations, etc.

Talk to other women about sexist things going on on campus. Make everyone aware of the sexist profs. Complain about how there are many more tenured men than tenured women. Go on rate my professor and be explicit about how the sexist profs are sexist

Be active on campus and in societies. If a society has an all male executive or is male-dominated, any women who join that society make it less intimidating for more women to join. Run for executive positions! Bring in more women! 

(Pro tip: Many societies’ elections are super gameable. You can be eligible to vote in a society election sometimes just by being a student at that university — even without having done anything with the society before. Other societies might just require that you’ve taken a class in a particular department or attended a society event. (Check the society’s governing documents.) Use those female networks you’ve been building. If you can bring three or four random people to vote for you, that might be enough for you to win. Societies have trouble meeting quorum (the minimum number of people in attendance to do votes) so it is really super achievable to rig an election with a few friends. And don’t feel bad about this. The system is rigged against women so you have every right to exploit loopholes!)

(Also feel free to go vote “non-confidence”/“re-open election” if only shitty men are running. Too often people see that only candidates they don’t like are running and so they give up. But you can actually stop them getting elected)

Your campus may have a LGBTQIA+alphabetsoup society. That society definitely needs more L and B women representation. It may be tedious to argue with the nb straight dudes who insist that it’s fine to use “q***r” in the society’s posters and that attraction has nothing to do with genitals, but just imagine what could happen if we could make these sorts of societies actually safe spaces for same-sex attracted women and advocated for our concerns

Attend random societies’ election meetings. Get women elected and peace out. (or actually get involved but I’m trying to emphasize the lowest commitment option with this one)

Write for the campus newspaper. Write about what women are doing - women’s sports, cool society activities, whatever. Review female movies, books, tv shows, local theatre productions. Write about sexism on campus. We need more female by-lines and more stories about women

Get involved with your campus’s sexual assault & r*pe hotline/sexual assault survivor’s centre/whatever similar organization your campus has if you can. This is hard work and definitely not for everyone (pls take care of yourself first, especially if you are a survivor)

(If your campus doesn’t have an organization for supporting survivor’s of sexualized violence, start one! This is probably going to be a lot of hard work though, so don’t do it alone)

Talk to your student council about providing free menstrual hygiene products on campus if your campus doesn’t already do this. If your campus provides free condoms (which they probs do), use that as leverage (ie. ‘sex is optional, menstruation is not. so why do we have free condoms and no free pads?’)

If you’re an older student, get involved with younger students (orientation week and such activities are good for this). Show the freshman that you can be a successful and well-liked woman without shaving your legs, wearing heels, wearing make-up, etc. Mentor these young women. Offer to go for coffee or proofread essays. 

Come to class looking like a human being. Be visibly make-up less, unshaven, unfeminine, etc. to show off the many different ways of being a woman

Talk to the custodial staff and learn their names. (I know there are men who work in this profession, but it is dominated by low-income women) Say hi in the hallways, ask them about their lives, show them they’re appreciated

Be explicit with your language. When you are talking about sex-based oppression, say it. Don’t say ‘sex worker’ when you mean survivor of human trafficking. This tip is obviously a bit tricky in terms of overt TERFyness, so use your best judgement

That’s all from me for now! Feel free to add your suggestions and remember that feminism is about action

[stellar-imagines]

HEADCANONS REQUEST: ❝autistic S/O.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Todoroki Shouto, Kirishima Eijirou ]

「Headcanons of Bakugou, Todoroki and Kirishima with an autistic S/O.」

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

♤ Bakugou will burn the whole world for you if he had to. Everyone thinks that this guy is just too loud, aggressive, and intense but he's the complete opposite with you. Of course, your first impression was that he was loud. Not to mentions, he kind of seemed like an asshole with all the name-calling and yelling he does every single time. Sometimes you think that he's just constantly angry no matter what. You avoided him as much as you could at first, not liking how loud he normally is. He's gotten into trouble for being too loud, scolded by his friends since it drew a negative reaction from you. And he actually tones down for your sake.

♤ As your boyfriend, he tries his hardest for you. He always plays it cool and confident to keep up his image but in reality, he's super worried about you. The first thing he does was to become a better person by learning about you and your autism. He doesn't want to corner you and ask you multiple questions, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. So he decides to do his research on autism. Some of his friends had caught him reading books about it and glancing at you occasionally. It ended up with him denying it but everyone was touched to know how much Bakugou cares about you.

♤ Stimming? Man, he's somehow happy to see you do it but he makes sure that you're not harming yourself. He loves it when you’re playing with his fingers but he's lowkey insecure of his hands because it can get sweaty at times. Bakugou may not be able to comfort you with words but his actions speak volumes. He gives the best hugs and lets you play with hands and hair whenever you feel a bit anxious. He helps you explore ways to stim and ended up buying a lot of things for you. But honestly, he likes it when you rely on him to calm your nerves instead of some inanimate object.

♤ This guy never shows interest when someone is talking to him unless it was something that concerned him but when it comes to you, he listens to everything. His friends always complained about how he only pays attention to you and no one else but really, it's a good thing that he only has eyes for you. You may talk constantly about specific things that interest you and be completely unaware that Bakugou might not have the same level of interest. But no, he lets you talk as long as you want, he finds it cute that you can talk so much despite having trouble with normal social interactions.

♤ Overprotective? He's definitely an overprotective boyfriend. He literally yells at others to keep it down when they're being a bit too loud. Bakugou always has this urge to protect you whenever you're outside together. There were very rare occasions where you go out on dates and he's always on alert. The moment he sees a huge crowd, he will steer you away from it and ensure that nothing gets in your way. He's really great at getting you out of situations that overwhelm you and he's surprisingly good at comforting you. All he wants is the best for you and to become the boyfriend you deserved.

TODOROKI SHOUTO

☆ A good boy who understands how you feel. Hate crowds and sudden loud noises that make you jump and cover your ears? Prefer being alone with very few people accompanying you? Having trouble communicating with people? Yep, Todoroki understands it all. This guy enjoys his time with you, he finds your presence comforting since you understood his feelings the best. You two will be sitting side by side just enjoying the silence and avoiding noisy situations. Todoroki is quiet by nature so you never have to worry about him raising his voice all of a sudden like the others.

☆ Super honest with his feelings and when it comes to initiating affection, he always asks for consent. Todoroki is usually blunt with his feelings and he's super patient with you. On the rare occasion you didn’t catch or understand what he was saying, he has no problem repeating and attempting to make things clearer for you. So you really never have to worry about Todoroki getting impatient with you. Really, this kid has the patience of God himself, it makes you wonder what you did in your past life to deserve him. That being said, Todoroki is still the better one at communicating compared to you so he's always the one taking orders during dates.

☆ Consent is super important to him, this guy is deprived of touch for so long. His mother was out of the picture for quite a long time and his father was not the type to dote on him so you get the point. He always asks for consent before touching you. His touch is always gentle and cautious as if one wrong move will trigger you. He just loves it when he holds your hand, you instantly intertwine your fingers with his. He finds it cute how you would swing your hands while you both walk together. He likes it when you get all nervous when he asked if he could kiss you.

☆ Oh my god, this boy will get so flustered if you stim by toying with his fingers. You're just too adorable for him when you happy stim, it tugs his heartstrings. He tries to learn more about autism together with you, thinking of it as a way to communicate with you and to get to know you even better. But of course, there were things that he couldn't learn from you, he decides to read more on the internet or even ask his friends. When you stress or panic stim, he stresses and panics too. He's just so afraid that you might end up hurting yourself and feels very upset that you are feeling this way. He gives you the warmest hug and tries to calm you down.

☆ When you're info-dumping ― Todoroki likes that call it likes that ― you always pull him down to sit next to you. Todoroki can actually sense when this is going to happen and often brings you to his or your room. The two of you will sit side by side as you go on and on about whatever. Todoroki might not really know what you were talking about at first but he's listening to everything. He might not catch most of what you were saying but just seeing you look so enthusiastic and smiley is enough to make him smile. Overall, your relationship with Shouto is made of understanding each other, patience and trust. You both are a match made in heaven.

KIRISHIMA EIJIROU

♡ Kirishima knows that he can be loud sometimes but he's nothing compared to Bakugou's volume of course. He's naturally friendly and cheerful so his voice can get a bit loud sometimes. Feels super guilty and apologetic when he notices that his loud voice made you uncomfortable. He will lower down his volume whenever he's with you, keeps his distance, and ensure that you don't feel pressured at all. Doesn't hesitate to tell people around to quiet down in your presence, he knows that his group of friends can get a bit noisy. He wants you to get along with his friends and as much as he loves his friends, he cares about your well-being. Plus, his friends are nice and they understood your situation.

♡ Always has his eyes on you, like all the time! Even Aizawa has ratted him out for staring at you too much in class. But this is because he worries about you. He will fight anyone who dares to disrespect or make fun of you in any way. He never forces you to go out on dates with him. This boy is content on staying indoors, enjoy a good movie and snacks with you. But when he goes out with you, he orders food for you and asks things on your behalf. Basically, he does all the talking for you especially knowing how nervous you get. It's as if he's your father or something. Kirishima is more of an overprotective dad than a boyfriend at this point.

♡ This guy is big on affection. Though he’s really touchy, he never really initiates anything first. He knows that you sometimes have trouble showing affection back and can get a little jumpy when he just hugs you out of the blue. Kirishima has his own way of telling that he has your consent, he's been with you for quite a long time so there were the signs. Things like when your pinky brushes against his, you want to hold his hand. When you scoot a bit closer while you're both sitting side by side, you want to cuddle. This boy never forces you out of your comfort zone because he prioritizes your well-being.

♡ He doesn't really get it when you're stimming at first, he had questioned your behavior once and you told him how you're doing this to calm your nerves. Kirishima eventually finds the little things you quite cute. He slowly learns what stims you like to do when you're uncomfortable and he will be there by your side doing it with you in hopes of making you feel better. He never cared what kind of things you like to do. You were always repetitive, you always suggested the same movie and anime to watch, he was fine with it. You wanna eat [Favorite Food] again? Go to that little cafe that serves [Favorite Drink] every weekend? He's all for it.

♡ You want to talk about potatoes for over an hour? Hope you don't mind him doing other stuff at the same time. He loves listening to you while he does something else. Most of the time, he would be working out or something while you ramble about something. Different from Bakugou and Todoroki, Kirishima is more of a reactive listener. He shows genuine interest in what you're talking about. He will try to get into all the things you like because he wants to be able to talk to you about it ― plus he can see you look so excited and all cute.

Total: 1739 words Published: 25.07.2021

Thank you for requesting! ｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و*｡ We hope you liked it! ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting it! Hope you enjoyed this! ― author Natsuki

Requests are closed! Matchups are closed!

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Spooky Season Special: Until Dawn (Male!Reader x Chris)

Prologue: Bystander

-One Year Ago-

Let's just say, you had been shocked when Beth Washington winked at you and slipped a sparkly envelope into your hand. Hannah had gotten overzealous with the glitter glue again, and it was a wild mess that had held your invitation to Blackwood Pines for the annual winter getaway party weekend hosted by the Washington siblings.

Mike and Emily had grinned when you told them, which was gratifying. To tell the truth, you had never felt like anything more than a satellite to the group. They all seemed so tight with each other, and all you really knew were Mike and Em. Mike because he'd been your best friend since you were toddlers, and Em since she was Mike's girlfriend and you both shared multiple advanced courses. Even despite him being athletic and your typical big man on campus, Mike had been at your side for years, even when your interests diverged. You even helped make posters for his class president campaign in your spare time, which he joked made you responsible for his victory.

But still, you never really considered yourself part of that group until Beth handed you the invitation. You had only really hung out with the group on occasion, but you knew what it was really about.

Damn Mike. He had told Beth about your crush on Chris. He or Emily had. And now they were going to play matchmaker. You weren't about to let that happen, but you figured this was your ticket to making more friends and hanging out with Mike more. ...And Chris.

And really, partying with the Washingtons was fun. Who gets to go up to a HUGE lodge in the mountains only accessible by cable car? Even the vaguely sinister sensation of being trapped couldn't undo your feeling that you were now part of an exclusive gang. You ended up on the cable car with Ashley and Sam, who immediately drew you into a conversation (Sam protested playfully when Ashley turned the conversation to a book she was reading about ghosts) and the fun began.

There was the requisite teasing of Sam as she went upstairs to take a luxurious bath in the Washingtons' simply enormous tub in the master bathroom ("Try not to use all the hot water this time, Sam!" from Beth and a "Hardy-har" from Sam as a retort.)

It started out simple enough. Hannah and Matt brought down some board games from a closet and you all began playing. At one point someone suggested Jenga and everyone held their breath as you watched the tower wobble...

Don't Move. .. . .. . .. . .. .... .. ..... ... .. .... .. .. .. .... .. . . . .

...and you finally breathed again when it was certain the tower wouldn't collapse. And then, of course, Josh and Chris arrived on Emily's turn, and she promptly knocked over the wooden blocks. She complained a little, but clearly was happy the group was all together.

Chris and Josh promptly forced open the liquor cabinet and led a toast to old friends, and lifted a glass to you and added "and to new friends!" Beth, ever-responsible, gave a disapproving look at her older brother and passed around cream sodas instead. But really, only you, Sam, and Beth chose to remain sober. Chris and Josh started a drinking game by singing the Pokerap from the Pokemon anime and drinking whenever they got the words wrong, and quickly started devolving into drunken messes. Mike and Emily started making out, and Sam was catching up with Ashley and Matt - Jessica was talking to Hannah.

Beth invited you up to her room to watch Pride and Prejudice on the new TV she had gotten in there, but really, it was just a pretext. You knew it the moment the movie started playing and Beth looked over at you. "So... Chris, huh?"

Secretive - "What about him?" Exasperated - "Ugh, Mike told you?"

Beth grinned apologetically. "Emily, actually. But don't worry, I won't blab. I think it's cute. And hey, I'm here for you."

You smiled a little. It might actually be good to have more friends you can talk to about this. When you told Mike you liked boys, and that you liked Chis, he had teased you about having a hunk of prime beef in front of you - himself - and you chose the nerd anyway. Beth, at least, seemed less likely to ridicule you.

"It doesn't matter, though." you had groaned. "He's got a crush on Ashley."

"So?" Beth asked. "Josh once had a crush on Britney Spears at the same time he discovered Leo DiCaprio. People can have multiple crushes. And I'm pretty sure Chris doesn't just like you because you can beat him at Street Fighter."

"Fine, you may have a point. But I'm not gonna make any moves tonight! Looks like Chris is on a one-way trip to Hangover City."

She smiled wryly. "Ugh. Guess I have to make hangover cures in the morning. If you and Sam are the only other sober ones, wanna help? We can make vegan pancakes just the three of us!"

You grinned. "That actually sounds really fun."

"Great!"

You watched the rest of the movie, and finally decided it was time to check on the others, realizing you hadn't heard much during your little party.

"Guys?" Beth called, a little confused when no one answered. The two of you wandered down, only to find Chris and Josh, slumped over the kitchen island, a few empty bottles of liquor between them. Beth gave a chuckle that became a sigh. You remember this part so much more clearly.

Beth looked out the window, and frowned. "There's someone out there! I thought Mom and Dad said it would be just us this weekend."

"Maybe it's the trees? They're pretty creepy at night." you suggested, not wanting the creepy idea of someone else being on the mountain to take root.

She looked away, unsure, then glanced at the bottles.

"Ugh... Once again, big brother, you've outdone us all." Beth said, her eyes roving over the bottle-covered table. She picked up a piece of paper and read it, wincing. "This is - what has my naïve sister gotten herself into now?"

You take the paper, only really having time to read the words "Hannah" and "Mike xoxo" before someone went running by, sobbing. Beth went charging after them...

Wake Chris Follow Beth

...but you quickly tried shoving Chris to wake him up. But even with you yelling in his ear, he was dead to the world. You ran out after Beth, only to run right into Matt's back.

"You know, Mike, I think you're the last person she wants to see right now." Sam was saying.

"What the hell is going on?" you asked, looking from face to face. Emily disgusted, Sam worried, Mike and Jessica looking uneasy... "Where's Beth? And Hannah?"

"Hannah overreacted to this prank we pulled," Ashley frowned. "And Beth ran after her."

"What do you think, Y/N? Should we go looking for them?" Mike wondered.

Concerned - "Beth said someone else was out there..." Responsible - "We should get help..."

"They say you really shouldn't split up in a snowstorm. Beth's smart. I'm sure she'll bring Hannah back. But just in case, let's call the ranger station?" you said. You remember the group all nodding, more at ease now that there was a plan. Emily went to call, while Mike and Matt tried to wake up Chris and Josh, and you tried to get what happened out of Jessica and Ashley, because Sam refused to talk to any of them.

A horrible prank... and two deaths. For a whole year, the idea that maybe, if you had made some other choice, you could have prevented it, consumed you. Maybe if you had chased after Hannah more quickly you could've stopped her, or maybe at least convinced Beth not to run and to call the ranger station instead... maybe at least one of the twins would still be alive.

Things only got worse after the trip. You thought it might bring you more friends, but the group fractured down the middle. Eventually Em and Mike broke up, making it really awkward to choose between them. Sam had distanced herself from the others, angry at them for the prank, and you hadn't heard from her for months. And Chris... you two had gotten a little closer, but really this tragedy had struck all of you and changed everything.

You hadn't known Josh that well, so it was surprising that he asked you to come back up to the lodge. And although it might be weird, definitely uncomfortable... you find yourself on a bus, headed right back up to Mount Washington.

With no idea of what the night will hold...

[swcetnight]

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 1

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: self doubt, adorable plant names... there's really not many warnings for this chapter!

→ word count: 7,973

authors note:

alrighty everyone... here we go! (i’m so nervous) this is the first chapter of this series (which it took me 50 years to figure out whether I wanted this to be a series or a two shot... lets just say that it's gonna be a long one, so I think that a series is the best way to go)! this story is really near and dear to my heart, so 1. I really hope you enjoy it and 2. I hope all of you know how hard it was to write this into words... my goodness. now, make sure you look for clues throughout this series... there's a secret in here that won't be revealed for a while ;)) but if any of you have ideas, please be sure to send an ask while we wait to find out together! anyways, I hope you enjoy !!

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hantaev and @monvante for beta-reading and being so so supportive of me and this little (but not so little) story... y'all truly have no idea how helpful you've been and how thankful I am to be friends with both of you! forreal, y'all are the greatest and I'm sending you all my love!!

also, if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

If time-travel existed, you would be on the first time machine and head back to 2 years ago. A time when you had a free schedule and were able to go out on Friday nights. A time when you felt confident in yourself and were raring to pursue theatre. A time when you didn't have this job (cause apparently, theatre is impossible to get into) that forces you awake at 4 in the morning for the opening shift.

You can't say you don't love your Barista job because you do. Still, when your alarm wakes you from the beautiful dream of performing on the big stage, you have to use everything within yourself to crawl out of your sheet cocoon… and that is unacceptable.

What's even more unacceptable is the fact that your co-worker, Jimin, hasn't arrived at the Academia Cafe yet. You have about 30 minutes to prepare for the morning peak; brew coffees, set up the bakery items, clear the boards "coffee of the day," etc. The problem is, it takes up all of the 30 allotted minutes— and you can't start prepping early because Jimin has the keys to the cafe.

You’ve worked at the Academia Cafe for about a year now, taking a break from your endless theatre audition schedule— since that was getting you absolutely nowhere. No matter how badly you want it, nothing seems to work. No matter how many times you practice, it never seems to be good enough. Let’s just say, you took this job at the cafe because you were over the repetitive let downs.

… But here you are, with a “Jimin being late” let down.

[To: Jimin ☕️] hey, you almost here? times ticking, keys!

You stuff your phone into your winter coat pocket, the brown material catching snowflakes as they fall gently from the cloudy sky. You love this weather; it's always been your favorite. When you were little, you used to pretend to be a dragon; running all over your front yard and releasing heavy breaths that chilled in the air and spread like smoke. You don't enjoy the cold, but the entire feel of winter has you cozying up in a blanket with hot cocoa and a good book… nothing could beat that.

A buzz in your pocket catches your attention.

[From: Jimin ☕️] Hey! Look up.

Your eyes immediately lift to see Jimin smiling a few feet away, shuffling through the snow as he drags the keys out of his pocket. He's sporting a heavy blue coat that reaches down to his knees — making his short stature appear even smaller — topped with a matching blue beanie. Despite his tardiness today, you’ve always been fond of Jimin. He's like a ray of sunshine, beaming through the skyscrapers of the city and making everyone around him happy just by flashing a single smile. Honestly, you wish you could sneak some of that happiness from him and lock it somewhere safe... so you can save it for a time when you need it most.

"Your timing is impeccable." He laughs, gently placing the keys into the front door lock. "You texted me right as I was rounding the corner."

"I'm telling you, Jimin; we're always on the same wavelength."  Smirking, you make your way through the doors of the cafe, greeted by the warmth that surrounds you like your sheet cocoon did this morning, but accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. "Except for the fact that you, my friend, are late, so now we only have twenty-eight minutes until opening."

Old, rustic book pages litter the cafe's dark walls, executing the dark academia theme flawlessly. You have to give the interior designers a hand, what with the black stools and high dark wood counters etched with different story pages. You wonder if anyone took the time to read the stories that covered the cafe; maybe the stories moved them in a personal way. Maybe there was a reason why they read them, a part of the butterfly effect of their life.

With a quick survey of the main room, you shuffle into the back to put your belongings away. "You would think it would be less busy on the streets because of the snow," Jimin calls, already working on the first batch of light roast coffee. "But unfortunately for me, that was not the case, and I nearly lost my life multiple times on the way here because of how slick it is."

A laugh emits from your lips, echoing in the backroom as you throw your apron over your head.

You begin with date labeling all of the pastry items, placing them accordingly onto the pastry cart; croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Then, you move onto organizing syrups and setting toppings along the bar where drinks are made. Bar is your personal favorite position-- since you're able to make the drinks… Plus, you're so busy that your shift goes by way faster. The sooner you're done, the sooner you get to go home and sleep.

“All set?” Jimin questions when you finish setting the steaming pitchers next to the espresso machine, tossing the rag he used to wipe down tables into the sanitizer bin. You give him a nod, taking a quick once over of the bar. “Alright,” he claps, “let's do this.”

This morning runs like every Friday morning, busy and fast. The sounds of coffee glasses clinking and the calling of customer names at the hand-off station echoes through the air.

Ahhhh, the scenery in coffee shops; the quiet hush over the room as soft jazz plays over the speakers. It’s soothing, all encompassing, and extremely helpful for motivation… You used to go to a local cafe for homework when you were still in school.

You take a breath, relaxing against the back counter as you overhear a conversation a group of regulars are having. It’s the usual small talk: the weather, families, sharing pictures of recent events. Coming up with questions of the day for customers becomes easier after knowing their stories, so you subconsciously listen in often.

Because of this, you almost don't notice the man waiting at the register, wholly delved into the neighboring conversation— only looking over when you hear your name called.

"Y/n?"

You turn your head, catching eyes with the stranger behind the counter who holds his credit card ready. The first thing you notice is that he's young, probably around your age, wearing a brown turtleneck and white slacks. His eyes are dark, standing above his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. His hair is dark as well, forehead drowning within the wavy bangs that fall over his eyebrows as he takes you in. To be completely honest, he's probably the most handsome man you've had the pleasure of seeing… is that weird? You don’t know him… maybe that is weird.

The second thing you notice is that he looks completely anxious, hands grasping the edge of the counter like there's a thousand-foot drop below him. Why is he looking straight at you while doing that? Maybe you should call Jimin to take ove-

“Is it really you?” He questions, taking you aback.

"I-" You clear your throat, walking forward to meet him at the register, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

With an intake of breath, he releases the counter as he studies you. Was he… crying? You swear his eyes were not this bloodshot three seconds ago.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?...possibly.

You shake your head slightly, “I… I’m sorry. I don't-"

Wait… is he a regular? You swear you haven't seen him come into the cafe before. Shoot.. What if he is? The number one thing your boss has made perfectly clear: remember the regulars, so they come back and feel at home; recognized. Customer connection was the most important thing at the Academia Cafe… He's probably a regular.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

He's staring at you. Full-on staring, jaw slacked. Shifting uncomfortably in your keds, you eye beside you to see Jimin working away at a macchiato. You consider changing places, nearly walking over to him before the customer speaks again.

"It's- It's Taehyung."

You force a smile, nodding while he continues to stare at you. He seems a bit more hesitant, his eyes looking in different directions but ultimately falling back onto your own. Even if he tried, he couldn't hide the rosy color that spreads onto his cheeks. What was this guy's problem?

"Taehyung! Awesome, well, what can I get for you today?" You chirp, attempting to brighten up your increasing discomfort. He might have mistook you for someone else, you decide, jumping back into your customer service personality: kind and quick to the point.

Taehyung doesn't move, training his eyes on you. You've never had a man's undivided attention before, since boyfriends were never an option. When you were a teenager, you stayed home most of the time in your hometown, and the boys there were all just in it to take your pants off. You avoided them and never really caught their attention, so you can't help the uncomfortable blush that grows on your cheeks. It’s short lived though, your nerves dissolving as soon as you notice a single tear fall onto the front of his shirt.

Oh. Okay, he’s definitely crying.

"Sir..." You begin, leaning in closer to avoid drawing attention. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" The shake in his voice is evident as he puts his credit card back into his wallet, still refusing to break eye contact. “Excuse me." Without another word, he turns on his heel and rushes towards the exit, clocking a customer in the shoulder in his rush. He apologizes quickly, bowing to them before glancing behind to make eye contact with you once more.

You wish you could read minds, wondering what the hell is going through his brain… but you notice the tiniest gleam of a hopeful smile that hides on his lips.

And then he’s gone.

“I swear it was the strangest thing, Jimin.” You speak nervously, tugging at the strings of your apron and lifting it over your head. It had been busy all day, despite a quick thirty minute break when everyone had left and the cafe was suddenly a deserted island. You appreciated the busyness, it made your shift go by faster. Right now, all you wanted to do was go home, eat a fat bowl of icecream and distract yourself from the events of today with a movie. Thank God your shift was over.

“Maybe he thought you were someone else?” Jimin insists, taking a bite into the extra Blueberry Muffin you’d accidentally heated when you were distracted by the events that occurred earlier.

“Yeah? Well, I must be the spitting image because he was totally freaked out.”

“You never know, y/n. Or, maybe he just used that as an excuse to talk to you.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, throwing your rolled up apron at him harshly before you grab your belongings.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. This guy looked like he had seen his ex… He was crying. I don’t think he was into me.”

“Maybe his eyes were watering from the cold wind?” He offers.

“Enough to cry actual tears?” You scoffed, “C’mon Jimin.”

He shrugs defensively, picking up his things so the two of you can head out a few minutes earlier than usual. Whenever the baristas have a chance to leave early, they take it. “If he comes back, then ask him: hey, dude, what’s your deal?”Jimin works his way through the cafe, throwing an excess chair upside down onto the table with the rest of them.

You hold your hand above your heart, which is still beating at a faster pace due to this discussion. Can hearts even beat this fast? This can’t be healthy… “Oh wow, you have such a way with words. That definitely won’t make him feel uncomfortable!”

Yes. Sarcasm coping mechanism.

“Y/n.” Jimin meets you at the door and puts his hands on your shoulders, making extra sure he has your attention. “Go home. Don’t think too much into it… He was probably high or something and mistook you for his ex that dumped him and now he’s moping through the city and getting into all sorts of trouble and he’ll forget that he even came here tomorrow morning. Okay?”

You nod slowly, exiting the cafe with Jimin on your tail. "Don't worry, y/n." Jimin adds, "He probably won't even come back." He locks the door and gives you one last thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction, calling out at the last second. “See you tomorrow!”

The forced smile on your face appears again (looks like this was a regular occurrence today), waving him goodbye.

Yeah… tomorrow.

Jimin was right. The handsome crying stranger was probably never coming back.

It has been a few weeks since you met him for the first time. Now, it feels like a distant memory. He hadn’t shown up to the cafe the day after the encounter, or the day after that, or the day after that, and eventually you’d come to the conclusion that he was probably never going to show his face again out of pure embarrassment. You can’t say you blame him. You’d be embarrassed too if you stared at and cried over a random stranger.

Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment... You'd kind of hoped you could figure out what his problem was, maybe ease his mind a little if you really did look like a past lover. You would make sure he knew that it wasn't you. What if he was avoiding the cafe because he literally thought you were someone else? Great… now you just feel bad.

"Y/n? Are you listening?" Jimin beckons over the phone.

"Huh? What?" You bounce back to reality, the soft comforter of your bed lying beneath you as you stare out the window. Thanks to your wonderful apartment search, you have a beautiful view of the city. Jimin had helped you find a place when you first moved here. The two of you had met when you visited to check out the first apartment options; he even took you out for a drink afterward to celebrate the first days' completion. Jimin had immediately clicked with you, as he does with everyone-- he was the kind of person to make friends insanely quickly. He must've been super popular in high school... unlike you.

"Y/n Y/l/n. I am giving you a chance to meet more people, and you're not even listening to me!" He cries, a light smack coming from the other end (probably from him slamming his hand on the table).

"Okay, okay-- I'm sorry. I'm listening now; what's up?"

With a deep sigh, he speaks again. "Party. My house. Tonight. It's not gonna be wild, don't worry... it's just a get-together with some of my friends, and you can have a few drinks if you would like to."

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you look over towards the clock on your nightstand. 5:00. "I don't know..." You begin, the bed shifting as you raise into a seated position. "I have to work tomorrow morn-"

"Already got your shift covered." He deadpans.

"What??"

"I already got your shift covered, so you have no excuse."

This sly guy.

"Who covered it?" You question, setting the audio to speaker-phone as you rummage through old text messages you haven't gone through (to prep for your "thank you for covering my shift" text message).

“Jin.” Noted.

“So…” Jimin continues, “are you coming?”

You can't even remember the last time you met new people, let alone gone to a party. Parties weren't necessarily your thing, especially with your busy schedule of workdays and auditions-- you just never had the time. You should be excited, right?

Well, you aren't.

"Jimin, I don't know… I'm not really a huge fan of parties." You mumble over the phone, picking at the lone string that popped out of its stitch on your comforter.

"Y/n, it's a small get-together, and it's not gonna be that kind of party. Believe me; it'll be really chill. It's just me, you, a few other coworkers, and some friends from my journalism class."

You chew at your bottom lip, looking over at your closet to see a single green cocktail dress that you hadn't worn in years. The memory of the dress was a good one… you had just finished up curtain call for The Addams Family and wore that dress to the after-party. It's a short sleeve, layered green dress that flows just over your knees, the same color sash tying the waist in a floppy bow. You blush at the memory of winning best dressed.

A pause, “Okay.” You conclude. “I’ll go.”

Jimin was honest about how chill it would be; soft music plays in the background as the group sits around the table playing cards. A basketball game is playing on the TV, desperate for attention as a player scores a 3-pointer, but no one is watching. Shuffling of cards is the only sound heard in the room as the game continues.

The atmosphere is calm… quiet…

“BULLSHIT.”

The immediate crumble of everyone’s mood causes the loud “HELL YEAH” that makes you jump in your seat.

"And that is how it's done, Ladies and Gentlemen." Jungkook (your fellow coworker) claps, his smile brighter than the sunset that seeps through the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's on cheating!" Jimin picks up the cards in the center of the table, gathering them clumsily back into a pile.

"It's called having skill," Jungkook replies, holding his hands up as he smirks at his opponents.

"No, it's called luck." Yoongi finalizes as he puts his hand of cards down on the table with a roll of his eyes. You haven’t met Yoongi before until tonight. He’s one of Jimin's friends from Journalism Class.

When you arrived, you decided to sit out of this round and learn to play before joining the game-- knowing you; you would've been crushed within the first minutes of playing. Card games weren’t exactly a skill of yours— board games on the other hand were where it’s at! That, and charades. For the sake of the party, a card game didn’t sound too bad this time around— so you poke at Jimin to give you the hand as he serves cards for everyone else.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Jimin pauses, his hand disappearing beneath the table to grab his phone. “Hello?”

“I’m not Irish, so does luck really count?” Jungkook questions in a hushed whisper, nudging Yoongi in the side.

“Oh hey...yeah... it’s apartment 205.” Jimin continues.

“You’re so funny, Jk. Maybe you’ll actually become successful if you choose stand-up comedy rather than becoming a musician.” Yoongi replies nonchalantly, his cat-like eyes staring at the abandoned pile of cards before he seems to come to the decision to shuffle them himself. He gives you a small smile when you hold your hand out to signal that you’re joining in this round.

“Mhm, you can just walk on in! Doors unlocked… okay.. alright, see ya in a minute.” When Jimin's phone is down, Yoongi passes a hand of cards to him.

“Think you can beat me, Y/n?” Jungkook asks,”Since apparently these four can’t?” He motions to Yoongi and Jimin, glancing at the other two players of the game: Hoseok (Jimins other classmate) and his girlfriend, Faith.

“I think I can.” You say, smirking at the determined expression on Jungkooks face. Even if you weren’t very fond of card games, there was one thing you were even less fond of: losing.

“Mmm, might want to rethink that, but okay.” Jungkook replies. The two of you are death staring when the sound of the front door creaking open catches the attention of everyone else at the table. Jimin shoots out of his chair.

“Taehyung!”

You freeze.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?... possibly.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

"It's- It's-."

“Taehyung, you just missed me creaming everyone in bullshit.” Jungkook boasts. Your eyes are glued to the side of Jungkook's head, not daring to make eye contact with the source of your nerves the past few weeks.

“Oh did I?” The familiar, deep voice utters.

Okay.. you can’t help but look…

Holy—it’s actually him.

Immediate regret sinks into your soul when you see him. God, he’s even handsomer than you remember. A white woolen sweater hangs over a pair of his black pants, matched with white sneakers and accenting the head of dark wavy hair you’d been thinking about since you last saw him.

“Yep!” Jungkook continues. “And now Y/n’s about to get shitfaced too.”

The moment his eyes swiftly glance your way is the moment you crumble and turn your head back to Jungkook. You had hoped to make a sly remark, something along the lines of “in your dreams,” but you’re caught breathless from the tension in the room. The tension only the two of you are aware of. He must be tense too, right?

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.” You hear out of Taehyung's mouth, stealing a look at his face once more. He’s smirking at Jungkook, hanging his coat on the hook beside yours, oblivious of the way you’re basically dissecting his every move.

“Have you met Y/n?” Jimin questions, provoking Taehyung's eyes to fall back onto yours. This time, you don’t look away.

He doesn’t answer right away, making you more nervous than you should be— the silence deafening as you make to explain, “We-“

“No.” He states plainly, cutting you off. An innocent smile plays on his lips as he looks at Jimin and places his messenger bag beside the door.

No? Uhhh, was he not the guy who pretended to know who you were and cried in front of you without even explaining why? Nope, it’s definitely him.

“I’m Taehyung.” He calls in your direction, offering you a boxy smile and a small nod, “Don’t let Jungkook fool you. A girl pinched him when we were in grade school. He barely lasted five seconds before running away screaming.” Taehyung moved to the table, sitting beside the man he just brutally embarrassed.

“That girl was terrifying. She was way taller than all the other sixth graders. It was an unfair situation.” Jungkook protested, sinking in his chair as he shuffled the cards he held in his hand.

You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at Taehyung. Was he embarrassed of his outburst at the cafe that he just hopes you forgot about him? You guess you didn’t exactly meet each other, other than a few words exchanged before he disappeared out the door. He probably doesn’t want his friends to know about what happened. Or did he not recognize you and completely forgot about the whole ordeal?

Okay, it’s fine… totally fine.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you laugh, “no more coming in late, Jk. Or I’ll have to pinch you.”

Jungkook merely rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. You see the crinkle in Taehyung's eyes as he laughs, the boxy smile taking root on his face again… a smile you’ve begun to enjoy the look of.

Hey. Snap out of it. This guy is so confusing. That’s a red card.

You straighten up in your seat, catching Jimin's attention when you move towards the kitchen, motioning with your hand to signal that you’re getting another drink. You have a feeling you’re gonna need some more alcohol to get through the evening.

Jimins place is clean, every knick knack placed neatly where it belongs; accompanied by the smell of potted plants that he keeps by his windows. Little name tags are attached to the plant stems: Flo, Sprout, Bob. He names his plants. Sweet.

He, like you, has a great view of the city too, a mid-size window perched above his breakfast nook where a small potted plant (quotabley named “bean”) grows. The city is bustling below as you reach for a beer, shrugging off the fact that you hate beer, but at least the taste will distract you from Tae-

“Hey.” You hear a soft voice call from the kitchen archway. When you turn you nearly drop the bottle out of your hand. Taehyung gives you a soft smile.

“Hey! Uh.. did you want a beer, or are you a wine guy?” You question, cringing at how much higher your voice sounds at his close proximity.

“I— Sorry, neither.” He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way around the island. “I uh- I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nod slightly, “Yeah of course… what’s up?”

“Um,” he’s nervous, you notice. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing at the cafe a few weeks ago.. I was— not in the right state of mind.” He meets your eyes hesitantly, “you just look like someone I know from a long time ago and it kind of.. took me by surprise, I guess.”

Jimin was right. You offer him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief, “You know what, I truly thought that was the reason… It’s totally fine. I’m not who you think I am, by the way.”

A flicker of something crosses his features at your comment, something you can’t quite pick up, but he changes it quickly to a smirk. “Obviously.” He laughs, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.. I’m not weird, I swear.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all say.” You tease.

He laughs, a soft sound that you want to hear over and over again. “You’ve got me there.” He takes a pause, placing his hands on the island countertop. “Let’s start over? If that’s okay? I didn’t want to mention it when I came in because I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

You push down the questioning thought of who this woman he mistook you for was, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “That’s totally okay.. clean slate?”

“Clean slate.” He finalizes.

“Straightforward,” You add, “I like it.”

He gives you a warm smile, the same edge in the way he looks at you dances in his eyes before he breaks it off, sliding the bottle of beer out of your own hand. “Actually, I think I will have a beer. You don’t seem like a beer drinker, anyway.” He turns quickly, smirking at you before striding out of the room. “Thanks, Y/n!”

Protestations die on your lips as he disappears from the room, your beer along with him. How rude. You can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn back to the cupboard, skipping the beer and pouring yourself a second glass of wine. You weren’t a beer drinker, after all.

Although you weren’t one for parties, you couldn’t help but admit the fact that you were having a good time. No, a great time. All of you are seated in Jimins living room; a plate of chips sits on the coffee table, which was the hot spot of the night (considering there’s hardly any remaining). Others in the group still have a glass of alcohol in their hands, the tipsiness evident by the slurring of their words. You had stopped yourself after half of your second glass, playing it safe since you still have to walk home after the party. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway-- your family history being the root of this decision.

It isn’t the games that made the night this enjoyable, or the food, or the movie that is currently playing over Jimin's television (which, by the way, is Moulin Rouge, because half of the room enjoys musicals, and the other half enjoys regular movies. So, you decided to settle on a movie musical). None of that matters, except the fact that you’ve never felt this carefree in a long time.

For one night, you can put aside your cafe job, auditions, and never-ending to-do lists and just have fun. Real fun. Even in the audition rooms, it has never been fun for you. It’s been nerve-wracking to a fault and always ends with a “thank you for taking the time, but we’ve decided not to accept you this time around,” or a callback, which ultimately concludes with the same grueling fate.

But this is different.

This is a group of people who genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you… with no “not this time’s” or open-ended questions.

Especially with Taehyung. You’re surprised at how quickly the two of you seemed to hit it off, despite the awkward introduction. Now, it feels like he’s known you for years… in the best way. You’re comfortable talking to him, chatting together during the movie about the plot points or songs you find specifically endearing. You had initially planned to sit next to Jimin… but ended up next to Taehyung on the couch.

It just happened.

He enjoys musicals as well, you learn. Maybe not as much as you do, but at least he doesn’t despise them. He’s one of Jimin’s friends from their shared art class. He loves the color brown. His favorite food is watermelon. He does illustrations for Jimins journalism projects (which, in your opinion, are exceptional from the photos he showed you during the movie while the others were engulfed in the film). He wishes to pursue traveling journalism, where he draws what he sees rather than taking pictures. His whole aura is warm… like a heated blanket that envelopes you whole when you feel him shift beside you on the sofa. A small reminder that he’s still there.

Okay, you’re liking his presence way too much.

He finds romance movies corny but a guilty pleasure nonetheless. This, the reason why he agreed to watch Moulin Rouge despite the cheesiness in the beginning. In the end, it was anything but cheesy.

"Well, that was stupid." Jungkook scoffs, slamming the remote onto the neighboring loveseats' armrest. The once loud room filled with music is now quiet from the after-effects of the movie.

“I told you it was sad!” Jimin exclaims. The two of you had seen this movie before in theatres… and this was nothing compared to how the ending hit the first time. “Y/N was nearly choking. She was crying so hard when we saw it.”

An immediate blush rises onto your cheeks as you shake your head in defiance, trying to hide the tears that had been stinging your eyes for the last thirty minutes. “Who wouldn’t cry at that??”

“Taehyung probably didn’t. He never cries.” Hoseok deadpans. Ha. You can’t help but remember the tear that ran down his face in the cafe… He never cries?

With a quick look over your shoulder, you find that Taehyung is no longer seated on the couch. When did he get up? You attempt to shrug off your curiosity, pivoting back towards the chip table where only sad little crumbs remain. You were worrying way too much over a man you quite literally just met tonight… even if it felt like you’ve known him for much longer.

Taehyung eventually reappeared, stating that he had to use the bathroom— you ignored the fact that it took him a solid 30 minutes to get back to the party. It wasn’t your place to ask any questions, especially since he lifted a smile onto his face the second he reentered the room. See, y/n… nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t long before you insisted you head home, knowing that you’d curse yourself in the morning if you stayed out past the sunrise. If you did, you’d sleep through tomorrow, and that would be awful. You’ve done this a few times… and every time, you felt like you had wasted an entire year of your life.

You move to grab your purse and jacket, which are hanging comfortably on the hook beside the front door. With a small smile, you bid everyone goodnight— smiling as they resume a card game around the table at one o’clock in the morning. It’s nice to know that the group of you hit it off… now; you can look forward to plenty of get-togethers in the future.

Your mind is bustling with all kinds of ideas: picnics in central park, late-night broadway shows, hangouts at the caf-

“Y/n!” The soft calling of Taehyung's voice causes you to halt near the exit, turning on your heel to see him jogging towards you. He had haphazardly thrown his jacket over him since it’s still being tugged onto his body as he runs. His hair becomes even more chaotic in his haste… Why do you want to run your hands through it?

“Hey!” You squeak, interrupting your thoughts before they trudged down a guilty road. “What are you doing? Weren’t you going to play another round?”

He gives you a smirk, catching his breath as he holds out your house keys. “You forgot these! You were really moving fast… sick of us already?”

“Wh— oh my god, thank you!” With a quick swipe of your hand, you’re stuffing your keys into your pocket with a grateful smile. “Also, hardly.”

You admire the way his eyes light up at your confession. “Well.. since you don’t want to leave us so quickly.. how about I walk you home?” He seems almost hesitant asking, but you can’t help but applaud him for actually taking the initiative to inquire.

You shake your head, pulling the strap of your purse farther up your shoulder. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to!” He cuts you off quickly, catching you by surprise as he moves past you to open the door. He glances back, taking in your reluctant expression, “It’s not safe this time of night Y/n… You shouldn’t be alone.“

You know he didn't mean anything by that statement… But the idea of someone genuinely caring and not wanting you to be alone makes your heart swell. Jimin cares about your safety of course, but this feels… Different.

This is the reason why you allow him to walk you home.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, like a symphony that beckons you home. You’ve been feeling exhaustion seeping into your bones for the last ten minutes, but Taehyung's occasional brush of his arm as he walks beside you keeps you wide awake. He doesn’t think to apologize for accidentally touching you, but you blame it on the time of night. Delusion.

“How long have you lived in New York?” You question, wrapping your coat tighter around you to kick out the nipping air.

“About a year now,” He responds, shuffling his feet, “though it feels like way longer. You?”

“Three years.”

Taehyung turns his head towards you, eyes wide. “Wow, way to one up me.” With a teasing smile he continues, “You must know this city like the back of your hand.”

The truth is… you don’t. You came here for the sole purpose of making it on Broadway... you never really took the time to focus on anything else. Part of you wishes you had learned more, craved more, wanted more with your life—then you wouldn’t be so miserable when the one thing you do want doesn’t work out. “Yeah… kind of.”

If he hears the somber tone of your voice, he ignores it, turning against the wind as he walks backwards down the sidewalk. “It’s overrated in my opinion.”

You raise your head at this, “Why is that?”

“Everyone here has dreams… and those dreams get crushed more often than not.” He shrugs, “No one cares if you want to succeed, only if you already have.”

You stare at him for a moment, awestruck by the weight of his words. “But,” he adds, turning back towards the wind, “the ones who never give up and continue to chase that dream can become successful. Despite all of the no’s they might face, they always hold on till they hear a yes. That sounds like true success to me.”

Turning your head, you stare at the side of his face— admiring the way his hair tosses back a bit against the harsh winter winds. His words hit you way deeper than he probably realized, sinking into your chest with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. You’ve been contemplating recently on whether or not to give up on your dream… that maybe it just wasn’t going to work out for you. You have been trying for so long, and have repeatedly been let down. There was no way Taehyung could have known, which is why his words hit you as hard as they did. Despite the hardships, you’ve been here for three years and you’ve never given up or stopped trying to chase your dream.

That was an achievement, right?

“To be honest… I've heard a lot of no’s in my three years of being here.” You speak softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes it feels like there will never be a yes… but here I am. At least I'm still working— at a coffee shop, not on the stage.”

“It’s admirable that you keep going.” Taehyung glances at you over his shoulder. “It makes you different from a lot of people who have left the city when they faced failure. It’s something to be proud of. Plus, coffee shop or big stage, you’re in New York City and pursuing your gift. It’s special.”

When your eyes meet, you smile at him, feeling a sense of victory the longer you hold his gaze.

“Don’t give up, Y/n. No matter what.” He speaks genuinely, leaning towards you to nudge you gently on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his playfulness, giving him a nudge in return before your eyes downcast to your winter boots. The snow on the ground is fresh, powdery and sticking to the toes of your shoes. “Plus,” He adds, sucking in the chilly air, “you've got what others don’t have…”

This time when you meet his eye he has a serious expression, making sure he has your full attention as you round the corner towards your apartment building. His gaze is genuine, captivating… and a part of you hopes that the close proximity of your apartment wouldn’t cut this moment short. Finally, he speaks.

“You have passion.”

Taehyung's words weigh on you for the rest of your night. It started off as something simple, looking up audition songs for an upcoming off-broadway show your agent was telling you about. Then, you went to learning it. After that, putting on makeup. And finally, completely forgetting about your sleep schedule and filming an entire audition tape in your room at 2 in the morning (and you were belting… your poor neighbors). It wasn’t until four that you finally turned in for the night, not bothering to take off your makeup or get changed-- simply falling onto your pillow and blacking out the moment you hit it. You were definitely sleeping the next day away… but at that moment, you didn’t mind. Having a day off from your busy schedule wouldn’t be so bad.

“I sent in an audition tape two nights ago.” You speak confidently, wiping down the back counter that’s littered with coffee grounds. They stick to the rag like glue, tiny dots scattered along its white surface. If it weren’t for your apron,

and your expertly rolled up white turtleneck sweater, you would look alot like this rag right now.

“Did you?” Jimin questions from the bar, sleeving the cup before placing it on the handoff counter.

“Christopher! Medium cappuccino!” He calls, multitasking while he cranes his neck to still hear you.

“I did. I feel really good about this one..” You add, meeting him beside the bar as he lifts the pitcher up and down to create the latte-art of a flower in the center of the mug. You have tried sooooo many times to make latte art… and every time it ended up looking like a glob. A big, distorted snowball. Jimin was the master of latte art, always finishing it off beautifully with a whip of his wrist. The foam atop telling a story. “It was so late-- I was totally out of it… and yet I actually enjoyed myself while filming it. I just imagined being there.. In center stage.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/n!” He smiles, turning to place the hot mug next to the cappuccino.

“Caleb! Medium caramel latte!”

He was only half listening to you. The cafe was bustling, so it truly wasn’t Jimin's fault that he was sidetracked— but nothing could hold back the small smile that played at the edge of your lips. You had actually enjoyed singing for the first time in a while.. all because of Taehyung's Academy Award winning pep talk. Who knew that all you needed was for someone to tell you like it is. With a minuscule smile, you turn back towards the counter and lift the latte you’d whipped up this morning to your lips. Your distorted snowball is fully on display at the top.

Despite the busyness, the front register is deserted, giving you time to think for a moment about the pep talk... or rather, the person who gave you it.

“I think Taehyung likes you.” Jimin deadpans.

Uhhh… You nearly spit out your snowball at that— clearing your throat as you set it down slowly onto the wooden countertop. He speaks as if this is a natural conversation starter… it’s not.

“I’m sorry?” You croak.

“Taehyung.” He repeats, turning his head in your direction with a knowing smirk. “I think he likes you.”

You give him a scoff of disbelief, watching as yet another group of regulars enter through the door. “That’s not true, he just doesn’t know me… so he made an effort to talk to me.” If you weren’t studying the group, you would've seen Jimin giving you a scrutinized look.

So, now you have his attention.

“Y/n. It’s so obvious… He spent the entire night talking to you, he left moments after you did to give you your keys and he never came back. If that isn’t someone who’s interested, I don’t know what is.” Jimin is an expert at multitasking, finishing off two drinks at the same time and calling them out.

“Well, Jimin, when people don’t know each other, they get to know each other. It’s this thing called talking and becoming friends.” The sentence hangs in the air as the doorbell chimes, signaling that yet another customer has entered the cafe and into the swarm of regulars, but the two of you disregard the sound and continue on through your bickering.

“I’m just saying, Taehyung doesn’t usually talk to girls.” Jimin adds, wiping his hands off on the white rag seated beneath his espresso machine. “Even if they wanted his attention, he didn’t give it to them. I mean— he’s nice to girls, don’t get me wrong.. but he’s never talked to them like he did with you on game night. I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he got here.”

“He’s career driven.” You say quickly.

If you thought his smirk couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. “Yeah, girls don’t know that about him— meaning he told you, and not other girls.” Jimin deadpans.

You stare blankly at him. There’s no way. No way that a guy as attractive as Taehyung would even think about looking at you like that. There’s just no way. You’ve never had a boyfriend... or even a guy friend, until Jimin. Eventually, you’d accepted the fact that maybe you just weren’t that interesting. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Maybe you couldn’t flirt…. okay, you definitely couldn’t flirt— but that’s besides the point.

“He’s not interested in me.” You conclude.

“He is.” Jimin counters.

“He’s not.”

“He so is.”

“He’s so not.”

“Y/n. I swear to you. He’s interested and you need to shoot your shot.” He whisper-screams, throwing the rag in his hand onto the bar.

“Taehyung is not-“

A clearing of someone’s throat from beyond the register cuts your argument short, nearly making you lose your balance when you see who the source was.

You’re fairly certain you’ve turned pale.

Taehyung stands in front of you, eyeing between the two of you with an awkward expression. God, how long has he been standing there? “I figured I should step in before the two of you start fist fighting.”

“Hey!” The shrill of your voice causes you to wince.

“Hey.” He says with a smile, folding his arms in front of him and raising his eyes to the menu above your head. You can’t help the glare you send towards Jimin, who's notably holding back his laughter as he moves to the blender, the station farthest from the register. Ridiculous.

“What can we get for you?” You ask routinely, trying not to make it obvious that you were just talking about him… and praying that he wasn’t there to hear what the two of you were talking about.

“Hmm…” He looks especially good today, wearing a brown, long coat and a brown plaid scarf around his neck. He wasn’t kidding when he said his favorite color was brown, that’s for sure. It suits him. His hair is wavy, flowing to a point just under his eyebrows with a split off center, giving you the tiniest glimpse of his forehead. “How about an americano with hazelnut, and some cream?”

“We can do that for ya!” You have to force yourself to stop looking at him, pressing the buttons to ring up his order before you forget. You nearly overlook ringing up the hazelnut syrup. Why were you so dazed? He’s already placed his credit card into the chip reader, but your foggy brain asks anyway. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” He speaks as you move towards the bar beside the register. Grabbing an empty pitcher, you pour the milk inside and reach for the steamer. He drops a dollar into the tip jar, not giving you enough time to thank him for the unnecessary effort before he speaks again. “Are you free later?”

NEXT CHAPTER

enjoying this story? please be sure to like and reblog!! It would really help me out, and i would love to hear your thoughts and feelings regarding this work 🥺🤍 thank you for taking the time to read!!

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[bunnyywritings]

true love’s kiss

tenya iida x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k

requested by @coleluuviida : So may I request a iida tenya x gn! reader? The plot I want is where reader likes reading a lot of books and comics, they will read romance, action, horror, etc. So then one day reader and the dekusquad are eating lunch together, reader was quick eating their lunch so that they can continue reading their book but then iida ask about what their reading and reader go on and on how, and why they like the story with passion iida was listen with joy even the dekusquad are listening in. After that reader let iida borrow their book the rest is up to your imagination!

[a/n: thank you so much for trusting me with your request sweetheart!! i’m sorry it took so long but here it is, i hope you enjoy! I kinda got carried away...it’s been a while since i’ve properly written so i apologize if it’s not very good :/ without further adieu, here’s some adorable iida content cause he’s the best and deserves the world - yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´-]

It was never strange to see you with your nose buried in between the pages of a book. Your friends found it endearing.Some people, literally just Bakugou, found it a bit ridiculous. 

Denki and Kirishima made a game out of it. They would bet on the genre you were reading purely based on your reactions alone. If your cheeks ever got flushed and your eyes wide, 10/10 it was probably a cheesy romance manga. If your brows were furrowed and your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, it was a mystery novel. A forlorn look in your eyes ment it was some type of magical book with Knights, Wizards, and Dragons (oh my!)

But somebody in particular, albeit enamored by your love of literature, was also concerned.

Iida was in your group of friends and so he had witnessed first hand your obsession with finishing a book. Sometimes you wouldn't eat during lunch because you were so enthralled and when he did get you to eat something, you raced to finish your food so you could grab your book once more and pick up where you left off. You weren't much of a talker and no one at the table really minded your lack of conversation and let you be.

However, this time around, it was different. Iida noticed the bags under your eyes and knew that you hadn't been sleeping. You had been engaging in class and you were keeping up with your studies but the second you guys were allowed a break or you all were let out for lunch, you picked up your book and resumed reading.

Even as you walked with them to the cafeteria, your eyes hadn't left the page. You had your book in one hand and your other was gripping the end of Shoto's blazer, leading you to where you needed to go.

 "It must be a really good one this time." Kirishima muttered to Denki, both watching in amusement as you were being led around by a nonchalant Shoto.

So as you sat at the lunch table, Iida watched in concern. Even with your favorite food in front of you, you still hadn't put the book down. As much as he hated what he was about to do, he just couldn't do nothing.

"(Y/n), as much as I hate to disrupt your reading...I must know, is a book really more important than sleep? Or more important than eating a healthy meal?"

All conversation came to a screeching halt. No one had ever really disrupted your reading before...so no one knew what to expect when Iida spoke up. The seconds were tense as they ticked by and as you moved your hand, they all held their breath, but instead of bookmarking your page, your finger deftly slipped under the corner of the page and turned to the next one.

 "Huh...they didn't even hear you." Ochako giggled.

Sighing, Iida reached over and placed his hand flat on the pages, successfully obstructing your view of the letter on the pages.  

"(Y/n)..."

Normally, you'd be a slight bit annoyed that someone had interrupted you but it was Iida. Sweet, sweet Iida.

"Oh. Sorry." Your cheeks burned in embarrassment, "I must've not heard you. What's wrong?"

Iida sighs.

“I'm just concerned, is all. What's got you so interested?"

 "You really want to know?" He noticed how your eyes twinkled with excitement.

 "Yes, I really want to know."

And with that, you went off on a whole tangent.

Explaining the story from the very beginning. Giving character description with wild and elaborate hand gestures. Even going as far as adding sound effects to fight scenes. This was nothing new for Shoto or Midoriya. They had often asked about the stories you read and quite enjoyed hearing you re-tell them. Shoto never had anyone tell him bedtime stories but he assumes

this is what they would've been like.

Iida was stunned. Absolutely stunned. He's never seen you speak about something so passionately, other than the time he had asked you why you wanted to be a hero.

So as you went on and explained what you've been reading, he felt himself fall even more. He was intently listening.

You had been reading a rom-com style, action book about two knights going on a quest to slay a dragon to break an evil curse. There were wizards and mystical forest creatures. Once you finished, you had asked if he wanted to read it once you were done.

Now...this wasn't really Iida's cup of tea. Don't get him wrong, he loves sitting and enjoying a book but fantasy books

aren't really his style.

  "So..? Would you want to read it? Ya' know, see for yourself?" The look in your eyes was absolutely adorable, he couldn't possibly say no.

    "S-Sure, I'd love to borrow it."

He wasn't too worried though, you still had a few chapters to go and surely you'd forget about it.

Boy was he wrong.

As he was getting ready for bed, the knock on his door confused him. Upon opening the door, there you stood in your pajamas

with the book tightly clutched in your hands.

    "Sorry I took so long but here you go. Let me know what you think." You had an excited smile playing on your lips.

    "Oh...thank you." He reached out and took the book from your outstretched grasp.

He read through the first chapter before going to bed, slightly intrigued.

It took him about a month to read, maybe a little longer since he definitely took breaks and focused more on school than anything...but eventually, he finished. 

You had been hanging out in the common room when Iida had walked in, book in hand. It took you a while to notice since  you had been buried in another . 

    “Oh, hey Iida!” Ochako grinned. 

You turned and took notice of what was in his possession and your smile grew.

    “You finished! What’d you think?” 

    “Uhm well, it was quite...quite interesting-” He was fumbling with his words, something that’s a bit unusual for him. 

    “Oh...you didn’t like it?” your face fell and his heart dropped a little.

    “No, no! What I mean is that-!”

    “It’s okay, you can be honest. It’s not for everyone.” 

    “I did like it but there’s something that I didn’t quite understand. Why would they risk leaving the magma gem? From my understanding, it would’ve given them the abilities needed to slay the dragon.” The complete and utter confusion on his face was adorable. 

    “Come on, Ingenium!” You chuckled quietly. “If they had gotten the gem, they wouldn’t have been able to save their partner. Remember, sometimes the best strategy is to run and get help instead of fighting a fight that you can’t win.” 

    “But they didn’t even slay the dragon!”

    “They didn’t because that wasn’t needed to break the curse. The only way to break the curse was with true love’s kiss.” 

    “That’s not very logical. How would that break a deadly curse?” 

    “Don’t underestimate the power of love, Iida. It’s quite strong.” 

Upon hearing those words he looked up from the book and into your eyes...had they always been that mesmerizing? His heart hammered in his chest as he parted his lips to speak once more. 

    “W-would you show me?” This was a big leap of faith for him. He had confided in Midoriya a while ago when he realized his feelings for you, and ever the observant one, Midoriya had a feeling that you felt the same way. There had been multiple times where he had caught you gazing longingly at the class rep. 

Now you...you were stunned. Your cheeks had flushed red and your mouth was agape. Taking your silence as a rejection, he swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head. 

    “I apologize, that was quite forward of me. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” He placed the book down on the couch and got up. Once he turned away from you, you had realized that the words in your head never left your mouth so you reached out and grabbed his wrist. 

        “Wait…” your voice was barely above a whisper but he heard you and turned back around. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I’m just surprised that you feel the same way I do.” 

There was a small silence that followed but your body seemed to move on its own. You held his face in your hands, the feeling of your thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones sent the butterflies into a frenzy. 

    “Can I still kiss you?” Your voice was hesitant, quiet, and it made him smile, gazing into your eyes with such a fondness that it made your stomach do flips. 

    “Yes...please.” 

That was all you needed before leaning in, his eyes and yours fluttered shut as your lips met. Both of you were unsure but he trusted you and you trusted him. The feeling of his lips moving languidly with yours was absolutely euphoric. He tasted like mint and black tea, and his lips were soft. Gaining confidence, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer. 

After finally pulling away, he rested his forehead against yours. 

    “Believe it’s strong enough now?” 

    “Hmm…” His chest vibrated as he hummed in feign thoughtfulness. “I may need more convincing.”

[easily-infatuated23]

Hidden Kiss

a/n: this is based on a concept from the 2003 live action peter pan movie and I had so much fun writing this!! if you want this kind of situation with other characters let me know, i’d love to make this like a head cannon or something. I also have some requests i’m working on so don’t worry those are coming!

pairing: Platonic!Harry Potter x Gryffindor!Reader, Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: mentions of death

summary: There is something in the corner of the readers mouth, and it’s powerful

The day had been ordinary. Meals, classes, all as normal as they could be. When Professor Flitwick asked Harry to tutor a fellow student, he thought nothing of it. “Who is it I’ll be tutoring Professor?” Harry asked. “You will be tutoring Y/F/N Y/L/N. You will have access to my class room. She’s agreed to meet you here at 7 o’clock today”. Harry nodded and left the classroom to make his way to his next class. He didn’t know Y/N very well, or really at all. He knew that she was a Gryffindor in his year, and that was all. At dinner he asked Ron and Hermione about her. “Do either of you know Y/F/N Y/L/N very well?” The two shook their heads. “I do”. The three looked over at the voice, it was Neville. “She’s quiet but really nice. She also has the most amazing smile.” The three laughed a little at what they thought was Neville inferring he had a crush on Y/N. “No seriously, if you ask anyone who knows her they all say the same thing. There is something about her smile that makes you want to stare.” With that, Neville went back to his Herbology book. “Thats odd” Harry said. Hermione shrugged. “Speaking of, it’s 6:55 so you’d better get going” Ron said. “Yeah alright. I’ll see you guys later” Harry said. He left the Great Hall and made his way to the Charms classroom. When he got there, Y/N was waiting for him.

“Am I late?” he asked as he entered the room. “Oh no,” she began, looking up from her book “I’m just always early to things”. As Harry approached her, she smiled. Neville was right, she did have an amazing smile…but it was more than that. As the session continued, Harry kept looked at her lips. “Are you ok Harry?” she asked. He pulled his gaze up to meet her eyes. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about something”. “Ok”. She shrugged and smiled again. There was definitely something in the corner of her mouth. Every time he thought he saw it, it disappeared. When the session was over, the two walked back to the Gryffindor common room together. “Thank you for helping me Harry. I’ve been really struggling with this unit for some reason” she said as they climbed through the portrait hole. “My pleasure. Let me know when you want to meet again” he replied. When they walked into the common room, Ron and Hermione were sitting on the couch together in front of the fire. The two greeted Harry and then Y/N. “Do you want to join us for a bit?” Harry asked. She politely declined and left to go study more. “How was it?” Hermione asked. “It was good” Harry replied. “Did what Neville said about her smile hold up?” Ron added. Harry wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Her smile was definitely special but he still wasn’t sure exactly what he saw. He simply chuckled and nodded his head.

As the tutoring sessions continued, and as Harry got to know Y/N better, the thing in the corner of her mouth became more constant. He had also started to notice that nearly anyone who talked to her would glance at her mouth multiple times throughout the conversation, as if they thought they saw something too. It didn’t seem to bother Y/N. Harry wasn’t even sure she noticed it half of the time. He still hadn’t told Ron and Hermione about what he thought he saw. It was bad enough he was seeing and hearing things because of Voldemort, he didn’t want to add another thing to the list. After seeing more and more people stare at her mouth, he finally felt confident enough that he wasn’t the only one seeing something, so he asked them.

“There’s something different about her, have you noticed?” Harry asked. “Well I mean she always wears the same pair of shoes but I don’t think that’s-” “No I don’t mean like that. Have you ever noticed that whenever she smiles or talks or does anything really that there is something in the corner of her mouth?” Hermione and Ron looked at each other. “You mean like food?” Ron asked. Harry sighed in frustration. “No it’s like- there’s something hidden. It’s staring right at me but I can’t figure out what it is”. “Are you sure you aren’t imaging something?” Hermione asked. “No I’m not. Next time you see her look at the left corner of her lips, trust me.” Ron rolled his eyes.

They wouldn’t have to wait too long to look because moments later she entered the common room. “Hey guys, did you happen to write down the due date for the Charms essay? I sort of tuned out the last few minutes of that class accidentally” she said with a chuckle. “Oh yeah it’s due next Tuesday” Hermione replied, trying not to make it obvious that she was staring directly at Y/N’s lips. “Brilliant, thanks Hermione”. She smiled sweetly before turning and ascending the stair case to the girls dormitory. But, before she turned, they saw it. Hidden in the left corner of her lips was…something. It’s hard to describe what it was. “Did you see it? Right when she smiled, it was there” Harry said as he pointed to the left corner of his mouth. Hermione and Ron looked at each other again, this time not to judge Harry for seeing things, but realizing he was right. “It’s almost like an invisible sparkle” Hermione said. “Yeah it sort of draws you in” Ron added. “I’ve never seen or read about anything like that” Hermione said, nudging Ron slightly to break him out of his dreamy haze. “Maybe we should ask Luna, she knows about all sorts of weird things that don’t make sense” Harry proposed. It was decided. Tomorrow, the group would ask Luna if she knew anything about things hidden in the corners of peoples mouths. Harry had to admit, it sounded daft. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it was there.

The next day on their way to breakfast, the trio found Luna. “Hey Luna! Can I ask you about something that seems impossible?” She gave Harry an airy smile. “Nothing is impossible Harry Potter, just uncommon” she replied. Hermione couldn’t help but roll her eyes a bit. “It’s about Y/N, there’s something in the corner of her mouth and-” Luna stopped him. “Ah yes, her hidden kiss.” “Her what?” Ron asked. “Her hidden kiss. My mother had it too. It’s a special kiss that hides in the corner of your mouth. Only someone incredibly special to the one who has the kiss may receive it. It’s a powerful thing”. With that, she skipped away towards the Great Hall. “A hidden kiss? That sounds bonkers” Ron said. “It does but it also kind of makes sense” Hermione said. “How do you mean?” Harry asked. “Well, remember how Dumbledore said that your mother’s love protects you from You-Know-Who, maybe it’s another form of that. The one who receives the kiss, is protected by that persons love”. As unlikely as it seemed, the trio couldn’t help but feel like this had to be the truth. “We could also just ask her” Harry said. “But, maybe she doesn’t know she has it” Hermione suggested. “This is all a bit too mad this early in the morning, I’m going to go get some sausages” Ron said, making his way towards the Great Hall. Hermione gave Harry a slight smile and followed after Ron. Harry, however, wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more answers and now he had somewhere to start. He decided to go to the library and see if he could find some books on hidden forms of magic. When he got to the library, he flipped through as many as he could before his first class of the day. Nothing. He found nothing.

Once classes ended for the day, he decided to go back. When he entered the library for the second time that day, she was there. “Maybe she doesn’t know she has it” Hermione’s voice chimed into Harry’s head. He shook her voice away and decided to walk up and ask her. “Hey Y/N”. She looked up from her book and smiled at him. The hidden kiss sparkled. “Hi Harry. What brings you to the library for a second time today? If you keep this up, people will think you are up to something” she said jokingly. “How did you know I came to the library already today?” “You didn’t come to breakfast. Luna said you went to the library to look up hidden magic. It’s a very interesting topic” she replied. This was his chance. “Do you know much about it?” he asked, sitting down next to her. “I know a little. I know it usually occurs by accident and can sometimes be passed down or remain present through blood” she said, looking back down at her book. “Was there something in particular you were looking for?” He swallowed. It was now or never. “Yeah um… have you ever heard of a hidden kiss?” She blushed and then closed her book. “I see you’ve discovered my little secret. Although, I guess when it literally stares people in the face it’s not a secret”. He chuckled. “Yeah it’s a bit hard to hide. Luna told me a little about it but what exactly is it?” he asked. “Well, a hidden kiss isn’t necessarily magic in origin. I know some muggles who have it. It’s a special kiss that’s reserved for the one the bearer of the kiss loves the most or for an important moment.” “What do you mean by important moment?” She sighed. “Well, for example say someone you love is dying or has just died. If you give them your hidden kiss, it can revive them and bring them back to you. Even if you don’t have romantic feelings for someone, the kiss will still work if you feel a great amount of love for them”. “How did you get yours?” Harry asked. “I’m not sure. I was orphaned as a baby and and when I was brought to the orphanage I already had it. I’m guessing my mother gave it to me but I don’t think I’ll ever know.” She looked down at the desk and fidgeted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…but I understand” Harry said. She looked up at him and smiled slightly. “I know. Let’s just keep this and the kiss our little secret.” He nodded. “Do you want to come back to the common room and hang out with me Ron and Hermione?” he asked, feeling badly that he had made her sad. “Yeah, I’d like that” she said.

When the two entered the common room, there were eruptions of laughter. Fred and George Weasley were telling jokes and simply being themselves; and the whole room was cracking up. “I guess we’re late to the party” Harry joked. “Harry!” the twins said in synch. “And you’ve brought a new friend. Who’s this?” Fred asked. “Fred, this is Y/N”. “Nice to meet you” she said with a bright smile. Fred froze. Her smile was something out of this world. Harry and Y/N made eye contact and laughed. Harry walked away, patting Fred on the back as he went. Y/N laughed again. Fred still hadn’t moved. He was just staring at her. She waved her hand in front of his eyes. “Hello? Earth to Fred…” He snapped out of his daze. “Oh sorry, hi there it’s nice to meet you. Come join us” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the couches where most of her year was gathered. The group was very lively. Everyone was talking and laughing, but Fred couldn’t focus on them. He only saw her. It was like everyone else had disappeared and there was only the two of them. She hadn’t noticed his staring. She was telling a story about the time she thought she was feeding a stray cat that turned out to be McGonagall. She had never been this out going before, but she loved it.

The group started to thin as people left to go to bed until there was only Y/N, Fred, George, and Harry left downstairs. Harry was saying something to Y/N about Charms class for tomorrow when Fred whispered in George’s ear. “Hey can you take Harry and go upstairs. I want to talk to Y/N alone for a bit” he said. “Yeah sure, so long as you can actually get yourself to speak! I saw you earlier, that was embarrassing” George joked. Fred pushed him slightly as George got up. “Alright Harry, come on. Even the chosen one has to sleep” George said. “Oh shut up George! See you tomorrow Y/N” he said, getting up from the floor. “Night George, night Harry” she said. The two boys climbed the stairs and left Fred alone with Y/N. “You were quite popular tonight” Fred said, scooting closer to her. “I know right, it was so weird. I don’t think half of those people even knew I existed until tonight. I had a lot of fun though.” She smiled at him. Before he could think it through, he found himself reaching out and touching her face. Specifically, he grazed his thumb over the left corner of her lips. She held her breath. “Oh sorry, I don’t know why I did that” he said, retracting his hand. “You would be surprised how much that happens or almost happens to me” she said. He smiled slightly, not feeling as self conscious about his actions. “Maybe they can’t help themselves because you are so beautiful” he said. She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. “I have to ask-” he started. She chuckled and shook her head. “Yes there is something in the corner of my mouth. I’ll tell you what it is someday.” She cupped Fred’s face with one hand and placed a light kiss on his cheek. She stood up from the couch and made her way to the stairs. She stopped at the bottom and turned back to face Fred’s blushing face. “Goodnight Fred”. Fred turned back to face the fire and smiled. There was something different about this girl. Something that drew him in and made him feel like everything would be alright.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N got closer to the Weasley twins, Fred especially. What had previously been a chaotic duo, became a slightly less chaotic trio. Y/N balanced Fred and George out perfectly. She liked to follow rules and managed to use her good standing with the Professor’s to get the two out of trouble multiple times. Fred and George managed to get Y/N to let loose and have more fun. “I wish we had all become friends sooner, I feel like I am finally the best version of myself and it’s all thanks to you guys” she said one day, pulling them in for a hug. “We love our little stick in the mud” Fred joked. She scoffed and laughed as she pushed him. “How dare you I am not a stick in the mud, George back me up here!” she said. “This is between you two, I’m getting out of here before it gets ugly” he joked, walking away. “There’s only one way for you to prove you aren’t a stick in the mud any more.” Fred said, taking a step closer to her. “Oh yeah and what’s that?” she asked, matching his step. “You agree to go on a date with me where we forget about rules and do whatever we want”. Her jaw dropped and she pretended to look around in awe at a fake audience. “Oh my goodness did the Fred Weasley just ask me on a date?” she joked. “Yes he did” Fred replied, taking another step closer to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. “Then I accept” she said. One date turned into two, turned into five, turned into a loving relationship still going strong two years later. Y/N was certain that Fred was the person she would spend the rest of her life with.

As the inevitability of a war crept up on the wizarding world, Fred and Y/N felt like their relationship was the only thing that was stable. With Snape as Headmaster of Hogwarts and Fred not there with her, Y/N felt hopeless most days. That is, until, the day Harry Potter returned. When the trio climbed out of the portrait hole behind Neville, Y/N could barely contain her happiness. This was something to hold onto. This happiness only grew when McGonagall got rid of Snape, and the Order of the Phoenix entered the Great Hall. As soon as they could, Fred and Y/N ran to each other and embraced. Fred held her so tightly she thought she might pass out, but it would be worth it. To have the man she loved back by her side was all she wanted. This reunion was cut short however, preparations had to be made and a war had to be fought. Y/N fought harder than she ever had. The battle was brutal. When the break in the fighting came, she ran to the Great Hall to find Fred. And find him she did, lying dead on a stretcher.

When George saw her approach, he ran to her and hugged her close. “He’s gone Y/N, what are we going to do?” he sobbed. She knew what she was going to do. She pulled herself out of the hug and ran towards Fred’s body. “Everybody stand back” she said as she lowered herself down next to him. “Darling I’m sorry but he’s gone, there’s nothing we can do” Molly Weasley said, tears streaming down her face. She looked up at her. “Trust me” she said. Y/N turned back to Fred and whispered in his ear. “This is, and always will be yours”. She then pressed her hidden kiss to his lips, giving him all the power she could muster. Everyone couldn’t believe what happened next.Their lips, still locked together, began to glow slightly. The wind outside the Great Hall picked up suddenly. Everyone was looking around trying to figure out what was causing this. She pulled away slowly and laid on his chest holding him as closely as she could, her eyes squeezed shut. The wind whooshed into the room and began to swirl around Fred. It was so forceful people had to hold onto each other to stop from blowing away. Fred’s colorless skin began to turn pink. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the wind disappeared. Everyone held their breath. “Come back” Y/N whispered. Then, she felt a small rise from his chest. She opened her eyes and sat up slowly, staring at Fred. His eyes fluttered open. “Hello love, miss me?” he said. She exhaled happily and hugged him closely as he sat up a bit. The family was amazed. They rushed in and all hugged Fred, crying now of joy and not sadness. “What was that?” Ron asked from the hug. “That, was her hidden kiss” Harry replied knowingly.

[nibeul]

Please I want to know more about your clones 🤔🤔

I am so late to responding to this but GLADLY!! I love gushing about them though I have so many (like 50 I think) so I will try to stick to my main group ahh :)

Cross (he/him): Cross was my first clone OC ever, so he holds a very special place in my heart even if I do not draw him often enough. He’s a commander (CC-0044) and was present on Geonosis, though later returned to Kamino to help Alpha with the CC training program.

He got his scar in 21BBY and it’s actually not from the battlefield (none of his scars are actually from the battlefield). The scar comes from being whipped by a lightsaber hilt, which sounds funny out of context, but it wasn’t an accident.

He’s batchmates with @katanrocksketches ‘s OC Asch! The two were pretty close when they were in training, and Cross got his name before leaving Kamino. It was given to him because of his kind of uhhh, “cross nature” or disposition pfft. He softens up a bit between 22BBY-20BBY though the walls go up again after that :’)

Coming off Kamino, he was a stickler for rules and was not a big fan of clones tattooing themselves/dying their hair and whatnot (he didn’t even like having a name at first though his batchmates used it enough that it begrudgingly stuck). After meeting Sunny though, he lets him do one tattoo and ends up getting his number underneath his left eye. It is like, staying to how he believes they should be while also accepting that it’s ok to be individual.

Cross’s favorite color is red because for him, red represents Ando (my Padawan OC) and they are very close (NOT IN A ROMANTIC WAY. He sees Ando as his little brother or kih’vod to protect).

Cross actually does not know a lot of Mando’a because of his belief that they should not try to be seen as individuals. He distanced himself from anything that he considered “individualization”, and Mando’a was included in that. Sunny teaches him a little bit later down the line, and Ando also teaches him and Ten (another clone OC of mine) some Togruti, too

Part of Cross’s strict disposition comes from being subject to Priest’s death circles on more than one occasion (I might retcon that to Adral—a mando OC of mine—because I hate KT Ugh).

By the end of the war, he carries a lot of guilt. He loses a lot of the people he’s closest to because of his actions/orders, and he uh. Doesn’t live past O66 :’) he does get a very quick.. redemption.. arc.. kinda..

Sunny (he/him): Sunny was my second clone OC made around the same time as Cross, and he also holds a very special place in my heart :) I really love clone medics, there is just something about them that makes my brain go brrrr. I also think the irony of his name is great

Sunny’s name was originally Sers, but after writing him for a few weeks, I changed it because I thought Sunny fit better. His name was given to him by his batchmate, Aran, and while he vehemently protested against it, the name ended up sticking. He won’t admit that he actually likes it (though the tattoo and painting of his armor say otherwise anyway)

Sunny is the CMO of the 409th Corps (my OC military group basically). He’s a Lieutenant (or at a rank around there, definitely a CO at the least) and he does not back down. Ever. Even the people who outrank him will fall into line if he tells them to, Jedi included. He is not afraid to pull rank as a Medic, and his resting bitch face can be very scary

On the same line of thought as the rbf, he is basically perpetually scowling. He does not look approachable at all

Sunny loses the entirety of his batch on Geonosis, including Aran who he holds onto while he is dying. The Jedi leading Sunny’s company was.. not accustomed to war and failed to adapt when it was needed. Because of this, Sunny doesn’t necessarily harbor a dislike of Jedi, though he does not really trust many of them in leading positions. He also does not like that there are kids being put in the role of commander, he does see many Padawan deaths (he later comforts a dying Padawan that he was close to, I think I wrote part of that scene for myself and it was kinda upsetting oof) —> he gets his tattoo/paints his armor in order to honor his dead batchmates

Throughout the war, Sunny gets seriously injured only once after going down in an LAAT (where he nearly ends up dying too). Boost finds him, though he’s kinda accepted that he’s not gonna make it (I mean he does but it doesn’t look like he will for a bit). After Flip (younger clone OC) dies, he doesn’t really care if he kicks the bucket either :’)

Sunny is the only one out of my main gang to make it past O66. His chip doesn’t work at all, though he has to fight through his brothers (aha, the only ones who are still alive that he is close with) in order to save a Jedi youngling that was in the medbay at the time. After that, he goes on the run with the kid (clone dad clone dad) and offers his services as a doctor in the outer rim in order to keep them afloat

Boost (he/him) (she/her) [either or, there is no real preference]: Boost has gone through a lot of changes design wise. He started out as Dax, but then Dax became another OC, then she was Boost, though she had kinda short hair that was pushed back by a headband, then his hair was buzzed, and now we are finally at long hair Boost. Idk how to describe, but she is very shaped I think

Boost for his nickname from bear hugging his batchmates and lifting them off the ground when doing so. Also from fucking around in training where he threw another one of his batchmates in order to get from one ledge to another. All around just a name with silly origins that she liked and decided to keep

Boost and Sol are batchmates!

Boost is very tactically intelligent. She’s good at thinking on her feet, sees the bigger picture before focusing on details, good problem solver, etc. He is an ARC after all, there is good reason for his status and rank as a Lieutenant. That being said, he can also be very very stupid in the sense that off the battlefield, he’s oblivious. He does enjoy being the jokester of the group, and he sometimes plays up his dumbassery for jest, though yeah, a lot of people assume that he is not smart because of his demeanor which is very wrong

Boost is terrible. Terrible at braiding her hair. Sol is the best at braiding it, though she would never admit that even if everyone knows it. He started growing his hair out once they were off Kamino and hasn’t stopped since despite the fact that is technically not within regulations. Cross turns a blind eye and Ko (Jedi General) could not care less for inconsequential regulations like that

Boost is really good with kids, but good in the way a uhh.. chaotic uncle/auntie is. He’s a lot of fun to be around with, and being around kids makes him even more rambunctious than usual. He can be what is considered “childish”, pulling pranks and everything but like, he is very emotionally mature and knows when to be serious. Again, a lot of people kinda just boil her down to “dumb” which is really wrong, though it doesn’t bug him a lot.

Boost has a big sweet tooth!! He loves getting sweets when they’re on Coruscant, which they actually tend to visit frequently enough because of Ko’s status as a Sentinel (and also because Ko benefits what the Republic sees as the “propaganda machine” as a prominent General with a good track record).

Boost is romantically involved with @buttsalsa ‘s civilian OC Esta. I reblogged some art of them the other day, they are very cute :D

Boost doesn’t make it to Order 66 :’) I actually wrote out his death and cried after going back to read it LMAO It was rough

Sol (he/him): Sol was made as a package deal with Boost, and I feel bad because I think he gets overshadowed a lot but he is kinda like the rock for the group. When he dies, things really start to crumble but uh!! That is a sad thought for another time. Anyways, like I said, he is basically the rock and also a voice of reason for Boost’s shenanigans

Sol got his nickname after reading through some flimsi that their trainer had given him. He didn’t know if it had any meaning, but he liked the way it sounded and immediately began using it. Boost quickly picked up on it and the rest of their batch was very supportive

Sol loves reading. He specifically likes reading history, and Ando slips him what he can (fun fact, when Sol dies, Boost returns to their bunk to find a couple of holobooks that Ando had left and breaks down aha.. pain). Whenever he doesn’t feel like keeping Boost from causing trouble, he just sits in a quiet corner and reads his books while everything erupts in chaos around him

Sol’s favorite beverage is tea which Ko introduced him to. He has a few boxes he keeps with him when he can, and he shares them with Boost sometimes though he has to add a lot of sugar/honey in order to do that. If he could drink tea all the time, he could. On the flipside, he absolutely loathes coffee and doesn’t understand how Sunny can drink multiple cups on a day

Sol is kinda like the person that everyone is friends with even if they don’t realize it. He’s like.. the perfect emotional pillar, kinda the therapist friend in a group that desperately needs therapy. He’s more of a listener than a talker which is why it’s easy to overlook him, but he insists that he doesn’t mind much. That being said, it’s only once he’s gone that people start to realize just how much he did (aside from Boost who already thought the world of him)

Sol is also an ARC trooper, having gone through the training program together with Boost. He doesn’t have the same tactical knowledge that Boost does, but he’s good at mediating, long range combat, and also working through plans (he’s pretty meticulous). He and Boost balance each other out well, since he is like the “slow and steady” one out of them.

Sol is the first to go out of the main four (second out of my bigger group of six). He and his entire platoon are wiped out in a massacre as a result of false intel.. man :’)

Anyways, thank you for enabling to ramble about my ocs ToT I honestly just needed to infodump shdjf

[writingsweetroll]

**Summary: Louis has worries for his one year old, and Clementine soothes them by opening up about her own issues.**

Louis tried his best to not toss and turn, he really hated these beds. They were so springy, you do anything on it, so much as lay a hand on the mattress and it would make a springy noise. The noise wouldn’t annoy him as much if Clementine wasn’t laying beside him, he quickly found out she was a very light sleeper. It broke his heart that she wasn’t born a light sleeper, she just adapted to being one due to all of the trauma she faced. He wanted to make sure she got as much sleep as she could- so tossing and turning would definitely awaken her and that was the last thing he wanted.

So, he lay stiff as a board. Looking above to the mattress above him. He anxiously counted the number of bars holding the bed above him, distracting his mind to the best of his abilities. Because every time he couldn’t sleep at night, his mind went to dark places. *You have no idea what you’re doing.* He would think. That main thought spiraled out of control to other thoughts. But, that one main thought started from the time he was child, to now. It adapted to whatever situation he was in. As a child, ‘You have no idea what you’re doing’ related to the spelling bee, now, it is related to parenting his one year old daughter.

He grabbed the chair next to the desk, and placed it near the bed. He sat on it and watched her sleep soundly. A warm feeling was felt in his chest, unknowingly smiling ear to ear. He examined her features, and the midnight moon shone upon her face. She mainly had Louis’ features, his freckles, skin color, and eye shape. But, her lashes were full and her eyes were as golden as Clementines, her hair was also kinky just like Clementines. She was a perfect mix between the two.

*You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?*

Louis furrowed his brows as the thought entered his mind. No matter how many baby books he read, or conversations with Clementine he had about how to raise a baby into childhood, his mind was never satisfied with himself.

*To put your girlfriend through so much pain during her pregnancy, so selfish to bring a kid into this world, you’re a monster.*

That wasn’t true. Louis knew it. It wasn’t a mindless decision or an accident, it was multiple conversations and respectful debates about when or if they should start a family. After weeks, they decided together that they wanted a family, and they had enough resources to do so. And the pregnancy went better than expected, minor pain here and there, and the delivery had no scares. Thankfully, whenever Louis would remember this, it seemed as if thoughts grew quieter, and instead he imagined a world where the apocalypse wasn’t here. He wondered what her parents would think of him, or Lee, even Kenny. He didn’t know much about them, but he knew enough to know she cared deeply for them.

Suddenly, his daughter sniffled, causing him to go into panic mode. He calmed himself down once she went back to her normal state. It was spring, and it was just allergies but he was still terrified of her getting sick. Louis sighed, slouching against the chair now.

Although Louis truly thought he didn’t know what he was doing, he knew one thing. He’ll never be like his parents. His father, manipulative and a gas-lighter. His mother ignored it and was just focused on her public image instead.

*“Chin up, baby.” His mother whispered down to him. “Play your little piano and smile.”*

*His mother’s tone was sweet, and caring. But Louis wasn’t stupid. He knew his family milked his skills during fancy business parties like these ones. But, he played the piano nonetheless, because this was the only time he could truly feel like he had an audience that enjoyed his talent, his dream.*

*“My son! Ladies and gentlemen!” Louis’ father widened his arms towards Louis playing the piano. Families of prestigious wealth clapped for him. In this moment it was bitter sweet, should he feel happy that people enjoyed his music, or should he feel angry that his parents only supported him if it benefited them? Louis brushed off the confusing feelings and instead put his emotions into his music, making it authentic and oddly charming.*

*“Beautiful, Mandisa.” A woman patted his mothers shoulder. “You’ve raised a wonderful son.”*

Louis slightly groaned in irritation. ‘*They raised a horrible kid.’* Louis thought to himself. Now that he was older, he realized that he shouldn’t have beat himself up as much as he did when he was 17. Guilt had always occupied his mind when he thought about what he did, how he broke up his parents. But in reality, they raised him like that. They raised him to think of yourself first, not others. Survival of the fittest.

*“Please, I have a family William!”*

*Louis sat on the couch with his mother, they were just chatting when they heard the commotion coming from the office room. His father opened the door and held his hand out. “You’re not needed anymore, Mark.”*

*“I-I’m not needed?! Are you serious!? I helped you start this business, what the fuck man?!”*

*“But- Mark. You seem to forget. People like me. People like my beautiful ‘exotic’ wife, people love my son. What do you have Mark? A regular housewife, who’s pregnant and unattractive? A son who doesn’t excel in school? He doesn’t even have a talent to show off. You’re dragging me down. You understand, don’t you?”*

*“Excuse me?! The fuck did you-” Mark gulped as a security guard walked up behind him. “Fine.” Mark muttered.*

*The guard escorted the man out. Louis’ father looked at Louis with a smile, as if he didn’t just ruin someone’s life. “See son,” he started. “-sometimes, we have to make the hard decisions to get what we desire. It’s just business. Nothing personal.”*

Business came first, passion and feelings came last. That way of life ruined his childhood. He believed from a young age hurting others to get what he wanted was ok.

He gently stroked Willows head, *‘I’ll never teach you that.’* He thought to himself. No matter what, he’ll always make sure she knew it was ok to express herself, to talk about her feelings. He wanted her to know that no matter the situation, she was loved and *accepted.*

“I promise.” He whispered. “I promise I’ll give you a better life than mine.”

Suddenly, he felt slender arms wrap around his neck, a semi-heavy weight on his shoulders. He smiled, hearing Clementine mumble something out of exhaustion.

“What was that, darling?” Louis asked, holding her forearm.

“You’re doing great.” She yawned. “You don’t have to keep worrying Louis. You love her and that’s—“

“The bare minimum, Clem.” Louis cut her off.

“-not really. Not anymore.” Clementine said sadly. “Even back then, dads used to run out on their kids, unable to either provide a stable life or love. You could’ve ran out so many times, so many opportunities and you didn’t.”

“Why would I ever do that?” Louis replied, almost offended.

“I’ve seen it happen before. Of course I knew you wouldn’t but…there’s always that lingering exit you can take, and the urge is probably there for you-“

“Clementine.” Louis said sternly, waking her up a little. “I would *never* do that. Do you really think that?”

Clementine stayed quiet. In reality, no. Of course she knew Louis would never leave. It was just her inner insecurities popping out, she’d hidden it for years but it came out eventually. The *constant* fear that she would be alone again lingered in her mind. Louis noticed her silence and sighed. He got off his chair, and then hugged her tightly.

“Isn’t it crazy?” Louis chuckled.

“What?”

“How we only started dating a month into knowing each other.” Louis started, caressing her arm a bit. “Now, we’re in a family together. Clementine, I didn’t fight a war with you, fell for you in the middle of it, wrote songs about you, spent literally almost every second with you for the past 4 years to just leave.” Louis reassured.

“But now we have a kid.”

“Even more of a reason to stay. I mean *who* can actually say they have a kid with the most beautiful, bad-ass woman of the apocalypse world? Only me! I’d be a fool to run from that.” Louis joked.

She shook her head, a big smile on her face. Louis kissed the top of her head, pushing her slightly towards the bed, there he dropped her on it. She got into a comfortable position, and Louis lay next to her.

“I was serious.” Clementine broke the silence. “When I said you’re doing great. It’s not only the love you have for her Louis. You don’t even go to sleep before she does. Even though I tell you I got it. You care deeply for her and that *is* enough.”

Louis sighed, twiddling his fingers with one another, only staring at the bars above him. “I know. Thanks. Sometimes it just feels like I’m not enough, even before Willow.”

“Louis…” Clementine muttered sadly. The thought of him degrading himself saddened her. She sat up, grabbing his curious glance. Clementine took off her oversized sweater, a tank-top underneath. There was enough moon-light to see the faint, pink branded mark on her arm. She slid her fingers over it slightly, a grimace appearing on her face.

“You finally gonna reveal the meaning behind that?” Louis chuckled, over the years, she’d always refuse. ‘*The past doesn’t matter.’* She’d say.

Although he was joking, she wasn’t.

“I got this when I was 13.” Clementine started.

Louis shifted himself upwards, a frown shown on his face as he eyed the scar.

“I only did it to make sure AJ was safe. But, then he got ripped apart from me in the same group. After that, I had nothing more to lose. And when you have nothing to lose…you do scary, stupid things. I was horrible, Louis. I wasn’t the same person you know today.”

Louis nodded, taking in her words to the best of his ability. Trying not to react negatively in anyway.

“After I got AJ back—I only had *him.* If anyone ever—and I mean, *anyone* tried anything to hurt or kill him, I wouldn’t hold back. Yes I love AJ. I really do, but that feeling of hopelessness for your own self is so damaging.” Clementine opened up. After a brief moment of silence she continued. “I didn’t have hope for my own life, only for his. I didn’t mind if I got bit, as long as he was safe, I didn’t care. Not because I was sad or anything but because I just felt like this world wasn't for me. When I was a kid, I loved to be social, playful even. I've changed so much, I was forced to. I used to be innocent. Now, I'm finally getting some sort of my old self back."

Clementine grabbed Louis’ hand and squeezed it slightly. “You saved me.” She said, her tone hoarse. Louis squeezed back on her hand.

"I'm glad to be of service." He smiled at her. “I love you.”

She smiled, and kissed his cheek. “I love you too, Louis.”