#maybe we do need to tone it down. for the sake of my poor back.

[myveryownfanfiction]

Sharpuary day 2: shadow

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: swearing

As I was walking down the corridor towards the library, I paused. Professor sharp had just turned the corner in front of me. Tilting my head, I followed him to his classroom.

“Aesop?” I said as I went in. He turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. My eyes were firmly fixed on the floor behind him.

“Why…” I took a step forward and knelt down. “Why do you have a kitten following you around?” Aesop sighed and looked down at his feet where the small black kitten was trying to climb over his boot.

“Eleazars protege gave it to me.” He said, his tone suggesting he wasn’t thrilled by the gift. “Said something about me needing a friend.” Aesop gave me a slight smirk. “I didn’t have it in me to tell them I already had one.” I rolled my eyes at him as I gently picked up the kitten. “It’s been following me around like a damn shadow ever since.”

“has anyone actually noticed?” I asked, laughing as the kitten squirmed slightly, apparently hell bent on trying to get back to Aesop.

“well clearly they did.” He sighed. “And you. Black may have almost noticed…” Aesop looked between me and the kitten in my hands.

“how did you get away from that?” I laughed. Aesop reached out and gently scratched the kittens chin.

“some students may try to tell you about a strange, maybe elaborate dance I was doing while talking to black…” Aesop trailed off, cheeks tinting pink. "But rest assured they would be wrong. Very very wrong."

“for godrics sake Aesop!” I laughed. Aesop blushed even further as he started to pull his hand back from the kitten. The kitten started to whine in protest and Aesop moved closer to continue stroking it. “Don’t tell me you’re already attached to the thing!” Not meeting my eyes, Aesop gently took the kitten from me and deposited it in his coat pocket.

“now where would you get an idea like that?” He grunted. I laughed as he pointedly turned away from me to write on the chalkboard. I moved to lean against it, keeping an eye on his face.

“maybe the fact that you tried oh so very hard to keep black from noticing the poor thing.” I teased. “Or the fact that you have it riding around in your fucking pocket at this very moment!” Aesop paused and looked down just as the dark fuzzy head of the kitten popped up.

"I suppose you're right." He chuckled, looking back up at me. "I can't keep it in my classroom though. It's going to get trampled." I nodded.

"Well first thing is we need to name it." I said, reaching into Aesop's pocket and pulling out the kitten. "I think Shadow is the perfect name for this little guy." The kitten mewled in agreement and I looked at Aesop.

"I think so too." He agreed, reaching out to scratch it behind the ears.

"Second, I'll take Shadow to my room. You can come visit after classes are done for the day." I said, starting towards the door.

"Wait! Don't you have classes as well today?" Aesop called after me. I shook my head.

"They got cancelled!" I called back. "Weather is too bad and there isn't a classroom for me to take. So I have the day off!" I waved to him as I left the room. "Enjoy teaching Professor Sharp!" I laughed as I heard him grumbling behind me.

[ask-the-royal-absol]

(Response to: https://www.tumblr.com/ask-team-misfit/747248524259885056/destino-approaches-lief-carry-a-body-pillow-of )

Seems that this evening was going to be full of surprising events. First they had made someone cry and now Lief, someone who Destino had heard could have a little fun, shoved them and became angry at their words. Not just once, twice. What was happening? What they had said wasn't even the worst insult they could have come up with. Oh great, Felix had warned them before about the consequences of their actions. Perhaps they should have taken his advice for once. Then again, Destino didn't really want to think about their so-called friend at this current moment.

Slowly picking themselves back up from the floor after the second shove, Destino brushed themselves off with their paws, taking time to ensure everything was back in place. They turned to check themselves. Seems everything was in order, except from the pain from being pushed over. They were going to feel that for a bit. Destino placed the pillow down, looking directly into Lief’s eyes. No smile, not even a smirk. Their eyebrows furrowed and their tone was of a more serious nature.

"You know if I was given poor advice, I wouldn't take it. I would choose to ignore it. It's like if I was to tell you to jump into a fire. Would you do that? No, I doubt you would. You'd use a little bit of that initiative to consider whether it was a good idea or not. You were the one that chose to take my advice. I don't see how I could be the one to blame for all of this when you decided to act on the advice I gave you. It was your choice. Not mine."

The urge to throw an insult in there was strong. Very strong. However, it didn't seem the right time for it. Destino didn't want to cause this fairy to come at them again. They already had a deep-rooted fear of them in the first place. Who knows what this one would do if they continued to push? He seemed rather volatile at the moment. Destino had to show him they were more powerful. They couldn't let this fairy think he could do as he pleased. Destino stepped forward, getting closer to Lief. Their voice felt rather calm in tone.

"I really don't appreciate being shoved, fairy. Especially not by one of your kind. It's not often I allow someone to touch me. And for someone of your status to feel it's ok to push around royalty for the sake of your anger? If we were in my kingdom right now, I guarantee that would lead to immediate execution.”

Destino felt a little surprised that that last statement left their lips. It felt incredibly weird. They needed to dial it back a bit. Bring the vibes of the evening back. Shaking off the feeling, they brought a slightly more light-hearted tone to their voice.

"Sadly, this isn't my kingdom. I don't have the power to carry out any threats should I so desire. However, perhaps you need to consider if you should be using physical action in a place like this. I mean, looking at the amount of legends here, I doubt they'd be most pleased with some lowly mortal trying to cause a fight at a peaceful event like this. Trust me, I've had my share of legends kicking my ass. It's a pain to recover from. Go get a drink or something to calm that anger of yours, buddy. I thought maybe I'd be able to have a bit of banter or something with you but if you're going to take out your issues on me, I don't want to be a part of it. I've already got enough on my plate to deal with without having another to stack on top.”

Destino felt gross. That was too friendly for them. Urgh, this evening was turning out to be more troublesome for them than what they had hoped.

@ask-team-misfit

[ssaeri]

and if you close your eyes

☆ tags: kuroo tetsurou x gn!reader, best friend!au, unrequited love, you have a bad eye when it comes to choosing boyfriends, kuroo wishes that you’d take a chance on him, alcohol mention, maybe kuroo will confess in a part two ☆

Kuroo turns left at the stop sign, as per his phone’s robotic instructions, and finds himself on a tree-lined, barely-lit, trash-littered street that makes his joints jump with every pothole hit. His poor car. He really hopes that he’s at the right place. When you sent him your location, asking to be picked up as soon as possible, he tilted his head at the unfamiliar area but threw a jacket over his shoulders anyway and grabbed his keys.

He crawls down the street now, trying to make out house numbers in the dark, but he doesn’t need to do that because a few seconds later, he finds you in the front yard of an apartment complex, gesturing wildly to someone standing in the doorway. Neither of you are shouting, and Kuroo’s caught between wanting to know what the commotion is about and not wanting to wake up any neighbors. He makes a shitty attempt at parallel parking, bumping the curb with his back tire, before rolling down the passenger window and calling your name.

You whirl around, expression easing at the sight of him, but your scowl returns when the person in the doorway throws up his hands.

“Of course you fucking go back to him,” snaps your boyfriend—though Kuroo has a sneaking suspicion that he’s your ex-boyfriend at this point. Kuroo can't make out his face, but his backlit silhouette radiates pure annoyance. “You got your side piece on speed dial, huh?”

“Oh, fuck off! If you want to actually keep a relationship for once, maybe you should look at yourself before accusing people of bullshit.”

You throw a middle finger over your shoulder and stomp over to Kuroo’s car. The door creaks as you yank it open.

“Don’t say anything,” you hiss as you clamber into the passenger seat and dump your duffel bag by your feet. Once your seatbelt is clicked in, you cross your arms across your chest, pointedly ignoring the person now yelling at you from the porch.

Kuroo’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, his gaze flickering between you and your ex. “I wasn’t going to,” he says, forcing a light tone. “Any last words before we leave your pretty boy for good?”

You snort and reach over to crank up the radio, drowning out any outside sounds. “The words I have for that douchebag are better left unsaid.”

“Okay. Let’s go home, then.”

He flicks on the blinker, eases away from the sidewalk, and takes the fastest route back to his apartment.

.

.

That guy wasn’t good for you, and Kuroo let you know that from the start. It only took one hangout to notice all the red flags, signs that you didn’t see as you leaned into the guy’s side and laughed at his half-assed jokes. He was loud and brash in the typical attention seeking way, and Kuroo got bad vibes the moment the guy opened his mouth. That night, squeezed between Bokuto and another acquaintance on the couch, Kuroo stayed civil for your sake, offering tightlipped smiles whenever addressed, but the next time he met up with you alone, he cautiously prodded about your relationship.

Of course, you sniffed out his ulterior motives instantly and leaned back in your seat with a stern look. “Don’t tell me you’re playing the over-protective best friend card,” you said, thumb gathering the condensation of your iced latte. “I like this guy.”

“I know you do. I’m just saying: he seems a little self-centered.” A sip of his own drink. “A warning from my end, that’s all this is.”

“Having confidence is a good thing.”

“Yeah, but he’s straight up cocky.”

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

He rolled his eyes and threw his balled-up napkin into your lap, which earned a soft laugh. He didn’t fight you about it then. It was still early in your relationship, after all. Maybe Kuroo would be proven wrong—in fact, he wanted to be proven wrong. Maybe this guy would become your endgame, and years down the line, you’d stick your tongue out at your best friend for losing faith after only one meeting.

But now that you’re sitting on his couch, too exhausted to even cry about another relationship gone down the drain, Kuroo is having a hard time saying I told you so. Instead, he offers you a glass of milk and some leftover cookies from Sugawara’s recent visit, placing them on the coffeetable, and your blank stare moves from the wall to the plate.

He curls up in the adjacent armchair, his own glass of milk in hand. There’s a beat of silence before you speak.

“Hey, Tetsu?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something? And you need to be brutally honest.”

“Sure.”

“Do you think I’m unlovable?”

He nearly chokes. You? Unlovable? What the hell? He was expecting a question like, Do you think it’d be a good idea to hook up with someone right now? or Should I go key his car and slash his tires tomorrow? and the answer to those is a hard resounding No—though as your best friend, he’d be tempted to say yes to the second one. But something like this is just…how can you even think that?

“No,” he finally manages to reply. “No, you’re not unlovable. Did he say that? I’ll drive back and tear him a new one—”

“He didn’t say that, but I was thinking. Reflecting in the car, y’know. And I’m always the one getting dumped for one reason or another. Once or twice is a coincidence, but every time? At this point, the only conclusion is that something’s wrong with me.” You frown. “So. Unlovable.”

He shakes his head. “You’re literally the most charming person I’ve met. They tell you that every time, don’t they? That you’re smart and funny and the coolest person ever. How is it your fault that he cheated? That’s a problem on his end, not yours.”

You give a non-committal shrug.

“If I had to point out a flaw,” he says, waving a hand, “I’d say that you have bad taste. You like these asshole guys, even when I try to fight tooth and nail to keep them away from you.”

At that, you give a half-smile. “Maybe I like getting hurt. Humble myself every once in a while.”

“A human can only take so many humblings, though. The next time I tell you that a guy is bad news, you stay quiet and listen to me, alright? Listen to me and run in the opposite direction.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur, rolling your eyes. You reach for a cookie and crunch into it, humming appreciatively at Sugawara once again working his magic. “This is so stupid. I don’t even want to waste any time being sad over this guy.” You pause for a second before pointing the half-eaten cookie at him. “I need to find a guy that takes care of me like you.”

Kuroo tries not to startle in his seat. When he replies, Yeah, you should, he’s surprised to hear that his voice is calm when his heart is anything but. It must be the habit of shoving down his feelings for you that saves him from turning into a stuttering, flushed mess, and for once, he’s thankful for the years he spent lamenting over his crush.

He clears his throat and gets up, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest. “I’m feeling kind of hungry. Got some beer in the fridge. You want to order takeout while I get that?”

“Hell yeah, let me see if the place down the street is still open. We should watch a movie, too. We never finished the one last week, right?”

“Sure, if you can find the remote.”

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you misplaced it again.”

One day, you’ll get over your ex, and one day, he’ll get over you. Until then, he’ll eat takeout noodles and watch cheesy rom-coms with you, laughing at how lame fictional romance is and being content with being your friend.

[specialagentlokitty]

Thomas Barrow x Teen!reader - the bond that keeps us going

Part 6:

You had grown stubborn in your attempt to keep Thomas in Downton, you would refuse to let any of the new footmen help you with anything, and you warned Mr Carson not to help you either.

So as you sat at dinner, the night before the cricket match, you simply swung your legs back and forth as you looked around.

“Are we still doing this (Y/N)?” Your granny asked.

“Yes granny, I am sorry but I do not want to be served by new people.”

“What about poor Carson? He looks like he’s ready to jump in a force feed you your supper.” Your mother chuckled.

“I told him not to.” You said.

You heard someone sigh.

“What if I served you? Would you eat then instead of waiting?” Matthew asked.

“That would defeat the purpose of my strike cousin Matthew, but thank you.”

“What is the purpose of this?” Lady Mary asked.

“She’s trying to prove a point to your father that if he lets Thomas leave she will refuse anything from the new servants, including Carson, Anna and Mrs Hughes.” Lady Cora replied.

You nodded your head.

“I’m sorry (Y/N) but there’s nothing I can do, my hands are tied. With Bates back, and the new footmen, there is no position available for Thomas.”

“Carson refuse’s to even give him an acceptable reference.”

“I know, but our hands are tied, to you know this, please stop punishing yourself for the sake of Thomas.”

“You will really thrown him aside just like that papa? After everything he has done for me?”

“Thomas is not exactly the most liked servant. But I cannot fault him in his upmost respect he has for you, no. What what are we to do?” Lord Grantham asked.

You stood up, pushing your chair back you stepped around it.

“Figure it out.” You snapped.

“Do not take that tone with me.” Lord Grantham warned.

“Robert…” your mother whispered.

“No, I have had enough of this now. Sit down, let poor James and Alfred serve you, and stop being so stubborn. One day Thomas will leave and you will have to be used to doing things without him by your side.”

You shook your head.

“No, no I won’t! Because when I leave Thomas will be coming with me as my butler. If Thomas leaves papa then so do I.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I mean every word of it, I will not sit here and listen to you cast aside the man who sat with me on all the nights I thought I was going to die, who dropped everything and the sounds of my crying, who would run across the whole house to find me!”

“You cannot be so fixated on one servant! We’ll hire you a ladies maid!” He yelled.

“I don’t want a ladies maid! I like Anna and Mrs Hughes! I don’t need a ladies maid!”

“You need a ladies maid so you are not so fixated on having Thomas lead you places, he has to leave I’m sorry!”

“I don’t want a ladies maid papa! I don’t! I don’t need one! If you wanted what’s best for me you would let Thomas stay!”

You felt a pain in your chest and you placed your hand over it, taking a small breath.

“My lady?” Alfred asked.

You shook your head and stepped away from him.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Taking a small breath, you walked towards the door and stood in the doorway.

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore papa. I’m going upstairs.”

You left and you made your way into the hallway, and you turned away from the stairs, making your way to the door you quietly opened it and slipped out.

And without thinking you just walked aimlessly around, no plan in mind, you just want to calm yourself down.

“Robert that was unfair.” Your mother said.

“Maybe so, but it’s the truth and she needs to start accepting that.”

“Papa do you really think she has not accepted the truth?” Lady Edith asked.

“I agree with Lady Edith, I’m sorry, but Sybil would have agreed as well. She’s accepted the truth, she knows the truth but right now she’s still a teenager, she needs to know there is one constant thing in a fast changing world.” Tom said.

“Carson? What do you say?”

“With all due respect my lord, you know I would not disagree you with on much. But on this I do. Lady (Y/N) always struggled with her illness as a child and often felt lonely. With Thomas by her side she needn’t feel so lonely, she knows he is always there for her when she cannot find anyone else.”

“Go talk to her Robert.” Lady Cora sighed.

Your father sighed.

“I’ll let her calm down first.”

So, after they had all eaten in a tense silence, Lord Grantham made his way up to your room and knocked on the door.

“Come in!”

He opened the door and looked around.

“My lord? How May I help you?” Mrs Hughes asked.

“I was looking for (Y/N), is she not here?”

“No my Lord, I haven’t seen her on my travels around the home.”

Your father frowned.

“May you check downstairs see if she’s wondered to the servants hall?”

“Very good my lord.”

Mrs Hughes rushed away and your father met everyone at the base of the stairs.

They all waited and Mrs Hughes came back up.

“Nobody has seen her my lord.”

“Papa the front door!”

They all looked at it, watching it swing open slightly in the breeze.

“Good god, round everyone up she’s ran off!” Lady Cora yelled.

Mrs Hughes ran back downstairs and the servants all stood up from their dinner.

“Lady (Y/N) has run out the house, round up everyone you can find, lanterns and get Mrs Patmore to have some tea ready, it’s cold!”

Thomas pushed his chair back and without a lantern he ran up the stairs and through the hallway trying to pull on his jacket.

“Thomas!” Your father called.

He ran after the servant, both of them leaving without any light or any clue on how to find you.

“Where would she go if she wanted to be away from everyone?” Lord Grantham asked.

“There is one place my Lord, but she could have gotten lost getting there.”

“Take us there.”

You on the other hand, had in fact gotten lost, you had stumbled and tripped and scraped your hands and tripped over branches and logs.

And now you were sat on a tree stump, sniffling a little bit as you tried to figure out where you went wrong, but you couldn’t.

And it was cold.

And you were in pain from falling so many times.

Wiping your tears with the backs of your hands, you simply just sat there feeling defeated with yourself.

You weren’t sure how long you had been outside for, but you knew it had been a while, and you turned your head, listening to the sounds of night through what you assumed was the forest.

And then you heard it, the calling of your name.

And you perked up a little bit.

And you heard it again.

“Hello?” You called.

“(Y/N)?!”

You furrowed your brows a little bit.

“Hello?!”

You heard branches snapping, and you looked in that direction.

“Oh you silly girl were you thinking?”

You sniffled a little bit.

“Papa?”

“I’m here, I’m here. Just stay sat down for the moment. What were you thinking running off alone like that?” He asked softly.

“I wanted to go for a walk… and.. and I lost the path…”

He sighed softly, taking your hands in one of his, he sat next to you and he looked around.

“Over here! I’ve found her!”

You heard more people over.

“Why on earth would you run away lady (Y/N)?” Thomas scolded.

“I was upset and wanted a walk…” you mumbled.

Thomas sighed and he took his jacket it off, handing it to you father who draped it around your shoulders.

“Come home now.” Lord Grantham whispered.

You shook your head.

“Not until you promise me Thomas stays.”

“(Y/N) you have been out here for goodness knows how long, we can talk about it inside.”

“I will sit here all night until you assure me he stays.”

Thomas walked over, crouching down in front of you.

“As much as I am touched by your efforts my lady, I don’t want you to freeze out here.”

“I will stay until I hear papa say it.”

Lord Grantham sighed.

“Fine, fine. I’ll figure something out for Thomas, he can stay. Just come back home.”

You nodded your head and Thomas stood up, helping you stand with your fathers help and the pair of them lead you back home.

It was the cricket match the next day, and you were overjoyed to be going and you were sat with your sister, her husband and Tom.

“Who’s winning Tom?” You asked.

“Right now, it’s a tie.”

You nodded your head and stood up, placing your hand on your bother in laws head, you pat his head a few times.

“(Y/N)?” Matthew asked.

“I have to find Thomas before the game starts again.”

“You’re going to get yourself lost wondering around.”

“That’s why Tom will come with me!” You beamed.

Your brother in law laughed, and he stood up, taking your arm in his to lead you around and he told you about everything and anything.

“Thomas you have a visitor.”

“Thank you, hello lady (Y/N), would you like to sit down?” Thomas asked.

“Can we walk?”

“Of course.”

You reached out, taking Thomas’ hand, you waved at Tom as you dragged Thomas along after you, aimlessly wondering.

“I hear papa! And Carson!”

You pulled Thomas after you.

“Papa!”

He turned around and you hugged him lightly and you pulled away, gripping the back of Thomas’ jumper.

“You play well my lord.” Thomas said.

“Thank you Thomas, you’re quite skilled yourself. With you in our team I have no doubt we can win this year.”

While they spoke about cricket, you let go of Thomas and reached your hand out, grabbing hold of Carson you wondered next to him.

“Carson?” You whispered.

“Yes my lady?” He whispered back.

“Is there flowers nearby?”

“There’s some white ones my lady, I’ll lead you there.”

Carson led you away from the conversation and guided you to the flowers and you asked him to help you pick some, so he did.

Then you heard the police were there and you quickly stood up.

Clutching the flowers in your hand, Carson excused himself to go talk and you titled your head a little.

Padding forward, you reached your hand out.

“Thomas help her..” Mr Carson whispered.

Thomas walked around Mr Carson and took your hand.

“Thomas…? Is everything okay…?” You asked softly.

He placed your hand on his arm and he stood by your side.

“Of course my lady, you needn’t a single bit.”

You nodded your head.

“Hello, I am Lady (Y/N), why might you be looking for Thomas?” You asked.

“We apologise my lady, but apparently Mr Thomas Barrow has made an assault of a… criminal nature on another member of your staff.”

You nodded your head, and titled it a little.

“If I believed Thomas was capable of making such actions do you think I would trust him to be by my side?” You asked.

“Of course not my lady, but you must understand we still need to look into this matter.”

“And I assure you that you will find nothing of the sort. Now, good day to you, I have to go. Come along Thomas.”

You padded away with Thomas in tow, and he looked down at you.

“What was that about?”

“If you make them think a high standing lady is angry with them, they’re more likely to accept whatever papa is going to do. They won’t push the matter any further.”

“I see, thank you.”

You beamed up at him.

“Can you take me to Anna and Mr Bates?”

“Of course, but why then?”

“It’s a surprise Thomas, stop being nosy.”

“Well I’m just curious, not nosy. But I can, here.”

He ushered you inside and you beamed at him.

“Thank you Thomas, you can go play your game now.”

“Well thank you for your permission.” He chuckled.

Thomas left and you turned around.

“Anna?”

“My lady?”

“Can you help me with something?”

“Of course my lady, here come sit down we have a spare chair.”

She sat you down and you set the flowers in your lap.

“You see, I used to make flower crowns for papa when he finished his cricket match, but I have not been able to do so. So I was hoping if you would help me make some?”

“How many my lady?”

“Well, one for Papa, and Matthew, Tom, Carson and and you two!”

“For us my lady?” Mr Bates asked.

“Yes! Because you are part of the team Bates, and I think Anna would look so pretty in a flower crown!”

“Well thank you my lady.” Anna laughed softly, “but we will be need many more flowers.”

“Let us go pick them then!”

And while the game was coming to an end, Anna was working very hard to help you achieve what it is you were doing, and finally you had enough.

She put one on her arm and she put the other six on her other arm.

“Oh this is going to be so wonderful!”

Mr Bates guided you to where everyone was gathered and stood.

“Here you are my lady.” Anna whispered.

She handed you one.

“Carson?”

“Yes my lady?”

“Come here and crouch down.”

“Of course my lady.”

You waited and when he announced he was in front of you, you placed the flower crown on his head with a giggle and you happily wondered away with Anna to carry on what you were doing.

After Carson, you gave Anna and Mr Bates theirs, and you gave one to Tom, and Matthew, and your father, and now you were on the hunt for Thomas, hands behind you back.

Anna and Mr Bates had to leave you, so you were wondering around with your mother.

“Thomas?” You called.

“He’s with us my lady!” Alfred called back.

You wondered in that direction.

“My lady?��� Thomas asked.

“Crouch down.” You whispered.

He did as you asked and you reached out, patting his head to find it and you smiled, carefully gifting him the flower crown.

“Does he look pretty mama?” You asked.

Lady Cora laughed softly.

“He looks very pretty my darling yes.”

You laughed a little and beamed up at Thomas.

“Can I give you something my lady?” Thomas whispered.

You nodded your head and he reached over to Anna, taking the final flower crown, and he carefully placed it on your head.

“Absolutely perfect.” Your mother smiled.

“Do I look pretty too?”

“Do look stunning my lady.” Anna smiled.

You beamed proudly and Lord Grantham walked over.

“How about we get a picture taken of us? To celebrate such a happy day?” He asked.

“Oh yes please! Can the servants be in it too!?” You gasped.

“Of course! Everyone will be in it!” Lady Mary said.

And so, they got everyone ready, the family were sat at the, and the servants behind you all, and you reached behind you.

“Give me your hand.”

The person behind you reached out and gave you his hand.

“You’re not Thomas.”

“No my lady, I’m not.”

“You are not to stand behind me James, swap places with Thomas.”

You heard a small sigh and some moving about, and you reached out again, and this time you titled your head backwards a little.

“You’re not Thomas either.”

“I was told you wanted me to stand here my lady?” Alfred asked.

“No, I want Thomas.”

There was more movement and everyone tried to hide their laughter.

Eventually you reached out again, and this time you smiled.

“You’re Thomas. Good.”

“Sorry for the confusion my lady.”

“You will be Thomas Barrow, you will be.”

He chuckled a little and you put your head back in the direction it was supposed to go.

Of course you would never see the photo, but that didn’t matter, you wanted everybody to have one.

And there was one put up in the hallway at your request, and you stood looking at it.

“Does it look nice Edith?” You asked.

She smiled.

“It looks absolutely perfect.”

You were smiling brightly, and that’s all anyone cared about, your smile.

And behind you, Thomas was smiling down at you, an protective hand on your shoulder and his other hand in yours.

It was sure to raise questions with visitors but your father didn’t care, that smile of yours was worth it and he wanted to see it every time he walked past

[cevansbrat0007]

A Little Break

Summary: Feeling naughty, you ask your boyfriend to be rough with you, and he is more than happy to deliver. Andy Barber x Black!Reader

Warnings: Andy Barber (he’s a warning), Daddy Kink, Rough Sex, Overstimulation, Degradation, Ass Slapping, Spanking (mentioned), Oral Sex (fem receiving), Face Sitting, Submissive Reader, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of this came from a prompt courtesy of my friend @elle14-blog1 Looks like I get to go home today! Woot! To celebrate, here is some smut for smuts sake. Part of the Growing Pains Series. Written on my phone. Please enjoy and let me know what you think. All mistakes my own. Thanks for reading!

___

“I can’t take anymore. Baby, I swear I - I can’t. Oh fuck!” You whimper, feeling out of breath. “Need a - a moment. Lil' break.”

You barely even recognized the sound of your own voice. Jesus! Your tired body was slicked with sweat, and your poor pussy was sensitive as fuck.

The man beneath you let’s out a dark chuckle.

“Oh hush, Y/N. We both know what a little slut you are. I know you can give me one more.” He growls as he delivers a rough smack to your ass before his hands go to brace your hips. “Keep riding my cock like a good girl. Make your Daddy happy.”

“Yes, Andy. You fuckin’ that pussy so good.”

“That’s cuz’ it’s fuckin’ mine. Don’t know why you keep forgetting that shit.” He snarls softly. “Maybe it’s because you like it when I have to remind you.”

You feel your head fall back as pinpricks of pleasure begin shooting through your entire body. At this point, your boyfriend has taken you in so many ways - on your back, your side, from behind, standing up. He’s been manhandling you all night.

Shit!

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” You keen, feeling out of control. “Wan’, wan’ make Daddy happy. So, so bad.” You slur as you muscles continue to clench around him.

“Aww, is my baby girl feeling a little cock drunk?” Andy asks, his tone slightly mocking. “Are you my little slut?”

When you don’t respond, he forces you to bear down on his dick. One of his big, heavy hands let’s go to land a series of hard blows against your vulnerable ass cheeks.

“Ungh! Ow, Daddy! Ooh! Shit - yes! Yes! I’m a slut! I’m your slut, only for you. Oooh!”

“Glad to hear it. Fucking belong to me. Cum for me. Cum right now and I’ll be nice and let you have that break you want so bad.” Your man purrs.

Bracing your hands on his deliciously muscled chest, you clench around him again and again, while Andy plays with your overworked little clit.

Together, it sends your body over the edge, making you scream. “OH ANDY! FUCK DADDY!”

Well, if the neighbors didn’t know his name before, they certainly did now.

Seconds later, your Big Man cums too with a deep grunt. Feeling depleted, your limp body collapses on top of his.

Andy, gently lifts you off of him so he can dispose of the condom in a waste basket he’d set next to the bed.

Jesus Christ, you couldn’t take anymore. Your man had already pushed you over the edge four times. Four freaking times! That was more than any other man had ever given you in one sitting. Not to mention, he’d cum twice and…

Holy fuck! Was he starting to get hard again?

“Andy,” you whisper, your body still recovering. “Did you…did you take something?”

He glances down at his half hard dick, knowing he still had at least a few more minutes before his little soldier was back at full attention.

“Yeah,” he purrs. “It’s this new thing that’s called I love my fucking girlfriend. It’s new on the market, a very exclusive product.” He tells you as he picks up your much smaller body.

“I thought you said I could have a break?” You whine.

“And I’m giving it to you. You’re the one who never specified how you wanted it.” He graces you with a cheeky grin before he lowers you on top of his face.

“Umm…” You’d never done it like this before.

“Have a seat, baby. Daddy’s gonna do all the work.”

You’re hesitant at first, not wanting to suffocate him or anything. How did this work? How would he even breathe? So, you continue to hover above his face.

“I said sit!” Andy commands, his voice harsh. “You really must want me to tan that ass tonight. I mean really light it up."

Oooh!

“But - but how will you breathe?” You whimper.

“You let me worry about that shit. You’re the one who agreed to be my little rag doll tonight, so remember your goddamned place. You still want that break? Then fucking sit. Oh, and you might want to grip the headboard for this.” He flashes you a wolfish smile.

You slowly lower yourself onto his face. And that’s when the magic begins. Immediately, his wicked tongue begins its assault on your poor, abused cunt.

He groans as flicks his tongue against your clit, eagerly lapping up your juices. The vibrations make you tremble, making your pussy even wetter.

You cry out as he licks and slurps at you, not wanting to miss out on a drop of your sweet honey. He always managed to make the filthiest fucking sounds when he ate you, and tonight was no exception. His mouth suckles your clit, working it over and over again with his tongue, making you see stars. Your hands are currently white knuckling the bars of the headboard.

Good god, you were going to be sore tomorrow. And the beard burn…shit.

At this point, you’re so sensitive that the pleasure is damn near too much, making you try to lift up. He growls, slaps your ass, and then pulls you back down. Andy knew you were a runner, so your man was always prepared.

“Fuck!” You hiss. You couldn’t believe that you were about to cum for the fifth fucking time! This man - your man was truly a menace. He should be outlawed.

“Daddy!” You mewl. “Oh my fucking god!” You begin to ride his face, feeling out of control.

“Oh! Nngh! Ah ah ah ah! Yes! Fuck!”

There it was! It was right there. You grind down on his face, making him moan.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” You wail as your orgasm hits you. “Oh it hurts - it hurts so fucking good!

And it does. It does hurt. In the best way possible. There was no way you were going to be able to walk right tomorrow.

Once again, Andy gently lowers you next to him on the bed. You look over at your Big Man. His face is wet with your juices. And even though he’s breathing hard, the look on his face is one of pure male satisfaction.

Eventually, he turns to you. “Did you enjoy your break, baby girl?”

“Uh huh.” You whisper, your voice hoarse.

“Good. Because I’m ready to play again.” His eyes stray towards his hard cock, as do yours.

“Oh god.” You murmur.

“Not a god, Y/N. I’m just a man with an insatiable appetite for his woman. Now c’mere.” He crooks one long finger at you as you try to scramble away from him.

Yep. You definitely wouldn’t be able to walk right tomorrow.

END

[jellyseungmo]

Lipstick on the glass

a hyunjin ff.

Angst, fluff

warnings: cursing, kissing, mentions of drug alchohol consumption, Sexual comments are made. mention of murder and violence. Bad boy??? cold hearted Hyunjin. Y/n is blunt. not edited. poor grammar. Tell me if I missed something!

wc: 1.7k

Note: Hi! I haven't written anything in like a really long time, so I thought i might as well while i had the inspiration. This isn't the greatest but I enjoyed creating it!

inspired by...

"I really don't wanna be here, Maude." Y/n said bluntly with their arms crossed, looking at their best friend since Freshman year.

"Y/n, please for god's sake, have fun." Maude rolled her eyes as she sipped on the overly alcoholic beverage in her hand. The glass had sweat all over from the cold drink.

"This is fun to you? Getting drunk and taking hard drugs just to get Male validation from man whores that arent going to know you tomorrow? that's fun?" Y/n tilted her head and smiled sarcastically, her voice a bit high pitched.

The two of them were at a old broken down trailer, sketchy I know. Maude always brought y/n to these places and called it 'a fun experience'

Y/n never dressed up, so they just had their casual band tee and ripped jeans on.

"saying getting drunk and taking hard drugs would have been enough." Y/n's brunette friend sat on the steps outside.

""you know, y/n. Ever since our senior year, you just haven't been who you were..." Maude sighs.

"because I grew up?" Y/n stated in a questioning tone.

"we are 21 years old. 21! I'm trying to have a future and a fucking home and-"

"maybe a husband and kids?" Maude cuts Y/n off.

"never gonna happen." Y/n sits down beside their friend.

"Come on! you know Hyunjin isn't the only person you're ever gonna meet."

"Who said I cared about Hyunjin?" Y/n side eyed Maude and took a sip of water.

"Your actions. Your commitment issues..."

"And me." The two that were sitting down heard a very familiar voice, it sent shivers down Y/n's spine, and made them look up.

"Hi girls!" He waved with a cheeky smile, looking down at them.

"Maude, Y/n..." He continued

"and I thought you would have changed." Y/n sighs

"Well this is my cue to leave...I...the refrigerator stopped running..." Maude points to the front door and gets up.

"maybe I can catch it now!! Tootles!" Maude smiled widely.

Hyunjin sighed and sat down beside y/n, making them scoot further away.

"I never said I would change." He laughs

"and i didnt say it was a bad thing"

Change. That's what y/n thought about after Hyunjin kissed then for the last time, or so they thought it was the last time. They never knew that after 4 years, their high school sweetheart would be in the same place as them again. As sketchy as the place was, it was kind of a blessing that Maude brought them here.

"Do you wanna go on a drive?" Hyunjin grinned

"after you left me for four years with no last words...you don't owe me an explanation, but I would at least like to know if it was something I did." Y/n played with their fingers, looking at the red solo cup filled half full with water in their hand.

"I just...needed time, you were graduating and I was failing and...and i felt embarrassed and i felt like you were embarrassed of me.."

"woah woah woah, Hyunjin. Stop for a second- what the fuck?" Y/n shook their head in disbelief.

"So i didn't do anything but-"

"but I wanted you to keep a good reputation and I didnt want to hold you back." Hyunjin cut off their sentence.

"well I think we would both be better off if we would have stayed together..." Y/n's voice cracked, thinking about all of the things that could have changed if they would have just stayed together.

"We wouldn't be here...we would be in a home, probably, I could have went to college and been a psychologist, and you could have been an artist like you always wanted..." Y/n started to tear up as Hyunjin stayed silent. He watched, and observed, he wasn't the type to be great with his own feelings, let alone other people's, especially the person that he used to call his.

"Y/n I'm sorry...and I could say it over and over again but that won't ever be enough, you know?" Hyunjin tried to be genuine.

"I...I'm not like the best at apologizing or being sentimental...but I do still care...about you." He nodded as Y/n looked up.

"Hyunjin."

"hm?'

"shut up and take me to your car."

Hyunjin's car still smelled the same, musky, almost like trees? But somewhat fruity? It's so hard to explain, it's a smell like no other. He still liked the same music, had the same air fresheners, same busted back passenger seat window.

"You never got it fixed?" Y/n tilted their head.

"nope, you're the one that hurdled a golf ball at it."

"hey! we were drunk!!" Y/n laughed, hitting hyunjin's shoulder.

"WE?? no honey, YOU. YOU were drunk" He laughed as well, pulling out of the driveway of the trailer.

Y/n paused for a second and leaned into Hyunjin.

"Tipsy..." They wiggled their eyebrows.

Hyunjin just shook his head and sighed.

"I missed you." He said quietly.

"did you?"

"of course, I was just too much of a fucking coward to call you."

"scared I was gonna yell?" Y/n smiled softly

"that...and I just didnt hear your voice while you cried."

"I never cried over you." Y/n shook her head

"you damn liar! Maude sent me PARAGRAPHS of threats and just 'y/n is a fucking mess without you, I'm gonna kill you blahblah bullshit."

"of course she did" Y/n rolled their eyes.

Hyunjin stopped at an empty park.

"wanna walk around?"

"we can" Y/n shrugged, getting out of the car.

"It feels really nice out here tonight" Hyunjin sighed and looked around, his black hair blew back a bit as the wind started to pick up.

"Yeah, the wind is a bit unbearable but it is really nice"

Hyunjin chuckled and nodded at y/ns statement in agreement.

"we can go to my place then" Hyunjin suggested

"okay but...dont get any ideas. I dont want anything like that right now.."

"Jeez, y/n what a way to crush a man's dreams." He sighed as Y/n rolled their eyes, looking around

"I'm joking" He laughed a bit.

"let's just go."

Y/n rolled down the window, and placed their head out it, observing the way to their past lovers apartment. The way they would go every single day for 4 years, and completely avoided for 3. The wind ripped through their hair, the feeling of euphoria and freedom was washing over y/n. They wanted this moment to last forever. Hyunjin was amused. The person that he loved for the longest time, he finally had them back. He finally had them by his side again. In his car, staring at the city lights. The sounds of car horns and the mixed smells of food from restaurants was filling the air. They both listened to Hyunjin's playlist filled with Fleetwood mac and Paul Anka, with a pinch of Frank Sinatra, Hyunjin's hand on Y/n's thigh to stay safe and make sure they didnt fall out of the window or anything.

"we're close to my place." Hyunjin said, tapping Y/ns thigh as Sisters of the Moon by Fleetwood Mac played, half way finished.

Hyunjin parked on the side of the road, both of them getting out. Y/n looked up and around and up again, a small smile on their face.

"still old and nasty, I know." Hyunjin sighed

"not at all, I've always loved it here." They reassure Hyunjin. It was true, Y/n loved Hyunjin's old beat up apartment, in a building right in the center of a violence ridden neighborhood.

The stairs up to his apartment were creaky and the walls were tatted up in graphite. It wasn't bad at all though, there were no murderers or awful crooks. The owner of the building was a super sweet old man that Y/n had gotten to know over the years.

"Y/n??" They heard a voice behind them, Y/n smiled widely and turned around.

"Nikolas!" They ran up to him and gave him a tight hug.

"I see you took this asshole back" He joked around

"no actually, we're just catching up.." Y/n looked up at Hyunjin, he nodded at her and grinned.

"mmmm if I get a noise complaint-"

"ya! there will be none of that" Hyunjin laughed.

The two walked up the stairs and went inside of Hyunjin's apartment after he unlocked it.

Y/n had noticed a few changes, his couch was different, his TV was a bit bigger. He had an actual stove. He also still had pictures of Y/n, hung exactly were they always were.

"Hyunjin..." Y/n whispered.

"I know...it's creepy.."

"you still love me" They laughed and turned around towards Hyunjin.

"well...absolutely." He grinned.

"and the kiss...it's on your mirror..."

"I told you I'd never wipe it off."

One time, y/n and hyunjin were drunk. Hyunjin did Y/n's make up and they kissed his bedroom mirror. Right in the center.

Y/n didnt know why this was the thing that got them, but it did. It immediately brought tears to their eyes.

"you have no idea how much that means to me, you know..." they sat on Hyunjin's bed, hands over their face.

Hyunjin had finally brought up the courage to hug y/n. The hug wasn't just a hug. It was tighter than anything y/n had ever felt. They hugged for what seemed like hours, but was only about two minutes.

As they pulled away from each other, they got a glance into each others eyes.

"I missed you" Y/n whispered, their arms wrapped around Hyunjin's neck.

"I missed you too...you have no idea" Hyunjin pulled Y/n into a deep deep kiss.

Although they were both sober, the kiss made them both feel a bit tipsy. Drunk on each other. Years of built up need and want for each other was broken. It wasn't harsh, Hyunjin's kisses were always gentle, but it was too much for Y/n to take in, it was overwhelming. This feeling was all taken away as the kiss was broken.

"never fucking leave me again, hyunjin."

"never. I swear"

[m-u-g-i]

Anime Headcannons

Tokyo Revengers: When You Flinch

| Masterlist |

Genre: Angst, Angst to Fluff

NOTE: The following situations are ALL based on actual events that have occurred in the manga and anime. The relationships portrayed vary between romance, friendships and family. The characters are not automatically portrayed as your partner. However, it's all a personal preference, so feel free to imagine your own relationship with the characters.

⚠️DISCLAIMER⚠️: The following will contain mentions of violence, abuse, profanity, and traumatic events, including rape. There will be spoilers included in the following, so please read to your discretion.

Takemichi:

(Let's be honest, the man wouldn't even faze you. He'd be flying before he could even think about being aggressive, but for fictional purposes...)

With your best friend left in quite the state, reality exposed the severe escalation of possible danger in his plan of bringing Kisaki down. Ever since Takemichi met with Hina's dad, the poor boy became lifeless. He was given no choice, but to leave Hina for the sake of her safety and despite his opposition, this was best decision at the moment and you hoped things would get better soon, so the two can reunite freely.

They were a beautiful match. She was the half your best friend needed to balance himself, but now, Takemichi was left unbalanced. You were helpless in comforting your friend with simple back rubs and say everything would be okay.

"I understand why you're in this state, however, she'll take you back if you explain everything."

"These bumps and bruises prove otherwise," he comments with a dead tone, referring to the beating Hina gave him after breaking up with her.

"Just let it go, Y/N. You know what Mr. Tachibana said and he's right. I don't want to drag Hina into this mess."

"But, she's the whole reason you're in this mess, not saying it's her fault by the way. Maybe if you told Hina about what's going on, you wouldn't have such a hard time."

"You honestly think she'd believe me if I went up to her saying, 'Oh, hey. Just so you know, I'm a time leaper and you die in the future, but I'm trying to save you, so please understand where I'm coming from.'"

He glared at you as if you said the stupidest thing in the entirety of human history.

"She'd hate even more if I told her."

"So, you're just going to give her up? You both were meant for each other and now, we understand Kisaki is behind all of this. We know his motive. All we have to do is take him out of picture, but it's going to be very difficult, especially since they used be friends. If we don't Hina the truth, well-- you know. Just, bro, you never know unless you try."

He just rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Just drop it, Y/N."

"No! This is Hina, we're talking about, Takemichi! The girl you've set your heart on! I know how you are and you're not the type of person to give up on those he cares about! Remember, we have each other! We can do this together, if we tried, bro! Maybe we could tell her together and if she knew the future, it'd be easier to save her! Knowing her, she would at least try to be a bit understanding--"

"Are you stupid?!" He yelled out, causing you to jump.

Takemichi began to get a little aggressive, getting closer to your face.

"After everything I've done, you're going to expect me to simply allow the love of my life, the reason of me being here, to involve herself in the very mess I'm trying to keep her out of?! You must f*cking high because you obviously forgot the whole purpose of me time-leaping here!"

His face, full of anger and irritation, was inches away from your's as your poor ears had to endure his tone.

He motioned to push his bleached hair back, but with his face so close to yours, you reacted differently.

Flinching your head down, preparing yourself for a hit with your eyes closed, but after a few moments of nothing, you open your eyes to see a hurt Takemichi, worried and confused.

"Y/N. D-Did you think I wa--?"

"I-I did-- Well, you know how I-- you know? I mean, it's n-not wha-- Uhm." You nervously chuckled as you struggled to explain to him your reaction.

You looked down ashamed, afraid to look at him, only to be engulfed in a warm embrace.

"I'm so, so, so sorry," he whispered through tears. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Responding back, you hug him back, finding comfort in your childhood friend's embrace.

"It's cool. You were simply frustrated and rightfully so. It's my fault for being inconsiderate of your feelings."

"No, you weren't being inconsiderate. You were just trying to help and I just lashed my emotions out on you. The last thing I need is for you to feel unsafe with your own friends, especially me."

With a sigh, he pulled away from the hug. His hands remained on your shoulders as he contemplated for a few moments.

"I'll talk to Hina. I just need time."

"You didn't have to. It was just a suggesti‐‐"

"No, you have a point. Maybe if she knew Kisaki's motive, it'd be easier for her to avoid him, but I just...I need to conjure some sort of plan that wouldn't go down the drain in an instant," he nervously chuckled.

You chuckled up a smile and lightly punched his shoulder.

"That's fine, bro. Just hopefully Hina isn't worrying too much of her crybaby of an ex," you remarked.

"Hey!"

"Oop- did I say that out loud?"

Mikey:

Your suspicion of Kisaki had increased with every passing day since he's joined. The uneasiness radiating off of him and the discomfort in Takemichi's stance could be easily sensed by anyone. You could tell everyone in Toman hasn't fully set their hearts to Mikey's decision, which differentiates the various times Mikey's decision only made them stronger.

Baji's death was your last straw in enduring Kisaki's antics and you have finally decided to discuss matters with Mikey. Leaving your small studio, you later decided to go over to the Sano abode, greeting his grandfather and Emma before going to Mikey's shack-- previously Shinichiro's--outside his grandfather's dojo.

You knock on the door to be greeted by a tired Mikey with doriyaki in his mouth. He tilts his head in confusion, wondering why you're presence was behind his door. You smile nervously before he shows you to come in.

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about. Hopefully, you can hear me out."

With doriyaki being lazily held by his lips, he shrugged with his normal nonchalant expression and sat you both down on his couch.

"Uhm, babe, I know it's not the right time, but I-- Uhm..." you hesitantly acknowledged.

He furrows his eyebrows, confused. Though highly fearful of your upcoming words, you knew it would be best to just rip the bandaid off.

"I came to suggest Kisaki to be fired from Toman."

His expression was unreadable, yet you could understand he was upset.

"Why?" He asked, slightly irritated.

Taking his tone in, you could not handle your suppressed emotions.

"I mean think about it. Up until now, everything in Toman had been fine. But once Kisaki came in, everything went haywire. Baji left, Kazutora came back, Valhalla wanted a match, I mean, do you not get a certain feeling from him?"

Yanking his doriyaki out of his mouth, he snarled a response.

"Are you saying I'm incapable of making good decisions?"

"What? That's not it at all!"

"Then, what is it?!" He exclaims.

"It was a suggestion! No, a plea! You know I don't ask anything of you, but right now, I at least would want you to stay away from him!" You explain.

"But, Pah-chin, babe! He promised to bail him out," he states.

"I know, but how in the hell can a 13 year-old manage to get a whole juvenile out of jail, Mikey?!"

As the partner of Toman's invincible commander and the mature one of the relationship, you've grown to realize that Mikey listens to people who are straight-forward with him. Usually, once you state your case, he'd listen to you and take your input into consideration. However, he seemed incredibly agitated at your statement and his eyes narrowed--similarly to a kitten's--in pure fury.

He stood in anger with you following, attempting to calm him down.

"So, you want Pah-chin to stay in juvie?! Is that it?!"

"Don't even go there, Manjiro!" You scold. Hearing his birth name had Mikey realize how serious you had become.

"You know everyone in Toman is the only family I have and you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you guys! In fact, I had only agreed to allow Kisaki in Toman for you! For you, Manjiro! I tolerated his bullsh*t, not for Toman, not for myself, but for you!"

"Then, why do you want him out?!"

"Because he killed Baji, Manjiro!" You yelled, catching him off-guard.

"Think about it! The whole time we were fighting Valhalla, Baji's main target was Kisaki! Even on his death bed, he told Takemichi that he's the enemy! Babe, even Takemichi had to speak up on his behalf!"

"What the hell does he have to do with Baji's death?!"

"He's the reason Baji left in the first place! Baji knew going after Kisaki as a fellow Toman member would dishonor you, giving him no choice but to join Valhalla! Had Kisaki not joined Toman, Baji probably would've still been here!"

"So, you're blaming me for my best friend's death?!"

"No, I'm saying that he's got something under his sleeve to manipulate you! For example, Moebius' Osanai is terrified of the dude! A full-grown man and a former gang leader is afraid of a f*cking child! A child, babe! Can't you see?! He's using you for something, Manjiro! He's trying to weaken you!"

"Now, you think I'm weak?!" He exclaimed.

"Stop putting words in my mouth! All I'm saying is that we've lost enough and leaving him in Toman is not only going to destroy the sole purpose of this group, but it could endanger and probably influence you in the wrong direction!"

"Who in the hell do you think you are, degrading my authority of this gang?!" he exclaimed.

"Mikey, I wasn't trying to degr--"

"No, you were. You thought I couldn't handle my own gang, didn't you?"

With every word spoken from his mouth spewed a venomous intention as he walked toward you causing you to move back with your backside eventually hitting the wall.

"No! It's nothing like that! I was just worried about you and Toman and I didn't want Kisaki t--!" you tried to defend.

"Shut up!" he shouted while punching the wall behind you, causing you to flinch and shriek as a reflex. With your hands in a defensive position, Mikey's narrowed eyes then widened once more, softening seeing the fear and shock on your face. Neglecting the pain coming from the joints in his fist, he softly caressed your cheek with the same hand.

"B-Baby?"

You jolted at the touch, but remained still. You took a deep breath, faking a smile and pretended to melt into his touch even though he felt how bad you were shaking and how tense your figure became from his touch. With tears glossing your eyes, you forced a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine, bub. I'll be okay. J-Just caught me off guard. S-Sorry for upsetting you. I'll be going. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

Your cracked tone and glossy eyes made it so much more painful for him to watch. His baby thought they were in danger... from HIM. Attempting to hide your tears, you were rushing to leave, only for your waist and arms to be held in a firm grip by young yet powerful arms. Frozen and tense, you were left afraid and nervous of what were to possibly happen. However, the harsh and aggressive tone you were expecting was replaced by a soothing melody of your boyfriend's voice.

"Don't leave, please. I-I don't want to lose someone again, p-please. I didn't mean to be mean to you."

Your figure shakes in fear as silent sobs made your entire body tremble. That alone had your boyfriend tear up as well.

"P-Please look at me, Y/N."

Though hesitant, you turned around to face your lover with your head low, trying to hide your depressed state. With his fingertips touching your chin to motion you to look at him, you flinch once more as you both make eye contact, displaying the vulnerability within you both. Kissing your nose, he hugs you tenderly as you sob in his shoulder with him petting your head. Weak in your knees, you both drop to the floor while in each other's embrace, letting both of your emotions flow. After a few moments of sentiment, he pulls away, caressing your face with such grace, and wipes your tears.

"Do you want doriyaki? Ken-chin brought some over. You can have the last one."

Although it may seem very childish to others, Mikey isn't used to being vulnerable in front of others. He's had his moments with you, but it's a long process. Knowing Mikey since young, you've grown to understand that doriyaki is a gift he simply doesn't hand out, but it's a product of pure sincerity and genuine apologies. With your tears still spilling, you let out a broken chuckle.

"Alright, Manjiro."

Draken

Today had been an incredibly long day for both you and your older brother, Ken. He had came home from a Toman meeting after Emma's funeral and would simply want to sleep to rest his head. You both weren't technically siblings, but you both considered yourselves as such since you were raised in the same brothel.

You just came home after an "argument" with your boyfriend and was all patched up. Crappy bandaging covered your neck and foundation and concealor were basically caked onto your face. Refusing to say a word to anyone, you finished setting up your brother's plate from the take-out one of the employees ordered for you and your brother. While he was changing, you went into his room and approached your brother with the food, only for his hand to stop you in your place.

"No, not today, Y/N."

"But, you haven't eaten all day today," you softly whispered.

"I ate after the meeting," he said without looking at you.

"Liar. Please eat, Ken. You can hate and ignore me after. Just please eat, K--"

"No!!" He yelled. You jumped at the sudden burst. He turns to you with such hatred and anger to which you could not fathom.

"I don't think you understand the kind of day I've had, Y/N. I lost the one girl I've had my heart set on, I had a long meeting with the gang, and to top it off, I have to deal with your BS once more! And what's up with the make-up, huh?! You trying to impress that sissy little boyfriend of your's?! You want to end up like those hoes?! Huh?!"

He kept backing you up until you were against his door frame, trembling in fear of this foreign man that was supposed to be your brother.

"Is that what you are?! A hoe?!"

His hand was aggressively pointing to you, open-handedly right near your face, but not touching it with no intentional harm. Yet, your reflexes thought otherwise.

Dropping his plate, you lifted your arms to defend yourself from the potential harm that you awaited, not caring if the shards from the glass cut you. With eyes glossy and closed, you trembled before your brother, not really paying attention to your surroundings.

After a minute of silence, you felt fingers touching the raw skin of your neck. Your eyes popped open as you immediately tried to cover up your skin with your bandages. You made eye contact with Ken and saw his expression become more aggravated yet soft and almost broken.

"W-What the hell is that on your neck?" He stuttered.

"N-Nothing," you answered.

Not believing you, he almost immediately forcefully removed your bandages to see a variation of hickeys, bruises and fingerprints covering almost the entire layer of skin. You could barely see your natural skin color anymore.

His jaw tightened as he stared at your condition for a few moments before leaving his room. In a panic, you follow.

"Wait! Where are you going?! Ken!"

He ignored your cries of his name as he made his through the halls, disregarding the squeaks and squeals of the women he pushed aside to go to one of the employees' dressing room. Bursting through the door, there were shrieks of surprise from Ken's intrusion. It was quite obvious there must've been a client and employee "discussing business", although your brother really could've cared less. Still in an angered state, he came back out with make up wipes before slamming the door shut. He instantly began to wipe your foundation and concealor off.

"K-Ken! Wait! S-Stop!!"

Ignoring your pleas, he continued to remove the make up quite aggressively, considering the tremendous amount you've applied. You winced and flinched at every contact towards your face until your bruises and cracked lips finally appeared. That sight alone caused your brother to step back in shock and drop the wipes with tears brimming his eyes.

You had panda eyes (a term referred to big black eyes on both sides, so bruised and swollen, that it'd resemble a panda) and your cheeks had large portions colored in purple, blue and bits of yellow. Your bottom was busted open and very swollen. It was almost impressive seeing how you managed to hide all those wounds with make up.

After hearing the commotion, the employees and the manager came to see what the fuss was about, including the employee in the dressing room your brother intruded.

"What the f*ck was that for Ke-- Oh sh*t. Y/N?" The woman asks from her dressing room door frame.

Her client even came out to see and they were all shocked to see you, a young child, covered in bruises and wounds with your brother shakily caressing your face. Tears fell from his eyes, similar to waterfalls, as he struggled to find the words to say.

"D-Did that bastard do this? And do not lie to me, Y/N! What did he do?!"

Being weakened by your brother's vulnerable state, you sobbed in front of him with his hands gently holding your face and your hands on his wrists. You couldn't resist the urge to let go, letting your emotions flow as you testified of your current relationship with your so-called boyfriend.

"Onii-chan. H-He was very angry. I-I told him t-that we had to attend a funeral, so I wasn't going to be able to go on our date today," you managed to get out.

Your hiccups and sniffles made the struggle much more difficult, yet you still had so much to say and your brother was very eager to listen.

"B-Bu-- But, he didn't care! He didn't care that we lost Emma-chan!" You yelled in his embrace.

"When did he do this?"

"After the funeral. When you were with the boys, he found me walking home and dragged me to his place a-and he-- He--" your hiccups got worse as your lungs clenched for oxygen.

"Breathe, bubba. Take your time. What did he do?"

"H-He yelled at me and-- Well, w-we started f-fighting. B-But, then he ripped my clothes a-and-- and-- He di-- He--"

No longer able in need of an explanation, he just embraced you tightly in his hold as you screamed in agony into his chest, allowing your emotions to flow. Everyone around you burned with hatred and empathy as the scene unfold.

As angry as Ken and the entire building became, they knew your physical and mental being came first.

After your emotional rant with your face soaked in tears, your brother engulfed you in the warmest hug you've ever received from him. You melted into his touch as your emotions began to calm down and fatigue overcame you. He carried you back to your room and tucked you in before tending to your wounds. He changed your clothes to more comfortable clothes, revealing more bruises and injuries.

Refraining himself from going ballistic, he continued to tend to you, hand-feeding you, a ritual you both picked up when one sibling was taking care of the other. Once he was done and you were knocked out cold, he then left your room, shutting your door.

"Don't worry, little sis. Big brother is going to make sure you never get hurt again." He then called Mikey and the other division captains stating how they may need to attend another funeral.

Mitsuya

Worry and concern cannot even describe the emotions running through your head. For weeks on end, your beloved boyfriend locked himself in his room, refusing to leave nor eat. Mana and Luna began to grow weary of their brother as he neglected his responsibility as an older sibling.

Ever since the death of Draken reached everyone's ears, Toman's members haven't been the same, especially Mitsuya, his Dragon Twin. With the Youth Fashion Show coming up, Mitsuya had been overworking himself, avoiding any form of social interaction. Finally fed up, you decided to confront him about his condition.

"Darling? May I have a word with you?"

With his back facing the door, he continued to work on his pieces.

"Not now, love. I'm busy," he says nonchalantly.

You sigh as you sat yourself next to him.

His stubble decorated his face handsomely, but it showed the lack of self-care and motivation inside of him. Moving his uneven bangs away from his face unto the back of his ear, you plant a kiss on his cheek only for him to flinch away in irritation.

"What by 'not now' do you not understand?" He says harshly.

"I was jus--"

"I'm busy right now, Y/N, meaning I do not have time for your shenanigans. If you want to be bothersome, please leave and bother someone else."

Offended, you angrily stood up with your blood boiling.

"Okay, you know what?! That's it! What the hell is wrong with you, Takashi?!"

No answer.

"When are you going to let go of your stupid pride and let the girls, let me, take care of you?! Whenever Mana or Luna even step for in here, you scold them and throw objects back at them! Seriously, Takashi! What the hell is your problem?!"

Standing up to meet you eye-to-eye, his eyes darkened in fury as he made eye contact with you.

"Well, my apologies if I wanted some alone time," he sarcastically commented.

"Oh! So, these past few weeks weren't enough for you?! That's all we've been doing, Takashi! Other than trying to feed you, what have we been doing?! Leaving you alone!"

"Well, if you have a problem with that, there's the door! Now if you excuse me, I still need to finish these piece!" He exclaimed.

"For what?! For yourself?! For the girls?! For Toman?! For what, Takashi?! Tell me!"

"You wouldn't understand, Y/N!"

"Then, help me understand, babe! I want to understand, but I can't if you don't tell me what's going on!"

He remains silent as he turns back towards you.

"This isn't what Draken would've wanted!"

"Draken's dead! He's dead!" He aggressively reminded you.

"I know he told you pursue fashion, but it was because you were happy and healthy. And if anything, you're neither! You're literally skin and bones and you refuse to allow anyone to help you or mourn with you!" You argued.

"I do not need your pity, Y/N," he snarled in a dangerously soft voice.

"This has nothing to do with 'pity', Takashi! This has to do with me trying to watch out for my beloved boyfriend and his well-being! I know you're not over his death, but you know this isn't what he would've wanted, regardless if he was here or not."

Motioning his hand upward, it was in the perfect position for a slap. Flinching, you awaited the impact on your cheek until...

"No! Don't do it, onii-chan!"

Looking back, you saw the two little girls running to your aid, hugging your legs. You realized you had forgotten to close the door, meaning the two younger ones probably heard everything. Their eyes spilled tears galore, creating such a heart-wrenching scene in front of the male.

"Don't huwt, Y/N-chan! You meanie Onii-chan!" Mana cried.

"Please, don't, Nii-chan," Luna begged through her tears.

Frozen in his spot, he felt speechless and helpless in what to do. You embraced the two young toddlers and carried them, one on each arm. Mana held your cheeks in her adorable little baby hands with her eyes teary with concern.

"Did Nii-chan hit Y/N-chan?" The young child asked.

You simply chuckled at her cute nature and smiled reassuringly.

"No, he didn't. He just saw a bug on my neck."

"Did he scare you?" Luna asked.

"A bit, but Nii-chan would never hurt me or you two," you state with a slight giggle.

Although the two girls fell for your smile, Mitsuya understood you well enough to know you felt terrified and shook violently from the fear, but refused to show the two toddlers.

"Okay, Onii-chan is tired, so let's get some ice cream before it's time to sleep," you suggested.

"Okay!" The two gleefully answered in unison. Shutting his door, you blew a sigh of relief from the intense incident, not realizing the male behind the door is bawling in guilt.

"I'm sorry, my love. I'll make it up to you, soon. I promise."

Baji

Thanks to Chifuyu, Keisuke happily made his way down the hall of his middle school with flowers in hands picked from the school's garden. With glee visibly taking place on his face, he was in search of his one and only, L/N Y/N.

You both originally met in primary school with him a year older than you and came to discover you both lived in the same complex. So, growing up, you were inseparable which led to Baji quickly developing strong feelings for you.

Despite his lack of intelligence, to which he fully acknowledges, you've always been kind and patient with him and always tried to help him in any way you could, especially with studying.

However, you suddenly disappeared for a whole year in your first year of junior high, but still managed to pass. Baji, on the other hand, without his study partner--and source of motivation--he got held back in his second year.

When he found out that you returned back to school and ended up in the same classroom as him, he took that chance to finally confess to make sure you never left again.

Peeking around the corner, he finds you by the lockers that hold the Second-Years' outdoor shoes, bringing a smile to his face. Yet, it almost instantly withered away seeing your bandaged face and bruised eye.

Anger quickly overcame him, causing him to clench his fists with the poor flowers still in hand. Swiftly approaching you, he reached out for you about to caress your bandaged cheek, a normal thing between only you two. However, unaware of his presence, let alone his intentions, you see a hand in your peripheral vision, causing you flinch hard.

You swat his hand in an attempt to defend yourself as you brought your arms up to cover your face and you shut your eyes, afraid of the incoming impact.

But, it never came.

"Y/N?"

The familiar voice threw you off.

You slowly open your eyes in confusion and was greeted by your beloved friend, staring you, worried and almost hurt. Shocked, you placed your arms down as awkwardness quickly filled the room.

You struggle to find the words to say as you scanned the area to make sure no one saw that. Despite knowing how harmless Keisuke is with you, if anyone were to see the scene that unfolded, they would've thought otherwise.

"H-Hey, Kei! U-Uh, wha-- what's up?"

You nervously chuckled as you attempted to change the subject and hopefully, have him disregard your reaction and condition. However, though Keisuke may not be the brightest academically, he's not stupid to know when his loved ones are in danger.

He clenched his jaw in pure frustration and you didn't miss the way the veins in his forehead and neck pulsed violently, almost bursting from the anger you visibly see coursing through his blood.

You shook in fear of the boy in front of you, only for him to gently caress your bandaged cheek, contrasting from the aggression he's suppressing for your sake.

"Who did this to you? And you know me, I don't want no BS excuse saying it was "nothing" or an "accident". These injuries were obviously inflicted on purpose. Now, spill it or trust me, I will rampage this entire neighborhood to the ground, if it means finding the bastard that did this to you."

You were praying he was only bluffing, yet the determination and sincerity in his eyes proved otherwise.

Swallowing the large lump in your throat, your eyes began to burn with tears as you stuttered out the truth. You looked down to prevent yourself from looking at the boy before you, but he was quick to lift your chin with a firm yet gentle grip, making sure you kept the eye contact with him.

Keisuke is the type to see through a lie through eye contact, so it's been a habit of his to have such a sharp glare. He's just making sure that every word you struggled to state was at least truthful.

"M-My dad. H-He, uhm, he cheated. O-On my mom," you started, trembling through every word that escaped your mouth.

Keisuke, however, remained attentive and patient to your explanation.

"T-Then, uh, then he left with the his s-side chick, leaving mom and me b-broke. S-So, we've been struggling and w-well, I couldn't pay the school fees last year, so--"

"You didn't attend school last year," Keisuke interrupted, to which you nodded in response.

"Yeah, so I-- Uhm. I used my i-insurance money for food and to at least, d-do the homework to pass school. Then, mom got a new b-boyfriend and well-- He, uh-- He--"

You trembled in his embrace as he could see right through the sentence you lacked to finish. He held you closely as he let you cry the emotions you've obviously been bottling in for so long.

"I-I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't! Mom doesn't do anything 'cus he pays the bills a-and I felt so alone and I d-didn't know what to do! I-I'm scared, Kei!"

You cry into his shoulder while suppressing his own tears. He lets go of hug before giving you the sweetest and most comforting kiss you've ever received--although it was your first kiss for both of you.

Melting into the contact, your depression momentarily withered away in his arms. Finally letting you breath, he pulls away and connects your foreheads with your cheeks in his palms.

"You're never alone. You have me and I am going to protect with every fiber of my being. Even if it kills me. You're mine and I'm yours and what you're going to do is pack your bags and move in with me. Later, we'll figure out what to do together, understood?"

"Kei--"

"I love you, Y/N. I have been in love with you and though I wanted to do it in a romantic setting, just know that I'll be here for you. Meet me at the shrine tonight at 6. Make sure you have your stuff ready and packed and bring it. If you're even a smidgen of a minute late, I'm bringing hell to that bastard, you got it?"

You nodded as he pecked your forehead.

"Good girl. Now, let's get to class. We'll worry about this later, okay?"

He then walking alongside you with his hand around your waist lovingly, but also in a state of protection. Walking through the hall with his flip phone in his free hand, he sent a quick message before going back to taking care of you. Though he may be ecstatic at your now renewed relationship, let's just say Toman's going to have a quick meeting after school.

"Hey, Kei?"

"Yes, baby?"

The nickname made you flustered as you shyly looked away from him.

"Uhm, I love you too, Kei. Have been, as well."

He finally cracks a smile from you as he reciprocated just the same. He pecks your lips once more before meeting your gaze with his.

"For now and for always, bubs."

~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you enjoyed!

Good night, my loves ❤

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Ooh if you want roommate AU suggestions, then Farawyn please! Maybe even a She’s the Man kinda situation where Eowyn is pretending to be a man? Up to you!

My dear, yes, of course...(I've taken the liberty to put this into an AU that might make you grin)

The boarding house

Words: 1k

Characters: Faramir x Éowyn

Faramir adjusted his cravat awkwardly and rang the doorbell of the sprawling house nestled at the end of a quiet street.

As the door swung open, he glimpsed a jovial, friendly face under a mop of honey-coloured hair that looked slightly unkempt as if he had been engaging in vigorous physical activity just before answering the bell.

“Ah, you must be Faramir,” the man said in a melodious voice and jerked his head towards the yet unrevealed inside of the house. “I hope you’ll be all right sharing rooms with another young person we have staying here.”

Dazed, Faramir followed the merrily chattering fellow and his colourfully embroidered vest into a large sitting room.

“Oi, Merry,” he called, “is our other lodger in?”

Another man – just as unusually short and stout as Faramir’s guide – looked up from his pipe and shook his head regretfully.

“Is that the new gent? Fine-looking young man, I’m sure they’ll get along great,” he commented and tapped the side of his nose as if he had just made the most hilarious of hidden jokes.

“Come with me,” the first man huffed and led Faramir up a flight of narrow steps. “Don’t mind Merry; he’s my kinsman and…”

As they mounted slowly – considerably encumbered by the voluminous travel bag Faramir was dragging along both the wall and the banister – the poor prospective lodger was treated to an extensive exposé on the history and idiosyncrasies of the cosy boarding house.

Faramir smiled and nodded at regular intervals even though he felt already quite overwhelmed with the many new impressions he had gotten since leaving his father’s estate to pursue further schooling of which the esteemed Lord Denethor did not fully approve as of yet.

“Here we are,” the cheery voice of his host chirped as a door was pushed open with a flourish. “Dinner is at 7; I’ll leave you to get settled in. Your roommate should be back soon.”

Dazed, Faramir watched him retreat before starting to unpack his books and notepads, setting them in neat piles on the empty desk in the corner of the room; he was not entirely sure whether it was a shared piece of furniture, but he told himself that he could clean them away if the need arose.

In the privacy of his temporary refuge, he loosened the stifling formal clothing he was wearing – one never knew what distant acquaintance one would meet in the busy streets of the big city – and sat down on the edge of the narrow bed that was allotted to him.

When the door swung open and a tall, blonde person strode in confidently, Faramir rose to his feet hastily to shake hands.

His warm words of polite introduction died on his lips though as he took in the apparition now standing proudly in the middle of the room; he had naturally expected – for propriety’s sake – that his fellow lodger would be a bachelor gentleman like himself.

“Éowyn, how do you do?” A broad, strong hand was thrust towards him jovially as the very female latecomer stepped up to him.

“Faramir,” he muttered in a muted voice. “I am well, thank you for inquiring.”

A thousand questions raced through his mind, bumping into one another and jostling his poor brain until he felt positively dizzy with thinking. Did she not object to find a man in her rooms? Was she not in the least worried about her reputation?

“I see the gents had a little joke on your expense,” the very comely young lady commented with a cheerful peal of laughter; she was wearing sturdy boots and had tucked her skirts up to reveal sensible riding leggings underneath. “I was just out on a social call,” she explained then, “usually I shall not submit you to frilly dresses and the like.”

Her dismissive tone struck Faramir like a fist to the chest; he could not discern anything frivolous or overly ornamental about the sober, straight-forward cut, style, and colour of her garments.

His mouth opened and closed helplessly a few times.

“Don’t go expecting me to darn your socks or smile prettily at you,” she then hissed, her eyes narrowing threateningly.

“I’d never dare,” he assured her feebly. “I shall not bother you, let me swear to this I can swear. My goal is to study at the local seminary and not to get into any trouble.”

Instantly, her eyes lit up with keen interest.

“You’ve been accepted at the university?” she cried out, taking hold of his upper arms in a distinctly unladylike fashion and giving him an insistent shake. “Can you smuggle me in?”

Faramir blinked; he had been a stickler for the rules as long as he could remember and – on account of his momentarily woefully diminished mental capacities – he could not fathom what the young woman was angling for.

“I beg your pardon?” he muttered, visibly confused and blushing under her intense scrutiny.

“Just give me a second and I’ll show you,” she cried enthusiastically and rushed out of the room in a flurry of flying skirts and carelessly tied-up hair. “I can impersonate my brother, Éomer! You’ll see!”

Faramir did not even dare move from where he stood until she returned, dressed in a smart suit not unlike his own, her long, flaxen hair tucked neatly under a fashionable cap. She looked every inch the young bachelor as long as one did not inspect the fine lines of her face or the sensual curve of her smiling mouth too closely.

“I…” Truly lost for words, Faramir merely stared at her in amazement. His father would be livid if he found out that Faramir had not only defied his wishes in the mulish desire for learning but had also broken the law by risking his name and reputation to get a woman access to it.

“Yes,” he finally breathed, new vigour and a strange sensation of exhilaration swelling in his chest, “yes, I will help you. Let’s get ready for dinner!”

@fellowshipofthefics here's my entry for the Weekend WIPS :)

@scyllas-revenge I hope this made you smile lol

Lots of love from me

[syneilesis]

[fic, wip 2/3] Let It Stand | chapter two

Let It Stand

Ikemen Prince | Chevalier Michel x Main Character (Emma) | T

ao3 link

Emma gets a new editor. This editor doesn’t like her that much.

A/N: Finally, ugh. I tried my best with the novel excerpts. Also, things get slightly serious in this chapter.

chapter one

chapter two

Page 84:

Did the main character waltz into the basement without getting flagged by security?

Why would Chevalier focus on the security of the palace? The scene was the first emotional confrontation between the main character and the male lead; nobody would bother to think about the shifting schedule of the palace guards!

Page 132:

The generals are not doing anything in accordance with their function.

It's a romance novel, not a military novel.

Page 256:

This scene doesn’t contribute to the overall narrative. Either remove this or revise this into something that will strengthen the connection between the main character and the male lead.

… Okay, this one was fair.

Page 401:

Flowery prose in this scene will only take away the quick pace of the action. Rework this.

Tch, fine.

Page 445:

The sacrifices made in defeating the antagonist are not comparable with what I suspect you want to achieve; if you want to highlight their love, you need to find something of equal value—say, his magic, for example.

Oh. This was a good point. A bittersweet approach, but utterly effective. Emma opened her notebook and started to take down notes; she was definitely going to lose a lot of sleep for revisions.

✏︎

from: emma083021@gmail.com

to: cmichel@rhodolitepress.com

subject: Re: Re: Re: Manuscript Editing

Dear C. Michel,

Hello! I hope you’re having a good day.

I am submitting the latest version of my manuscript. I’ve revised it according to your suggestions; however, I feel the need to defend some of my narrative choices, particularly about my decision to have the main character stay with the male lead.

I totally understand your point about the main character doing the most of the concessions, and I do feel that way about it too. But for this novel I want to capture the magic and fantasy of love, that it triumphs despite their being from different worlds. Besides, we all want, at some point, to escape and live within a fantastical world, don’t we?

I hope you let this one go, as it’s central to one of my goals writing this novel.

I’d like to reiterate my sentiment in my previous email: I greatly appreciate your feedback; I feel like I’m learning a lot, even if I already have some experience in writing stories.

Sincerely,

Emma

✏︎

“Any news about Luke?”

This time, Emma could hear a background hum, which she surmised was the photocopying machine. Maybe the same poor intern managed to fix it. Sariel sounded like he was in a good mood today.

“Unfortunately none. He remains elusive to our search.” Sariel paused, then excused himself, his muffled voice indicating that he was speaking to somebody in his office. Emma waited patiently, shifting her groceries on one arm. It was Saturday, and she had to catch up with her chores. She felt bad that Sariel had to work during the weekend because of Luke; she silently hoped that they’d find him as soon as possible.

The thump of something at the other end of the phone call brought Emma back to the matter at hand.

“My apologies,” Sariel resumed. “I had to employ the assistance of the national intelligence. The boy is starting to test my patience. He needs some disciplining once this is over.”

“I’m sorry, Sariel, did you say that the national intelligence is now involved?”

“All for Luke’s sake, of course.”

“And what do you mean by ‘disciplining’?!”

Sariel’s tone was amused, and Emma, again, felt dread for Luke���s well-being. “Oh, you know. I just meant that Luke should learn the importance of responsibility.”

While Emma did agree that it’s important to learn responsibility, Sariel made it sound like it’d be the most grueling thing that Luke would go through in his entire life.

“No funny stuff, Sariel!”

Even if Emma couldn’t see him, the way the incredulous silence that followed was palpable, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine Sariel raising one disbelieving brow at his phone, the corners of his lips quirking slightly. “Oh? Are you seriously warning me?”

Emma gulped. “N-No …”

“Glad to have that cleared up. By the way, how are you?”

The abrupt change of subject gave Emma whiplash. “I’m great?”

“Working with Chevalier.”

Oh. Right.

“I just sent him my revisions,” Emma said. She’d clicked that send button with a slight tremor and immediately closed her laptop once it went through. So far, she hadn’t received any notification of his reply, even if it was just a confirmation that he got the revised manuscript. Emma had to convince herself that Chevalier seemed like a man who would email a writer once he finished reviewing the draft. Waiting should not be treated as an apprehension; it should be seen as an opportunity to let go and relax.

“Good. He works fast, so expect him in a few days.”

Okay. Waiting with apprehension, then. It brought to memory Clavis’s stories of Chevalier as an editor. While a lot of them had been about how intimidating Chevalier was in general—thinking about them now Emma realized that what she wanted to know wasn’t really about Chevalier’s eye for detail and narrative logic or his job as an editor; she wanted to figure out the philosophy that Chevalier was operating under. What he thought were good stories, great stories; his vision, his ideals—what was he looking for whenever he sat down to read manuscripts of different writers?

What was he aiming for when he wrote A Solitary Moon?

“Hey, Sariel,” Emma found herself saying, “how did Chevalier become an editor?”

A beat. “Are you curious about him?”

“I’m just—” How to say this without giving herself away? “He’s quite the character, you know? I’m surprised that a lot of writers rely on him in spite of that attitude.”

“He’s very good at his job, personality notwithstanding.”

“And I agree, but …”

“Ah, so you’re regretting having him as your editor?”

“No, it’s not that. I just wonder …”

“Emma,” to which she startled, nearly dropping her groceries. It was rare that Sariel would call her by her name; most of those times had been during serious moments, so whatever Sariel was going to say now, Emma began to brace herself for it. “Have you developed an interest in our top editor?”

Emma sputtered, the sound overlapping with Sariel’s amused chuckle.

“I don’t mean it that way!” she exclaimed, feeling flustered all of a sudden. The profile picture of Chevalier buzzed in her mind like an unwelcome signal. “I just thought he’s too much of a perfectionist to work well with other writers! But I read things about him and they’re mostly praises. I don’t know if they’re just good at hiding their fear towards Chevalier or what.”

“Maybe they’re just good at masking their fear.” Sariel hummed in thought. “Do you fear him?”

Did she? Emma recalled all her interactions with him. It wasn’t so much fear as it’s irritation with the way he approached editing work. Instead of running for the hills, Emma felt more like clobbering Chevalier with a giant pencil due to how he phrased his comments. No, she never feared Chevalier, because even though his words lanced like a thousand needles, Emma understood that in the end he’s still doing his job. And it’s showing in her manuscript. 

“No.”

“Good,” Sariel said, sounding satisfied. “That’s all you really need to know about Chevalier.”

“Huh?”

“That he's severely competent at his job, and that he will demand the same of his writers.”

But that didn’t really answer her question about Chevalier. About his path in becoming an editor. About what was most important to him when it came to the written word. Was he searching for the greatest novel yet written? Did he want to elevate all the novels he’d edited into great literature?

Maybe the others couldn’t answer Emma’s question. Maybe only Chevalier could.

✏︎

from: cmichel@rhodolitepress.com

to: emma083021@gmail.com

subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Manuscript Editing

Do we.

Read my comments.

✏︎

A few days later, Emma was turning on the lights of her apartment living room, exhausted from work, when it’s revealed that Clavis was lounging on her couch for god knew how long, feet crossed and perched on the coffee table, a paper bag sitting beside him. Emma’s heart leaped out of her body and fled to another country, taking on a different name and identity, never to be seen again.

She screeched.

“Oh my god, you stalker!”

“Now, now,” Clavis said, singsong, like it was totally normal to break into someone's home and scare them to bloody death. “You have a nice apartment. Cute. Needs more fun and color though. Three-and-a-half stars.”

“How did you—you didn’t break the lock—Clavis, I’m calling the police—”

“After I risked my life just to give you this?” He left the couch with the paper bag and presented it to her, smirking all the while. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Emma was still reeling from the scare, palms sweaty and hair on her nape bristling. She eyed the bag suspiciously. Nothing about Clavis was trustworthy anymore; instead, everything about him invited violence. Against him. “What’s that.”

“It’s Chevalier’s novel, of course. Have you forgotten?”

She hadn’t forgotten, but this certainly shouldn’t be within the realm of the possible ways of acquiring Chevalier’s novel. Clavis giving it over coffee or visiting her in the bookstore seemed the more reasonable scenarios in her head; she should’ve known after that stunt he pulled the first time they met. What an unhinged man. She should stay away from him from now on.

Snatching the bag away from his hand, Emma stepped to the side and showed him the door. “Okay, thank you for the novel, Clavis. Now get out.”

Clavis didn’t look bothered at the very least; he even laughed like this was all so funny—and maybe to him, it was. That violent urge resurfaced.  “Enjoy reading Chev’s novel, Miss Writer. I want to hear your thoughts after you finish reading it.”

“Ugh yes fine—don’t ever come back here again.”

Clavis bowed a gentleman’s bow, subtly mocking, and left. His chuckling echoed throughout the hallway. Emma slammed the door shut, double-locked it for good measure.

✏︎

Emma buried the Clavis Incident way, way deep down her mind, never to emerge again if she could help it. She seriously contemplated asking Sariel’s permission to file a restraining order on the man, for the sake of her apartment and her health.

But right now—regardless of whether she’s indebted to Clavis or not (she wasn’t)—Chevalier’s novel was calling to her like a siren, beckoning Emma to pick it up and read it on her bed. She inspected the book: a sturdy hardcover with smooth and creamy pages, the texture of which Emma would enjoy running her fingers on. The front cover depicted a stylistic illustration of a lady sitting as though she was modeling for a painting. Her hands were folded on her lap, her body tilted slightly to the right, but her head remained facing straight ahead, her gaze bright and defiant. She wasn’t smiling, but her rouge lips hinted of it. Her hair cascaded freely down her shoulders and chest, shimmering against the light outside the frame. She was, for all intents and purposes, beautiful. Just like the author, whose picture was printed on the inner flap of the back cover, with a brief blurb that recounted his accomplishments heretofore the novel’s publication. The photo in the book was different from the one displayed in the website. Here, Chevalier sat cross-legged on a rococo chair that almost looked like a throne, a king in repose, with a huge bookshelf in the background. He’s wearing a cream suit jacket over a white shirt, the first two buttons opened, revealing a perfect set of collarbones. Emma squinted; she’s not well-versed in designer brands, but Chevalier’s probably wearing Tom Ford or Dior or something unpronounceable.

She examined the cover further. The visual presentation of the novel gave her the impression that Chevalier writing fiction wouldn’t be a one-time thing. Maybe she could ask Sariel (or even Clavis? … Chevalier himself?) sometime in the future about it. Shrugging, she put those thoughts aside and started reading.

This was how A Solitary Moon opened:

It figures that exactly twenty years after he decided to study art instead of creating it, Claude Allard discovers the most beautiful painting in the world. It happens by chance – as all world-upending discoveries are wont to happen. It’s as if someone has pulled a rug under you, and as you fall your soul remains suspended in air, snapshot glimpse of the above seared behind your eyelids, lines and colors blurry with motion, the taste of shock on your tongue.

The first chapter chronicled how the main character, art historian Claude Allard, stumbled upon a painting of a woman so beautiful he fell in love with her. It was displayed at an indie art gallery, whose gallerist boasted to him that the artwork had once been owned by an archduke three generations ago. The artist was unknown despite the presence of signature, which was believed to be random letters strewn together. The novel narrated Claude’s attempts to determine who the painter was—propelling him to travel the world and meet the most interesting kinds of people with the most poignant experiences—so that he could identify who the lady was in the painting.

It wasn’t the sort of thing to be read from start to finish in one sitting, Emma realized. It’s meant to be read slowly and carefully, savored at lush moments, sighed at others. A Solitary Moon was the kind of novel that you think about during odd moments: right before ordering your favorite coffee blend at a café, crossing a street on a particularly windy day, watching people through the bookshop window. It had that tender quality that filled the silences of lost thoughts.

Even then, Emma didn’t notice that midnight had passed. She was still raptly glued to the book.

✏︎

He’s old – a willowy figure with wizened skin, hunched over as though he’s one cough away from collapsing. His great-granddaughter stands two steps behind him, a sentinel with a hawkish gaze, ready to come alive should a threat fall upon Dimitri. Claude observes them as he sips his tea, allowing the silence to linger and fester.

For years in between his work, his search for Luce’s painter brought him unimaginable adventure and even danger, and now, as he sits across Dimitri who can no longer even lift a brush, Claude thinks that this is a reprieve, in a way. The loud and explosive leaps of his quest thin into a reedy whisper, a bitterly unworthy conclusion. But regardless – he’s finally here and with one question, Claude will know. It doesn’t matter if Luce is already dead; Claude will render her immortal, as all beautiful existences are fated to become. One painting is not enough. The world should know and experience what it’s like to have your whole life, body, and soul seized and upended.

Except even there, he is denied of that. “I forgot,” Dimitri mumbles, repeats them over and over, the words blurring into each other that Claude has to strain his ears to hear them clearly. “I have forgotten.”

The teacup wobbles on his trembling hand.

This is the thing: a great journey doesn’t guarantee a reward at the end. But it is the driving force for all of them. What is hope without direction? A mere fantasy. All goals work towards a destination, and they all need an ideal—something to look forward to. For Claude, it is Luce, and thus he had faced all the challenges that arose in pursuit of his ideal, and he had emerged victorious. 

But this journey only rewarded him with a dead end. Nothing! Not even a full name. Luce, on the brink of immortality, flickers and fades into lonely oblivion. An elegy to the forgotten.

Claude leans back on his seat and closes his eyes. Swallows.

✏︎

It took Emma a whole week to finish A Solitary Moon. All her available time spent in the corners, on the bed, hands and eyes intent on the book. A few instances, she vaguely noticed Rio shooting her worried looks, especially during lunch time, when they usually went out to eat. Food seemed like a distant necessity compared to the pressing need to unravel Claude’s love of Luce. Emma had complicated feelings towards Claude: on the one hand, the idea of falling in love with a person in a painting and searching for them in real life sounded brave and romantic; on the other hand, the love Claude had for Luce was so pure and exhilarating it felt like an illusion. Emma wondered what Chevalier was thinking when he wrote this. Was this how he viewed love?

But in the end, Claude never found out who Luce was. Was she still alive by the time he met the painter Dimitri or was she already dead? Was she even real and not just an idealized vision he created for his art? It would be devastating for Claude if she was just a painter’s dream—to go through so much and all for nothing. What was the point of it all? Why would Chevalier write a story that set up something grand and transcendent only for it to end in a whimper? Or was that his goal all along—the shock of subversion?

To almost taste it—what you’d been searching for most of your life—only to be deprived of it at the end. Reading that chapter, that scene, sent Emma to a floating state of disbelief. She couldn’t believe Chevalier made that narrative choice. The catharsis of the journey was absent; there was no closure. No wonder some of his Goodreads reviews mentioned something along the lines of reader heartbreak (one even wrote Why would you captivate my heart and then crush it?). What was he trying to say—that love might be real but ultimately pointless? Was he reflecting reality in that case?

But Emma refused to believe that. The way Claude’s love was described in the novel read like a nostalgic reminiscence of what was once simple and innocent, a sweet memory filtered through a myth of roses. It was by no means an indictment of such feeling; it’s more like Chevalier wanted to capture that kind of love, the only way he knew how.

Or maybe it’s this: the love was real, even if the person didn’t exist, and that still mattered.

Regardless, Emma finished the book a changed person, heart heavy and hurt and carved out from the inside.

A Solitary Moon ended with this sentence: And as the din of the airport washes over him, Claude continues to stare beyond the glass windows, to the airplane in the sky with its white jetstreak that cuts against the cloudless blue, weightless in flight, like the heart inside his ribcage, beating like a flap of wings, colorless.

Colorless. Did Chevalier think of it that way—the implosion of love?

✏︎

from: cmichel@rhodolitepress.com

to: emma083021@gmail.com

subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Manuscript Editing

Your manuscript is two weeks late. Explain.

from: emma083021@gmail.com

to: cmichel@rhodolitepress.com

subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Manuscript Editing

Dear Mr. Michel,

I sincerely apologize for not submitting my revised manuscript. I know it’s now seventeen days past the deadline, and I still have not attached my manuscript. You must think very unprofessional of me for not honoring our agreed timeframe, and I most certainly agree with you. It’s just that I’ve been struggling with writing lately. I’m trying my best to follow your suggestions, I really do. But lately all I feel about my writing is that they will never amount to anything.

I’m sorry if that reveals a lot more than you probably want, but I swear, I’m working on my manuscript. Please give me a few weeks.

Emma

✏︎

When asked if Emma had ever imagined she and Chevalier meeting in person, she would of course say yes, as all writers and their editors should. Of course, she would never say that she had imagined their meeting with a frequency that might provoke Rio to a nervous fit. She would also never say that she had imagined their meeting in various creative scenarios. That one where their hands brush getting the same book in the library like a meet-cute was her favorite, though somewhat uninspired. Sometimes, she included Chevalier’s nasty personality, but most of the time she’d exercise her creative liberties. It’s her imagination, after all; it’s not like Chevalier would get wind of it and would then savagely edit her fantasies in a fit of petty revenge.

What Emma hadn’t accounted for was the possibility that Chevalier would come to her. 

There’s a new part-timer in the bookstore, and Rio was teaching the kid at the payment counter. A group of high school students was hanging out at the YA section, their excited giggles echoing throughout the small shop. It was another slow day, but that’s all right; the batch of newly released titles would arrive a couple of days later, and the bookstore anticipated an increase of customers and hence sales by then.

Rearranging the philosophy section occupied most of Emma’s afternoon. Her mind, though, was elsewhere. Absently she shoved the books into the shelf, ignoring how Nietzsche stared at her from the book cover looking all sad and monochromatic. Which was why she failed to hear the door chime tinkling, along with Rio’s gasp and the high schoolers’ squeals. All of this went over her head, too absorbed by the anxiety of dealing with writer’s block.

Distinct footsteps—Oxford soles clacking against the polished wooden floor—slid into her awareness, growing louder and louder, then stopping near her. Still, Emma soldiered on her task; if the customer wanted to buy philosophy books, they would have to wait until she finished.

And for a moment she thought they would have, were it not for a harsh, exasperated sigh and a “You.”

Emma startled. The voice was deep, sonorous, the kind that would penetrate your bones and rattle them from the inside. It was also the kind that Emma would like to listen to in audiobooks.

Attention leaving the shelf, Emma pivoted to greet the owner of that gorgeous voice and instead let out a gasp that was even more dramatic than Rio’s.

“Oh my god,” Emma said.

“Oh god, no,” Rio said.

It was Chevalier Michel, in the flesh. And what glorious flesh. His pictures didn’t do him justice at all. The light from the shop and the one filtering through the windows haloed his outline like an angel descended from heaven. Emma could even hear a choir singing in the background. He seemed to be wearing Armani this time—jacket, shirt, and slacks highlighting his tall, lean frame. Was his prior engagement a fashion photoshoot? Emma wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Honestly, he didn’t look like a book editor at all.

“M-Mister Chevalier Michel!” Emma sputtered, afraid that she was gawking at him too much. “What brings you to our humble bookshop?”

Against her will, Clavis’s gleeful voice resurrected and ricocheted around the walls of her mind, his stories of Chevalier eviscerating writers pumping her already accelerating heartbeat.

“Are you really that much of a simpleton to ask why I’m here?” There’s an undercurrent of disdain in Chevalier’s tone and in his eyebrows, which was an impressive feat considering eyebrows were just relatively thick lines plastered on a person’s face.

“No…?” Emma cursed internally; the intonation at the end of the word rose like it was an interrogative sentence. Was that just a rhetorical question? Was she even required to answer it? She knew she should be offended, but truthfully Emma was still stuck on the fact that Chevalier Michel was here. In the bookstore. Standing in front of her, looking all so handsome and otherworldly and expensive.

Chevalier must be a telepath too, because he rolled his eyes as if he’d read Emma’s thoughts and responded accordingly, which was a dangerous thing for her. He must’ve received a lot of comments about his appearance all throughout his life; Emma shouldn’t add herself in the list.

Rio raced towards them, the new kid trailing after him like a confused foal. Meanwhile, the high schoolers encamped around them—understandable, Emma had to admit. Chevalier was objectively a gorgeous man, and there’s no way these high school students would pass up an opportunity to interact with him. A couple of them discreetly whipped out their phones and attempted to take a picture of the man. One even courageously ventured, “Hey, mister, are you a celebrity?”

Rio cut off that poor girl. “Dear customer,” he pronounced, blocking any path the students could verbally take. The distance between the counter and the philosophy section stretched into infinity; Emma could clearly note the hundred varied expressions flitting through Rio’s face as he hastened to approach them. There was shock, alarm, anxiety, dread, and other myriad ones that Emma could sympathize with. She was partial with dread, of course. Anyone would feel dread when confronted with Chevalier’s sword-sharp glare.

But it’s as if Rio didn’t exist; Chevalier paid him no notice and remained judging Emma with his (beautiful! heavenly! heartstopping!) ice-blue eyes.

“It’s eighteen days past your deadline,” he said, like that answered all the questions in the world. Which, to be fair, it did. Emma’s heart started galloping. A part of her, numbed and removed from the immediate situation, felt sorry for Schopenhauer being stuck between her sweaty palms.

“I-I’m sorry!” Emma stuttered and gracelessly thrust Schopenhauer next to Nietzsche. Thank god they’re both hardcovers; she might scream in horror if either cover got ruined in her carelessness. “I know I’m late; I’m working on it, really! I sent an email yesterday—I was hoping you’d grant me that extension.”

But it’s clear that Chevalier had made a different decision. Emma was pretty sure he’s going to castigate her in the middle of her shift with Rio, the new kid, and the high school girls as unfortunate witnesses.

The line of Chevalier’s mouth twitched. Downward it seemed, like he was trying to tamp down the urge to sneer but failing to quell the reaction because Emma screwed up big time. She gulped and braced herself for the inevitable fallout.

Then a strange thing happened: whatever it was Chevalier’s going to do, he stopped himself from doing it and just heaved a long-suffering sigh. It reminded Emma of the countless sighs she’d heard from Sariel, but this one was more along the lines of I’m surrounded by incompetent fools rather than I don’t deserve this level of stress in my life please god almighty make Clavis go away. Hope budded inside Emma’s chest. Was she going to get away with not submitting on time?

But then Chevalier scowled and Emma’s nascent hope died a swift, painful death. He spun towards the direction of the exit and in a voice that brooked no defiance, ordered, “Come with me.”

So this was it, then. Chevalier was leading Emma to her demise. It had been a nice life, all things considered. She read, she wrote, she published. She lived the dream. She was just sorry that she hadn’t written her will yet; she hadn’t settled on whom to bequeath her book collection up till now. Maybe Rio, but knowing him, instead of reading all the books he’d inherit from her he’d just make a shrine out of them.

She threw an apologetic glance at the books. She would’ve wanted to read more, but this was as far as she could go.

Suddenly Rio’s at the door, barricading the exit with his arms akimbo and his face contorted in a way that his customer-service smile looked more seething than cheerful.

“Dear customer!” he repeated, jolly as a rabid dog could be jolly. “If you’re undecided about what books to buy, may I suggest a couple of titles?”

The bookshop fell into a hush. Nobody dared to breathe.

Emma must have a death wish, because she added, helpfully: “I’m on the clock, Mister Michel. I can’t follow you outside right now, much as I want to.”

With her and Rio to intervene in her impending doom, Chevalier would have to yield, right? But they had regrettably proven to be weak adversaries, for Chevalier merely glanced at them both and then strode back to the philosophy section to pull out Nietzche and Schopenhauer, after which he migrated to the—shocking!—romance section and grabbed a Jane Austen novel. (It was Emma; Emma didn’t know what to feel about that, honestly.) He returned in front of Rio and pushed the books into his unprepared arms. “There,” Chevalier declared, tone final. He handed his credit card (Oh my god, Emma inwardly gasped, zeroing in on the card; it was black) to the newbie, who paled upon the sight of such a display of status. “This will suffice, will it not.”

Then he stared emphatically at Emma, who received it with the poise of someone on the verge of diving behind the stacks of self-help books. She had no choice but to say, “Rio, I think I’ll take my c-coffee break now.”

✏︎

So far Chevalier hadn’t murdered her once they went outside. There was no glove-slapping, or surprise-stabbing, or a sidewalk shootout, and that invited further paranoia from Emma. Maybe he derived sick pleasure in pushing his victims to their terrified limits.

He led her to a sleek, blue Chevrolet Camaro, opening the passenger seat and demanding her to get in. Once they’re both inside, seatbelts on, Chevalier huffed. “I’m not taking you somewhere else to kill you.”

Emma’s head whirled so fast her neck cracked. Chevalier’s eyebrow twitched, unimpressed.

She goggled at him. “How did you know what I was thinking?!”

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have already done so the day after your missed deadline.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?!”

All she got was a derisive snort. Afterwards Chevalier turned the engine on and drove away from the bookshop. For a fleeting second, Emma had the wild thought that it was the last time she’d see it. Rio had begrudgingly allowed Emma’s early coffee break since he had a co-worker staying behind with him and Chevalier had—in addition to Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, and Austen��purchased plenty more books to force him into capitulation. It would be sad if that was her and Rio’s final contact. He hadn’t even yet replaced the skincare set he ‘accidentally’ used up.

They passed through a familiar route that Emma eventually realized was heading towards Rhodolite Press. Perhaps Chevalier was just taking her to his office to talk about her manuscript? Emma sneaked a glance at him. Chevalier appearing at the bookshop was truly something unexpected, and although they should have met long before, Emma still felt unprepared seeing and speaking to Chevalier in person.

Rhodolite Press loomed over them, casting its shadow over the road. It’s a modest building of three storeys, one side transparent glass walls that doubled as windows. Only the first floor had no blinds, so Emma could peek into the interior and make out a spacious lobby decked with modern furnishings. There were a couple of vending machines, Emma recalled; one for drinks and the other for assorted junk food.

The car sped past the building, and Emma made an aborted sound. Not Rhodolite Press, then. So where were they going? A café? A five-star restaurant? His house? … An abandoned area unknown to most people?

Chevalier clucked his tongue as if responding to her rapidly spiraling thoughts. Which he probably might have, for all she knew.

After several turns, they left the main road and continued down a narrower path that appeared to lead to an upper-class neighborhood. Buildings became large houses, the cost of which Emma couldn’t even afford in her lifetime. Another glance at Chevalier, studying him as if his face held the answer to her current burning question. It didn’t, but it was a good face, an amazing face, so that’s a consolation.

A few minutes later they pulled over at a small parking area. Across it was a gated garden; however, nobody seemed to be guarding it.

“Out,” Chevalier said, removing his seatbelt and opening his side of the door. Emma scrambled after him.

Chevalier moved like he’d been here several times before, his strides long and sure. He knew exactly where the entrance was and marched in without hesitation. Emma, worried that they’re trespassing, scanned the area for any onlookers.

She was interrupted by an impatient grunt and a flick to the forehead. “Ow, hey!” Emma rubbed the painful spot—and then froze. She gawped at Chevalier open-mouthed. “Did you just—”

“You’re unnecessarily distracted. Even other simpletons could focus better.”

He resumed walking inside the garden, and Emma valiantly clung to a zen-state instead of surrendering to the temptation of throwing her shoe at Chevalier. She followed him before he could turn around and reprimand her again. 

There’s an isolated part of the garden that housed only roses. All in full bloom, a rich blanket of red that assaulted the senses. Emma inhaled sharply; it’s one of the most beautiful places she’d ever been to. It was like stepping into a dream, one in which she didn’t want to leave.

“I didn’t know there’s such a place like this,” she found herself whispering in reverence.

In her periphery, Chevalier paused and cast her an assessing gaze, to which she returned the favor. Surrounded by the roses, Chevalier looked like he belonged in this garden. The contrast between the crimson hue of the flowers and his pristine figure—cornsilk hair, azure eyes, and ivory skin garbed in white—served to highlight Chevalier’s preternatural beauty. If there were only a painter to immortalize this vision.

Helplessly, she added, “I love it. Here, I mean.”

His implacable expression never faltered. It reminded her of the marble statues exhibited in the museum she visited a couple of months ago—perfectly chiseled, perfectly haunting.

To Emma’s astonishment, it’s Chevalier who dropped the eye contact. But it turned out that he just redirected his scrutiny to the roses on his left. “It’s a good place to read. Quiet, peaceful,” he murmured.

The volunteering of such information caught Emma off-center. “Do you read here?” she asked. When Chevalier stayed tight-lipped about it, her previous concern came to the fore again. “Wait—I got it. This is where you’ll murder me. In this beautiful garden where you like to read. You’re going to use my corpse as fertilizer for the flowers.”

For the entire duration of their walk they never encountered any other people in the garden, which solidified her theory that Chevalier had planned on committing a criminal act, irrespective of his prior statements about the place. It didn’t help that his glower conveyed a definite homicidal inclination. But contrary to conjuring a sword, Chevalier merely crossed the length of the rosebushes that lined the path to a gazebo. He gestured at a bench as he sat on the one at the other side, ankles locked, one hand on his thigh, the other perched on the backrest.  

Emma obeyed; there’s nothing else to do. Nerves still persisting, she blurted, “I’d like to say my last words, if you’ll allow me.”

Chevalier inclined his head, eyes narrowed into slits. “Careful, because I have half a mind to fulfill what your silly imagination dreads happening.”

“Oh.” Emma laughed, high-pitched and tense, ready to bolt if necessary. In that precise moment, Chevalier truly did emit an aura of having killed before and getting away with it. “I’m sorry,” she hastily said when she noticed his hand twitching. “I’m just—why are we here?”

A pause, a breath. Chevalier still as a statue, with a piercing look that had Emma squirming in her seat. 

Before she could do something stupid, like confess to a nonexistent crime, Chevalier spoke.

“Explain,” he said. His tone might be clipped, but it was firm and implied nothing—not even judgment. It threw Emma for a loop; she’d always thought that Chevalier was pretty much a judgmental person, as evidenced by his neverending comments in her manuscript. But then she remembered what Sariel had told her: that Chevalier only demanded the best of everyone, even if others hadn’t the same standards as he had.

Even though it’s only a single word, Emma understood. And suddenly, everything shifted and gained clarity, like a dissipating mist revealing what was concealed. The rose garden was a beautiful place; it elicited the feeling of comfort, of peace. Chevalier brought her here to ease the tension that had built inside her the moment he entered the bookstore—no, maybe even before that: the moment she failed to submit her revision. He had exacting standards, sure, but Chevalier also knew exactly how to improve one’s writing skills (approach notwithstanding), and Emma had been benefiting from that talent. This too was a part of that: Chevalier needed to know what was wrong so he could address the problem. And if he had to resort to this, well—it was his job.

Which was why it was embarrassing to reveal to him the reason for her failure. But it appeared that this confrontation was a game of attrition, and Chevalier played to win. No matter how Emma tried to hedge, digress, and prevaricate, Chevalier would yank her back to the crux of the issue.

So, she capitulated. Hands on her lap, one on top of the other, she took a deep breath, and began. “I read your novel,” she said, slowly, softly. She picked on her skirt, traced the design with her index finger. Refused to lift her head and gauge Chevalier’s reaction. From his side of the gazebo there was neither a shift nor a shuffle, and Emma took that as a cue to keep going. “I was curious in the beginning. You’re very unsparing with your criticisms, you know? Your comments made me want to tear my hair out. And then when I found out that you’ve published something before, I wanted to know how you write. There was a bitter part of me that hoped that you weren’t a great writer, so I’d chalk up your fussiness to your inability to write well. But then I read your novel, and it was so good and so perfect and it left me breathless and heavy with emotions for days. I couldn’t do anything else with all these lingering feelings inside me. The way you write was just—so gorgeous and lovely and all the best adjectives I can think of. Compared with mine, yours is flawless. I can never measure up to your prose. And I guess that got to me. Now, I read my work and all I can think of is that it’s not enough. How can I write like you? I don’t think I ever can. I want to throw my novels and my manuscript away. I should just give up—that’s what I’ve been thinking all this time.”

She trailed off, letting the silence take over. In a way this was an exorcism: expelling what was plaguing her and the shame that came with it. The burden gone like a final sigh. It’s still uncertain whether this would help her writing from then on, but nonetheless it was a welcome development.

Chevalier hadn’t responded. The entire confession, Emma persisted in averting her eyes, afraid that any change in his expression could undermine the strength she’d mustered to talk. And even afterwards—only the distant twittering of birds broke through the quiet. A breeze rolled past and rustled the leaves, susurrus loud in her ears. Her reluctance prolonged and drawn out.

But then:

“Do you know why—even if Clavis meddled with the initial arrangement—I accepted becoming your substitute editor?”

Emma jerked her head up and discovered Chevalier observing her, a pensive look on his face. It boggled her; truth to be told she anticipated a roasting—grousing at how pathetic she was to see herself that way. In fact, she had braced herself for it. This, however, was a tentative surprise. “You knew it was Clavis’s doing?”

Chevalier closed his eyes, pained, and pinched the bridge of his nose, like she asked a stupid question.

“Sorry,” she amended, feeling a rueful smile forming between her lips. “I did wonder about it. Sariel said you have work to last you a decade. What made you accept it? Is it because it’s just temporary?”

“Of course not. I don’t like wasting my time with useless work.” A beat, as though he was debating on what to say next. “You said that you could never measure up to my prose. That I write beautifully and every word in that novel is flawless—”

“Wow, okay, that's right, it’s true, but do you have to rub it in my face—”

“—and it devastates you to compare your work with mine, because you feel like yours is worthless. Why would you compare other people’s writing with yours? It’s foolish and unproductive.”

Easy for him to say. A genius like him would never understand the agony of toiling over words, characterization, and plot. Despite her experience as a fanfiction writer, Emma felt like she bit off more than she could chew. Writing a novel was a different beast. She could still remember with vividness her bedroom walls filled with post-it notes and index cards outlining her story and characters. Her steady diet of caffeine, her near-brush with carpal tunnel syndrome. The anxiety of introducing original characters to new readers and existing readers who were used to transformative fiction.

Emma opened her mouth to argue but Chevalier apparently wasn’t done yet.

“You know where your strengths lie, your readers know where you excel—which is why they keep buying your books. Whereas I may write beautifully, you write with sincerity. Your novels are earnest—naïve at times, true—but that is what makes your books effective and appealing. Rhodolite would not support you if we didn’t think your stories would resonate with readers.”

Oh. Emma’s jaw slackened in shock. She gaped at Chevalier as if he’d revealed an earth-shattering secret—like he’s secretly nice all along (impossible, but a girl could dream)—and it wasn’t too implausible at all. Never in all the time she’d known him that Chevalier had the capacity to give her—even if in a roundabout way—a pep talk of all things. But he did! For her! To get her out of this downward spiral of insecurity! And it was truly an incredible thing: he believed in her and her ability to write. Something warm began to unspool within Emma’s chest, climbing to her cheeks, and the sentiment pulled her attention inward. If it had been from other people, she would have received the words of encouragement with grace and enthusiasm; but coming from Chevalier, whose writing ability could trounce Emma’s emotions in both art and editing, it made her bashful all of a sudden. Shy. Like peeling away her skin and exposing the vulnerabilities beneath.

She might not have known Chevalier for a long time, and taking into account all their exchanges plus Clavis’s and Sariel’s stories it would be safe to say that what Chevalier did today was quite uncharacteristic of him. To bring Emma to a wonderful place and say wonderful words to lift her spirits. Perhaps this was what Chevalier-the-editor would do, for the sake of work. After all, to his eyes, Emma was a job first and the rest a hyperbolically distant second.

Regardless, Chevalier had touched Emma’s heart with his positive words, no matter how awkward and backhanded they were. And because it’s him, it’s the thought and effort that counted. The possibility that Chevalier might have grit his teeth enunciating each encouraging word was hilarious, but Emma was too busy stamping down the swell of tears. She’s acutely aware that she’s telegraphing her emotional state like a large neon sign, but Chevalier was acting like nothing extraordinary happened.

“Do you understand now?” he said.

Emma resisted the urge to cover her face in mortification. “Yes,” she mumbled, sniffling. Three seconds later: “Your approach needs improvement, though.”

It’s a miracle Chevalier’s response was only an eyeroll. “You have a month to pull yourself together. I expect your revised manuscript by then.”

Now this was more like him: in business mode, succinct and demanding. But Emma was beginning to realize something: for Chevalier, one month was already a generous concession. It shouldn’t engender a warm, fuzzy feeling in her, but it did, and she didn’t know whether that was a dangerous thing or not.

But for now, she’s basking in the weightlessness of her writing concerns and in the radiance of roses. And in Chevalier’s steady and steadfast gaze.

“Yes,” she said, smiling sincerely. “Thank you, Chevalier.”

[clairecrive]

lets say. shes a time traveller as well, and yes. maybe set when they return from france.

"A blessing in disguise" (Fergus Fraser x reader)

A/n: thank you for requesting! This somehow turned into a Fergus x reader. Hope you like it.

outlander masterlist taglist

"Just my damn luck," a girl's groan, "for fuck's sake, will you just move you piece of shit."

Walking through these woods, the last thing Jamie expected to hear was a girl's voice. And a colourful one at that. While he didn't understand every word, the tone was enough. Besides, Claire had used some of those once or twice.

"Hello?" he called trying to locate the poor lass.

"I'm here!" she exclaimed loudly but her voice came out strained. She must be stuck in some way, Jamie thought.

And sure enough, when he found her, the girl was laying on the floor constrained by a considerate piece of branch. Looks like it had fallen on her.

"Are you alright, lass?" He hurried to her side, trying to relieve her of the weight.

"Oh, yeah. Just laying here, having the time of my life," she huffed.

Jamie couldn't help but chuckle at her outburst. "Aye, should I leave you here then?"

"So funny, look I've pissed my pants." At this, Jamie stopped, arching a brow in confusion. What?

"Will you help me, please?" Putting aside his confusion for the moment, he took the branch in his hands and lifted it just so she was able to wiggle out from under it.

"Fucking finally!" Tossing her wild hair behind, she tried to stand on her feet. Unfortunately, the wood seemed to have pushed on one of her feet twisting it.

"Oh my god, of fucking course I have twisted my ankle. I must have been a bitch in another life to deserve this." She groaned looking at her foot. It was bent in the wrong way, Jamie had to admit.

While she was crouched on the floor holding her injured foot, Jamie took this as a chance to take her in. Her bizarre speech was matched by her unusual appearance. The clothes looked appropriate enough, but the coloured nails and the piece of metal swinging from her ears only cemented Jamie's suspicion further.

He didn't know how to help her though, so he thought it best to patch her up the best he could and bring her to Claire. Crouching down as well, he began to talk when a familiar voice came behind him along with the sound of hoots.

"Milord!" Fergus had the uncanny ability to show up just when Jamie needed him.

"Ah, here ye are lad. Come here," he gestured for him to dismount and come to him.

At the sound of the newcomer, the girl had curled even more on herself. Probably only now realising that she was alone in the middle of the woods, injured and surrounded by two men.

"Dinna fash lass, we mean you no harm." Jamie tried to reassure her but he could see that his words had little effect on her.

"Who are you?" Cradling her foot close to her, the girl regarded Jamie with a mix of suspicion and hope. She needed help, that much was clear, but she knew very well not to trust strange men. Especially in this century. Men here seemed to find girls fit only for one thing if they weren't a lady. And even then...

"I'm Fergus," the newcomer spoke at last and bent over the red haired man to offer her his hand, "pleasure to meet you." The girl shook his hand, which left Fergus a bit startled, but the obvious French accent left her confused. What were a Frenchman and a Scotsman doing together in the middle of the woods?

Almost as if he could read the question behind her eyes, Jamie said, "Fergus is my son. We were on our way to meet my wife when we heard your voice. My wife's a doctor, she'll know what to do with your foot if you want to come with us."

"A woman doctor?" The girl asked impressed and shocked. Women weren't allowed to study and work in this century, were they?

"Aye, Milady is an impressive woman, " the Frenchmen, Fergus, said. The girl looked back at him, really looked at him this time and damn. He was handsome. His face didn't have sharp features like his father, it was more feminine, more French.

Realizing she had been looking at him for too long, the girl cleared her throat and acted as if nothing had happened. Her blush, however, gave her away but neither Jamie nor Fergus said anything. Yes, they were gentlemen but this somehow didn't prevent Fergus to sport a smug smile nor Jamie an amused one.

"I bet she is," she acquiesced. "I thank you for your help, sir. I know what to do with my ankle but I'm afraid I need a doctor's assistance nonetheless."

"Is no problem at all, lass. My wife will be happy to look at yer foot," he smiled gently at her before standing up again. "Fergus lad, help the lady on her feet. Claire must be waiting for us."

The boy bent forward as if to pick her up but the girl stopped him. "Oh, no please there's no need. Just give me a hand, will you?" She shyly reached for his hand when he offered and together they managed to pull her up.

Once on her feet, or foot rather, she started wobbling and lost her balance, unused to standing only on one foot. "Allow me miss," Fergus went again to pick her up.

"How far to where his wife is waiting for you?" she asked breathless both for the strain and the pain and for Fergus's close presence.

"A bit, you can't possibly walk there, " he said motioning to his horse.

"Alright," she conceded knowing fully well that even 5 steps would be more than she could manage in this state. "You don't need to pick me up, though, I'm heavy. Just give me a hand to get up on the horse, I'm afraid I wouldn't know what to do even with two able feet."

"You've never been on a horse?" Fergus asked surprised while she hopped to his horse.

Ah, shit.

She had messed up. For an XVIII century man, it must have been impossible to fathom the idea of never having been on a horse. Not knowing what to say, she simply shook her shoulders abashed.

"Not to worry, ma belle fille, I'll help you." He promised, flashing her a charming smile that made her lose her balance again, much to her embarrassment.

"D'ye need a hand with the lass, Fergus?" Jamie, by now already on his horse, asked with a note of humour.

"Non," he threw a look at the red-haired man who simply nodded, "I can take care of her." He smiled at her and helped her up.

"Will you walk all the way?" She asked when she noticed that he hadn't joined her on the horse.

"It's not that far," he simply said gathering the horse's reins in his hand.

"Please, don't let me stop you. This is your horse. I'm grateful for your help but I do not wish to be a burden," she insisted, leaning over him.

"You're not a burden, miss. It's not proper for me to join you seeing as we're barely acquainted."

"Since when did the French care about what's proper?" she arched a brow, trying to hide her smile.

"Ah," he chuckled taken aback, "but we're not in France, no?"

"Even so, I do not share the English's prudery either."

"You're not English, eh, miss?"

"No, I'm not," she admitted, "and y/n will do."

"Y/n", he repeated almost as if he was trying it out. His French accent made your name sound exotic and oh my god, what is wrong with me?

"Now that we know each other's name, I'd say we're at least acquaintances, no?"

"Come on Fergus, listen to the lass, I'll wager she dinna mind your company," Jamie, who both y/n and Fergus had forgotten was even there, spoke acting as a deus ex machina.

"Oh god, he looks so cute when he blushes." That was the first thing y/n thought.

"No need to call me out like that," she mumbled under her breath as she scooted forward to create space for Fergus.

"What?" The red-haired man insisted. This man is having the time of his life, putting me on the spot.

"I asked what's your name, sir," she cleared her throat, sitting up straight.

"You can call me Jamie, lass." And with that, he urged his horse forward and trotted away with them following behind.

Part 2?

[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!

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Our little love part 2 - mafia/yandere au Drabble {angst + fluff}

As always please let me know what you think, I am actually going to go to bed now my brain is angry with me for not sleeping.

It seemed the cycle was never ending, you fucking up and pissing them off, them punishing you by drowning you in their love, only letting you come up to breathe so you could swim in your own guilt and submit to them.

You wince as the victim to your latest fuck up gets another blow to his chest. Taehyung and Hobi held onto his arms as Jungkook and Jimin kick and punch the poor individual. You know not to speak, it’ll only make things worse. Temperament was a fickle thing in their lives, trust was everything, and you still had to build yours up again.

“Y/n help please,” Kai whimpers as you stood with your arms crossed looking away.

“Don’t fucking say her name,” Jungkook growled before punching your ex colleague in the face. You’re frowning, the need to beg them to stop was fighting for exit on the top of your tongue, but you bite it down and pray Kai doesn’t say another word. You know if you do as he asks they’d kill him. Your punishment was to watch silently.

Yoongi strolls up behind you, hands in his pockets before he rests his head on your shoulder, watching the display in front of you both.

“Nothing to say little love?” He whispers as your friend groans out in pain.

Please don’t kill him, you want to say, but you just shake your head in defeat. You want to believe they’re better than this, but the evidence of the contrary was never hidden from you. They showed you every side of them whether proud of it or not with bold eyes daring you to stop loving them, pushing your boundaries and morals waiting for you to snap. But the breaking point never came, you loved them, you shouldn’t and you knew it, but you did. You were completely and utterly theirs, yet still they treated you like you hadn’t seen the worst of them. Like you would run away the second you realised they were monsters, not that they would let you run far, only far enough to let you take a single breath before making you drown in them once again.

Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist, keeping an eye on your reactions. The asshole deserved it, not that they cared either way, he tried to take you away from them, that was enough.

Kai was your old partner before you took a very early retirement, what you didn’t know was that he continued the case you were working on before you left; the case of the seven men you now loved and the reason you quit said job. He had called you to meet up for old times sake and you, very naively in Yoongi’s mind, decided it was harmless. But if it was harmless why didn’t you say anything to the boys? You thought Kai didn’t know the reason you handed in your resignation, but he had been keeping an eye on you all before he realised you were the key to their downfall. He knew you harboured some feeling for him in the past and thought you’d reciprocate when he tried to flirt his way into getting his hands on the evidence you collected, he didnt know you burned it all. You lied to him and said you lost it, same difference anyway. This prompted plan b from him.

“Y/n they’re criminals,” he had said to you. “You’re a cop at heart you can’t love them.”

You floundered at his words when you realised he knew, and yet he still asked you to betray them.

“Kai I think I need to go...”

It was a mistake, you knew it then, but he followed you out onto the street and you hoped tonight the men you loved weren’t keeping an eye on you. Maybe naive was an understatement.

“Are they coercing you Y/n! Do they have something on you or are they threatening you?” He calls after you. “Because the Y/n I know would never love killers, what have they done to you?”

It was when he reached his hand out to grab your arm that your boyfriends decided to show themselves from the shadows. Which lead to the situation now, Kai beat up and bruised beyond recognition, and you forced to watch. He falls unconscious and they let him drop to the floor, you hate this side of them, it was cruel and cold but you’d never leave. They turn to face you now, their anger still present despite the last hour of releasing it onto your old partner. They don’t miss the way you’re shaking, the shallow breaths as you try and keep your tears to yourself. As much as you hate their violence, you hate their disappointment in you more.

——————————————————————————

You’re sitting in Joonie’s lap for what you call the debriefing of your punishment, this happened way too often in your opinion. You look down but he wasn’t having it today, tilting your head to look at him by your chin.

“Why did you get punished today little love?” He starts the same way as usual.

“I went out without telling you guys where I was going or who with,” you say while fiddling with your fingers out of nervous habit.

“And?” Hobi sits across from you in a chair, legs straddling the back and an elbow rested on top with his fist holding up his face. Hobi was hardest to pacify, he was ruthless and unforgiving and while that didn’t extend to you, you still had a hard time with his stubborn anger.

“I met up with Kai, and I let him touch me,” you’ve done this too many times before to not know how it worked. Kai’s ‘touch’ obviously meant nothing to you but for them it was the worst crime anyone could commit against their little love.

You remember the time you nearly tripped in the park and a guy steadied you politely, but you still had to hold Jungkook back from throwing hands.

“Kookie would you rather I fell and hurt myself?” No he hadn’t wanted that so he grumbled in agreement still seething but you cooled it down. “Instead of hitting him maybe you should thank him,” it was a joke but it made the youngest scoff.

“Baby girl why can’t you just be good?” Namjoon’s sigh brings you back to the present. “Why do you always have to test us like this?”

You didn’t mean to, you want to say it but the words are stuck below the sob in your throat. You actually whimper as his tone, bottom lip wobbling pathetically. He hadn’t even told you off properly, but you already felt like a mess as he bathed you in his disappointment. That was the common consequence of your actions and you hated it, you couldn’t do anything right.

——————————————————————————

“Jin do you need help with the food?” You ask your eldest boyfriend politely, he was frowning and you thought it was because today’s meal was too much for him to handle alone, his tone of voice made you realise it was because of you.

“No, I’m alright,” he doesn’t look at you as he speaks and you’re left gaping at him like a fish. Jin loved it when you cooked with him, it was your bonding time without the others, although Yoongi would join you from time to time. The others also tried but Jin wouldn’t let them anywhere near the kitchen, they hogged you enough anyway.

You feel your soul deflate, still standing there as he ignored you.

“Are you mad at me too?”

The way you said it made his heart twinge with guilt, but the others were right you wouldn’t learn and your first betrayal was still fresh on their minds. He sighs and you turn away, refusing to crying in front of them for the tenth time that day. What was wrong with you? Ever since that day where they found out who you really were you felt like you werent enough anymore, you tried so hard to make up for it all but you kept messing up. You weren’t like this before, but after seeing the hurt you put them through you were constantly on edge and second guessing yourself. You wish you could go back and stop them from ever finding out.

Jin hears the sniffle as you walk away and he can’t go through with it.

“Wait little love,” he calls for you. “I forgot to cut the onions, would you mind?”

You shake your head, you didn’t mind, but you didn’t trust your voice to answer for you. Youre grateful to Jin for giving you this task, it hides the fact you’re crying, but you know he doesn’t miss it.

——————————————————————————

Jimin and Taehyung were giving you narrowed stern gazes through dinner, it put you off your food which resulted in getting told off by Jin just after he branched out to you in the kitchen.

You felt alone, like the seven men you loved were against you and there was no one to blame but yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly before getting up and removing yourself from the dinner table and dining room, ignoring all of their stares. You decide maybe an early night is best, you could start again fresh tomorrow. You don’t get too far up the stairs before a hand pulls you back, you turn to see Jimin with Tae a few steps behind him.

You’re so used to seeing them laugh and play around that it feels like you’re looking at different people. Even during missions or gun fights, the youngest three were always joking their way through the bloodshed, keeping scores of who got the most headshots and other grotesque games. You remember the time Jimin and Tae called you during he middle of a shoot out, arguing with you and each other over who you loved more out of the two while you begged them to not get shot or killed.

“Why did you go see him Y/n?” Jimin asked, he wore the demeanour he used for enemies and it takes you back to that night.

“I... h-he said he wanted to see me to catch up,” you explain but you know it’ll fall on deaf ears.

“And you thought that was a good idea, to see your old cop buddy?” His tone makes you feel stupid, you weren’t stupid.

“He was my friend Jimin,” you say in disbelief, you know in the end it was a mistake but at the time it didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world.

“You’re ours,” Taehyung moved forward, towering over you even though he’s a step below you. His face is close to your own, eyes burning into yours as he looks disgusted at the words that left your mouth as if they’re still attached to you. “How do you think we felt when you went to see another detective? Do you have any idea what was going through our heads?”

“Tae I love you,” you lean away from him, searching his face for a hint of softness and love in his gaze, but there was only fire. “You know I wouldn’t, you all know I wouldn’t, I left that life for you why would I turn back to it?”

He stalks away from you without a word, Jimin close behind, giving you a final cold glance before leaving you alone. You thought your love could make them better but if anything you made their darkness worse.

——————————————————————————

Jungkook needed to vent, the only way he knew how was physically. Obviously it wasn’t the cleverest thing he’s done, taking rounds with the punching bag only to open up the cuts on his hand from beating the bastard earlier. He mutters a few curse words under his breath, why did you make matters worse? Maybe they were being harsh on you before today, finding any excuse to punish you a little, test your boundaries and see if you would run, but today they honestly feared that was what happened. They thought you chose to leave them and go back to the life you had before them, but they’d never let you go, they couldn’t let you go. Despite everything you loved them and they worshipped the ground you walked on. You were everything for them now, there’s be no point to any of them without you. Why didn’t you understand that?

He throws another punch to the bag, spreading his blood across them, it hurt like hell, but the thought of you running back to your old partner still played on all of their minds. He wanted to cry, he wanted to find you and beg you to never leave them, they’d be nothing without you.

There’s a knock on the door and he finds you on the other side, waiting for permission to come in. You never waited for permission, it makes him frown, maybe they were too harsh on you today. He could see you shuffling your weight, insecurity screaming through your eyes, you feared his rejection more than his anger.

He notices the first aid kit in your hand, you must’ve heard him. He doesn’t let the fluttering in his chest reach his face as he sits on the bench, waiting for you to come to him.

His gaze is expectant, daring you to cross the threshold and face him, you were no coward, you didn’t fear them the way others did, why were you behaving so meekly now? You force yourself to move and sit beside him, setting the kit down and pushing your hair back behind your ears. He doesn’t move his gaze away from you, even with the sweat and hair hanging in front of his face.

You carefully take a his hand into yours, sucking air between your teeth at how injured it was.

“I’m sorry you hurt yourself because of me,” you say, eyes on his bloodied knuckle as you press the ointment against the open wounds. “Are you sure you want me to stay, I keep hurting you...”

You try to sound like you’re joking, that you’re okay and the hurt isn’t weighing you down with your doubts. He frowns, they really did take it too far. He sets down the cotton wool from your grasp, taking both of hands into his before kissing each finger delicately without letting you look away.

“You’re perfect little love,” Jungkook says, reassuring you with no question in his voice. “We’re the ones who don’t deserve you, we’re mean and cruel but we’re never letting you go.”

You remember how loving they were before that night, maybe while they accepted the truth at face value they could never really forgive you in their hearts. Maybe that’s why they were being like this, they didn’t love you the same way anymore.

“Do you love me?” You had to know, the doubt was eating you alive.

He looks at you as if you’re insane, maybe you are, you don’t know anymore.

“Little love, don’t you see how much we love you?” He asks sincerely. “We would do anything for that love even if it made you hate us, you belong with us, and no one is going to take you away.”

You could see the crazed look in his face grow as he spoke, you believed him, the honestly worn like a heart on a sleeve. But his answer bought a wave clarity to your hazed vision, you made them like this, you made them worse, you had to leave.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

I may be hella afraid of birds but that wont stop me from making this.

Injured wing

The poor thing was in the balcony of the apartment. Making sounds and flapping their wings at ferocity to try to take flight again as you watched in pity.

Taking a warm towel from the dryer, your boyfriend's one since it was the comfier to be exact, you picked up the squirming little brow winged creature and took inside. You didn't had the heart to leave it out there, especially due to the snow.

While taking things out of cabinets, you didn't noticed your phone buzzing with the notifications of a certain... top hero calling you.

.

.

.

"A nightingale." You mused as you read on the internet what type of bird was now having fun on bathing on q small pot of water and singing to its heart content "How adorable!" You gushed as it shock out of the droplets of water as you carefully put a sorta of a tiny sling on a popsicle stick to mantain its feather that seemed to be broken stood on place.

"Sorry buddy, guess you're gonna have to stay like this for some time." The bird seemed to calculate your words before tweaking as you giggled at its cuteness.

That is until you heard the door opening and clicking shut.

Fuck. Keigo.

You grabbed the bird delicately and put it on a box filled with a soft towel and placed on your bed before going to open the bedroom's door to see a soaked wet, hair flat and worried hero with a frow.

"Is this some sorta of revenge or what? I was worried sick (Y/n)! You weren't answering your phone so I thought something happened." You picked your phone in confusion.

"You did?" Shit "oh..."

"Yeah. 'Oh.'" He crossed his arms before sighing cupping your cheeks "Why did you stood me up? I thought we were going to have dinner together on that restaurant."

"God!" You face palmed "I totally forgot! I'm so sorry Kei!" You whined as he let out a chuckle.

"Is fine. Although I would like if you compesate for m-"

Before he could finish his sentence, you both froze when a couple of chirps were heard. You analyzed his expression and soon giggled in nervousness at seeing his wings puff up in alarm.

"Was that.. was that a chirp?" He yed you, his pupils dilated as you took a step back with a smile.

"I.. I dont know? Maybe they are out there singing." You rolled your eyes and sweated when he towered over you as you kinda protected the nightingale inside the box with your body.

Yet the chirps intensified...

"There is a bird in here." Hawks more accused than asked as you giggled in nervousness once again.

"A bird? Why would a bird be-" the nightingale manage to escape the box and tweaked at both of you "...here."

"What is he doing in here?" He asked, if you didn't know Keigo enough, you could assume he was... unpleasant.

That's why you were so hesitant on showing the little nightingale to him in the first place when he showed up. You werent blind, and knew Keigo had some bird attics that showed up here and there. It wasn't as frequent as it would be however he was resting if the commission hadn't somehow put their hands on it. But Keigo didn't hold much strings around you. So... you could clearly see that your boyfriend wasn't happy when another one of "his kind", especially a male, he could tell somehow it was a male by the chirping dont ask why, was beneath the same rooftop as him with his partner alone.

"Is here because he is injured Kei, he needs some treatment." You cupped your hands together for the nightingale climb in it as Hawks hlardd holes at the little thing.

"Take him to the vet or something kid, this ain't a clinic." You flinched at his words but still remained strong.

"No I am not." You said "I dont know if they are going to sacrifice him or not Kei, I cant take chances."

"Do you even know how to take care of a bird in the first place dove?!" He asked, hands up as his wings puffed even more which made you snort and arch an eyebrow at him as the fella in your hands chirped.

"Well, I do have some knowledge of wings. And have to take care of one on daily basics." You giggled at the expression of shock and insulted Keigo did before walking off and leaving him groaning and sulking at knowing you wouldn't get rid of that street bird...

.

.

"Keigo Takami." He froze when he heard his full name coming from your mouth "Put that phone down. That little bird is going to stay until it gets better." He did just as you said with an eyeroll before pouting in anger at seeing the bird at your shoulder.

That's his place to put his chin on and snuggle your neck with his face. His.

"And you have to carry that thing whenever you go now? That must suck." He tried to joke, leaning with crossed arms on the kitchen counter as before his face completely fell as you simply chuckled and said it didn't bother you at all.

"Seriously?" He asked in disbelief before grabbing his mug taking a few gulps before you widened your eyes and giggling "What are you laughing at?"

"Is just that mug was full of water early and maybe our little friend may have took a bath in it." Your boyfriend stood up so fast and soon you heard disgusting noises of vomiting .

"For god's sake KEIGO I WASHED IT!"

"I DONT CARE THAT THING SHOULDN'T BE BATHING ON MY STUFF WHAT THE HECK?!"

You sighed, waiting for your boyfriend to be back as you feed the little bird with some seeds carefully, soon being met with Keigo, still brushing his teeth.

"Drama king." You chuckled as he groaned "You know he is not a thing Kei, is a nightingale."

"Great knowing it." He said with a mouthful of toothpaste before spitting into the trash, saying something about not dirtying his bathroom with other birds germs or something.

He looked at you a bit in defeat at seeing you feeding the bird as you noticed his wings drooping a bit.

"What is wrong now bird brain?" You giggled at his expression.

"You should be feeding me ... your boyfriend." You snorted before picking a sunflower seed and showing it to him.

"I thought you didn't liked this stuff?" Yoh asked cheekily as he groaned.

"There is chicken, takoyaki, nuggets heck everything that I eat!"

The bird chirped and you nodded thoughtfully as he stared at you in confusion.

"Cannibalism. I agree."

"Oh cmon I thought we were over this..." he sighed before getting something from the fridge as he scowled at the chirps following after.

.

.

.

He glared at the bird chirping a song as you hummed in delight at the sound, staring lovely at the nightingale.

"Oh cmon Kei!" You poked his cheeks which was puffed "You have to admit is a amazing sound! Nightingales are famous for that!"

"Hawks are famous for other things too y'know?" He grumbled before widening his eyes at seeing you werent giving him attention, instead grabbing your phone and recording the nightingale's chirping.

"Hm? What did you say Kei?" You looked up at him with that smirk which made him scoff and stood up with crossed arms and going to the kitchen.

You stiffled your giggled, going to your pouting boyfriend and hugging him lovingly after putting the injured bird back to safety.

"You're really jealous huh?" You carresed his chest as he breathed in and out, cheeks red at being so obvious about his feelings.

"Is a form of flirting birds singing to their mates. That little shit." He mumbled, earning you a laugh that made him smile as feeling you peppering kisses all over his neck and jawline before he caught your lips with his.

You broke apart with a goofy smile as he chuckled before deadpanning at hearing chirps before puffing and straightening his wings on all glory before shouting at the nightingale:

"GO GET YOURSELF A PARTNER! THIS ONE IS TAKEN YOU PIECE OF CRAP!"

You never laughed so hard in your life. A sound that, for Keigo at least, was far more beautiful than any chirping, singing or melody on this whole world.

.

.

.

After a few days you saw Keigo's hatred for the nightingale easing slowly but surely. Yet you never thought that coming home late on one of Keigo's day off, you would see your boyfriend, layed on the couch with a finger up holding the bird he claimed to hate it and whistling some similiar tone along with the nightingale's chirping.

You stared in shock yet awe at the look of your boyfriend directed to the bird as the sounds came out of his lips before chuckling.

"Your wing soon will be better by the looks of it. Isn't (Y/n) a great nurse?" He mumbled, a sadness deep down on his gaze as he saw the bird clapping the wing that wasn't wrapped up "You got freedom and my dove's attention bud, how could you and (Y/n) not expect me to get jealous?" He chuckled sadly as you frowned, walking slowly towards him, pretending to not overheard his monologue.

"Hey pretty thing, back already?" His cheeky smile was back as you looked at it in awe before kneeling in front of the couch he was layed on and kissing him deeply, making him close his eyes in bliss and pull you closer with his free hand by the neck.

You broke apart as he panted with a glossy yet pleased look. Ignoring the chirps for a bit, you carresed his golden looks as he closed his eyes with a smile.

"Redeeming yourself for giving attention to this bird and not me for these past few weeks?" He murmured happily yet drowsily as you giggled and kissed his forehead softly.

"You could say that bird brain." You stopped for a bit, hearing him whine miserably for you to get back, cupping your hands for the bird to get in.

"Cmon..." he whined, arm dropped over his face as the other rested on him until he felt you tugging on his shirt.

"Just get up lazy, I'm giving you all the attention you want." At this, you saw his golden eyes practically glow in bliss as he stood up as fast as he could.

.

.

.

He stretched his arms as he sitted up on the bed. Hair untamed and eyes unfocused until they dropped on the bird that had exited his box and was flapping both of his wings. Both.

"Huh. You look all better." He smirked as he felt you shift and rest your chin on his shoulder with a drowsy look.

"Who is better?" You mumbled before he pointed at the bird jumping and trying to take flight.

"Your friend there." You squealead as hs chuckled, grabbing the nightingale in one hands as he unwrapped the the made up sling as he waited patiently for the little fella to flap its wings and fly just a few centimeters above his palm.

"Cmon dove." He ushered you to follow him on the balcony as he had a gentle hold on the nightingale "Go little buddy, being stuck on a unknown place forever isn't goog for anyone."

And with a little movement of his hand, the nightingale took flight with beautiful chirps that made you smile but soon look at your boyfriend with a sad smirk as he watched the little bird fly away.

It wasn't sadness because he got attached to the nightingale. It was because that, even a small bird as he, could be free and not him. A grow up man that had a partner but was still caged by the comission...

You carresed his arm before hugging it and placing a sweet kiss to his cheek which brought his attention back to you.

"How about some hot cocoa my handsome? You still got some minutes stuck with me until you go to work." You said softly in Hope's to cheer him up.

He looked at you in some sorta of shock before chuckling and bringing you close enough to him to hear his heart beat and feel his warm yet chapte lips on your forehead.

"Being stuck with you is the only way that keeps me going to be honest."

[minteyeddevil]

Hello! Can I request some hurt/comfort with an MC with the brothers+undateables(no Luke pls)? The MC is dating the demon and the MC's best friend comes to visit the Devildom... but the MC is kind of nervous bc their best friend likes to try to seduce away the MC's partners. The best friend is more attractive, more outgoing, more overtly sexual and loves the attention and the ego boost that comes with it. The MC doesn't say anything to their partner, but the friend starts the second they meet the

(Part 2 of MC with a seducing best friend) the friend starts trying to seduce the demons/angels/human the minute they meet them and since it's their partner's best friend the demon wants to get along! So poor MC thinks it's working, even though they hoped that JUST THIS ONCE it would be different... so some comfort from their partner is DEF needed. (Is this based on a real story... ha.. ha....) Also sorry it's so long. I hope you're doing well :)

--

(MC, my sweet dear, you need better friends cause forget that noise! I'm sorry you had to deal with something like this, you don't deserve friends who do these things, anon! Let me see what I can do for you here❤️)

--

As excited as MC felt for their best friend to be visiting, the nerves were still buzzing in their stomach. They knew how she could be; flirty, seductive, a slight bat of her lashes and she could have whatever and whoever she wanted. MC feared she would make moves on her boyfriend, and internally wished that this one time she would just...let her have this.

But the moment her friend arrived, she gave her boyfriend the once over, a sly grin spreading on her painted lips as she walked up, offering out her hand for him to shake it as she introduced herself, before even addressing MC's presence.

He took her hand and shook it, a smile also gracing his features. She let her hold on his hand linger, even laced there fingers together, and asked in the most sultry tone she could muster if he would be her guide and show her around the Devildom. She pressed her plump chest against his arm as well, trying to draw his attention away and distract him from MC.

This made their heart sink. Were they really about to lose him to this friend of theirs?

---

Lucifer:

Immediately he was put off by this so-called friend. He forced his best smile for her as to not be rude, he knew how important she was to them; but when she grabbed his hand and laced her fingers with his, his kindness just drained from him. The smile slowly morphed into a scowl as he looked down at her, and the moment she pressed against his arm as she did, he pulled away, visibly brushing off his arm to show his disgust with her behavior.

He stepped closer to MC and placed his arm around their waist, pulling them into his side, indicating where his loyalty lied.

"I am sure MC would be a wonderful guide for you. You are here to visit them, are you not?"

There was so much venom in his words that even MC looked at him quizzically; but he gave them a genuine smile when he looked at them, leaning down to kiss them openly in front of their friend. He'd be damned before he let someone try and get between him and his love.

"I hope you enjoy your time with this...friend of yours, beloved. I have some work I must attend to. But you and I will need to discuss what real friendship is later."

He gave said friend a dark glare, leaving her dumbfounded by his actions; but he was going to make damn sure that MC never had to deal with her again.

Mammon:

He was extremely excited to be meeting one of MC's friends from the human world; from what he heard she was nearly a model there, just like he was in the Devildom. He also hoped maybe she would have some juicy gossip he could tease MC with as well. In his head, a friend of his MC was a friend of his.

What he did not expect, however, was this friend to eye him up like a meal and suddenly cling to him, chest pressed against his arm and fluttering her lashes at him as well. Huge. Ass. Flirt.

He flushed and pushed her off immediately, stepping behind MC as if she was some kind of witch trying to steal his soul. He practically growled at her, a sneer on his features when he addressed her again.

"Oi, don't be touchin' me like that! I ain't some kinda hunk of meat! Only one allowed to touch me is my MC, so dontcha do that again!" he warned, putting his arms possessively around MC.

He reluctantly agreed to follow MC around as they gave their friend a tour, but he was definitely going to find a way to convince MC to end that friendship. A person with zero respect for their friend's relationship was not friend material at all.

Leviathan:

Ugh. Another normie he was going to have to deal with. The only normie he even cared about was his MC, so the entire time he was internally complaining about not being able to hide in his room. He was polite of course, introducing himself to her and reluctantly shook her hand when she offered it; but the moment she squeezes his hand and presses against his arm, he freaks.

"D-Don't touch me like that! I don't even know you, what kind of human are you?! Be your guide!? N-No! MC! MC, let's go home! I don't like this normie!"

Makes it completely obvious he does not like how she is acting towards him and MC. He catches on to her flirting and he hates it with a passion.

When MC tries to apologize to their friend for his actions, he stops them and says they don't need to apologize, that she is the one who should for how she was acting towards the both of them.

Her stay there just ends up being an awkward mess sadly, and she ends up going home sooner than she planned. Levi will make sure she doesn't bother MC anymore.

Satan:

He is a complete gentleman to their friend, introducing himself with a smile on his face the entire time. He welcomes them to his home, being respectful as ever, until she presses herself against him, trying to speak seductively in his ear.

The smile on his face twitches slightly, and MC can feel the waves of anger slowly coming from him as he gently removes her grip on him, taking a few steps back to be next to MC.

"I will do my best to be cordial with you for the sake of MC, but you would be wise to not be so flirtatious with me in front of them. I do not take disrespect like this lightly. Please take this as a warning. Because next time I will not be as kind."

His green eyes seer into her own, and for a moment MC fears his demon form is going to take over; but he clears his throat and turns to face them, leaning forward to place a soft kiss to their lips.

"Forgive me, love, but I don't feel I will have the patience to deal with your friend. Do enjoy yourself with her, but I do not foresee her coming back here any time soon once she leaves."

Asmodeus:

He is bubbly as ever, excited to meet this so highly talked about friend! When he meets her, he happily shakes her hand, showering her in compliments on her looks and attire, but he stiffens slightly when she presses incredibly close to him suddenly, flirtatious words filling his ears.

Oh, what a bold human she is! He smirks and breaks into a fit of giggles, embracing her for a moment as he bats his own lashes at her in return.

"Oh my sweet darling, you don't stand a snowball's chance in hell with me.~"

He bursts into laughter at the dumbfounded look on her face, letting her go with a small push as he returns to his MC, wrapping himself around them and nuzzles their cheek.

"Ugh, my love, we need to help you work on your taste in friends. This one is definitely rotten. But I guess since she is here, we can show her around a bit. Maybe even help her get a better fashion sense."

Beelzebub:

He's standing next to MC, holding their hand as they wait for their friend to arrive. She comes walking up and waving, but gives Beel the most obvious once over, sauntering up to him and holding out her hand. He takes it and shakes it rather roughly when he introduces himself, but when she doesn't let go, he looks at her with confusion on his face. She presses closer to him, chest flush against his arm and he stiffens for a moment, before wiggling out of her grasp.

"Don't do that, it makes me uncomfortable. And it's rude to MC especially. They were looking forward to your visit, so don't be rude."

She apologizes but tries to win him over with a pouty lip and puppy eyes, but he simply ignores her, turing his attention on to MC.

"MC, I don't like her. Can we just go off together and get burgers or something?"

She gawks at his forwardness, but he refuses to give her the time of day anymore. Anyone who disrespects his MC like that will never have an ounce of his time.

Belphegor:

He was leaning on MC, his chin perched on top of their head/their shoulder as they were waiting for their friend to arrive. He was a little annoyed he was going to have another person to share their attention with; but he did look forward to hearing stories from the human world about MC that they wouldn't share with him. Could be a good form of bonding to get used to this friend.

When she finally arrived, he shifted from MC to greet her and introduce himself, but the way she squeezed his hand and pressed herself against him made him grimace instantly. Her sultry voice sounded like nails on a chalk board to him. Nope, he definitely did not like this person at all.

"Tch. Whatever. I guess it's nice to meet you, but I sure as hell don't like you."

MC got on his case, but he just frowned in response, telling them that she shouldn't openly flirt with him like that in front of them.

He made it his goal to make sure her stay with them was miserable, pulling pranks on her and not bothering to hide the fact it was him. Hopefully that would teach her to treat her friends and their relationships with more respect.

Diavolo:

He was extremely excited to be meet a close friend of MC's, and was genuinely hoping she would like and approve of him dating them, considering his status in the Devildom. The people most important to them were important to him as well, and he wanted to be as polite and respectful to her as he could.

But when she barely said a word to MC, only walking straight up to him and being openly flirtatious with him, his smile faltered. Was this really MC's best friend from the human world?

He recoiled from her touch instantly and stepped back, crossing his arms in annoyance at her behavior. "I welcome you to my realm, and you act as such? Do be mindful of who you are dealing with here. I don't take kindly to those who disrespect me and my own."

After telling her off, she changed her tune; you don't ever step on the toes of a demon who could have you burned to a crisp. He made sure she also treated MC better during her visit, though once she left, Dia made it a point to help MC find better friends.

Barbatos:

Ever the loyal butler, he is incredibly polite and cordial when MC's friend arrives with them at the castle, and he greets them with a bow. The friend giggles openly, offering her hand for Barbatos to shake, only to grip tightly and try to move in closer to him.

She makes a remark about how good looking he is as she tries to press against him, asking if he wouldn't mind showing her some of the 'fun' spots in the Devildom; but he immediately pulls away, placing his hands behind his back as he gives her the fakest smile. MC can sense his annoyance right away, but before they can offer an apology for their friend, he holds up a hand.

"No need, my dear. I can already tell how her visit here is going to go. We will make a schedule for her to visit places here in the Devildom, and she will have an escort. Oh, and young lady," he leans in ever so slightly, a sinister look to his eyes despite his smile, "attempt to touch me like that again in front of my beloved and you might just lose your hand."

Needless to say, her stay was not the most pleasant one; and Barbatos was going to make sure to show love to MC after discussing with them how to cut off that horrid friendship.

Simeon:

He was all smiles and politeness when he greeted MC's friend, happily shaking her hand when she introduced herself. He of course gave his name and also stated he was MC's boyfriend, a status he was very proud of; but he froze when she giggled and stepped closer, pressing her chest to his arm and asking him in the flirtiest way if he could give her a 'private tour'.

He forced the smile back on to his face, as he patted her hand, doing his best to stay polite as he declined her request.

"I am sure you would much prefer to spend your time with MC, since you are here to visit them. Isn't it rather inappropriate to act in such a manner in front of them as you are?"

He finally pulled away from her and took up MC's hand, placing a kiss to their knuckles before pulling them in for a tight hug. He gave the friendly one last judgmental glance before addressing MC.

"I apologize on behalf of your friend, my lamb. So that she does not continue to act in such a disrespectful manner, I will let you have your time with her alone. We can meet up later, alright?"

Solomon:

He was spending time with MC in the human world, actually staying at their home when their friend was coming over to visit and meet their infamous boyfriend. He was all smiles when she introduced herself, and he shook her hand, giving his name and proudly addressing himself as MC's boyfriend; but the moment she started getting flirty with him, he pulled a full stop.

"Sorry, that's not going to fly with me (Name). I don't appreciate you being flirty with me in front of my partner like this, so mind yourself," he leaned in menacingly, "or you'll find out why I'm so infamous."

She looked between him and MC, eyes wide at his threat; but MC just gave an awkward shrug, explaining that...that's just how he was...

He made sure to shower his attention on MC the entire time said friend was visiting, trying to make her feel uncomfortable for being so cruel to them. He even tried to pull a few pranks on her as well, emphasising just how much he did not like her.

Once she finally left, he had a talk with MC on how someone like that just couldn't be a real friend, and if she was going to continue be disrespectful, he would teach her a few of his tricks personally.

[angsty-omi]

you get jealous of their manager

suna rintarou; sakusa kiyoomi

angst to fluff, hurt/comfort.

suna rintarou

when rin told you about the new manager, you didn’t expect her to be blonde, curvy, and absolutely gorgeous. honestly, just looking at her made you insecure. the way all the boys gawked at her everytime she walked by. you didn’t care about the boys though, you only cared about a boy, your boyfriend rin. she’s with him longer than he’s with you. practices take up most of his day, so you only saw him once he got to your shared apartment where he was too tired to do anything that exterted energy. to be fair, you were fine just staying in, but imagining him with her during practices made you uncomfortable.

it was even worse when he’d go out to dinner with the team and her. you couldn’t remember the last time he’d even ask you on a date. you hated the way he stopped trying once you started dating. starting to reach the AMs when you called him.

“y/n?” his slurred tone showed that he was drunk.

“suna? where are you? it’s almost 12 am.” you scolded. how could you not? he’s drunk and with a girl that you were very envious of.

“first of all, can you chill? i literally told you that i’d be out with the boys, i don’t understand why you’re getting so upset,”

“upset? you’re literally out with a girl who’s very attarctive” you frustrated.

“oh i see what this is now, you’re jealous and you don’t trust me.”

“it’s not a matter of trust, it’s just i fe-feel uncomfortable and i oh i don’t know wanted to talk about it?” you started to raise your voice. the attempt to set a boundary has failed, and rather was replaced with you being the enemy.

“she’s my friend y/n, get over it because you’ll be seeing a lot more of her,” rin hissed.

“i’m not telling you who you can be friends with or not, but you have to understand where i’m coming from” you murmured.

“just leave me alone, i can be friends with whoever i want, and the last thing i’m going to do is let a bitch dictate that.” suna argued loudly.

it was followed up by silence, with a girl voice cutting in, “rin-rin let’s do this song together!” in a high pitch squeal caught the mic.

“oh so you’re rin rin now huh? i can’t be surprised considering how much time you spend with her!”

“well maybe i like hanging out with her. did you ever think of that y/n? it’s nice to have someone who wouldn’t nag or bitch about me, she doesn’t pry for me to open up,” he attempted to justify his actions.

“okay fine then, if she’s soooo perfect than just date her” words just started spilling out of your brain, and it was too late to take it back.

“maybe i will!” he roared. after he sunk in what he was saying, he followed up with “w-wait i didn’t mea-” trying to save his relationship.

“do whatever you want suna, whether you’re with her or not it’s not my problem anymore, i’m done.” you ended the call, tears freely flowing down your face.

you couldn’t sleep that night. pathetically, you’d hope that suna would at least give you a call back, or any sign that he still cared for you. but he didn’t, and you assumed that was your answer. you would reevaluate the relationship after a good nights sleep on the couch. you couldn’t sleep on the bed due to suna’s lingering scent.

when 4am rolled around, the door opened as quietly as possible. suna assumed that you were asleep in bed, and was prepared to join you. when he walked in the bedroom and saw the bed still made, he panicked. did you really leave? were you actually done with the relationship? he checked everywhere, the bathroom, kitchen, the basement, and not the most obvious place ever. he dialed your phone, and heard loud ringing from the living room. he slapped his forehead in stupidity and made his way over to you. his heart broke at the sight. the way you tried to fit your body with the throw blanket, unaware that you were shivering at the cold. your face was also pale, with dried tears on them. you looked so broken and so drained. immediately, suna carried you off the couch bridal style, and tucked you into the soft king sized bed. he then, moved onto his side and slid under the sheets. it’s only when he grabs your waist is when he feels safe enough to sleep.

five hours later, you awake with dried tears still in your eyes. you wiped them with your arm, and felt weight around your waist. once your eyes were cleared, it was suna. you let yourself comfort in his warmth for just a bit more, knowing that there’s a huge argument to come.

“suna we can’t just not talk about this,” you whispered into his ear, knowing he was awake. he hid in the crook of your neck, “i’m sorry. i’m so so sorry, please take me back.”

“i can’t just accept your apology blindly, we have to set boundaries or else we’ll never move forward.” you sighed while tracing circles on his bare chest.

“i’ll never even look at her again,” his face deadpanned. your laugh vibrated against his chest, “that’s not needed, it’s not really her fault anyways. how about, we spend more time on dates and devote days for each other?”

“anything, princess.”

sakusa kiyoomi

sakusa hated physical touch, the spread of germs with a single handshake grossed him out. that’s why he built a cold exterior to prevent many from getting close. however, when he met you, you happened to be the exception and you took pride in the fact that he was only comfortable with you. he’ll never admit it to you though, and claims he only ‘endures’ your hugs. although, you knew your limit, you would never show affection in front of people. if there’s one thing sakusa hates, it’s PDA.

so you couldn’t really blame the new cute manager for flirting with him, because it seemed like he was single. listen, you trusted sakusa with your whole heart, but you just wanted to see how he would react with a girl flirting with him.

you hid behind the door, eavesdropping behind the door.

“sakusa-senpai, can you please help me up?” the cute manger whined.

“can you not get up yourself?” sakusa groaned.

“no i think i twisted something,” as a girl, you knew exactly what she was doing and her execution was poor. you rolled your eyes, assuming sakusa too would know what she was doing.

but he didn’t.

“thank you, sakusa-senpai!” she squealed, and then what you can assume, she hugged him. because then it caught him by suprise, and they both fell together, with her on top of him. you didn’t hear him scolding her, rather he was laughing. he was happy with her presence when he wouldn’t even physically show it with you. you decided to just walk in and stop this.

amidst of their laughter, both heads looked up at you. “sakusa, don’t you have to get home soon?” with an eyebrow raised.

“uh actually sakusa-senpai it’s getting dark, mind if you could walk me home?” she babbled.

“fine, y/n you can walk yourself right?” he said casually, while packing up his things.

“y-yeah i guess” you stammered.

on your walk home, you were reevaluating what just happened. no longer did you feel special anymore. your brain started to overthink itself, why did they look better as a couple? and why was he so relaxed around her? was i just not the right person? has he found his true love? all these scenarios made you start to tear up. you were in love with the germaphobic man, for god sakes.

when you got the shared apartment, you immediately took a shower, knowing that sakusa was going to nag you anyways when you got home.

then, you started on dinner and chopping up some vegetables when you heard the door open. he nodded at you, acknowledging your presence and was waiting for the hug you gave him everytime he came home. but you didn’t, and he awkwardly just stood there for good minute or two. to your suprise, he was the first one to make the move. he wrapped his arms behind you and resting his head on your neck. immediately, you shrugged him off.

he furrowed his eyebrows, “is there something wrong?”

“i don’t know, is there something wrong?” you repeated his question.

“i wouldn’t know, that’s why i asked.” he bellowed.

you put the knife down and faced him, “you know i love the double standard of how i have to shower before i get to touch you, but that whore gets to touch you whenever,” you ranted.

“our new manager? you can’t be serious. we fell, it was an accident.”

“maybe you thought it was, but i know what she was doing because i, too am a girl. if you guys just ‘fell’ why did it take so long for you to get back up? why’d you let her touch you for so long?” you questioned.

“i wasn’t thinking about it, not everything i do in life is rotated around germs-”

“except when it’s with me” your voice cracked. “right? it’s when it’s with me, that must be it. that’s why you never show any affection, but it’s okay for you because you’ve gotten tons from me and her!” you raved.

he tried to wrap his around you, but you moved out the way.

“don’t touch me with that whore’s filth,” you muttered, turning off the burner and stomped to your shared bedroom, slamming the door. your insecurities were roaring on the inside. sakusa chose to sleep on the couch, thinking you needed space. but, that was the least thing you wanted. you wanted him to beg, or to at least apologize.

over the following days, you didn’t wait for him outside of practice. in fact, the only time he saw you was in the morning before classes and at night when you left leftovers for him in the kitchen. after the argument, he pushed everyone away, especially with the new manager. he only wanted one person’s touch, yours. and to achieve that, he had to put in some effort. that night when he got home, he went straight to the shower. you assumed it was just a normal silent treatment day, so you went to bed scrolling.

you felt the weight on the other side of the bed. knowing who it was, you continued to aimlessly scroll on tiktok. sakusa abruptly grabbed your waist and coddled you, drowning you in pecks all around your face.

“mh.. sakus.. sa.. mh..” continuously getting cut off with his cute pecks on your lips. you decided to let go of the whole manager situation, and let yourself to just be happy. you wrapped your arms around his neck and put him even closer to you. he then pulled away and you dramatically groaned.

putting his face close to yours, “i love you y/n l/n.” before continuing.

a/n: if you like this series please request some characters you’d like to see!

[mochikeiji]

Exact Replica

Request: "Hi! I really love you're writing and was wondering if you could do prompt 25+29 for Kuroo Tetsuro from Haikyuu? And could it be angst to fluff? (Maybe Kuroo was ignoring the reader due to lots of work/stress so reader feels neglected?) It's totally up to you tho! Ty so much!!"

25. "Would you notice if I was gone?"

29. "I didn't mean it."

↠ Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x F!Reader

↠ Warning: angst to fluff, mentions of pregnancy and kuroo's sad childhood

↬ Word Count: 3.7k

↠ a/n: okay this is my longest one yet. I swear the prompt screams angst to fluff so much that I go into it.

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event

Kuroo Tetsuro achieved many great things in life after graduating from his university, with multiple acknowledgements and honors. Landed a position as a young CEO from a sports association at the age of 24, he had enough money in his pocket and bank to stable both of you financially. Life was good to him after having to build from the roots  of his ruined childhood; the only years of defeat Kuroo doesn't ever want to repeat. His father and mother were in the same position as you both are; owning your own shared house, good working environment, investments and stability, married.

Up until this day Kuroo questions why his parents split. They were fortunate that they had every thing completed, sadly it was the family and love that wasn't taken care of. You could be the happiest person, yet the void inside would still be there, Kuroo thought. Foolish people were to neglect something more valuable than any object that is given. Whether it was his father or his mother that stopped nurturing what they both bonded for the longest time, they were both fools to let each other go over something simple. He vows to never let history repeat itself.

But now the tables seemed to have flipped for the both of you. Your lives not far from what he had ran away from. If Kuroo could eat his words back, he would've now that he was running late yet again to coming home, forgetting about the promise he swore to about joining you after a full month of being occupied in his office. Coming home to have you already tucked in bed, but suffering in silence.

Most days he didn't bother greeting you in the morning and night. As a good wife, you understand. He was a busy man with an important position to maintain.

There were times where you'd be tapping your foot down on the floor as the clock strikes at an ungodly hour with your messages still not bothered to be replied to or even read. But you understand. He's working! Always doing what he can for the both of you like the good husband he wanted to be.

Even if sometimes he'd come home without a kiss or a simple, "I missed you." you understand. He's drained. No time for silly, endearing affections. You've done them a lot before back when you were younger. You're adults! Married! A married partner shouldn't be feeling so needy when the other was only doing their part.

Even when sometimes your insecurities would kick in whenever you'd visit your husband to drop his forgotten lunch again, only to see him flocked by different women; probably secretaries, interns, and assistance.

You understand. You always did took such good care of what you two have.

Well had.

His home office door slams shut, awakening you from your nap on the couch. Didn't Kuroo notice you when he walked in? Looking at the clock you noticed it was near 11:30 PM since he's arrived. Late again, maybe he hasn't eaten anything? No worries, you thought sadly. Stretching your aching muscles, you made your way to the dining area. So far dinner was left untouched once more. Just how many times has it gone to waste because you continued on cooking for two?

Or rather, three.

You beam at the sudden reminder while preparing your husband's plate. You'd always miss him whenever he'd come home, never had the chance to surprise him at the right time of your little discovery about a week ago. Fear did struck you because of the possible reactions he'd give, but you were so excited in sharing the news that a couple would share the equal happiness from, you couldn't contain it any longer.

Maybe you should've chosen another time unbeknownst to you how your husband was hunched over his desk, clearly in displease of the previous events that had occurred during the meeting back in his office. Hence why his work stack added more piles of predicaments, only fueling his headaches more wishing he could just lay down peace and quiet without disturbance.

He grumbles at the knock on his door, only typing furiously with emphasized taps on the keyboard. You, not sensing the emitting aura from the room took it as a response for you to enter. It surprised you a bit on how disordered his home office had become. It was obvious his coat had been thrown carelessly as it lays on the floor, wrinkled. Carefully placing the plate full of food on the small coffee table at the side, you gingerly picked up the article of clothing. Lightly trying to smoothen out the lines before hanging it behind his door and turning back to your husband.

"Tetsu?" cautiously calling out his name, you were kind of wary at the fact he didn't turn to see you unlike he does before whenever you'd enter the room. "I brought you your dinner. You came home pretty late." you tried to maintain the light hearted tone of your voice to hide how nervous you were in telling him the big news.

The atmosphere was kind of eerie when all he did was hum meekly from your words. Feeling a bit disheartened from his lack of attentiveness, still forcing a smile, you padded a little closer behind him with your hands clasps together. "I also wanted— well needed to tell you something." averting your eyes away from him as you prepared in your head. With a small hope he'd turn around for once after a long time.

"Can it be another time? I'm in the middle of stuff here."

Another time.

Why is it always next time? It's frustrating enough to not see him or have him speak to you even for a moment, but this made your stomach churn in an unpleasant way. Frowning at his poor reply, you gulped a few of your sentence back. Not fully trusting your emotions getting in the way, "You never really talked to me before, Tetsu.. I get that you're busy, but it wouldn't hurt for you to give a little minute for me."

Even just a second as long as he'd finally notice you.

"(Y/n) if you understand then why bother? You can clearly see I'm busy." chest huffing out a harsh sigh, still not bothering to turn around. Gripping your hands tightly, your patience were starting to snap. "You're always busy, Tetsu! I never had a proper conversation with you again." raising the volume of your voice a little made his actions come to a halt. Chair revolving around to face you. His appearance made it obvious how exhausted he has been; tousled hair that he usually takes longer to style, the light forming bags underneath his eyes from the screen and lack of sleep. The visible annoyance marked in his expression. But couldn't he say the same for you?

"Fine. Here, you have my attention now. Are we talking properly now?" his way of provoking you wasn't in the right place. It only made you look at him in disbelief because you've grown to never meet such side of your husband before. The news you had originally planned to share vanished from your head, replaced with the restrained emotions that has been building up inside your heart, tipping over.

"Tetsu, what is wrong with you?" looking at him now seemed like you were talking to someone else. His words were curt and short with no intention of prolonging the conversation, itching to get back to work so he could be done with it. "I already you I'm just busy. I would be done by now if you didn't want to talk properly with me." he says as if he's the one in distraught. "Seriously, nothing's wrong but I think you aren't. You're never like this."

"That's because you never cared to noticed in the first place!" wailing out the collapsed emotions that has weighed you heavily. It was too late to stop yourself from voicing out the things your husband left aside. A full month of being a good, understanding image of a wife thrown away to the rubbles without even appreciating the the long nights of you waiting up for him, cooking meals even though the next day they'd end up being in the trash, tolerating the coldness of the used to be warm sheets, putting up with the insecurities you took upon yourself to hide to avoid troubling your husband further when all you wanted was for him to assure you that he still loves you and only you.

The fascade you put up just for him crumbles. And it infuriates you more of how he still doesn't notice.

"(Y/n), you know I've been working! There's so much stuff that needs to be attended for just so you and I could live normally!"

"Tetsuro, we are stabled, it's okay to slow down a bit. How is this any normal to you when you don't even realize how this affects me?!"

The chair slides back roughly against the floor with a loud creak as he towers over you. Glowering eyes with a dark expression looming over his face, clearly now enraged. "You're being selfish right now. I'm here doing what I can to support us and all you could think of was you, you, you. Can't you see I'm doing this for you as well? God what else do you want from me, the world?"

"I only wanted you to give me your time and attention even just for a second, Tetsuro! I've been doing my best for you all this month and I never said anything to trouble you!"

It hurts when he said how you were being the selfish one when it was the opposite. It dawned to you that all those days of giving your all for him wasn't once noticed. "Will you ever grow up already? Attention? Really? We're adults, (Y/n) not teenagers for fucks sake. My time is just wasted because of you!" he doesn't stop there even if you've had your mouth already shut from how he portrayed you as. His words were beginning to leave a deep scar in you as you quiet down to the next line.

"If you think that nothing is troubling me, there is! And you just happen to add in for crying out loud!"

There were no words exchanged after his meltdown. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looks away from you— who's eyes were already watery. Unable to even tell your side anymore at the ache of your heart. "So..I'm just troubling you then?" quivering out your words, Kuroo clenches his jaw as the bubbling frustration was being held back with the last bit of restrain he had.

"Would you notice if I was gone, Tetsu?"

Instead of being alarmed by your chosen form of sentence, you watched with sad eyes as your husband pulled back his chair and faced his workload. He didn't even noticed you're already crying silently, "Not now, (Y/n). We'll talk later."

He doesn't even noticed how you walked out sobbing with a shattered heart nor the door in the living room closing. Leaving him alone for the next few hours in peace like he wanted.

Time went on quickly when one doesn't take their eyes off from their consecutive workaholic state. With a groan, he almost slams his laptop shut before stretching his bones, slowly relaxing the tense muscles. It's up to his co workers and assistance to deal with the load he's prepared to dump onto them after they threw all theirs to him. Hoping to freshen up his face, Kuroo tidies his desk up before making his way to the door. Stopping in realization of the now cold dinner that was left on the coffee table.

His stomach growled loudly at the lack of food it's digested in the longest run. It was still good if he heats it up, he does miss eating home made meals than his stale ones back in the cafeteria of his workplace. Grabbing the plate carefully he first made a short journey to the kitchen to heat up his food. Unusual it was to have all the lights out in the house. You'd always leave some opened when he was awake. Then again the guilt started to crawl up to his chest knowing he's the cause of why you'd forgotten.

Now entering the bathroom with water running down his face, he plans ahead the apology he owes you when he wakes up tomorrow morning. He could reschedule his own time since he is the boss. He closes the faucet right after he was done rinsing. Looking around for the towel his eyes caught something below the small organizer you put up next to the sink. Grabbing the towel above the first part of the organizer, bending down slowly to avoid getting cramps, his actions were quick to grab the object that caught his attention the moment it seemed so familiar and surprising.

Pregnancy test. Two lines for positive.

Having a child with you was the last thing he's yet to accomplish from his list, and here it was. As much as he wanted to be in denial, it all felt like surge of contentment drowns him in because he was going to be a dad. However his body began to tremble whilst still holding the test and staring intently at it. The previous guilt that was crawling beneath his bones became a dark, desolated hole of anxiety and fear that ate him whole. The things he's said and done will never be taken back no matter how he apologizes to the past events a few hours ago.

Hours ago. It was already 2:25 when the fight had ceased. Deep down he knows he couldn't wait until the next day to plead for forgiveness. After all, he did vow to never leave you both a day feeling heavy alone. Kuroo felt nauseous of how much of an asshole he had treated you. Like starting a game of volleyball once more, he was beyond nervous when he approached your shared bedroom. There was no excuse of his actions indeed as he solemnly enters the dimmed room. He sighs a little shaky when he closes in your bed, "Baby?" he starts, "Baby, are you awake?" it was one of the little things he's memorized that you'd do when you both aren't in good terms. You never really slept, just pretended because you always had the heart to wait up for him.

When he gets no response he reaches out to pat you, only coming to the sense that the sheets were left untouched; no warmth traced behind. You weren't there, any where. His blood runs cold and immediately fishes out for his phone in his pocket, speed dialing your number while he circles the entire area of the house in case you'd be there. Now he was more terrified when he hears the familiar voice mail from the living room couch where you had slept while waiting for him.

You left your phone. His wife wasn't home— his pregnant wife.

"Fuck." running a rough hand through his tangled hair. The lump on his throat grows but he refuses to let out a string of sobs. It was his fault you were gone at such an ungodly hour. Kuroo felt more than a bigger asshole than before he's made you come to the point of leaving home. Just as his mother did and never returned. The one thing he swore you two would never be the same came to life, only thought now is Kuroo doesn't know whether you've left him for good after being a neglectful husband and to have dishearten his own beloved wife like that.

"Would you notice if I was gone?"

Rang in his head as he stood outside the neighborhood, running. Chasing after a hallucinated image of you any place he tried to remember you'd be in. A fool he has been to have left you in a loveless marriage. He loves you, he really does. He can't imagine a life without you in it. Just as it was about to become the happiest he's wanted, he pushed it all too soon. A bad husband, he cries. "(Y/n), please come home." legs aching and panting from having to study all areas. It was pitch black; there were no opened spots for you to even go at an hour of slumber and chaos. The only convenient store did not even have you in it. You were no where to be seen and Kuroo breaks.

Of course he'd notice when it was all too late. The past he's ran away from was still the place he's returned now that the house was only occupied by nothing but rotten memories of the love he didn't took care of. The exact replica of a married life he desperately tried to dodge. "I'm so sorry." for the lonely nights he's left you to sleep, over thinking of what may have been your fault and always figuring him out tirelessly. For the small efforts of adoration he didn't took a glance at and gone to waste. For the words that were never even meant for you to ever feel. For being a neglectful husband. He was sorry he noticed too late how he ruined his precious wife.

Now he's left you on your own out in the dangers outside. If anything horrible happened to you he will forever be crushed. But the world thinks that second chances are given to those who truly deserve them after you came in quietly, slipping off your sandals and waving back to your friend who had dropped you off home. Your short break to the convenient store changed when you met up with her and drove back to her place to rant about what happened. Being the sluggish person you are whenever sadness hits, you never noticed how long you've over stayed. It wasn't like your husband was going to know if he still was working.

Much to your surprise that he wasn't, you stifled a gasp to find him with his hands holding his head that was leaned down on the table. His shoulders were lightly jolting with escapes of audible sniffles, indicating that he was in fact crying. If he looked exhausted before, it wasn't enough to describe his current state; as if he was a man who'd lost every thing as he sat there with all hope lost. Your foot padded on the creaky part of the floor in attempt to tiptoe over his hunched back to comfort him. Squeaking in the awkward situation you've put the room in when Kuroo turns his head behind to see you standing there a bit frightened, but concerned when you saw how disheveled his face looks.

"Tetsu—" his name got cut off short from when you almost tripped over your balance at the sudden impact of Kuroo throwing himself into your arms with his weight. You couldn't make out what he was mumbling on about, but you melt to his embrace even if he squeezes the living day lights from you, afraid that he was going crazy and you weren't real. "Thank God," litters of kisses were placed on your clavicle, "You're back."

He repeats, slowly convincing himself that you are indeed home in his arms, safe, no harm detected. Just home. "I'm so sorry.."

"I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of what I said, I-I'm so sorry." your bodies swayed gently to the sound of your hushes and his cries of apologies. "Please don't leave me like that again. I was so scared."

"Shhh, it's okay, Tetsu. I'm sorry. I'm okay— we're okay." leading him to sit down at the couch, you placed the bag of different brands of sweets and junk on the table before facing your husband. You had to stifle in a laugh watching him wipe his nose, you couldn't help but be reminded of a mini Tetsuro by looking at him. The argument that stung you faded when he took a hold of your hands and mumbled another apology.

"You shouldn't be sorry for anything. I should be.." flickering his eyes from your belly to your bloodshot eyes from your own fiasco back in your friend's place, he slides in closer next to you where your shoulders touched. "I haven't been a good husband lately, have I?" he looks at you expectantly. Frowning, you still nodded. Tired of hiding your own feelings from him.

"I know you're busy most of the time, Tetsu. But I just wanted you to recognize me as your wife." thumbs quick to swipe away the tear that had shed from your eye, "We're in this together, remember?" he pulls you right from the arm, shoving your face to his chest in need to hold you for all the times he should've. Ignoring the dampness of his white long-sleeved polo, breathing in the scent of your sweet shampoo. You were still so forgiving and understanding despite on how equally tired as he was you are.

"I'm so sorry I've made you feel as if I never cared anymore. You never deserved that." his lips found it's way to the crown of your head. "I don't deserve you, and I really don't want to lose you after me being stupid." giggling through tears, fist connecting a soft punch on his chest, bubbling a chuckle to the surface as he lightly pulls you away from hiding.

"I really didn't mean all of those things I've said, baby. I love you and only you." stroking ever so lovingly your cheek, you don't catch on to the fact that his other hand was placed over your stomach protectively. Making a silent promise to not only you, but the soon to be new addition to the family that he will never again neglect what he should've cherished more and looked after than the constant worries at the back of his head.

Because he will never again repeat the replica of a broken family he once was born in.

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