#they go to say goodbye at the Gentlemen's club

[yourangle-yuordevil]

what if we flirted at the gentlemen club 😳 (and we were both flirting) 😞❤️😞Discreet Gentlemen's Club

[leviathanspain]

Can you write a Benedict Bridgerton fluff oneshot where Colin is best friends with the reader’s twin brother (and she with Daphne and Eloise) and Colin let’s it slip that he’s accidentally seen the reader in her nightgown amongst his and Anthony’s teasing of Benedict’s long-standing feelings for her and the reader happens to overhear?

little things

benedict bridgerton x reader

synopsis: the brothers teasing has finally made its mark, and benedict can’t hold himself back anymore

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colin, anthony and benedict greeted you and your twin brother as you arrived to the bridgerton household. the bridgerton sisters followed, daphne and eloise smiling brightly at you as you returned their smile.

your twin brother, ernest, was swept up by the bridgerton boys. you turned back to raise an eyebrow at him, “be back soon! and nothing out of the sorts, i mean it, bridgertons!” you tried to use your best, stern voice as your brother was shoved out the door, most likely going to the local gentlemen’s club.

your brother was usually sent home in a carriage, practically spilling out the door with how drunk he was. it was funny the first few times, but now it was anything but.

daphne and eloise took you by the arms, leading you to their library for some discussion on the latest novel you have all been reading. “don’t worry about ernest, he’s a good boy, and colin will take him home as always.” daphne tried to comfort you, but thinking about it, it didn’t make it any better.

a few drinks in, and ernest excused himself. the three brothers watched him walk steadily out to find the bathroom before turning to each other.

“he’s a delight.” anthony remarked with a smile before downing his drink.

colin laughed, “i’ll say. his sister is turning out to be an even better one!” he swung his rum around in his glass, taking a sip while he turned a coy eye to anthony.

anthony picked up what colin was putting down and nodded firmly, “yes. a good set of childbearing hips, and she has a good set of lungs on her.” he raised his eyebrows at benedict, who knew exactly what his brothers were doing.

“i’ll have you two know, that lady y/n is a very intelligent woman. a good set of brains on her.” he nodded, happy with his answer as he swung a drink down.

“a good set of something for sure.” colin pursed his lips, “the modiste didn’t use too much fabric on her nightgown. i could practically see everything.” he nudged anthony who nearly spat out his drink.

benedict stopped moving completely, “what?”

colin shrugged, “her hips, every curve, every nook, every cranny. she’s gorgeous, brother. i understand why you fancy her so.” anthony quieted the conversation just as ernest walked back into the room, “listen boys, let’s call it a night shall we?”

you rushed down the steps of the bridgerton house as you heard the carriage pull up. you bid your farewell to the sisters as you walked out into the fresh london air.

the door to the carriage opened and out fell the three bridgerton brothers. anthony greeted you first, bidding you a quick goodbye as he strolled inside. colin did the same, avoiding your eyes, strangely, he booked it inside.

benedict took slow steps as you approached the carriage, his hands in his pocket as you stopped before him.

“my, my, sir bridgerton. i see that the night has served us both well.” you smiled, and benedict returned the smile, “only has it gotten better that you illuminate it once more with your smile.” he complimented you, “have a good night, lady y/n.” he grabbed your hand, gently placing a kiss on it before strolling inside.

as you hopped into the carriage, you saw your brother, slightly less drunk than previous times, still smiling widely though as he greeted you.

“sister- didn’t you have a coat on when we arrived?” he blinked once before throwing his head back, closing his eyes with a groan.

you looked down and realized he was right. you were wearing a long sleeved dress, and didn’t even realize you had forgotten your cost. good thing the carriage hadn’t pulled off yet!

you stepped down, and ran back up the steps to the bridgerton house. a maid let you in, and you ran back to the library to get your coat.

you found it sitting in the chair that you had been in, and you shucked it on.

you tiptoed out of the library and past anthony’s study, which had the door cracked open. as you approached, you heard loud voices echoing off the walls. it was the brothers, and whatever it was about, was clearly heating them up.

“-you can’t just say things like that, colin! you know how he feels about her!” one voice said, and you deciphered it to be anthony.

colin, you assumed, cleared his throat, matching the volume level, “i am drunk! and it’s about time he admits he loves her, im tired of trying to make him jealous enough to do it! i might as well marry her if that’s what it’ll take!” it was clearly about a girl, and it seemed like it was about benedict too.

benedict, the last one to say anything was sighing deeply, “you are so lucky i didn’t punch you out right there. how could you admit to seeing her in her nightgown?! she was indecent, and yet you joke about it like it’s something funny? y/n is a lady, her twin brother is our best friend!” benedict shouted back at colin, and you realized with a pang, that it was you they were talking about.

“fine, im sorry benedict. but you need to admit things to yourself. this isn’t just some childhood crush, she’s debuting next season, make sure y/n becomes your wife.” colin exited the room first, and as the door opened, your shocked face on the other side of it, it was like his face was lit on fire.

“y/n- lady y/n! i thought you left?” colin pushed the door open and his brothers stood up to meet him at the door.

you looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “i left my coat behind.” you looked at the three brothers and nodded firmly, “very well. i shall depart now.” you gave colin a glare before you started to walk away.

as you walked, you heard them whispering amongst themselves, and as you reached the door, a slap echoed into the hall and you stopped for a moment until you continued on.

as you walked down the steps to the carriage, a shout had you turning around.

“y/n!” all formalities had been thrown out as benedict stepped down to meet you, he panted slightly and caught his breath, “my brothers-“ he laughed, “are horrible.” he finished, “i apologize for what you heard, if you did hear anything but,” he reached down and grabbed your hands in his, taking you by surprise, “i suppose i needed this.” he chuckled slightly, “in order to do this.”

leaning forward, his lips met yours in a kiss, taking you in his arms, you kissed him back roughly. suddenly, it dawned on you where you were, and you inhaled sharply, pulling back.

“mr. bridgerton.” you couldn’t help but smile as you fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. his hand lifted your chin slightly and you stared for the first time in those big bright eyes, “i suppose you’ll see me tomorrow morning.” he let you go now, and you smiled, “i suppose so.”

he turned and watched you walk to your carriage, your brothers drunk slurs floating up to benedict’s ears as he carried himself back inside, his brothers already cheering from the doorway.

[smuttyaf]

Jasper Gentlemen’s Club

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭

wc: 9.3k | part two of the business

“Treat yourself to something nice.”

Smile shines genuinely at the stack of blue bills falling into your grip. The heart of your customer pounds against your ear from the generous tip being gifted as you swiftly lean in pressing a kiss against his stubble cheek.

“I’ll surprise you,” You tease. His grip growing tighter against your hip at the gesture. “But that will just be our little secret.”

Following your movements he heads with you out of the dim decorative room. You depart from his side once leaving the elevator with faint ‘goodbye’ and his lingering touch trailing away from your waist. White train flows down your sides as you venture to the back of the establishment.

Heels click against the chestnut floorboard, the sound of lockers closing and gentle laughter fill your ears.

“Speaking of the devil,” Grace grins. Fishnets and lace peek under the usual feather robe. Her ginger hair sits in voluminous curls while her eyes are painted in black shadow.

Jasper Gentlemen’s Club, your place of employment for three years now. It’s a private upscale strip club to say in short, however it was the popular type of establishment catered for specific people; the elites and socialites of society, ranging from celebrities to politicians.

Already being high maintenance from the clientele that it specifically caters for, there were codes set in place to appease them. For example, always having proper upkeep of your appearance. Nails, toes, hair, lashes; everything had to be perfect. You were meant to look like a doll for your customers, suppose to be their escape from reality so you had to play the part perfectly. The second, would be no photography or video recording. It’s a no brainer but it was hounded into your mind, the only type of film the customers will ever be on is the security cameras. The situation being so serious everyone in the building had to sign non-disclosure agreements. And the last and final major rule, always being dressed in the renowned long tulle robe. Each dancer had this garment in every colour and pattern you can imagine, fluffy soft material making all your coworkers look like fairies dancing under the inky light.

Sometimes you couldn’t believe that this was your job. Working at this elegant spot and always looking stunning with your weekly manicures, pilates classes, and lash appointments. It was all that consumed your life aside from work. Even though you never thought you would find yourself in this position you couldn’t help but be happy about it. You struggled a lot during your teenage years, getting kicked out of your home at a such a young age you had to turn into an adult quickly. So you accept this lifestyle of greedy men and lustful hands, you much prefer it over the life you had before.

“You look like a sexy dominatrix,” You say glancing over her attire for the night.

Peeling open your purse, you let your tip money fall amongst the pile built up from your shift.

“You know me, you really know me!” Grace giggles with hand lying on her heart. You laugh at her expression while sitting at your vanity next to hers. “So… Do you remember the club owner I’ve been telling you about?” She ask, one arm place on the back of her chair as she faces you. You hum at her words nodding your head slowly.

She was boasting about this man that has been her new favourite of the month. Ranting about how he tips her generously and was the most handsome out of all her regulars. You’ve never took much notice of her roaster though, too indulged with your own you couldn’t really care about what her clients look like.

“He’s here and brought a friend… I may or may not have put in good words about you that he wants to meet,” Grace remarks with plucked eyebrows wiggling. It results with you shaking your head in disagreement.

“No thank you, I would like to go home to Cleo,” You sigh giving her an annoyed look. The desire to kick off these heels and curl against his fur freckle coat was all you wanted to do at the moment.

“Oh come on! Just one more before you leave!”

You twist your head at her words again. The clock was ten minutes away from your shift ending and you couldn’t wait for those numbers to dial in. Biting your lip you look at her.

“At least talk to him, I’m sure he’ll tip you for that… you know, because you’re just the sweetest girl in this joint.” Grace mocks Jasper’s southern voice. You roll your eyes at the reminder of him drunkly calling you one of his most prized employees during one the work anniversary parties.

“Fine, but you owe me.” Huffing with fingers tapping annoyingly at the vanity.

“Of course baby doll.”

You both touch up your makeup before going to the floor once more. It was Saturday night which meant it was busy, there was men litter by the bar while many sit amongst the lounge chairs, eyes all set on your coworkers performing their own little show for them before paying for the real thing. Her black train leads you towards the elevator, security smiling as you two step into the machine.

“Three please.” Grace smiles. The guard swiftly presses the number that brings you to the floor reserved for the most confidential people.

This makes you confused. If her client is just a club owner he couldn’t possibly be on this status? That can only mean the guest he brought with him has to be the one filling the role. If you could do a little dance in the space you would. Happy in your head thanking Grace for making you tag along but also causing you to wonder who it could be.

The elevator halts as you reach the floor. Both of you stepping out of the machine with robe swishing against your skin. White fluffy material tugs along the carpet as your heels echo in the hallway, eyes meeting the number of the door 323. The golden knob turns, allowing you both to step into the dim room.

Plum curtains pressed in baroque prints drape amongst the wall with stockard candles laminating the room, it gives sight on the two men standing each with glass of dark bourbon held in their hands.

Grace’s annoying rant about her regular being remarkably handsome is something you totally understand now, both look as if they could easily get sign and put on a runaway at any moment. One man holds a golden hue to his skin, black shiny hair slick under the lights, while the other has fair skin and luscious curls.

They stand in black suits fitting seamlessly against their bodies. The brown eyes of one man holds hues of caramel looking towards Grace while the other has beautiful emerald orbs that makes your breath catch in your throat.

She makes her way to the bronze man, feathers of her robe flutter under the lights. “Angelo, Y/N. Y/N, Angelo.” She introduce. You roll your eyes at her playfulness.

“Nice to meet you Y/N,” Deep Italian voice fills your ears as you smile curtly before giving the brunette next to him your attention.

Eyes watch the contour of his cheeks sink from his jaw tensing. His hair was short with loose ringlets weaving through, nose broad and standing high amongst the features of his chiseled face. He was enchanting, especially with the way he’s towering over you in this dim light, your cheeks begin to swell with heat from this foreign feeling brewing in.

Yes, you had plenty of handsome clients but never once did it make your heart sing a different tune. Your canine tooth pierces the corner of your mouth. The focus he has on you was more then just admiring ones appearance, it was as if he was devouring you.

The only thought passing through your head is hoping he can’t see your blushing cheeks as you play along to his daring gaze and let your alluring persona kick in.

“And who must you be?” You question, lashes look up at the man who still overshadows you in these tall heels.

“I’m shock you don’t know my name love,” Deep voice matching the same tone as his friend. It causes waves of arousal to flow through you.

“Don’t mind her, she’s doesn’t involve herself in small talk here,” Grace interjects, her hand sliding on Angelo’s suited shoulder while stepping into his body.

“Oh? Just my kind of woman then.” The brunette smirks. Those words make your ears tingle and grow red.

Jesus Christ get it together! You think to yourself. This is your new client, not some cute guy at the club, reel in your feelings and do your job.

“Told you to trust me Harry… now have fun you two,” Grace sings, hand slipping and locking with Angelo as she tugs him out.

The sound of the door closing is met with the slow hum of The Weeknd that fills the atmosphere, your heart is pounding in your ears with smile shining on your lips. Timid palms glazed over with sweat run over the white train of your robe.

This was so unlike yourself to be shy around men, especially with your profession after these few years, but now it was as if you can’t even control your nerves. You want to jump his bones and study every inch of him.

“Harry?” You say, body leaning into him and immediately smelling his expensive cologne, Baccarat Rouge. Your favourite mens cologne. Yeah, this was going to be difficult.

“Harry Styles,” He clarifies, eyes drinking you in as you move closer.

Your hand leaves your robe and feels over his collar to roam down his chest to feel over the buttons there. Applying pressure you gently shove him back a few steps before he’s against the familiar sofa, his knees bend with back falling softly against the cushions, your body now towering over his seated position.

The way he’s staring at you made the blood running through your veins thump with urgency to regulate your heart. A closed off part of you is unravelling itself just from looking at this man.

“Let me help you relax, Mr. Styles.” Pushing his legs apart with your thigh, your hips begin to sway to the music in the air. Nails going to the ribbon and playing with the bow.

Teasingly letting the smooth material slide between your fingertips, you move to the soft voice of the artist through the space, head lolling back seductively as you begin to unravel the string, your white embellished lingerie set reveals itself when you let the garment slowly cascade down your arms to rest in the hollow of your elbows.

Intricate fabric displays your busty breasts smooth with light sparkles dazzling under the lights, the floral lace design sits tight against your hips as your thighs rub against each other from each swing. Besides your waist moving so confidently with each stride, you can’t get over the way you feel so timorous.

Harry gaze is practically looking through you, observing every alluring movement that you do. The gentle press of your hands run up his thighs, your hips twisting side by side as you make your way between his legs, nails dragging into the thick fabric of his suit while doe eyes look up at him with playful smirk on your glossy lips.

His chest inhales deeply, knuckles turning white as he strains his hands by his side. The look in your gaze makes him want to groan hungrily, especially due to the position you’re lingering in. Nails trail into his thighs dreadfully to the slow symphonies in the background. He bites down on his bottom lip, body shifting under your eyes as you begin to rise up, swaying your waist back to your original position.

You continue to be enticing, hands running up your body as you turn around let your robe venture further down your arms to rest by your wrists, plump backside set in the air as you continue provoking him.

These movements were nothing new, especially with the way you allow yourself to fall deeper into his body and begin to dance in his lap, hair falling across your face you when rub yourself slowly against his obvious erection. Although, performing this sequence over hundreds of times your heart was beating erratically in your chest with mind racing with millions of thoughts. Thoughts you never had before ever since you’ve started working here, this new found feeling as if discovering Pandora’s Box.

You try to ignore the glint in his eyes, the way they hungrily look over every inch of your body, staring as if knowing what’s brewing in your mind.

Harry’s hand peels away from the velvet seat going to your moving hips, pulling you deeper against his embrace with head lying in the crook your neck, breath warm against your ear as you continue your teasing.

“No touching… you know this,” You scold. But despite the taunt you don’t move his hands, instead you slide your fingers on his knees increasing your ruthless movements.

You hear the groan that erupts from him lowly, nails curling into your skin as you push further into him. Turning your head slightly you nearly brush your lips together, it leads you to stutter at the close encounter. The mistake in your movements so distinct that you know he felt it, and if the lights weren’t such a dim glow he would see the way your eyes flare up at the near moment of kissing him.

“But you like it? Don’t you?” Harry purrs in your ear, heart fluttering at the rasp in his voice.

Rather than burrowing deeper into his touch you draw away from his reciprocating moves, his hands falling to his sides as he smirks up at you, expression shining with amusement.

Smile toying on your lips you straddle his thigh, hands running up his arms to curl around his shoulders. Everything about him was driving you crazy; the colour of his eyes, the cologne drawing you in, the material of his suit that feels smooth under your touch. You want him on top of you in every way possible.

As if catching a glimpse into your mind his hands find themselves back on your hips, compelling you to halt your previous movements of swivelling circles to drag roughly down his thigh. Your clit pressing tightly between the material of your panties to his rough motions that it makes you moan surprisingly.

Immediately biting down on your lip you can’t help but lean forward towards his face, his hands still moving you along his body, inching you closer and closer towards him. Nose brush against each other in the rush exchange just as lips nearly touch. You quietly whimper at the feeling of his nails digging into your hips. His mouth parting slightly as if trying to breathe in the sound you release.

You want so badly to lean in and discover the way he tastes. Honestly, you would do anything to have him cocooned around you in this moment, but unfortunately those thoughts don’t overshadow the reality of why you’re both in this room right now.

Skimming your tongue over your bottom lip, your teeth bite deeply into the flesh continuing to let him control your movements, his eyes still staring at you as he watches you restrain yourself from showing pleasure.

“How much you charge for the night?”

The words hang in the air causing your face to draw away from his, mouth parting in surprise as your expression resembles disappointment. You should really laugh at yourself. Did you think he was different than the rest? That the possessive look he has on you meant something more? You barely even know the man and your heart jumps for joy just at the appearance. You’re so naive, so stupid to really think he would see you differently.

“I —I don’t do that.” You mumble, pulling further away from him as you divert your gaze.

The tension that was once a teasing attraction between the both of you now is strained, the hum of the song concluding in the background sounds in the atmosphere while Harry’s grip relaxes realizing your change of emotion.

“Oh? I just thought…”

“You thought wrong.”

Heels balance yourself back on your feet. Arms trailing down the expanse of his as you faintly smile at him, your hands gather the sleeves of your robe around your wrist and drape it back over your shoulders, fingers lacing the ribbon together as the speaker occupying the room begins to play another song.

“It was nice meeting you sir.” You hush, faint smile tugging amongst your lips even though your face reads as if someone stomped on your dreams.

“Hold on now, let me apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you in anyway.” Harry confesses, his hands that were once on your skin reach out to draw you into his touch, however you step back.

It didn’t matter how he was going to form his words to express his regret about the invasive question. Whether he tried to say it in the nicest way or simplest terms, you know how he sees you. Just like your other clients; their little play thing that they want to unwrap to see more skin under the fabric.

It’s why you care little about the words you hear regularly. It’s expected of you even if it wasn’t something you offer. Yet, even when hearing it so many times, it still hurt that you were always perceived that way.

“None taken, have a good night.” You conclude the conversation.

Swiftly turning around you ignore the irritated expression on his face from your words, as you exit the room you try not to think of Harry and the blooming feeling of his presence captivating you.

“You shouldn’t have such high expectations.”

Sparkling wine dazzles under the chandelier lights when Grace brings the glass to her lips. She rolls her eyes faintly as she drinks back the sweet liquid, all you can do is turn the noodles in your pasta out of boredom.

“You know that’s not it.” You sigh, fingers fiddling with the fork and slouching your head on your hand.

“Oh come on!” It’s her turn to exhale tirelessly with annoyed smile on her lips. “I say you let him have what he wants, see what you can get out of him.”

Of course she would say that because she provides that type service but, you on the other hand didn’t. You never look at Grace differently because of it but she would always comment on just letting certain clients pay for sex, little jabs about doing these favours especially since it charges more. Yes, it would be easy to receive such superficial things out of those gestures but you desire more than that, which she knew tremendously.

“You know that’s not my thing.” Letting your fork scrape against the red sauce in your plate.

“Yes that’s what you say but you’re so infatuated with him, just give it a chance you never know what you can get from Mr. Mafia himself?”

“Mr. What?”

Eyes nearly bulge out of your face as if you were a cartoon character. The metal instrument in your hand drops from your grasp with your head raising off your hold in complete shock. Harry was in the mafia? Now you’re just finding out about this?!

“Oops? I thought I told you,” Grace reveals as if it’s so normal to forget.

“Are you serious?” You remark, eyes stuck on the way she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly.

“Yes very serious, now relax. Some of our clients don’t have the best professions either.” She points out raising her eyebrows, and to that you nod in agreement.

You breathe in deeply, hands reaching out to grab your drink and take generous sips from discovering this new found information. This beautiful man with sweet colour eyes and soft curls was part of something dangerous. You never thought about what he could possibly do for work but that was definitely not one of them.

“But yes, the man you’re so in love with is in fact part of the mafia.”

“How do you know this?”

“If you spend enough time around drunk Jasper you’ll find out anything babe.”

Laughing faintly you agree to that, he was always the most honest when intoxicated.

“He was telling me about Angelo as a new client, how he’s some club owner laundering money for someone related to Luciano, some mob boss? I don’t know, never heard of that guy, but! When I met Angelo the first time at work… and well after work too, he was always having someone call him under Styles, one time I caught him talking to him on the phone, something about money so I just put two and two together.”

You bite down on your lip, eyes falling away from her hazel ones and to your unattended bolognese. Money laundering? Hopefully that’s the worse he’s ever done, but the inkling feeling roaming in the back of your mind tells you it’s not. Why should you even care though? This false hope that he’ll actually want you is slim, so why even try to care about what he does.

“I’m telling you girl, with the amount of money he probably brings in you should give it some thought.” Grace sends you another look as she continues eating.

Rolling your eyes again you bring the wine glass back to your lips. This conversation was steering its usual direction and frankly you were over it, you need to shove your heart back in your chest and forget these ridiculous ideas.

“Well if this isn’t a coincidence.”

Both of your sights catch on the same men you saw last night, especially on the specific man who is the topic of the conversation. Harry is now standing right in front of you still looking remarkably handsome as ever. This time he was dressed in a navy blue suit that brought out a gentle tone in his eyes. If you weren’t in this restaurant you would probably take up Grace’s words and get on your knees in this moment.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the heat rush to your cheeks, and unlike the gentlemen’s club the lights inside this restaurant are brightly lit around the room, only highlighting the flush to your skin. Diverting your gaze, you continue to tip the alcohol into your mouth as cheery laughter beams from Grace when she looks between Angelo and you.

“It’s good to know we all have taste,” She humours, while you decide to swallow back the sweet fluid and place your drink back in its previous place.

Your sight darts from your drink to the napkin with extra cutlery to avoid the unwanted attention burning on your face. You know it’s Harry practically boring holes into you, so heavy that you don’t even want to look up and see him. You just willow in Grace’s conversation doing everything to ignore contact.

That’s until weight presses on the back of your chair, the smell of him fills your nose as he practically buries his head into the side of your neck. You’re completely taken back at the gesture, head turning slightly to make distance.

“Are you going to hold onto my mistake forever?” Harry ask, voice low and assertive that you feel your cheeks grow even brighter.

Pulling away from his embrace you scan his face as he straightens his back peering down at you. He studies your appearance in reciprocation to your detecting gaze, as if wanting to know every dip and curve that roams the expanse.

“No.”

“Are you always this cold then?”

“Maybe.”

Finally breaking the stare down you turn towards Grace who smiles sheepishly Angelo way before looking towards you. Sight flickering between Harry retreating next to his friend.

“See you soon.” Grace shines watching the two step away and head to their table.

As soon as they’re out of sight you clench your teeth, fury completely combing through you at the sudden intrusion of the night.

“Ease up on him.” She laughs. It makes you sigh dramatically, reaching over and finishing your glass of wine.

“I want a shot,” You declare. It makes Grace erupt in even more laughter only making you join along. This night was full of surprises.

“For once would you take my advice?”

Monday evening is slow; music transitioning between easygoing temp to dreadful paste. You book a couple private rooms in the beginning of your shift, flirt with some men on the floor to find some entertainment throughout the night, till you’re now in the back room listening to Clarissa and Lucy rant about their evening.

“I told Simon to let Jasper know I’m not taking him anymore and he persists on me keeping him!” Clarissa groans in annoyance hand hitting the leather sofa with frustration. Her energy radiates annoyance.

“Simon probably didn’t even ask, he’s just saying that… you know how he is,” Lucy responds with an eye roll only making you laugh at the exchange.

“I heard that!” Simon strides into the room with clipboard in hand and sharing knowing glances between each girl.

“Lucy you have private room eighty-six, Y/N you have confidential in three-hundred and twenty-three, and Clarissa you’re on the floor in five! No one should be in the back room on slow nights, you ladies all know this.” The statement only causes the group to exchange displeased expressions.

Clarissa and Lucy stand from the couch and make their way towards their own respective vanities while you get out of your seat and move towards the club manager.

“Confidential?” You question, following him as he begins to walk out the room.

“Yes, same gentleman as your last shift so don’t keep him waiting, quickly now,” His voice rush as he takes your wrist softly in his hand and drags you to the elevator, he sends tight limp smile towards the security guard before nodding his head and stepping away.

Same gentleman as last time. Harry wants to see you again? Even yesterday after the attitude you put up? The thoughts erupt in your mind with each of ding of the elevator. Different emotions course through as you make steps towards the familiar door.

You know you shouldn’t get your hopes up. He’s just like all of your regulars who simply want to see you, another of your clients. Nothing he can say or do will make you change your mind.

Fingers curl around the door knob, you relax your shoulders and let an alluring smile spread on your strawberry colour lips. The bubbling anxiety rumbles in your stomach as you retrieve the door open and move deeper into the room.

He sat on the diamond encrusted sofa, white button up with few undone to reveal ink roaming amongst his collar bones. His back is against the seat with arms laid amongst the sculpted frame, one hand free while the other held a glass of dark liquor. Even though he was sluggishly sitting along the chair, the way his hair was in messy curls and gaze falling to every step you make towards him, you shiver in excitement.

“Mr. Styles.” You smirk, concealing the feelings that spark in you.

Harry’s eyes venture down the expanse of your appearance, lingering extremely long on the way your hips sway, to them eventually staring even longer at your lips while you look down on him. His tongue escapes his mouth to run over his flesh, the hand occupying his drink brings it to his lips.

You let your eyes reciprocate his actions, staring longingly at this disheveled appearance; you admire how charming he looks relax with his ruffled curls and roaming eyes. You want to reach out and brush your hand across his skin but instead you let them slide down your waist comfortably.

“You look good in red.” Harry comments locking sight and smirking at you. His hands twirl the ice cubes in his empty glass that echoes in the space.

Smiling faintly at the compliment, you bow your head at the acknowledgment. “Thank you sir.”

Harry draws his other hand off the frame, fingers reaching into his breast pocket feeling over the contents before pulling out two blue bills. The warmth of his palm melts against your skin as it slips through the space in your robe and slides it into the band of your panties.

“Fill up my glass.”

He’s pushing it into your hand, voice so demanding it makes you confuse at the change of tone. You welcome the cool feel of it before turning around and going to the serving bar located in the room.

With your movements unscrewing the bottle to pour the contents, you hear ruffling from behind. Your heart beats so intensely it begins to give you chest pains. Circling back on your heels and making your way towards Harry, you see another few bills between his fingers as you hold his drink in front of him.

“Sit down.”

You oblige taking the seat next to him, mind completely confused on the change of his behaviour. You know your attitude yesterday may have been uncalled for but this was a different type of treatment. His presence being so cold yet inviting, you can’t tell if you’re scared by him or not.

The hand resting along the couch occupied with papers between his fingers run along the strap of your bra, he tucks the bills there while his gaze goes back to admiring you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, welcoming the his palm going to your breast to feel up your neck and grip your jaw with dominance.

“Do you forgive me?”

Threaded brows press together completely dropping your suggestive demeanour, eyes going to his suited pants until his grip tightens and directs your attention back to his.

“Is that what this is?” You continue, gaze running over the way his jaw flexes. “This money for my forgiveness. I’ve heard worse things in my field of work sir but, I’m very appreciative of the gesture.”

Your hand trails away from your thigh and drags along his knee, body leaning into this scent as you completely fall into your thoughts of this handsome man before you.

“So you don’t forgive me.” Harry responds coolly, the pads of his fingers sink deeper into your skin.

“I don’t care.” You state. Clenching down on your teeth while he releases his hold on your jaw. He rolls his eyes at your words, bringing the glass to his lips.

“You’re so frustrating.”

The comment causes your expression to grow with annoyance.

“Do you want me to dance or not?” Attitude clear in your tone as the palm of your hand continues to glide down the expanse of his thighs.

“No. I just want you to sit there.”

“Why?”

“You’ve been running away from me. So, I’m paying you not to.”

Swallowing hesitantly the previous motions you draw on his skin pause. Sight tearing away from him and falling to your polish nails. Well, aren’t you stuck. Sitting against these velvet seats with erratic heart and sweaty palms. The light beat of the song playing through the space between you both only intensifies the atmosphere even more. The ice smashing against his glass every few moments as Harry brings the drink to his lips.

“What do you want?” You say after a few minutes, fingers fiddling together when you look up at him.

“Isn’t it obvious already?” His voice still lace with frustration as he turns his head.

“You.”

Cheeks burn bright with mouth parting, the emotions he makes you feel… he was also feeling them as well. You distract yourself urgently flickering your eyes between him, trying to collect your words wisely.

“You don’t even know me.” The sentence not causing his gaze to waver. He’s still looking at you with this stone glare.

“So… tell me about yourself.” Harry suppresses the irritation in his voice as he rises his brow.

“Are you serious?” Completely surprised at the change of events.

“Very, now do tell.” Drink in hand gesturing for you to begin.

Suddenly that’s how you spend the rest of your night, introducing yourself to Harry. It range from telling him how you begin working at Jasper’s to how you grew up, and when your mind would dwindle he would ask you his own questions.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Two creams one sugar.”

“Favourite food?”

“I love Thai.”

And without the disturbance of Simon ushering you to another room after your extended stay with Harry, you grow comfortable. Relaxing in his embrace and answering anything that came to his mind.

This connection that was clouding your judgment is too good to be true, from the introduction of your meeting to the the way your head is nestle in the crook of his neck, you thrive in the affection. Not listening to your overthinking thoughts that stir you in the wrong direction.

Instead, you let him know everything he wants; you tell him your favourite colour and how you like your steak cooked, to even confiding to him about certain clients you weren’t exactly keen of. The fact that you’ve only known the man for three days and was telling him your whole life story was beyond what you could imagine at the moment, he makes you relax and feel acknowledged. It was nice to feel this way after three years.

Since that night Harry began to make his appearance throughout the week. The same room, for the same time, in the exact same position as last. With each meeting he never let you dance or even suggest it, instead he let you talk whether it was anything on your mind or his, that’s how you spent your evenings.

His presence was relief during your hectic week, depending on your availability between clients you spend as much time as possible in his touch and finding serenity in the way his voice soothes you.

It was now Sunday and you were off, deciding on staying in tonight and catching up on Real Housewives. You sat in your loft with Cleo tuck on your lap, fingers digging into the bag of popcorn while the other reaches towards your ringing phone.

“Hello!” You sing, eyes caught on the dinner scene happening before you.

“Not in today?” The voice on the other line making your body shiver with excitement.

“No sorry, I don’t work Sundays… I should’ve told you.” You confess, guilt brews of him going to the club and not finding you there.

“No worries, what are you doing now?”

Eyebrows rise up on your forehead with deep breath releasing, you flick your eyes around immediately taking your hand out of the popcorn bag to grab the remote and lower the volume, body straightening up as you sink your teeth into your lip.

“Miss me already?” Fingers falling to your plump flesh as smirk pulls on the skin. Harry’s laugh sounds through the speaker, the happy cheer making your heart leap.

“Yes. Yes I do, how can I not?” Lashes flutter with smile beaming shyly.

Maybe this was all too good to be true. Maybe this was just a fleeting moment that Harry is having; booking you six nights out of the week, paying you to refill his glass and converse with him. Maybe he was just going through phases, maybe he just thought of you as another one of his toys. But this attention was one you couldn’t pass up; the way he admires at you, the feel of his hands gracing your body for sheer moments, the reassurance of his words when speaking your thoughts. After years of petty affection and surface base material, this for once felt different. It felt genuine even if you’ve only known him within such short time.

“Are you home?” Are his next words to break the silence.

“Yes,” You answer, fingers trailing from your lips to run into your hair nervously.

“Can I come over?” Heart practically melting in your chest at the suggestion.

“Yes.” With blooming hues of pink roaming amongst your cheekbones.

Eager emotions flood your body as you voice your address to him before ending the call. Your hand drops the remote and gently moves Cleo off your lap as you escape towards your room.

What the hell did you get yourself into and what the hell are you even suppose to wear? Your outfit currently being an oversized t-shirt and gym shorts will certainly not do the job as you venture into your closet; skimming over hoodies and dresses. You end on grabbing your two piece yoga set hoping it will suffice compared to how you look throughout the week.

Sitting in front of your vanity you immediately comb through your hair and brush through your lashes. Nerves coursing through your body at Harry coming over. The unusual excitement of getting worked up for seeing someone revels in your mind, you skim over your features intricately to look for something off when you know that there wasn’t anything. There is this need to look your absolute best for him, even you know you already do.

Huffing slightly at the thoughts running through your mind you get up and make your way out of the room and head into the kitchen, fingers immediately lighting candles and then running quickly to the couch to begin folding the blanket you once laid on. If you were being recoded right now you would laugh at how you run across the spacious condo to make sure everything looks in place.

With ideas of the night ahead bombarding your mind the familiar sound of the buzzer quakes in the room making your heart drop. You step away from the couch and move towards the door, hand pressing the button to let him in.

This feeling was as if you were a teenager all over again. These dreamy aspect of emotions being as if you saw your high school crush passing in the hallway. It’s been three years without mental or physical affection, this new found treatment from someone was making you drunk off happiness.

With these nerves overcoming you, the urgency for alcohol to sooth your system lingers in your mind making you go over to your fridge and take out the chilling wine to soon tug your body over to your glass rack and pull two off, you’re setting them on the table when there’s knocking at the door.

Taking a deep breath you count to three, making your way over and unlocking it. Grin toying on your lips with Harry revealing himself adorn in his black suit.

Chest quakes with each pump of your heart as his lips mirror your happiness. Widening the door you let him step into your home, body turning to shut the door before letting your smile turn nervous.

“I know you drink whisky but I only have wine for tonight.” You stammer, body making your way over to the island and gesturing to the bottle of Prosecco.

Harry looks over the bottle, his eye soon falling on yours with smirk appearing. “I’ll have a glass.”

Control motions peel open the new bottle and fill each cup. He takes his drink in hand before humming at the taste.

“Enjoy reality tv?” The question only makes the warmth in your cheek spread further as you look at the television screen displaying women throwing drinks and overturning the table.

“Oh… um… yes,” You stumble over your words, avoiding Harry’s eyes as he chuckles next to you.

“Flustered are we?” He points out, body bumping into you teasingly.

“This is what you came over to do then, just make me a blabbering mess in my own home.” You pout, sight moving away from the granite counter as you lift the wine glass to your lips and look at him.

Amuse expression shines over his face while he shrugs his shoulders in response. “It does make things more interesting.”

“Interesting?” You recite in his own tone.

His hand that rest along the counter passes through the space between you both to let his palm venture down your waist.

“Yes… interesting how displeased with me you were at first yet having this look of want in your eyes.” Your gaze blares, confusion written all over your face while you relax deeper into his touch.

“I —I feel it too.” He’s hesitant before clearing his throat, lashes flutter against the hollows of his eyes as he collects himself. “This pull to be next to you… it’s unexplainable… ever since the first night.”

The words Harry formulates as if he’s just letting his heart expel everything he’s been building up over the week. It makes the one in your chest thunder with admiration.

“And I shouldn’t have said those things… it’s so stupid but my mind went blank and I just…” His brows push together trying to collect his thoughts properly. “The night I saw you at the restaurant it made me realize I really fuck up. I don’t want to do that with you ever again. I want you to trust me, I want you to love me, I want you to—“

But you immediately cut him off letting your emotions spring in and press your lips against his. Wine stain flesh burns on each other as gracious pecks transform into tongues joining together. The hand that trail down your hips run over your backside.

The heat that he expels when he steps deeper as if shielding you with protection has you moaning against him, head tilting slightly to invite the arousal blooming.

As his palm moves further the surprise of his grip tightening around your ass makes you jump, the hand that was wrapped around your glass bumping against the underside of it causing it to tip over.

“Fuck!” The crashing sound of it smacking against the counter makes you part away from him. “I’m so sorry.” You breathe out. Leaving his embrace to go to the paper towel dispenser and beginning to clean the mess. Cheeks burning even brighter from knocking over your wine.

“Relax baby,” Harry coos, hands falling on your nervous ones as you clean up the puddle.

Laughing shyly you shake your head embarrassed by your behaviour.

“You make me anxious,” The confession falling out of your mouth effortlessly as you collect the drench paper.

His palms grip your fingers tightly causing your gaze to catch with his. Instead of an irritated expression he shares one of amusement and adoration.

“Likewise.”

And ever since that night the connection between you both grows stronger; Harry visits during your shifts to meeting you right afterwards. Coming home to bouquet of roses and designer bags, sending you black trucks to take you out to dinner or meeting with you at Bottega Veneta to piece together an outfit for him.

Two weeks of knowing Harry and he was already dazzling you with the most extravagant gifts but still remaining respectful and never letting you dance when he visit the club. You’re absolutely head over heels. He’s always kind and gentle with you, never pushing your boundaries and soothing you with his words. This affection was a breath of fresh air and you’re undoubtedly happy about it.

Although the regard to respect you was admirable, you were beginning to crave more than cherish kisses and subtle touches. A plan brewed in your mine once your eyes peeled open this morning and you decided to put it in motion tonight. So, as you sit in front of your vanity of the club you fix the straps of your embroidered charcoal bra and look over yourself in the mirror.

“Who might you be expecting?” Clarissa calls from across the room. Your glossy lips don’t hesitate to smile as you look towards her.

“I told you about Harry, right?” You remark, letting your fingers run under the band of the bra to fit more comfortable against your skin.

“Oh! That’s who has you in a good mood lately,” Lucy joins in, jet black hair framing her face in layers with smirk written all over her features.

“If you say so,” You sing, turning around in your chair to look over yourself again.

“Don’t think we haven’t been seeing your post lately,” Clarissa marvels while drumming her fingers against the table.

“So generous with his gift-giving,” Lucy continues in her playful tone, only making you giggle.

The heavy steps of Simon thunder against the oak flooring as he makes his way into the room. Head set intact with clip board in hand, he begins to give everyone knowing looks assuring everyone of their duties tonight.

“And Y/N, you have your regular in confidential.” He finishes at the end of his list before turning to usher the ladies onto the floor from the back room.

“Have fun babe, be safe.” Clarissa whispers when passing you with gentle hug.

You smile at her while nodding with assurance. Looking over yourself, you tie your robe together, lips running over one another before stepping out of your chair and making your way towards the familiar room.

Even with spending so many days with Harry, these emotions that quake whenever he’s mention or to soon bare his presence always resonate these deep feelings; this need to feel his touch rougher on your skin or feel him in the sweet places that you think of him most. You knew this was beyond the earlier arrangements of your first initial meeting, this meant more.

Cigarette smoke roams the air as you make your way towards him. He’s in his usual spot, tailor suit gracing his appearance beautifully as you smile at him. Manicure nails drag against the material while his hands feel over your covered hips.

“Hi angel.” Harry says while feeling over your body.

“Baby,” You purr, moving deeper into his touch. “I have a question for you.”

His features raise in question but doesn’t stop his wondering hands from pulling the ribbon of your robe apart and revealing your body to him.

He hums attentively, looking over your face as he continues to roam over your skin. You’re so enthralled by his touch that you nearly forget your plan.

“Tell me how I make you feel.” Statement leaving your mouth with fingers roaming up his neck and playing with the hair there.

Forest eyes flash with worship as his grip tightens against your waist.

“I feel like you’re made for me.” Knees push his apart as you step between his legs.

“I swear you just take my breath away.” Head craning down for your lips to trail kisses along his cheeks to his jaw.

“You’ve imprint my heart so deeply.” Your hands find themselves running over his chest while his roam over your backside.

“That your love feels undeserving for someone like me.” Those words making you swell with sympathy as kisses continue down the curve of his neck.

“It’s so intense I just have to be near you.” Fingers undoing the few buttons of his shirt as you begin to sink to your knees. His eyes lock on you while his hands link together in your hair, the smooth symphony in the air only escalates the tension.

“Feel you.” He continues, eyes fluttering as your hands move away from his chest to feel over his thighs.

“Hear you.” Your fingers glaze over his erection as you both look at each other with lust.

“Be inside you.” Nails dragging roughly over the print with mascara coated lashes batting up at him.

“Tonight’s your lucky night.” You cut him off. Smirk smoothing over your lips as you begin to undo his belt buckle. “Let me help you relax, Mr. Styles.”

Shifting under your hold he watches you retrieve him out of his boxers. Tongue immediately escapes your mouth looking at how thick and heavy he sits in your hand. It makes pure arousal quake between your thighs as you tug him gently, eyes catching with his.

“Been holding out on me.” It’s his turn to send you a smirk. The look alone makes you want to skip foreplay and take him right there.

You lean in with tongue running from the base to the tip. Pressing flat against the underside it leaves trail of saliva in its wake, your mouth enveloping the crown of his cock while his chest raises with pure satisfaction. His hands continuing to run through your hair.

Pleasant moan vibrates through your throat as your mouth ventures down the expanse of him, tastebuds savouring the salty flavour with each descend of your mouth as you find your paste.

Both of you are still set in this hyper-focus trance looking at each other with the pleasing gestures you assert over him. Spit coating his member as you glide down his cock, plump lips wrapping around his girth as you swallow him down.

“S’good,” Harry slurs, one hand leaving your hair to drag along your neck.

Lashes flutter up at him, relishing in the blissful look crossing his face. He slides down your throat effortlessly with your head bobbing swiftly, his cock wrapped in the slick space of your mouth.

Your clit throbs between your legs, the need to have attention there stirs your next movements as you let your hands glide across his thighs and gather his twin globes into your palm and begin massaging them.

The gesture has Harry groaning, nails gliding down your skin in the change in motions. Eye contact breaking as his head falls against the couch with chest rising in urgency. The site alone makes you want to come, but instead you suffice for the whimper that leaves your mouth when letting yourself glide back up his cock.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” Harry moans, fingers trailing away from your neck to collect your hair in his palm.

The comment makes your stomach tremble, his hands following your gracious movements, with sweat beginning to shine from his temples as he chews away on his lip.

“Look at me baby,” He coos, his hold tugging your mouth away from him. Diverting your attention you look up at him; red eyes with saliva glistening across your lips as shaky breath escapes.

“So pretty for me,” Harry utters, thumb running across your bottom lip as his green eyes search your face. “Stand up, get this off.” He reaches over to tug on your robe.

You raise off your knees letting the garment trail off your shoulders as you stand. You’re immediately letting your feet kick off your tall heels, pleasantly sighing at the relaxing comfort at having them off.

The next motions are your hands teasingly pulling your panties down, Harry’s eyes watching every movement as he watches you unclasp your bra next.

His hands reach out for you, feeling over your soft skin as pulls you into him. Straddling his thighs your fingers go to his chest to pull his blazer off, he quickly follows your lead to take it off the rest of the way while you decide to continue undoing the buttons of his dress shirt.

“I want to feel you.” You breathe against his skin.

Gripping his cock in your hand, you gently let him glide between your folds. Harry nods earnestly against your chest, his hold moving from your waist to your breasts, his lips pressing against your fever skin as you let yourself sink down on him. High pitch whimper drawing from your throat as he stretches you out.

“You drive me crazy,” Harry utters with grip tightening as your hips meet each other.

A soft cry releases from your lips as you find the strength to raise back up on your knees and grind yourself into his lap. The thick strain of his dick against your walls has your head falling into his face.

Erotic moans fill the room when your hips discover the perfect rhythm that has him dragging down your folds in the most beautiful way with the combination of him reaching depths of pure bliss.

Harry hand trail away from your breasts and wrap around your throat, rough grasp taking ahold of you as he brings you deeper into his face. From the grip he has to the haunting look in his eyes you are completely devoid of every sense in your body.

“Good girl.” He continues, his thighs positioning himself better on the couch as he begins to thrust and meet your hips in perfect unison.

The name makes your frantic heart gush with devotion, eyes fluttering at the air shortening in your lungs while your nails curl around his shoulders digging into his skin.

“So good for me.” Harry rasps, his merciless strides into your pussy halting your previous movements.

The sweet nectar you produce between your legs sound with each thrust from the satisfying pleasure coursing through you. The static of your climax catches in the pit of your stomach, your eyes rolling from how deep he’s in you that you can’t help but lunge forward.

Lips connecting fiercely with the taste of him making you hum as your tongue explores him. The rough grip he holds around your neck relaxes as he continues his frantic thrusts.

The spark of your release climbs up your spine with fury; head tilting back, eyes fluttering in the thrill of falling apart around him. Your walls quiver in irritated satisfaction as your climax barrels over in passionate rage.

“Tell me…” Harry breathes when pulling away from your face, his eyes watching your dazed out state. Your fingers go numb against his shoulders, with your head completely being propped up by the hold he still has over your throat. “Tell me how I make you feel.”

Completely intoxicated with satisfaction of your release you let your lips begin to pepper kisses along his jaw. The urge to prove to him how much he means to you in this moment has your pussy meeting his rhythmic thrusts.

“Like I’m on fire,” You moan, nails digging into the material of his soaked button up.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to feel you inside me,” Urging him with the seductive tone in your voice. The hands he has wrapped around your neck tenses as he looks at you completely intrigued.

“I —It feels so good,” You whimper as you slowly rock yourself down his length. “You feel so good baby.”

Deep throaty growl shivers over your embrace as his head relaxes deeper into the frame of the couch.

“I want you like this forever.”

The flex of your slick walls around him earns a delicious moan from him. His seed painting your walls effortlessly as you continue to work yourself through his climax. Your fingers travel to his hair and bring your lips back together.

Harry releases his hold from your throat, his palms venturing down your sides and massaging the skin as you lazily ride him. Body relaxing against his comfort as you welcome his kisses.

“Do you even know how weak you make me feel.” Harry breathes against your lips, hands gripping your ass roughly to push you deeper into his chest.

“No… but I like when you tell me.”

[drivergemini]

dungeons & (pink) dragons :: (e.m.)

summary: (part 2 to hellfire baby) the hellfire club returns exactly one week after their last meeting expecting the same toddler to be sitting on the throne. but to their surprise, she’s no where to be seen.

content warning: swears, not beta read

word count: 1058

a/n: the sheer amount of love in my heart for everyone who has supported me and ‘hellfire baby’ is insane. i will never be able to thank you guys enough.

they all sat around the table, glancing at the clock every so often.

“he’s late. why is he late?” dustin threw his hands down at the table in frustration.

“maybe he got caught up studying or something.” all eyes flew to mike. “nevermind you guys are right.”

“he’s never late for hellfire. where is he?” dustin slumped into his chair.

all heads turned as the door was busted open. 

“eddie where have you...” dustin stood up and tried to question their club leader.

eddie raised a hand up to dustin to stop him from speaking. “i apologize gentlemen for my late arrival.”

“where’s mei?” eddie turned towards gareth. “that’s what we’re all wondering.”

each boy murmured and nodded in agreement. even though no one wanted to say it to eddie, mei was the only topic of every member’s conversations. all they could think about was mei and her polite self. 

“well if everyone would like to know.” eddie paused laughing a little. “i am currently not allowed to bring mei to hellfire because someone, henderson, said ‘son’s of bitches’ in front of her. which i thought her repeating it was hilarious, but my wonderful fiance did not.” 

“well this changes everything!” dustin exclaimed. “without her chubby little cheeks hypnotizing us this makes our decision so much different.”

eddie threw his head back and laughed. “i’m glad you guys enjoyed having her her.”

“enjoyed? we wish she was apart of hellfire at this point!” lucas exclaim. “with her cute little face and her mega politeness.” he made a gesture as if he was squeezing her face.

“well boys today we’re just going to have to go mei-less.” eddie plopped himself down into his throne. “so shall we get start-”

“eddie munson god must be in favor of you tonight because work just called and no one is willing to last minute babysit.” eddie stood back up as all heads turned towards the door. “but i swear if mei comes back home swearing again i’m gonna kick your ass.”

they all stood up and quickly crowded againt y/n and mei. mei reached out to the boys with small grabby hands, indicating she wanted to go to them. she wasn’t wearing her pink dragon outfit anymore. instead she wore overalls and mary janes, her long curly hair being in two high pigtails.

“sweetheart next time just call harrington or robin.”

“no! no steve.” dustin turned and glared at his club leader. “we love mei. please let her come to our meetings. i’m sorry for teaching to swear we promise we’ll be better. right guys?” all the guys nodded in agreement.

“so you’re dustin henderson.” y/n narrowed her eyes. “thin ice kid. thin. ice.”

eddie laughed and scooped mei out of his fiance’s arms. “we’ll take good care of her sweetheart i promise.” he kissed her goodbye and walked back over to his chair. “so henderson i guess your plans have changed yet again.” he clapped his hands together loudly, mei looked at him and tried to copy his movement. “so shall we try this again boys?”

-

“lucas please! you’re all we have left lucas!” the boys all screamed towering over him.

“i can’t i don’t know what to do! look at her!” he gestured in a panic to mei sitting on the table, innocently staring back at them.

“lucas please you have to slaughter the dragon! it's too early in the campaign to want to start over.” mike placed his hand on lucas’ shoulders and shook him.

“slawer dragon!”  mei raised her hands up in the air in excitement.

“no mei mei you’re the dragon.” eddie chuckled at his daughter. “you don’t want to be slaughtered. tell them mei. say ‘please don’t slaughter me.’“ eddie made fake puppy eyes at her and put his hands together.

she turned to the boys and did as her dad told. “pease no slawer mei.” and for dramatic effect she even sniffled a couple of times.

“eddie you’re a sick sick man you know that? teaching your daughter to manipulate us like that. horrible parenting.” lucas stood up. “that’s it i choose to run.”

the rest of the club all exclaimed in frustration.

“lucas what are you doing?!” dustin yelled at him. “we’re not even three days in and you’re choosing to run away?”

“she killed everyone! she was gonna kick my a-”

“kick your ass!” all arguing ceased as they turned to see mei grinning from ear to ear.

eddie’s face went white as a ghost. “honey what did you say.”

she turned towards her dad, still smiling. “i gonna kick lucas ass!” she exclaimed, throwing herself down on the table in a fit on laughter.

dustin was the first to start laughing, and then mike, and then the rest of the boys. dustin even ended up hunched over saying he was going to pee himself. eddie tried very very hard to be a good dad and try to tell her that swearing is bad, but he ultimately failed and laughed too.

y/n opened the door, killing everyone’s laughter.

“oooooo. she’s gonna kill you munsonnnnn.” dustin taunted.

“eddie what did you do?” y/n crossed her arms against her chest.

“mommy is you gonna kick daddy’s ass?” mei gasped quietly. she was wide-eyed looking at her mom.

“am i gonna kick daddy’s what?” y/n jaw fell to the floor. “edward munson i can’t believe you guys taught her another swear!”

“but mommy you said if mei mei sweared you gonna kick his ass!” she looked at her mom with the same big eyes she used on the boys earlier, even clasping her hands together the same.

“oh so who’s the bad parent now y/n?” eddie smirked at her.

“come on let’s just go home i’m tired and i’m hungry.” y/n scooped up mei, ignoring eddie’s comment.

as the family walked out, dustin could see yet another grin on mei’s face.

“oh my god. that little monster! eddie’s raising a little demon!” dustin threw his hands up in the air.

eddie turned his head back towards the curly headed kid and let out a tooth grin. he turned back towards the two girls and motioned to fist bump mei.

mike was already staring with a shocked look on his face. “holy shit he is!”

[madelynraemunson]

CALL OUT MY NAME ♛

(Book #2 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club Series)

CEO!bachelor!steve × fem!college grad!reader

MODERN AU • 18+ | BOOK #1 (e.m.)

slight age gap (Steve is 31, reader is 23); reader goes by the nickname "Sweets"

CW: slight age gap relationship, drinking, smoking, gambling, physical altercations, manipulation, abuse (DV, emotional, financial, mental), profanities, eventual smut

*loosely inspired by sara cate’s salacious players club*

Summary: 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄. Steve Harrington has the WORST luck with the ladies. His high school sweetheart left him for another dude, his former fuck buddy is dating his roommate, and his dream girl is a lesbian. King Steve is losing hope. That is until he meets you — a newly graduated university student from Seattle — when your paths cross on a fateful night in Sin City. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas... that is until your risky business trickles over to Hawkins, Indiana, a town your best friend knows of a little too well.

theme song: call out my name by the weeknd

tag list is open 💌✨

Chapter 001: PROLOGUE

word count: 1.7k words

♛

Winter 2024

“WATCH OUT INDIANAPOLIS — you're about to get... absolutely SOAKED!”

The booming voice of a man in Steve’s bedroom stirs him awake.

Letting out a ferocious yawn, The King rubs his eyes free of the annoying crust in the corner of his sockets, flopping around one more time before doing his routine stretch.

“Google,” Steve commands. “Turn off the TV.”

The TV immediately switches off. It’s nothing personal to meteorologist Marcus Bailey, but if Steve ever needed an accurate forecast of Indianapolis, all he would have to do is look outside his penthouse window. And that, after brushing his teeth, is just what he does.

"G'morning Indy,” he sighs happily on his balcony before going back inside.

Steve then makes his way over to the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast.

“Google,” he calls out again. “Open the curtains, please.”

Google replies:

“Opening curtains. Good morning — Steve.”

"Google, what's my schedule looking like today?" "Google, text Dustin." “Google, what is the weather looking like in Nevada?” “Google, turn on my shower tunes.”

The best thing about not living with Eddie Munson anymore, is that Steve can shamelessly sing Amy Winehouse in the shower without being hounded about it.

“We only saaaid GOODBYE, with WORDS!” Steve sings, confidently off-key. “I died a hundred times! You go back to her, and I goooo baaack toooo…”

"Scanning fingerprint...”

an automated voice announces at the entrance of Steve's walk-in closet.

Swish...

The door slides open. Sauntering his way inside, Steve ventures for some slick black athleisure down to the shoes, his usual musky cologne, and some matching sunglasses (despite the gloomy forecast prediction).

Black. 🎶

Steve Harrington is ready for the day.

---

"Google, make reservations for 3 people at Tony's Steakhouse at 7pm please."

All Steve had left to do for the day now was grocery shop. Which was always a hassle. Because sometimes, the store doesn't have the specific brand he's looking for so the shopper has to opt for an alternate version. Or sometimes, the shopper assigned to him that day chooses produce that is nearing its expiration date making every fruit in his bag a mushy mess. It doesn't happen too often, but it sure feels inconvenient as hell when it does. There are worse problems in life though, so Steve really can't complain.

*Ring, ring. Ring, ring*

The very distinct and custom ringtone has Steve bolting across the room to answer the call. One of his best friends was on the other line.

"Yello?" he says into the phone.

"Hey, it's Shy Girl," comes a voice. "Eddie and I are pulling in."

"Pull off to the side. Valet's got it. I'll send you guys up."

A bottle of cabernet sauvignon a la Steve awaits the pair when they make their way over. Consider it a Tony's pre-game.

"GameWorld stock is up 4% today,” Steve's buddy, and owner of Hellfire Gentlemen's Club Eddie Munson announces as the two clink glasses. "I don’t have much faith in it though, figure I’ll get my pie slices from actual grocery stores. Like Meijer.”

“Everyone's always gonna need groceries,” Steve points out. "Definitely. Just don't day trade. Not now."

"Ooh, you hear that, Eds?" Shy Girl nudges him. "You gotta be careful where you put your money."

"I gotta be careful with my money, period," Eddie smirks. "You're a danger to my pockets, angel."

"Oh but you love me," she says.

"Yeah," Eddie gives in, grabbing his lover's dainty digits, trailing his fingers across hers, and rubbing the glistening rock that took up most of her left hand on the distal side. "I sure do."

"I'm just... so proud of us," Steve sappily reflects. "So much has happened over the past two years and we've all come so far."

"Yeah," Shy Girl agrees. "And it's about fucking time we celebrate."

"I agree," Eddie chimes in, raising his glass once again. "This weekend trip is going to be... one for the books."

"Viva Las Vegas," Steve toasts. "Cheers."

"Viva Las Vegas!"

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

Black and red.

They're the two colors that occupy your closet the most. But of course, after graduating from Washington State University (or Wazzu, for short), you expected nothing less.

You could do with some more sequins though, you think to yourself as you pack your bags.

"What do you think of this, Sweets?"

Peering over your shoulder, you see that your best friend, Elle has started festivities early, managing to hold two glasses of champagne in one hand, and six-inch stilletoes in the other.

"Can't take the party out of the girl, that's for damn sure," you respond.

When you left Seattle to attend WSU Pullman, Elle was your only friend in business class. Mainly because the class was predominantly for dudes, but eventually you found out that you two have a lot in common.

Elle is everything you would want in an older sister figure: she is both book smart and wise, she is sexy, and she eats men for breakfast. And, now that she's about to celebrate the launching of her lingerie business (along with her Dirty 30s Era), and you're about to enter your new-grad era, you two are hitting up Las Vegas to go ham together one last time.

It's all so bittersweet. You owe everything to the Warrens, having taken you in when you were a lost undergrad. It also sucked quite a bit not having a support system after graduating high school. You and Elle were all each other has. Which makes this inevitable separation so much more painful.

"Are you sure you're okay with Vegas by the way?" you question. "I know since the split, being surrounded by gorgeous girls 24/7 can kinda be triggering.”

"Don't worry about it, love," she shakes it off. "The past is in the past. This is a new era of me."

Cheers to that. Clinking your airport-pregame champagne glasses with one another, you raise a toast to yourselves, celebrating how far the two of you have come over the past four years.

"To friendship."

"To friendship."

"To being elegant and educated."

"To elegance and education."

"And to being girl-bosses for the rest of our lives."

You giggle as you raise your glass of champagne even higher.

"To being girl-bosses for the rest of our lives," you two take a sip at the same time. "And no matter how near and no matter how far, we're always gonna be besties."

"I love you, Sweets."

"I love you too, Isabelle."

divider from @plum98

🏷️ taglist: @potatobeanpie @xblueriddlex @angietherose @winchester-angel @aactuaaltraash @hugdealer @hazydespair @frostandflamesfanfic @mediocredreams @bl0ssomanddie @corkadymu @eddiesguitarskills @mrsjellymunson @cadence73 @m-chmcl-rmnc @n-slayaaaaa @corrodedcoffincumslut okay i think i tagged everybody

[sailor-aviator]

Victorian Era!Jake's wifey having to care for a sick relative for a long time, barely sleeping, always cleaning and taking care of the person all day and all night. Now that she doesn't have to, because another relative took over, she is exhausted, but they have to attend a ball. It's been planned months ahead of wifey being called away to care for the relative, and she was so happy that the other person would take over before the ball. Jake sees that she can barely stand as she is getting ready, but he doesn't say anything, since the last time he suggested they skip the ball, she nearly bit his head off, and the cut of her teary glare still stung, so he just tries to make sure she eats and drinks enough. She livens up as the ball starts, but then as the night goes on, it wears off, and her exhaustion is getting more and more overpowering. Jake caught her resting her eyes as she was standing with a larger group of women listening to an old lady recount balls in "her time". When he sees she can no longer focus on the long drawl one of her father's friend thinks she ought to hear, he steps in, asking if he can steal his wife for a dance. It's a slow song, and he guides her to a quieter corner of the dancefloor. He holds her closer than is appropriate, but they really don't care, and no one is looking at them there. She leans her whole weight on him, resting her head in the crook of his neck, and from her breaths, he knows she is almost asleep.

"Ready to go home, my love?" Jake asks.

She only hums and nods a little. They finish the song, then say goodbye to a few people and they get the carriage. His wifey falls asleep as soon as the carriage door closes, snuggled soundly into Jake's side as he caresses her arm and kisses her head.

*Slams fist onto the table with a loud bang* THIS IS THE CONTENT WE NEED! Now who's writing it? Just kidding, I know it's me lol

Anyway, yes!! And he has wifey wrapped up in his arms the whole way home, and then he doesn't have the heart to wake her, so he carries her into the mansion house and up to their bedroom. He takes her shoes off and helps her change into her night dress. Then he lets her hair down, taking her hairbrush and running it through her strands as he tells her all about the funny thing Bradley did the other day at the gentlemen's club, knowing full well wifey is barely hanging on to conciousness as he talks and takes care of her. Soon, the gentle sound of her light snores fill the room, and Jake smiles.

He sets the brush off to the side, maneuvering carefully to get her under the blankets as he changes for bed, slipping in beside her. He lays there, watching her for a long while, memorizing her features all over again. He missed her terribly while she was away, and he won't soon let her leave his side if he has anything to say about it. He'll remind you just how much he loves and missed you first thing tomorrow. You wouldn't think it was proper to spend the whole day in bed, but Jake knew you wouldn't argue with him either.

[harveyb-wabbit92]

[Hobie and his neighbor R/n accidently get thrown into jail (their just in Holding) after an incident, R/n was going over to Hobie’s flat to yell at him to turn down the music, while they’re arguing a woman comes rushing down the hall almost knocking R/n down.

the woman drops her bag in the process and R/n picks up the bag (Despite Hobie telling her not to touch it.) And calls out to the woman only for a scary amount of drugs & money to fall out of the bag, Next thing they knew, R/n and a facepalming Hobie were surrounded by Bobbies and hauled to jail for suspicion of robbery and drug smuggling.

the police chief believes that they’re innocent, R/n knowing how Hobie acts around the police, made sure he kept his mouth shut while they were questioned. but until they can get the footage from the building crappy cameras the two are stuck there. While they’re moping about it the chief’s wife comes in and while hugging her husband the wife looks at the guard standing in front of Hobie and R/n’s cell with bedroom eyes she blows him a kiss and winks.

Hobie snorts trying stifle a laugh while R/n’s jaw drops at boldness of the wife. Their guard smirks gives the wife a little nod than stands up a bit straighter when the Chief, completely unaware, turns to look at the stunned detainees and assures them they’ll be out soon.

Cut to an hour later Hobie and R/n are watching their guard and the chief’s wife vigorously making out in full view of their cell.]

Chief’s Wife: *breathless* Aron stop!

Guard *aka Aron*: Melissa you’re trembling, what’s wrong?

Melissa: Ian’s getting getting suspicious! You know he’s been asking questions at the gentlemen’s club! We have to get out of here!

*Hobie rolls his eyes as R/n follow them completely enthralled.*

Aron: … And say goodbye to all that money? I don’t think so.

*grabs Melissa’s hands*

Aron: We just need to bide our time.

Melissa: *slaps Aron hands away* How can I trust you Aron? when you haven’t even told Charlene about us yet?!

Aron: *appalled* have a heart Mellissa, the woman’s still in a coma!

*Melissa scoffs and looks away, R/n’s jaw drops, Hobie couldn’t care less.*

R/n, whispering in disbelief: a coma?

{Cue Ian walking in, Aron runs to the break room.}

Ian: Hi Honey! *Melissa smiles innocently at him*

Ian: *dropping the nice act* I just got back from the ambassador’s office, he thinks he going to kill our little real estate deal...

Melissa: We can’t let him do that, what about those pictures of him and that male escort?

Ian: There on their way to the news papers right now... We’re gonna destroy the old bastard!

Melissa: Perfect, Now all we have to worry about is Old man Jenkins... Maybe we should send your friend Eric to pay him a visit?

[They giggle to each other as another officer brings in a man who looked homeless, the man hurries into the cell and stands next to R/n excited.]

Vagabond: What did I miss? 

*Hobie shakes his head*

[later, R/n and her new friend are enticed listening to Ian tell Melissa a tragic story of his past, while Hobie stares at cell wall seemingly in his own little world.]

Ian:... And as I pulled her from the wreckage, She was so..*chokes up* d-disfigured, that I didn’t even know... It was my own sister! *breaks down crying*

Melissa: Don’t worry, Dimitri is the finest reconstructive surgeon in the world!

R/n: *whisper* Who’s Dimitri?

Vagabond: *whisper* He’s the head doctor at central Medical, him and Melissa had an affair last year then he-

Ian” SHUT UP IN THERE!

*R/n and the vagabond jump away from the bars startled, as Ian breaks down crying again.*

[later.]

Melissa, to Aron and Ian: We can still pull this off!

Aron: You’ll never get passed the DNA test Melissa, Even you’re lies aren’t going to be enough this time!

Ian: But Aron If you didn’t buy the mining rights, Than who did?

Aron: Don’t either of you see what’s going on? the perpetrator who bought the mining rights, is the same person who stole Ms. Margret’s diamond brooch, 

*R/n and the vagabond look at each other slack-jawed, Hobie pretending to nap cocks a brow.* 

Aron:...They're also the same person who framed Nathan for Andre's murder that horrid night! And that person’s name is...

Prison Guard: Okay Missy you and Your buddy are free to go.

R/n: Awww...

Hobie: *jumps off the cot outraged*What?!

Prison Guard: Move it.

[R/n complies while dragging a protesting and struggling Hobie behind her.]

Hobie: No! Five more minutes, You can’t just do this to me now! dammit!

R/n: C’mon... Brown, Don’t make this harder than it has to be.

Hobie: It was the Ambassador right? or Thurston?! No no The janitor...Wait no he’s Ian’s amnesic brother! Ekk! 

*He gets yanked out the office by one of the guards, while Ian, Melissa and Aron look at him like he's insane.*

[staceymcgillicuddy]

Day 14: Cookies

@hellcheerxmas

December 1986 Hawkins, Indiana

“I’m not staying long, but I wanted to drop these off,” Chrissy says as she deposits a red Tupperware container on the table littered with character sheets, sodas, and a liberal sprinkling of candy canes. Hellfire doesn’t have much of a budget, but they’re a school club, so Eddie gets, like, twenty dollars a semester, and he’d felt like spreading some holiday cheer for their Xmas Xtravaganza. Granted, he has plans to rip it all away with a mini-campaign focused on a Krampus-like menace with a vengeance, but hey. He can be nice. He even has an all-black Santa hat to prove it. (Chrissy’d helped him dye it, and it’s mostly a splotchy disaster, but it works.) 

“Oh, shit, cookies!” says Henderson when she opens the lid, revealing a hodge-podge of sugar cookies decorated with red and green icing. 

That causes a general stampede as the party falls on the treats with the grace of a pack of zombies sinking their fingers into some fresh, squishy brains. 

“Hey!” Eddie says sharply, slapping the table. “Animals!”

The collective freezes—Henderson with a cookie millimeters from his lips—and Eddie narrows his eyes at them. “What do you say?” 

A chorus of mumbled ‘thanks, Chrissy’ rings out from the group, and only when Eddie’s satisfied that they’ve abased themselves appropriately—and picked out a cookie for himself—does he give the all clear. 

Everyone dives in, and when Eddie takes a bite, he realizes two things: 

Number one, Chrissy is the best girlfriend, and anyone who disagrees is liable to have their insides become their outsides.

Number two, Chrissy has mixed up the salt and the sugar in the recipe, and she has no clue, because she wouldn't have done anything insane like, say, taste her work.

Of course, she’s not going to hear about the latter from him, or any of his little sheepies, lest they want their guts pulled out through their eyeballs. 

Wheeler—that little shit—is the first to make a face. Eddie meets his eye and gives the tersest of head shakes. The rest of the guys catch on quickly, and every single one chews, swallows, and takes a second bite. 

Yeah, Eddie can see why dictators become dictators. Probably they just didn’t want anyone being a dick to their girlfriend. 

“So good, Chris,” he says after swallowing. 

“Really?” She looks thrilled. 

“So, so good,” and “oh yeah, awesome,” and “dude, give me back my drink,” resound from the group, and Eddie takes that as his cue to throw an arm around Chrissy’s shoulders and lead her out. 

They say goodbye in the hallway, and she kisses him twice before leaving. Usually, Eddie’d slip her some tongue, but he’s honestly afraid she’ll taste the salt on it. 

Once she’s gone, he heads back in to find the guys guzzling sodas to wash the taste out of their mouths. Eddie settles on his throne and reaches for his goblet like his mouth isn’t as dry as the Sahara. 

“Gentlemen,” he says, then takes a sip, “shall we?” 

(If he goes a little easier on them for their valiant subterfuge, well, that’s between him and fake Krampus.)

[bookstantrash]

A/N: HELLO HELLO GUESS WHO’S ALIVE!!  After a long time, I am finally posting the very last chapter of this Pride and Prejudice fanfic (this time for real, it truly is the end). I do not know who still reads my stuff (I really need to update my taglist) but I wanted to thank each and everyone who spared a little of their time to read this fic and left a comment, reblogged and liked it. This is the first multichapter fic I’ve written and successfully finished. 

And special thanks to Sim ( @perseusannabeth ) for kindly forcing giving me the idea of writing this. This fic is for you Sim, and also for all the regency lovers out there.

That being said, this chapter finally has some smut, after all that sexual tension and teasing in the last chapters. It is the first time I write smut so I am sorry in advance if it deeply sucks. I hope your inner regency whores can be at least 1% satisfied with what I came up with.

This is also 10K, the longest I have ever written so everyone better be reading this because I will not be doing it again. I got safely rid of Sim’s disease.

Beyond my dreams

One day.

Cassian was getting married in one day.

Everything had been checked and rechecked to make sure nothing was amiss, leaving Cassian with nothing else to do except wait for tomorrow.

He hated waiting.

Hated that he had to sit still and wait for the sun to set and rise again, announcing a new day, so he could stand at the aisle and watch Nesta walk in his direction. Suddenly he missed all the buffet tastings and discussions about different table clothes, if only because that gave him something to do.

He had tried training to blow off some steam, overseeing the capitol’s guard from sunrise until lunch.

He had then gone to the Archeron Manor to invite Nesta for lunch, but her sisters, Emerie and Gwyn had blocked his way, saying he could not see Nesta until tomorrow and that they were going to spend the whole day “preparing her”. Even his sister, Georgiana, was there, waving goodbye at him as the door was closed on his face.

He ended up having lunch with Azriel and they killed some time off going to their favourite club in town, meeting up with Balthazar, which meant Cassian once again was dragged to take part in their ridiculous competitions. He had gone back to his apartment when he had gotten fed up with their antics, trying to read a book to distract himself.

He read sixteen out of thirty chapters when he got bored. Not even a nap made time pass faster. The day before his wedding still had eight hours and forty minutes until it was over and he was running out of things to do to keep himself busy. It was then that he remembered the file package that had arrived by mail while he was away at the gentlemen’s club with Azriel and Balthazar.

Grabbing his letter opener, he cut the package, spilling the block of papers on his table. They were about properties in the countryside, with information regarding their price, size, location and availability to move in. He threw himself over the papers, writing the pros and cons of each one, glad he had something to help him forget about how many hours and minutes the day still had. Cassian was so focused that he did not hear either Azriel or Morrigan getting in his apartment and walking into his study, the sun already setting.

“I cannot believe you brought work to the capital at your wedding week. We came here to invite you out to distract you and we find you working!” Mor exclaimed “Did you not have anything better to do?”

“This is not work Mor” he grumbled, discarding one property due to its location.

“Why are you looking at castles?” Azriel asked, having grabbed one of the various papers in the desk “Do not tell me you bought Nesta a castle as a wedding gift. I thought she liked Pemberley. Besides, don’t you two have enough houses as it is?”

“Give me back that” Cassian said in annoyance, snatching the paper “I have not bought anything yet, I am just looking at it. And it is not for Nesta, I already have her gift in mind”

“Then why are you doing this?” Mor inquired with curiosity.

“I am looking for a castle to gift to Georgie,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Azriel said with a smirk that meant he had heard his brother vert well.

“I said that this is a gift for Georgiana,” Cassian said a bit louder “as a thank you present for being a good wing woman for me and Nesta.”

“You and Rhys spoil Georgie too much,” Azriel snorted, “first the horse and now a castle. What else are you going to give her?”

“As if you did not import those silks from abroad and asked Emerie to design new dresses for her coming of age ceremony and debut” Cassian said mockingly.

“You three stupid boys spoil that girl too much” Mor intervened before Azriel could reply and they started listing all things they had ever gifted the young girl “Enough of this. Rhys is waiting for us at his and Feyre’s home. God knows how much whining I had to listen to because he was all alone now that Feyre is with Nesta”

“So now we have to go there to listen to his whining too?” Azriel asked with annoyance.

“Of course. My poor ears have had enough. As his brothers you have to share the burden” she gave them a feline smile “My dear cousin also happens to have a rather large wine cellar, which I think we should make use of.”

“You just want the excuse of me getting married to raid his cellar,” Cassian said, but he began rearranging his papers.

Mor only waved a hand, dismissing his words “Semantics, Cass.”

“Nesta will kill you if you show up hungover to your wedding Cassian” Azriel noted, making Cassian roll his eyes.

“I am not stupid enough to drink myself into oblivion and bring Nesta’s wrath on our wedding day.” he raised a finger in warning at Mor “A few glasses and that is it. I am not ruining tomorrow for Nesta.’

“Relax mister groom,” Mor said “You and Rhys can cry together about how much you miss your wifes while me and Azriel drink.”

“Or maybe Azriel will join your sorry asses and whine about how pretty Gwyn looks underneath the theatre lights while I drink the wine all by myself” she added with a sly grin at Azriel, who muttered something under his breath and left the room.

“If you don’t hurry I will leave you both!” he shouted.

“Everyone but Gwyn has already noticed his affections” Mor sighed, lacing her arm with Cassian’s as they followed Azriel “They better marry before the next season is over or I will punch him”

“I can hold him for you” Cassian said with a shuckle, agreeing with Mor that his brother should be bolder when it came to his advances towards the red headed singer.

Maybe after a few drinks he could convince his brother to make his advances clearer from now on.

~•~

Any minute now.

Any minute now Nesta would walk through the doors and the ceremony would begin.

And they would be married.

Cassian was terrified.

“Stop fidgeting” Emerie hissed as she made sure his suit was in place “You will wrinkle my masterpiece and if my masterpiece is wrinkled I will kill you and Nesta will have to marry a corpse.”

“Sorry Emerie” Cassian said, taking a deep breath “I will try to be as still as possible.”

Emerie gave him a soft smile “You got this big guy”

“Oh, and try not to faint when Nesta walks in.” she added with a wink as she moved to her seat.

“Thanks, that makes me even more relaxed,” he grumbled.

You can do this, Cassian thought to himself as he took a deep breath, you survived countless battles and faced much more dangerous things than a two hour ceremony where you marry the love of your life.

“Hey, are you okay Cass?” Rhysand asked when he noticed how pale his brother was.

“I am going to throw up,” Cassian blurted out “Were you this nervous when you got married to Feyre? I should not be nervous, I mean, Nesta already agreed to marry me right? There is nothing to fear”

Rhysand chuckled, putting a hand on Cassian’s shoulders. “I was terrified while I waited for Feyre to walk down the aisle. And I spent the previous night throwing my guts up with nerves.”

“This is a normal feeling, Cass. It is a big step, getting married, even more to someone you feel so deeply about.” he added, squeezing his brother’ shoulder “You know that me and Nesta have our differences, but it is clear as day how much you two suit each other. And I have not seen her less grumpy than when she is with you.”

“Thank you, Rhys. This means a lot to me.” Cassian really appreciated Rhysand’s words. Not only they calmed him down a little but it also made him happy to know that his brother and Nesta were maybe getting along a little better now.

Music started and Rhysand gave Cassian’ shoulder one last squeeze before he went back to his place. Soon after that, Gwyn began to sing and Cassian knew that would be the cue for Nesta to enter.

If he wasn’t so busy getting lost in Nesta’s eyes as she walked down the aisle, he would have noticed that Azriel — differently from the other guests — was staring at where Gwyn was singing from the side of the front row of benches. The prima donna had wanted to make sure her dear friend’s wedding was as memorable as possible and — according to her — no one was up to the task to sing at the ceremony except her.

But Cassian would lose this teasing ammunition against his brother, for Nesta was so breathtaking he could see her and her only. It was as if the whole world had disappeared and it was just him and Nesta, even Gwyn’s heavenly singing fading in the background.

Emerie had really outdone herself with Nesta’s wedding dress, so much so that her earlier remark of him fainting was not so funny right now. As per tradition, the dress was white, but the arabesques and details in gold — not to mention the rich embroidery at the dress’ hem — made it very unique. The off shoulder design with sleeves that ended a little above her elbows and transparent white gloves created the ideal balance of modesty and daring — which was becoming Emerie’s trademark. Nesta’s hair had been braided down her back, the final touch being the full lace veil that was held in place by a delicate tiara.

Those few metres until she arrived at the altar were the longest of his life, and Cassian did not care what his military friends at the ceremony would say about the tears that were streaming down his face as he watched his soon to be wife walk towards him.

“Nes… dear you look stunning” Cassian managed to say as she finally reached him.

“You don’t look bad yourself” she teased, looking with appreciation at his well fitted black suit and combed back hair. Medals from his achievements were pinned to his suit and shone as they reflected the light from church.

“Dear beloved,” began the priest, “we are gathered here today to bless and join Lady Nesta Archeron and Lord Cassian Bardylis in holy matrimony.”

If someone asked Cassian what had happened during the ceremony, he would have to answer that he barely remembered any of it. He tuned out most of the formal chatter, too busy staring at Nesta and trying to catch her attention while she, on the other hand, tried to ignore him and pay attention to what the priest was saying. One moment that he did remember very well — and could never possibly forget — was the moment they exchanged their wedding vows.

“I am not good with words,” Cassian began, the sensation of throwing up having returned with full force “I have the tendency to put my foot in my mouth and say more than I mean or wrongly say what I mean. And then I start to ramble, like I am doing right now”

Cassian chuckled “But this is the most important day of my life. Of our lives. So I spent the whole last week writing and rewriting the perfect speech, one that would make all the guests cry and my beautiful wife ruin her makeup.”

The guests laughed at that and Nesta tried to hold back a smile, the corners of her lips turning up.

“I must have used all the paper I had in my apartment yet I could not seem to come up with what I wanted to write.” Cassian took Nesta’s hands in his, squeezing them “So I come here today, to marry you Nesta Archeron, with no speech but my fumbling words.”

“I come here today to promise you my bleeding heart, which beats for no one but you. Will ever beat only for you. I promise to cherish you, to annoy you with my presence until you ask me to leave and let you read in peace” that made Nesta laugh, her eyes lining with silver “I cannot promise that we will not go through hardships — Cauldron knows what the future holds — but I promise to do everything in my power and beyond to make sure we get through them, together. I promise to always stay by your side, to support you, to protect you.”

“I promise to love you with every fibre of my being. To love you until this life ends and into the next ones after.” Nesta was truly crying now but she was not ashamed of her tears. Let them all see how much she loved this man, how much his words meant to her, more than any riches in the entire world. “I promise you that we will have time to keep falling in love.”

“For someone who claims to be bad with words you did a great job” Nesta sniffed, and Cassian let go of her hands to brush off her tears.

“I should have brought a handkerchief,” he said, his thumbs gently brushing beneath her eyes.

“I also did not expect myself to cry that much so I forgive you” Nesta gently took his hands off her face “Now let me say my vows and make you cry too”

“As you wish” he said, hazel eyes staring deep at her blue-grey ones, as if he could not bear to lose a single thing that she said.

“I am not easy to love. And I do not love easily,” Nesta began, taking a deep breath “But I find myself loving you quite easily, and you in turn have proven to me how easily you love me.”

“When I was a young girl, I dreamed about a love like those in romance books. Dreamed about someone that would love me despite my faults, despite my shortcomings. Dreamed about a knight in shining armour that would protect me” she gave him a watery smile “As I grew up, I started to think that I would never be deserving of such love.That no one would see beneath the social facade I put on and love me for who I truly am, that I was destined for a miserable loveless arranged marriage.”

“But then you appeared with your teasing smile and annoying yet charming attitude. And I began to think that maybe the Mother had heard the prayers of my young self and all this time I had been waiting for you. Because there is no one else for me but you, Cassian Bardylis. There is no one else I would rather trust my heart with than you. I promise to be by your side forever, to support you, to protect you and to love you.”

Nesta had achieved her goal, for Cassian was crying even more than when she had walked down the aisle.

“You made me ruin my makeup,” he joked, Nesta gently brushing his tears away as he had done with her. The rest of the ceremony went by very fast, and when the priest announced that the groom could kiss the bride, Cassian’s kiss was far from the usual proper and reserved kissing at weddings. His army friends had whistled and Nesta had hit him in the shoulder, blushing furiously.

They exited the church with the guests throwing petals at them, gladly collapsing inside the carriage.

“I will find flowers on me until next week, I swear” Cassian said, taking one out of his sleeve and having no idea how it had gotten there “I am so tired. I did not know weddings could be so tiring. I cannot wait until we get home and can rest.”

“Oh, but there is still the reception.” he added “Do you think they will be there for too long or can we kick them out of our house when we feel like it?”

“Our house?” Nesta said, and Cassian started fidgeting, afraid he had said something wrong.

“I mean, I know Archeron Manor is yours and we will live in Pemberley— or maybe we can buy a new house here in the city. I figured we would live in Pemberley because we both enjoy the countryside but maybe you would rather live here because of your friends or will not feel comfortable there and would rather live in your childhood home—”

Cassian kept nervously rambling, but Nesta had stopped listening at the words “our house” and “home”. She had never really thought of Archeron Manor as a home, not thought about it with affection. The manor had been a cold and loveless place, and Nesta realised how alone she felt once her sisters had left, taking the small love and light the old place had held away with them. But the thought of living with Cassian, of having a place to call home and fill it with love… she enjoyed this idea.

“Stop talking,” Nesta said, shutting him up with a kiss. “I can live anywhere as long as you are there with me. We can keep the Archeron Manor as our city house. Or we can use your apartment if you want to and sell the Manor if my sisters do not want it either. And I would love to live at Pemberley with you. I adore that place and your staff.”

“Feel free to shut me up like that all the time, Nes” Cassian said with a dazzling smile.

“I can sell my apartment and we can use the Manor as our city house. I am very happy you like the idea of living at Pemberley.” he added “My apartment is quite small and I plan to have a big place with you where you can have as many books as you want.”

“After all, you only married me because of my library” that comment had Nesta blushing again.

“You will never forget that, will you?”

“Never,” Cassian vowed, taking off a petal that was stuck in her hair and leaning to kiss her.

They had kissed a few times, but Nesta realised that this kiss for some reason or the other was different from their previous ones.

There were the kisses from Before.

Before they were married. Before they had laid their bare hearts to each other.

But now there were the kisses from After.

After they had gotten married. After they had promised in front of their friends and family that they would not love anyone else but each other.

The kisses from Before had been good. Had made Nesta’s knees weak and made her lose her mind.

But there was something from this kiss, their second — the first being the one at the ceremony — After kiss… something that made it different from the rest.

And she liked this feeling. She liked it very much.

Nesta deepened the kiss, plunging her hands in Cassian’s hair, making him groan. She wanted to get closer to him, but her huge dress and the limited space in the carriage was not on their side. Yet it seemed Cassian’s mind was following the same train of thought as hers, for he laid her down on the seat, bracing his weight on one forearm to not crush her.

“This dress is stunning” he whispered against her skin as he kissed her neck “But awfully impractical. I cannot wait to pull it off of you”

Nesta felt heat low in her stomach, picturing Cassian slowly undressing her, his touch leaving a scorching path as he went.

“What are you hiding beneath this huge skirt, Nes?” he inquired, his free hand going under the layers of fabric and slowly trailing up her leg.

“Cassian” her mind had emptied out, she could only think about his hand slowly going up and up, reaching her thigh.

“What’s that?” he said, and she felt his finger trailing the garter belt she was wearing “What are you wearing Nes?”

“You know what it is” she managed to say as his finger kept its path, getting dangerously close to her centre.

“Oh I do,” Cassian murmured in her ear, biting her earlobe “But I want you to tell me what it is”

“I— it is not proper to ask what a lady is wearing underneath her clothes” Nesta said, clutching his suit.

“But Nes,” he said with that voice of his that made her want to follow his every word “I am your husband. And that means that not only I can know what you are wearing but I can also see it”

His hand suddenly left her skin, and Nesta wanted to whine in protest. Cassian pulled her up, fixing her hair a little to make it seem like they had not been making out in the twenty minute carriage ride from the church to Archeron Manor.

He opened the carriage, exiting and offering his hand to help her down. Meanwhile all Nesta could do was blink, her mind still fogged with desire.

“Are you coming, Nes? Or will I have to eat the five layer chocolate cake all by myself?”

At the mention of chocolate cake her mind woke up, and she cursed her body for falling so easily for her husband’s charm.

“As if,” she took his hand, their wedding rings shining in the afternoon’s last rays of sun.

Her ring had a ruby of considerable size, with two small dark green stones beside it, whereas Cassian’s had a blue diamond.

“The exact shade of your eyes,” he had said, low enough only for her ears as they exchanged rings “I spent a long time searching for it.”

“And what about my ring?” she had asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Why, it’s my favourite colour surrounded by the colour of my eyes” he had answered, innocently blinking his hazel eyes.

Nesta had rolled her eyes at him but her traitorous smile gave away how much she had liked their rings. Wedding rings commonly marked that the person who wore them had a partner, that they were taken. However, Cassian had taken it a step further, making their rings reflect the other… another claiming of its own.

She had been married for less than a day, yet she was finding out that her husband was more romantic than he let on.

~•~

“Ems, this is scandalous!” Gwyn shouted, her face getting red.

“That is my goal in life,” Emerie said with a snort.

“But… is it bad? Do you think I might have gone overboard?” she added hesitantly, fearing having ruined Nesta’ special day.

“Of course not!!” Gwyn said hastily, easing her friend’s worries “This is the perfect kind of scandalous. You are a trend setter, Emerie. I am sure all the other newlyweds ladies in society will want this design once you officially put it in store.”

“Thank you,” Emerie felt her worries getting lighter at Gwyn’s words. She had designed this lingerie set specially for Nesta, and it was very different from the other pieces of the current time.

“How long are you two going to talk as if I am not here?” Nesta inquired with a raised eyebrow “I feel like a doll being dressed up.”

“Forgive us, your ladyship” Emerie said, doing a mock bow. As it was customary, after the wedding reception had ended Nesta had gone up to the dressing room while Cassian waited in their bedroom. Emerie and Gwyn were the ones who would help her get ready for the wedding night, Feyre and Elain having helped her get ready for the wedding ceremony. She had thought her friends would be less noisy than her sisters had been, but maybe she had put too much faith in them.

“You are all set Nesta” Gwyn declared, making the finishing touch in her hair, which had been arranged in a simpler manner, without all the billion pins to hold the hairstyle.

“I will not walk there wearing only this” Nesta said, indicating the scandalous design “I need something to cover me up. What if Cassian does not like this or what if he finds me lacking in some way, I—”

“Nesta, I would have thought you out of all people would not be nervous” Emerie said with surprise, touching Nesta’s arm “It is clear as day how infatuated with you Cassian is. For Mother's sake, he would never find you lacking in any manner”

“He has a bigger chance of fainting when he sees you than anything. And you will end up needing to call the doctors on your wedding night” Gwyn pointed out, but she took a silk robe out of one box “But if it will help you feel less nervous, Emerie had prepared in advance this silk robe”

“If anything, when you take off the robe the impact will be even bigger” Emerie teased.

“Thank you, for everything” Nesta said, feeling a little stronger now her body was covered up. She had always been a confident woman, yet the idea of someone seeing her in such a vulnerable way made her feel extremely anxious. Suddenly she could not help but wonder if her toned legs from her years practising ballet and ballroom dancing were considerable “sexy”, if her breasts were not weirdly shaped, if the freckles on her shoulders and back were too noticeable or if she should have applied foundation on it to get the spotless skin most ladies at society aimed for.

“You look amazing Nesta” Gwyn assured her “Now go! Poor Cassian has waited a long time to be with his wife after all”

Nesta stood in front of the door connecting her dressing room with the bedroom a few more minutes after Emerie and Gwyn had left through the common door that led to the hallway. Her nerves were coming back, slowly creeping up on her, and she did not know if the knots in her stomach were butterflies or the sudden need to throw up.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to find Cassian lazily lying down on a chaise lounge, eyes closed and a glass of what Nesta supposed was scotch on his hand.

“I can’t believe we’re finally alone,” Cassian sighed as Nesta entered their room, closing the door behind her.

She snorted, trying to ease the tension and nervousness she felt.

“Men. They only have one thing on their mind” she hugged her silk robe tighter around herself, cursing Emerie for making her wear that to her wedding night with Cassian.

“What do you mean Nesta?” Cassian asked, setting his glass on the small table near him and sitting up.

“Please, I am not that naive to not know that on their wedding day there is only one thing on every man’s mind” Nesta remarked with a roll of her eyes.

“What?” Cassian frowned, standing up and walking towards her. He was barefoot, having ditched his overcoat, vest and tie, wearing only a white shirt with the first buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up.

Nesta got momentarily distracted by his attire, especially when he stopped in front of her. The last time they had been together unchaperoned had been their night at the theatre, the hurricane of wedding preparations having fallen on both of them again after that. And of course the dinner party that Elain and Lucien had organised at their new house.

It had been a small reunion, just for the new couple to celebrate their wedding among family and close friends. Nesta had arrived a little earlier than the other guests, but she had yet to see Cassian even after an hour since the official starting time. She had been coming back from the powder room when her fianceé had finally decided to appear.

Nesta was turning down the hallway when she collided with a hard surface. She’d have fallen had not said hard surface moved and stopped her.

“Missed me so much you had to throw yourself at me at the first opportunity Nes?” Cassian had teased with a smirk, his arm around her waist holding her tight against his body.

“Keep telling yourself that” she had said, trying to not blush as she felt a rather large bulge through his pants, her dress’ skirts doing nothing to block it given how close to each other they were.

They had kissed more than once, and after that day in her office and their kiss at the library Nesta wanted to scream at her body for still reacting the way it did when it came to Cassian.

Cassian had only shaken his head and righted her, leaving a tender kiss on her cheek.

“Let us return then, my dear. I am sure the other guests at least are missing my shining presence” he had said with a wink, and Nesta only rolled her eyes in fake annoyance as he escorted her back to the party.

“Nesta, look at me” Cassian stopped in front of her, gently grabbing her chin and making her look up.

“You are not wrong to say that I was anxious for our wedding night.” he said “Yes, we have to consummate our marriage and I do know that there are men out there whose only thoughts in their minds at their wedding day is the consummation. But I was also really looking forward to being alone with you because Cauldron, it has been so annoying having chaperones with us all the time when all I want is to talk to you on your own.”

“Oh,” Nesta felt shame for having raised back her ice walls and assuming the worst from Cassian when she knew he was not shallow and rude like most men.

“My dear stubborn wife, now that we are married no one can stop us from being alone because it is not considered inappropriate any longer. And that is what I meant when you walked in.” Cassian flicked her nose, grasping her hand and tugging her towards the chaise lounge “I asked for a bottle of that wine you like to be brought. Unless you would rather drink scotch with me”

“I will take the wine, thank you” Nesta twisted her nose at the idea of drinking scotch. Her alcohol tolerance had grown, and she had tried a couple of new drinks with Gwyn and Emerie since they came back to the city, but she still could not stomach such hard drinks.

Cassian poured her a glass, getting back his glass and clicking it with hers.

“Cassian, can you turn away for a moment?” Nesta asked, the wine giving her the final push she needed to take a leap of faith.

He promptly turned away “Whatever my wife wishes for shall be done”

“No peeking!” Nesta warned, and she could hear Cassian mumbling something beneath his breath, but he stayed put and did not look.

She tossed off the rest of her wine, unting her robe and letting it fall to the floor.

“You can look now” her voice was barely louder than a whisper, but Cassian heard it nonetheless. He turned around, choking on the scotch he was drinking and almost letting the glass slip from his hands. He put it beside her now empty wine glass, his eyes not leaving her for even a second.

“Please say something” Nesta was a minute away from snatching her robe back and hiding under the covers.

“I—” Cassian ran a hand through his hair “I am afraid I lack words to describe just how absolutely stunning you look”

Placing his hands on her waist and tugging her close, Cassian took his sweet time looking at her. Nesta wore an almost transparent lace bralette in white that left little to imagination, supported by three strings that highlighted her generous cleavage. The bralette had a short strap that connected to a transparent lace short skirt, which partially hid the rest of the matching set.

“I suppose I have Emerie to thank for the incredible attire my wife is wearing,” he said in a reverent voice, his thumbs drawing lazy patterns on her waist.

“I am glad it reached your expectations,” she tried to appear unbothered, yet his reaction filled her with satisfaction.

“Nesta darling, you could never disappoint me” he promised, brushing his thumbs on the bare skin of her waist “If anything you always manage to surprise and leave me speechless”

“My goal in life” she replied, her fingers playing with his shirt’s buttons “But I wish you would not call me darling”

“Why?” he asked with curiosity.

“Because that is what Rhysand always call Feyre when they are being sickly affectionate in public” she twisted her nose in disgust.

“What endearments am I allowed then?” he inquired.

“Well let me think,'' Nesta unbuttoned one of his buttons “Nes, for everyday” pop, another button “My sweetheart for Sunday’s” pop pop, two more buttons off “And Goddess divine. But only on very special occasions” pop, there went the last button.

“And what shall I call you when I am cross?” Cassian barely moved as Nesta slowly trailed her fingertips over his very very defined abdomen.

“Can you really stay cross at me?” she asked, and Cassian took a sharp intake of breath when her fingers got dangerously low.

“Touchè,” trying to get back the upper hand on the situation, he moved his hands higher, now skimming the underside of her lace covered breasts “What shall you call me when you are cross? For we know that I excel in getting a raise out of you”

“That is true,” Nesta said with a small smile “What about... Mr.Archeron?”

“No,” Cassian replied, moving one hand to tuck a stray hair behind her ear “No”

Being born as a low commoner from a single seamstress, Cassian did not have a surname until he had been adopted by Rhysand’s parents and given their surname: Bardylis. An old surname, from an old family with old riches and plenty of history. Cassian had been grateful for being given a warm bed, more food than he could possibly eat and a surname that allowed him privileges such as an education and recognition in high society. But even though he loved his brother, his sister and adoptive mother, he had never felt like a true Bardylis, like part of the family. Never felt that sense of belonging.

Yet with Nesta he felt that. Felt that he belonged. Felt like building a family with her. And he would like to have something that would identify him as hers that went even beyond their wedding rings.

So when they got married Cassian had taken Nesta’s surname and became Cassian Archeron. Nesta would still be head of the house and manage the family business, but now she did not have to do it alone. Now she would have Cassian to lean on when things got difficult.

“You may only call me Mr. Archeron when you are completely and perfectly and incandescently happy” he said, his eyes so full of adoration that Nesta could not imagine being happier than she was in that moment.

“Well then,” she got on her tiptoes, her hands moving to cup his face “how are you this fine evening… Mr. Archeron?”

Cassian smiled, and Nesta repeated her last words, kissing his chin “Mr. Archeron”

“Mr. Archeron” she said again, kissing his nose, and she could feel Cassian tightening his hold on her, supporting her.

“Mr. Archeron” a kiss on the corner of his lips “Mr. Archeron” she finally kissed his lips and Cassinan was thankful he would be the only man in Nesta’s life for she had gotten awfully good at kissing in such a short time. Nesta was gifted in a lot of areas, and if she did not know how to do something she would practise until she excelled at it. And Cassian was indeed very pleased with himself that he was the subject of her practice.

Nesta nipped his bottom lip, making Cassian groan. She was getting too good at kissing.

Her hands left his face, returning to their wandering over his body, going to his shoulders and pushing his shirt off. Cassian briefly let go of her to help discard his shirt — which ended up on the floor near her robe — but his lips soon found hers again, unable to leave her for too long. The atmosphere changed, all those months of longing and the past few weeks of waiting crashing down over them at the same time, the desire and passion they held for each other out in the open. And this time no one was there to stop them. There was no need to bear in mind the proper etiquette they should have, for they were married at last.

Cassian’s hands went to the back of Nesta’s thighs, and this time he did not have to tell her what to do. As if it was second nature, her legs wrapped around his waist and he carried her over to the bed, the gentle way in which he laid her so at odds with their passionate kissing. Nesta moaned when she felt all of Cassian against all of her, being able to feel how hard he was. She moved her hands to his pants, wanting him to get rid of them, but Cassian had other plans.

“Eager aren’t we?” he chuckled, grabbing her hands in one of his and pinning them above her head, his grip firm but not so tight that she could not shake him off if she wanted to.

“I have had a very long time to think of what to do with you, Nes” he added in a murmur, grazing his nose over her neck “I am a very generous lover, and I plan to take my sweet time pleasuring you”

“So I need you to be a good girl and behave. Can you do that for me?” Cassian asked, kissing that spot behind her ear that drove her mad. His words made Nesta hot all over, and she felt herself relaxing, obeying him.

“Such a good wife that I have” he let go of her hands, slowly moving down her body. He unhooked the strap that held the skirt, discarding it on the floor. Cassian spread her legs apart, softly kissing her inner thigh “While I was waiting for you I found a very interesting book on your bedside drawer. Who would have guessed that Nesta Archeron read such dirty books”

Nesta mentally kicked herself for forgetting to lock her drawer, the last minute wedding preparations making her careless. They would be staying just one day at the city before departing for Pemberely, so Nesta had felt like it was not necessary to prepare the main suite — which had been her parents and had been locked gathering dust since her father’s passing — when her room had a bed big enough for both of them. She was now regretting her choice.

“You looked through my things?” she hissed, both angry and embarrassed.

“I was getting bored,” he shrugged “I wondered if you had any books left unpacked to help me pass the time”

Cassian had read barely five chapters before closing the book. Picturing Nesta as the female lead while reading the smutty scenes was definitely not helping him control himself, and he had opened the scotch bottle in hopes that the alcohol would calm him down a bit before she arrived in the room.

“We should do a book club,” if that book had been good for anything is that it had given Cassian an idea of what kind of things Nesta might be interested in “I could help you recreate some of your favourite scenes”

“Shut up Cassian, I am divorcing you” Nesta snarled, although the thought of Cassian doing to her the same things that the male characters in her books did to the female leads made her toes curl.

“You will not be saying that once I am done with you” he pulled her flimsy undergarments down, throwing it aside and burying his mouth between her legs. The first flick of his tongue against her clit had Nesta moaning, hands grabbing his hair.

Her imagination and her own hand could not do justice to what Cassian was making her feel. He kept his promise, taking his time with her. He ran his tongue downward in an unhurried sweep, and when he slid his tongue straight into her core Nesta pulled on his hair, the action only making him double his efforts in pleasing her. He grabbed her thighs, placing them on his shoulders so his tongue could reach even deeper, curling into her.

Nesta whimpered, and she did not know if she was pulling his hair to bring him closer or push him away. All she knew was that she felt hot all over, her body tingling with pleasure.

“Do you like this?” Cassian sucked her swollen nub, teeth nipping “Tell me what you like Nes” he flicked his tongue again and again there.

“I— Cassian don’t stop” she moaned, her body grasping for that mind blowing release that drifted closer and closer with his actions.

“Would not dream of it,” he said against her, pushing a finger inside her.

Nesta cried out, the sensation different from when she used her own fingers. Cassian kept pumping his finger in and out of her while his tongue went back to teasing the spot at the apex of her legs.

More more more, that was all Nesta could think about, her mind going blank and her body acting on its own. She was so lost in pleasure that she could not muster enough shame to feel embarrassed by the way her hips ondulated against him, driving his finger deeper.

“I wanted to take things slow Nesta,” Cassian sighed, withdrawing his finger and making Nesta cry out in protest “but you are making it very hard to hold myself back”

“But if my dear wife wants more….” he plunged back in with two fingers, and Nesta gasped, the stretch bordering the thin line between pain and pleasure “then she shall get it”

She truly let go then, not caring if she was too loud and someone heard her. She rode his hand, his face, grinding into him, all while Cassian tasted and savoured her, those fingers of his — thicker and bigger than hers, reaching places she could not and driving her mad with pleasure — stretching and filling her.

“Cassian— I am so close” Nesta pleaded, and he doubled his efforts, fingers pumping and pumping, tongue and lips moving against her, as if he was a starved man and only Nesta could satiate his appetite.

“Let go Nes,” his teeth grazed against her “I got you sweetheart, I want you to come on my tongue, let go”

His words were what made her finally go over the edge of her pleasure, back bowing off the bed with the force of her orgasm. Cassian did not stop until she had collapsed against the mattress, her body limp and reeling, her breath coming out in gasps. He removed his mouth and tongue from between her legs, sliding his fingers out of her and leaving her aching and empty.

“You are exquisite,” he brought his fingers to his mouth, groaning as he sucked them clean. The action made Nesta’s body grow hot all over again, heart pounding.

Cassian peppered her skin with kisses, slowly making his way up.

“Do you still want to divorce me, my love?” he asked, grazing his nose on her neck, “Or was I better than your books?”

“It was satisfying I suppose” she tried to appear unaffected, to call forth her unbothered mask, but her racing heart and breathless voice betrayed her.

“Satisfying,” Cassian laughed against her skin, his hands moving to cup her breasts “I better turn that satisfying into something better, don’t you agree Nes?”

“I would like to see you try” she said, raising her back so he could take off her bralette.

“Cannot wait to see you begging” he whispered, his hands slowly making their way to her back to undo the clasp.

“I do not beg,” Nesta said, the picture of an imperious queen even while laying down.

“That is something that shall be changed then,” Cassian remarked, letting the last piece of his wife’s clothing finally join the floor with the rest.

And Cassian almost came in his pants right there. To finally see Nesta naked… It was a vision he did not know if he would ever recover from.

“My goddess divine…” he said reverently, his hands slowly caressing her breasts “you have no idea what you do to me Nesta”

“I beg to differ, if the way you have glanced at my gown’s neckline in multiple occasions is any indication” she let out a soft whimper as Cassian palmed her breasts with a little more strength “You are not as subtle as you think you are, husband”

“You cannot blame me for ogling you, sweetheart. And I plan to ogle you plenty now that you are my wife”

Whatever comeback Nesta had planned died on the tip of her tongue the moment he closed his mouth around one perked nipple, his other hand busying itself massaging her other breast.

He took his time worshipping her, switching between her breasts to demonstrate how much they drove him mad with want. He sucked her nippples, runned his tongue around it, twisting and pinching them until she finally cracked and begged.

“Cassian please please” she pleaded, her second climax building fast.

“Be a good girl and give me one more, Nes” he said, his teeth gently biting her nipple, his other hand having moved down her body, expertly rubbing those tantalising circles in her clit again.

She came with a cry, throwing her head back. Cassian could feel her heart racing and he left a tender kiss in her breasts before looking at her flushed face.

“So much for not begging,” he teased, and Nesta glared at him.

“Divorce is still on the table, General” she gave him a sly smile “Did I say that your performance was above satisfying?”

“Cruel Archeron, you wound me. Do you need another demonstration?” Cassian tugged at her earlobe “I can taste you all night if that is what you want”

“I think it is now my turn,” Nesta said, surprising him “It seems unfair that you are still clothed while I’m laid bare before you”

Her hands moved to his breeches and Cassian stopped breathing. Her deft fingers unbuttoned them, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Let it not be said that I denied my wife anything on her wedding night” he said, getting up and discarding his breeches.

Nesta was sure her eyes must have been double their size as she looked at Cassian.

She had never seen a cock before, had only her imagination and what she had heard maids whispering when they thought she was not paying attention. Nesta was sure that they were not supposed to be that big, despite the fact that she had felt it through her dresses twice now when Cassian had stopped her from falling. Had grinded against it that day in her office.

But nothing could have prepared her for seeing it without his clothes confining it.

He was enormous. Hard and absolutely enormous. She did not know if he would fit at all inside her and she supposed that should scare her. Yet she felt herself getting wetter.

“Enjoying the view Nes?”

She sure was, but she was not going to give him ammunition to his already big ego.

“Lay down,” he did as she instructed, the picture of perfect arrogance as he settled down among the pillows.

She would take that smirk off of his face soon enough.

Settling between his legs, Nesta trailed her finger down the v of his hips, her eyes settling on a small stopwatch on his thigh, near his groin.

“What is this?” She asked curiously, her finger circling it.

“It is a tattoo. I got it after my first battle,” his voice was quiet, remembering darker times “It is a reminder not to waste time.”

“Do you have any others?” Nesta hoped her question took his mind out of painful memories.

“Wings” she arched an eyebrow at that “on my back.”

Nesta realised she had never seen Cassian’s bare back. She had seen his broad chest countless times, but not his back. She’d have to change that. She wanted to see his other tattoo. She wanted to see all of him.

She wanted to touch all of him.

Because he was hers and she was realising that there were things she did not know about him. And she wanted to know them all.

Her finger left the tattoo, moving to his thick, long shaft, and she marvelled at the feel of it. The skin was soft — something she thought was so at odds with how hard he was beneath. She wrapped her hand around his cock, fingers barely able to reach around him completely.

“How do you like it, husband?” she gently squeezed him, her touch feather soft “Gentle?”

He gritted his teeth, willing his body to stop acting like he was a greenboy being touched for the first time.

“Hard?” she stroked him again, her grip slightly harder.

Cassian was fucked. He was utterly and completely ruined as Nesta kept stroking him. His brain had turned into a puddle of melted words, beyond forming coherent sentences. And she had only touched him.

Remembering what she read in one of the books Emerie and Gwyn had gifted her, Nesta pumped him a third time, squeezing hard and letting her nails graze the sensitive underside of his shaft.

Cassian let out a curse, hips arching into her hand.

She chuckled, doing it harder still, twisting her fist as she reached the round head, her thumb brushing the slit at the top.

“Like that? You like that, don’t you?” she repeated the action, spreading his pre cum “What is wrong General? Cat got your tongue?”

“Yeah, just like that” Cassian clenched his jaw, breathing heavily.

Seeing Cassian at her mercy — for once the one so uncomposed — did things to her. Nesta felt powerful, bold, her initial shyness and insecurities having faded as if they never existed.

And it was that new found boldness that made her take him in her mouth.

“Fuck,” cursing under his breath, he leaned his head back, dark hair a stark contrast against the white sheets.

Nesta had him in her mouth for maybe a minute before she was pulled up, Cassian rolling them so he was on top, crushing their lips.

“Was it not good?” She asked, arching her neck as he showered her with kisses.

“It was too good” he looked deep in her eyes, pupils so dilated that the brown had overtaken the green, dark with desire “So good I risked coming in your mouth”

“I would not have minded,” Nesta said, feeling Cassian getting even harder.

“Do you see what you do to me?” He groaned, letting his cock slip between her folds “I am so hard, so fucking hard for my beautiful wife,”

“But, as pleasurable as it was, I would rather leave it for another time. Today is about you and you only” he kissed that tender spot behind her ear “I am but a humble servant whose sole purpose is to love and serve you”

“Look who is suddenly a poet,” Nesta said.

“You are a very inspiring woman. My Nesta. My wife. My goddess divine ” Cassian kissed her deeply, but his voice took a serious tone.

“I cherish you more than I can ever put into words. So if you do not feel comfortable I need you to tell me now and I will stop. We can wait how long you need, there is no problem at all.”

Nesta found Cassian’s concern over her well-being both endaring and frustrating. On one hand, she was glad she had married someone as honourable and gentlemanly as him, after her distasteful experience with Tomas. On the other hand, after everything they had done - how much he had made her blood sing and her body light up on fire - she could not believe he was really considering stopping now. It was something unimaginable to Nesta.

“I want this. I want you, Cassian.” Nesta raised a hand, tenderly cupping his cheek “Do not ask me to wait any longer for you to make me yours in every way possible.”

“Are you sure you want this or are you just saying that because you have seen my library?” he said with a smirk, playfully nipping at her hand.

This cannot be happening, Cauldron I married a clown, Nesta thought to herself.

“Yes, Cassian” she snapped “I want you to fuck me because of your splendidly library. Now can you get on with it or do you want me kick you out of my bedroom”

Cassian had never heard Nesta cursing, never heard her using any kind of crude words at all, so her words came as a great shock to him. That strangely turned him on.

And made him decide to make sure that Nesta was very vocal about what she wanted from him from this point onwards.

“As my wife desires” he said, lining himself at her entrance and slowly sliding in. He did not want to hurt her, this was her first time and he would damn sure make it as mind blowing and perfect as the scenes in her books.

He eased himself in just an inch, halting at her sharp intake of breath. Cassian knew he was large enough that the stretching was edged in sweetest pain.

“Nes, look at me” he breathed and when she did he let all the love he felt for her show in his eyes.

Intertwining their hands, Cassian let himself slide another inch, retreating nearly to her edge. He pushed back in, a little farther this time. His eyes did not stray from hers for a single moment, holding her gaze through each small trust, each retreat, until he was resting against her maidenhead.

And when he plunged forward — and he could not believe just how good it felt to be buried completely within her — his mouth took hers, slowing her small gasp of surprise.

“Are you okay, my love?” Cassian asked, not moving to let her grow used to the feeling of him inside her.

“Yes, I—” she moaned when he moved to adjust his arms, holding himself above her so as to not crush her “Please, do not stop. Keep moving.”

And being the obedient husband that he was, Cassian did not, indeed, stop.

He set the pace, smooth and deep, Nesta utter perfection beneath him, her hips rising to meet his, tentatively at first, then with a vigour that matched her rising passion. Her breaths were coming faster and faster, and each moan and gasp inflamed his passion even more. Cassian wanted to possess her, to own her, to hold her beneath him and never let go.

“Fuck,” he moaned, and she tightned around him, her inner muscles squeezing him harder.

“Fuck, Nesta,” he repeated, scrapping his teeth over her neck.

“Do you see what you do to me? How you make me lose my self control?” he shifted, and his cock plunged even deeper, rubbing against a spot that made that fire inside her ignite even stronger.

“Cassian,” she moaned, wrapping her legs around him.

“Do I feel good to you?” his hand drifted between her legs “Do you like how I fuck you, Nes? Do you need me as much as I need you?”

All she could do was whimper in confirmation, far too gone for words.

“You take me so well, sweetheart. Every inch, just like that”

“Cassian, please” Nesta pleaded “I need… I am going to…”

The rest of her words were lost when his free hand moved to pinch one of her nipples.

“I love when you beg for me. Strong, powerful and beautiful Nesta Archeron, begging so sweetly for me” he moved to her other breast, nipping and sucking at the skin “You want to come one more time my love? Do you want to come all over my cock?”

“Yes,” Nesta sobbed, clenching around him.

“So come for me, Nes” he pinched her clit, and Nesta came with a scream, her orgasm travelling down her body in electric waves.

“Good girl,” Cassian kept trusting, drawing out her release until he wrung every last drop of pleasure. And only then did he come with a loud groan.

They stayed there for a while, panting and blissed out. When their breaths finally slowed, Cassian eased off her, and Nesta whimpered at the sudden emptiness.

“I will be right back Nes,” he said, leaving a kiss on her temple.

He returned moments later with a damp cloth, which he used to gently clean her up, mindful of how sensitive she was. Nesta somehow managed to get under the cover, holding it up for Cassian, who was quick to join her, tucking her to his side.

“I shall not divorce you,” she murmured sleepy, nuzzling into his chest “Congratulations on having avoided it, for now.”

“Thank you for your kindness, sweetheart,” Cassian gave a weak laugh, running his hand through her hair in soothing motions.

Soon, they were both asleep, happy and at home in each other’s arms.

~•~

Three Years Later

“My Lady, you really ought to get down. I can get the book for you”

“Mrs.Potts, rest assured that I am capable of climbing a few steps to get the book myself” Nesta replied, getting on her tiptoes and reaching for the book “Besides, I already told you to relax and enjoy your vacation. You really do not need to nanny me”

Nesta smartly let out the fact that even though it did not show, Mrs.Potts was getting old. Her climbing a narrow stair to grab a book on the highest shelf would also not be advised.

“But my Lady, the Lord said—”

“We both know that my husband is a mother hen” Nesta rolled her eyes, finally reaching the book and tucking it under her arm so she could climb down the stairs “Besides, he is busy at headquarters so if we do not tell he will never know.”

“I will never know what?” a deep voice filled with amusement said.

“My Lord! You are back!” Mrs. Potts exclaimed, motioning to Nesta to hurry up and climb the rest of the stairs down.

“Yes, I could not possibly miss afternoon tea with my wife,” Cassian said, arching an eyebrow as Nesta descended the last steps, walking in his direction “And what do you think you were doing?”

“I was getting a book, Cassian” Nesta replied, shrugging “Mrs.Potts can testify that I was perfectly safe and sound doing it.”

“Can she now?” he inquired, and the old head maid begrudgingly nodded in affirmation.

“If you will excuse me, I shall retire to my quarters and rest for a bit” Mrs.Potts gave a pointed glance in Nesta’s direction “As her ladyship said, I am on vacation”

Mrs. Potts left the room muttering that now she had two strong headed employers who could not listen to reason, much to the employers’ amusement.

“We should increase her salary,” Cassian said, his arms going around Nesta’s waist and hugging her close to him “Soon there will be another person to drive the poor woman mad.”

“Which is why you should be resting, as I have been telling you to do,” he added.

“Cassian, I am three months pregnant, not nine” she rolled her eyes again “I do not need rest. What I do need is a husband who lets me climb stairs to get books”

“I can get any books you want, Nes” Cassian kissed her, making Nesta melt on his arms “I am just a bit worried about my girls, sorry if I am being too overbearing.”

“Girls?” she asked with confusion.

“You and our little princess of course,” he placed one hand on her abdomen “I think that she is going to be just as fierce and incredible as her mom.”

“How can you be so sure that she is a girl?” Nesta laughed at his conviction that their child would be a girl.

“I just know it,” he shrugged, “I have a strong gut feeling.”

“As you wish then, Mr.Archeron,” she said with a smile “Now, I believe I heard someone saying something about afternoon tea?”

“With all of your favourite pastries,” he declared with pride, kissing her again.

“Oh, you truly are the best husband, General Archeron” Nesta squealed when he suddenly gathered her in his arms princess style, exiting the library and walking towards the outdoor patio. It was a lovely day for a picnic.

“I can walk! Cassian!”

“See how your mom likes to boss me around and argue?” he ignored Nesta, directing his words to his unborn child “Will you do the same when you are born I wonder?”

And six months later Cassian got his answer when a healthy little girl with light brown skin, curly dark hair and her mom’s eyes was born. Little Cynane indeed had Cassian wrapped around her little fingers, her father not missing a single afternoon tea with his daughter and all of her dolls.

•

Tag list: : @sayosdreams @thewayshedreamed @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @caotica-e-quieta @vidalinav @swankii-art-teacher @ireallyshouldsleeprn @duskandstarlight @d0riansgray @thegoddessaltenia @dayanna-hatter @verypaleninja @awesomelena555 @courtofjurdan @valkyriewarriors @moe8 @illyrianwitchling13 @silvernesta @bri-loves-sunflowers @queenestarcheron @imwritingthesewords @vasudharaghavan @rainbowcheetah512 @darkshadowqueensrule @letstakethedawn​ @starlightorstarfire @city-of-fae @thalia-2-rose @nestaarcher0n @rowaelinismyotp @julemmaes @dontgetsalmonella @janeslandrys @lysakirova @inardour @fatimafares123 @angelina-figjam @castielspelvis @imagine-me @18moneytoad @booksstorm @loosingdreams @live-the-fangirl-life @moodymelanist @sv0430 @oversizedbats @simpingfornestaarcheron @angelic-voice-1997 @katekatpattywack @starksravings

{Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my Fixed Tag list. Bold tags don’t work}

Reblogs are always welcomed!!

[jmagnabo92]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

Thank you so much for the tag, @lovelymasks!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently, 187, but I'm probably going to add like 10 more by the end of the month - most of these are Prongsfoot Microfics.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

729, 900 words. Well, damn. That's a lot of words. For it's for basically the last two years of writing on AO3.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently on AO3, HP and Ghosts CBS, but I have some writing in word docs for other fandoms if i ever finish them (like Once, Charmed, PLL, CM, ect).

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

Take Care of Me (655)- Sirius/Harry One shot for Sirry stockings in 2021. Sugar Daddy Fic.

Companionship (570) - Sirius/Harry longfic where Sirius gets out of the country before Harry's fifth year and they meet again when Harry's an escort 9 years later, not realizing their identities, fall in love.

Return From the Veil (533) - Sirius/Harry Ongoing fic where Sirius comes back out of the veil minutes after dying de-aged to sixteen and they bond and finish the war together. I actually need to update this one.

Path to Recovery (404)- Sirius/Harry After the war, Harry raises Teddy in the muggle world and he truly begins his path to recovery when Sirius returns from the veil ten years later.

Soulmates (307) - Sirius/Harry Soulmate AU One Shot for Sirry stockings in 2021.

LOL - Over 100 fics for Prongsfoot (of my 187) and ALL 5 are Sirry. It's probably because they've been up longer, but that's too funny. Although number 6 is Rebuilding :) Which is Prongsfoot.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes, as long as they aren't hate, I make a point to say thank you or engage with questions or discussions.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh god. I'm not sure - I like Happy Endings, but I would say either -

72 Cemetery - Sirius/James with James having died and Sirius trying to say goodbye to the tune of "Give Heaven Some Hell" since that whole being at a cemetery saying goodbye to the love of your life is angsty as hell.

A Dream Come True - Trevor focused Ghosts AU. Based on discussions and comments, while I thought it ended on a positive - they have futures again - vibe, the idea that the ghosts would go their separate ways because they are alive again was angsty rather than happy. I maintain that the ghosts gaining their freedom and a second chance to chase dreams as a happy ending.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well, all of my fics have happy endings. But, the happiest?

Rebuilding - Sirius/James - it was the first of a series, but the ending with them getting together and a hopeful future (which is seen in the next pieces of the series) feels the most happy to me.

The Gentlemen's Club - Trevor/Hetty - this one had a very fun time for them as they got to travel and the ending leads to the chance for more traveling and coming out to the house, which feels happy and hopeful to me.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have - I usually complain to my friends on Discord and delate the comment. I always say "If you LIKE it, please let me know" - I absolutely do not understand who hates on what fic writers do in their free time for no money. And I wish those people would stop - although it doesn't happen often, it can truly kill motivation and it makes me want to hit something.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. I have entire fics that are just smut - not even just one-shots! I am still writing Peaceful Life which is a Sirius/Harry smut fic and I have started a fic entitled "Trevor's Horny Jail" that will pretty much be all smut.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I have written one Different Magic, Sam Found Family- it was for HJP week this year - HP/Once and I intend to write a couple of other HP/Once fics. I love Emma and I think her and Harry would be great together given their similarities.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

God, I hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone has asked, but I don't know if they ever did.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I want to co-write a 'Read the Books' story with someone on discord, but we haven't talked about it in a while.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Oh, god. There's so many ships in the world, but I guess I'd have to go with Sirius/James - Prongsfoot. I mean, I have written (IN THE LAST YEAR, ALONE) over 100 fics for them and intend to catch up on ALL of the microfics prompts, write those longer fic ideas, and join in on Prongsfoot Bingo so...

I mean, seems obvious that they must be my favorite, I think.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

Probably that PLL rewrite. Damn it, I had to stop thinking about it and fixate on something else because It's just so hard to balance having six mains - the storylines that were good (and I wanted to keep) and make sure I don't give any plotholes. SPECIALLY with the hell that is never-ending November and fixing that. I still want to write it, but I don't have anyone to talk about it with so it's easy to let it fall into the abyss. Especially I haven't started posting it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I love a good timeline. Like if you read my fics, you will always be able to follow the timeline and not get confused.

Additionally, I think I'm pretty good at writing emotionally charged scenes with comfort at the end. Mainly the comfort.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm obsessed with timelines - so it can easily screw me up if I got lost in - wait, what day is it? Did that already happen? And having to reread and confirm one way of another and then totally fall off track.

I also tend to be too wordy. I focus so much on gushing happiness that I pepper in probably too much fluff that isn't really needed.

In RFTV, we're 14 chapters in and we're only just now getting to the end of the summer and it's been like 72K. Because I like the bond and building that, but I probably put too much bonding in there - and hot damn, man that's a lot of words.

Additionally, sometimes I lose the plot in the fluff. And forget that it isn't just fluff.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

Oh, uh, I don't do it unless it's something easy like Ciao - everyone knows Ciao or Hola - to me, I would only do it if it's obvious what the word is without knowing the language. If I have to look it up (writing or reading) I'll just get annoyed.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

H2O just add water. I've got 2 fics on FFN.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Oh, god. I don't think I could pick just one, but currently - Probably Mirror Talks - it started off as a one-shot for Sirius and Harry Saturday on Tumblr and it literally spiraled into basically Sirius raising Harry fifth year and beyond semi-canon compliant re-write of books 5, 6 and 7. I get to hash out my issues with those books and I get my favorite genre of story - Sirius raising Harry (no wolf star).

AHHH this was very interesting to answer. Thanks again!

Tagging ummm. @wembly @padfootastic, @roalinda and @creative-girl No Pressure!

[paperpeacock]

Ok like hear me out. Suga with an s/o starring as phantom of the opera and he of course dragged everyone he could to see them and during the song the phantom of the opera everybody is just like WOWOWOWOW🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 and the entire time Suga is just 😍😍😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰-

Hello! I am so sorry, I've kept you waiting for a while, haven't I? I thank you for your patience and I really loved this request! this is my first Haiykuu fic so I hope I don't disappoint. Thank you again and i hope you have an Awesome day!

Suga x Reader - Break A Leg

The auditorium echoed in the sound of squeaky shoes and boyish yells. The Karasuno volley ball team were practicing, this was evident by the amount of swearing that could be heard. A certain fiery redhead and gimlet gazed king were in heated argument. 

“Kageyama!” Hinata shouted once more, his sets weren't consistent enough to land any good spikes. 

“I'm trying! Maybe if you weren't such a baby you could move for the ball”  

Hinata huffed at this comment, ready to spike the pompous king in his face. But before he could do so, a lovestruck Suga waltzed into the hall. His pale cheeks were tinted rose, his smile warm and inviting. Suga was normally a calm, but never blissful. 

“Suga you’re pretty late” Daichi called, not too focused on the snow haired setter. 

“Mhm” He called back. In his arms he carried a thick stack of papers. He hadn't come to practice volley ball, but instead to pin up said papers. 

“What are you doing Suga?” Hinata shouted, pausing his argument for a moment. Now the whole team was curious, turning their gazes to Suga. Who was currently smoothing down a dark poster against their notice board. 

“Have you heard of the play the drama club is doing?” He asked the group, back still turned to them. 

“Oh yeah! Opera Ghost thingy”  

“Phantom of the Opera, dumbass”  

“Well, guess who’s staring in it!” Suga turned round, eyes splashed in glitter. 

The whole team smiled in knowing. The only person who could ever get Suga this excited was... 

“Y/N?” They said in union. 

“Yes! And its next week so you all better be there!” he pointed at the boys before making an exit. He had to put up all the poster before the morning bell. 

The next week was a busy one for the drama club, their clubroom a menagerie of makeup and costumes. Suga watched his step when walking in. Most members were dashing around, preparing for the dress rehearsal, he could barely make out your figure amongst the mess. 

He knocked his fist against the doorframe, trying to catch anyone’s attention. “Has anyone seen Y/N?” he called.  

“Hi~”  

He flinched as a pair of familiar arms draped around his shoulders. He turned to find you. 

“Nice mask” He joked, fiddling with the end of the iconic half face. He was surprised to say the least upon hearing that you were playing the Phantom. 

“Things seem pretty busy”  

“Yes, everyone's super hyped!” you smiled; he found your excitement to be adorable. 

“Y/N! We need you on stage in 5 minutes!”  

You turned to your boyfriend, lending him an exhausted smile.  

“I better get go-” 

His lips pressed against yours, a quick but sweet goodbye. 

“Break a leg” he smiled, his forehead lingered on your own before he left. 

“Thanks” 

The night had finally arrived, the night of which the whole school had been buzzing about. 

“Guys come on! We might be late!” Suga stressed, his breath like smoke in the cold winter air. The whole karasuno Volley Ball team stood outside the auditorium, freezing their asses off whilst waiting for Hinata to tie his laces. 

“Okay done!” The red head announced and the group pushed inside.  

In a rushed shuffled they all pushed each other to take a seat, they arrived just in time before the start. 

“Good evening, ladies and Gentlemen!” An overly dramatic voice announced, in obvious theater kid fashion. 

“On this cold December night, we welcome you to join us in...” 

“Phantom of the Opera!” 

On command the classic theme song erupted throughout on the room, commencing the beginning of the play. Suga couldn't wait to see what you had been working on for these past months. 

After awhile of flowery dancing and some lady singing with a decapitated head in her hand, finally, and I mean finally the Phantom had arrived. 

The audience had been awaiting this scene, for it was the most compelling. 

A honeyed light spilled from the ceiling, casting upon the Phantom and Christine as the two actors glided across the stage. Suga felt his heart race beneath his chest as you brought the actor close to you, your voice like that of a siren. He watched your long midnight cape drag behind your figure, gloved hands gesturing as you sung. Despite the dark and foreboding nature of the Phantom, Suga could still make out the twinkling eyes beneath the ghost-like mask. You were loving this. Each time you came closer to edge of the stage he felt his chest tighten; you were so enchanting to him. And when you disappeared behind the curtains he felt his heart slightly wilt, wishing to see and hear more of you. 

“Thank ladies and Gentlemen! Have a great night!” 

The crowd erupted in cheer, shaking the walls of the hall with screaming and clapping. Even Suga shouted, surprising his team mates. 

Him and the rest of the group waited outside for you as waves of crowds spilled out from the doors, before finally, you came out. 

“Y/N!” He waved, drawing your attention, you still wore your phantom outfit, too preoccupied to return it. 

He pulled you into a hug, grasping onto your figure and holding your head against his shoulder. 

“You were amazing” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. You blushed beneath your mask, ducking further into his chest. 

“Thank you” you mumbled, earning a laugh from him. 

And Thus the Volleyball player and his phantom went home for the night, Ready to discuss the entirety of the play. 

“I like the part when the Phantom was there” 

“Pfft” 

[edgarsullivans]

my top 4 s10 eps by how excited i am for them just by their cast, promo photos, ep names + descriptions!

1. the company of men

- sullivans back!

- i love felicia + sullivan scenes bcs i think they are quite similar characters without really realising they are, and from the photos nancy posted i think we’ll defo get some!

- honestly the gentlemen’s club setting sounds really interesting especially with sullivan as we haven’t really seen him interact with anyone outside of kembleford before- im assuming it’s outside of kembleford idk

- BRENDA!!! i love brenda sm, but it’s going to be kind of bittersweet because i really loved bunty + brenda as a duo and i don’t think we’ll see that again, but im interested to see the dynamics between her and felicia, sullivan and mrs devine!

2. the winds of change

- honestly this is more apprehensiveness than excitedness

- im really hopeful for a mrs m and bunty goodbye scene at the very least. i love both of them sm and it doesn’t at all make sense in their character arcs to leave kembleford, and if they write it down as bunty going back to london + mrs m as going back to ireland ill probably cry. mrs m would not leave kembleford, she loves it with her whole heart, and as long as father b is there she wouldn’t leave. when he gets threatened with excommunication in s9 she stayed with him because their not just colleagues, they are best friends! she would not leave esp not without saying goodbye! same with bunty, in s7 we see that she actually sees herself staying in kembleford, “what, go back to london?” so i really don’t see her leaving either so there’s gotta be a good explanation for both of them.

- im really excited to meet mrs devine and see how goodf is going!

- might cry because all the og father b gang is officially gone now :(

3. the serpent within

- the title gives me the idea that someone in the central cast has betrayed sullivan, which im really excited for! i totally wanna know who it was!

- I REALLY WANT TO KNOW IF SULLIVAN ENDS UP STAYING IN KEMBLEFORD AS MAYBE A PI?

- does goodf become inspector????

4. the hidden man

- a string of murders is something very new to flambeau, so im excited to see the plot!

- “sullivan pays father brown a visit” seems awfully friendly, to me it suggests they are co-operating together which will be so fun! im really excited to see father b + sullivans dynamic because it’s going to be so different from s2 + 3 for sure.

- WHOSE THE WOMAN IN THE PROMO PHOTO?? i can’t wait to find out.

[blackjackmagi83]

Criminal Behavior (4)

-

Masterlist

WC: 2.9k

Pairing: Druglords Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes X Detective Original Female Character-

Summary: Rose Phillips, one of the best vice detectives in the game, was given a mission to catch the biggest drug lord in all of New York. James Buchanan Barnes. Framing as a lady of the night at a hidden gentlemen’s club, her mission being to do anything it takes to lure her target into her trap. Even if it means going through one of his accomplices to get there. Will the notorious criminals fall for her trap or will Rose fall for their criminal behavior?

Warnings: Lots of swearing, violence, and mild sexual content.

-

Hope you enjoy the chapter! ♡

-

Bottles slammed against walls. Angered screams of an older woman surrounded the room. Shattered glass burrowing into flesh.

"H-he killed himself because of you!" The older woman slurred, a glass bottle wrapped tightly in her hand.

Late 40’s, 5’9 and as milky white as a fresh cup of cream, straight from the teet. Built to present perfection and class in the position of businessmen during the day, expensive veneers flashing fakely pearlescent. Freshly pressed business suits disguised the pinholes running up every major vein accessible, bruised and hard from overuse. Giggles of dismiss to cover the scrapings of fresh wounds along her palms that held broken shards and accidental jabbings from the night prior. Living a perfect lie.   

The child, frightened but externally confident, ducked as another bottle was thrown, glass shards scattering into her hair, twisting until they burrowed into her scalp, "He's dead because of the fucking drugs!", Blood was seeping down the side of her head, pooling in the crevices of her ear, “You'll be next with the way you're going!”

She was the only one who knew the truth but with a mouth sewed shut with invisible thread, spun from a lifetime of threats and undeserving hatred. 

The older woman snickered, a cheshire grin forming, "And why do you think we started in the first place? Mommy and daddy just wanted to have a little fun? See what it felt like to fuck while high? Hmm?", She staggered as the mix of alcohol and drugs were becoming too much for her to bear. She’d have to lay down soon, “It was you. A happy accident they say. The greatest gift god could give to those fortunate, deserving enough. What a load of bull that was.” 

She was only two when her father first hit her. Tainting the innocent flesh of her face with grotesque markings.

She tried not to show how much her heart was breaking at the words being thrown at her. She was only a child when it happened. An innocent child wanting to be praised and loved unconditionally. Still was, barely the age of thirteen but the dreams of maternal love had died with her the day the truth was revealed.

"Don't blame your failures on me. You were fucked up long before I came into this world. I just showed how incapable you truly are."

She was only 7 when he wrote the first draft of the letter. Messy script sprawled on crumpled paper around his feet, none of the words sounding the way he wanted. It wasn’t right. The timing. Soon he said. Very soon.

The older woman roared, the last fuse within her blowing to ash. She could only hope she would escape the older woman’s wrath or die with a swift slash of her throat from one of the bottles around her. Maybe it’d be better that way but she had to at least try one more time before giving in to her darkness.

"You ungrateful child!" 

She was only nine when he said his last goodbye, unknowing of his departure till it was too late, distracted by the gentleness he hadn’t shown in what felt like decades in the hollow shell of his body. It was almost christmas, maybe this was an early gift.

Broken bottle in hand, the older woman swung and-

-It was Christmas, the house smelled of pine from the decorated tree next to the fireplace. It had been cleaned in preparation for guests, mother's yearly dinner party. A painstaking step to maintain the cover of the average American family. The holidays was the only time love was shown, accepted despite the artificial taste that lingered. It was wrong to be greedy during festive times, accepting of any offering that was given with a thankful acknowledgement in return. 

But the house had grown cold and stale with the scent of death. A body decorated like their holiday ham, sliced open with red honey, coagulated and sticky, laid on the bathroom floor.

“Look at what you did!” Mother held his head tenderly against her lap, whaling cries echoing in the empty house, “You did this! Yo-”

Rose awoke in a sobbing breath, soaked in cold sweat that seeped through her clothes and into her sheets. Hands quivered with uncontrollable panic, the nightmare memory still flashing before her opened eyes.

29 years had passed since her father’s death and the memories still haunted her, alerted with alarms to remind her that they’d always be there. Prowling in the grassline, prepared to pounce when the memories faded into foggy images and whispers. 

If the ghosts weren’t enough, the scar that ran across her left ribs in a jagged pattern was her second reminder. Searing with heat as if she was receiving the end of the bottle all over again, the cries of her child form drumming in her ears with intensity that numbed her hearing.

Subconsciously, her fingers raised her night shirt until cold air hit the desired spot, exposing the pink scarred tissue to the darkness of the room, listening to the unseen monsters to gasp in delight at the pain it still caused her. The spot lost its sensation a long time ago, leaving behind a numbed tingle whenever touched. An odd sensation. Sensitive all while being completely lost, unaware of the nails that scratched at it when a ghostly itch appeared, never being able to satisfy that desperate urge to get rid of it.

Enough.

The flower patterned sheet fell from her shoulders as her body shifted towards the ticking clock on her nightstand.

2:56am

Her head fell back against the pillow, her eyes focused on the white ceiling with exhausted boredom. The moon peeked through the mauve curtains, presenting enough light to catch minor details of the room. It wasn’t her’s anymore, it was the other one’s. The plain features forced to morph into a feminine domain where gossip was whispered through the phone late in the night and bodies merged in exploration of their newly met partner, drunken by empty charm and liquor. Makeup littered the vanity instead of its spotless top, adorned with cleanliness instead of eyeliner pencils and opened lipstick tubes. Awards from previous years were replaced with eye-catching paintings, light and airy to leave a scent of calm and softness. It felt wrong. 

At that point sleep was no longer an option, the endless memories and discomfort of the new territory was enough to rid of all cravings of sleep. The floor creaked beneath her feet as she stood, bones cracking in harmony as she reached a long stretch, muscles groaning as they pulled, releasing with a sigh of relaxation.

She trudged out into the hallway to the kitchen with heavy steps, body still rising to the occasion of alertness, her mind seeking her form of comfort. Golden colored, buttery soft pancakes, soaked in syrup and dipped in whipped cream. Sugary goodness that was close to giving diabetes with every bite. Troubles like this made the risk worth it, sending her back to a time when things were ok. When she felt happy and safe in a home where she was wanted and loved.

Peering into each cabinet was met with disappointment, a box of baking soda, an expired box of cornflakes and residue of crackers were the only items spotted within. An irritable hand rubbed at her eyes. She had forgotten to go grocery shopping again this week, too distracted between the club and writing case notes.

Her mind wandered back to the idea of sleep, growing slick with dread of having another nightmare. No, she wouldn’t attempt it again, not now at least. Maybe a walk would ease her. Yes. A walk was the answer to this dilemma. 

Heavy steps melted into soft pitter patter, legs awoken with motivation, gracefully slipping into the navy cigarette pants and leather flats. Her arms followed in equal grace, flowing into the black long sleeved button up with ease, leaving the button just under her neck undone. Casually comfortable but presentable. You could never be sure who may walk into your path.

Keys in hand, her feet moved in a steady pace against the pavement towards a destination unknown, she simply moved forward. The air was bitter, waiting for the morning rise to warm the chilling breath the moon blew with its beaming white spotlight. It felt good against her cheeks, brimming her eyes with tears that forced them to open wider as they blinked the substance away. The streets were filled with drifting the homeless, desperate for heat on their bare digits, their clothes frayed and holed from years of usage and unkemptness. 

They disappeared out of the corner of her eye as she remained walking forward, mind clearing into glass as the brewed hatred and trauma evaporated with the morning's breath. The neon lights fanned her face as she approached, capturing her in a bubble of vivid hue. Its cheerful smile was pulling her in, ecstatic with her arrival. 

Rose had its destination set all along, whispered inaudibly through her ears the moment she awoke. 

Albert's Diner.

Silent emptiness filled the diner, the booths shining in anticipation, floors squeaking clean with tile polish. Two waitresses were on shift, one played with their nails while the other attended to the only other guests at the bar, two gentlemen she recognized as some regulars from the club. She scurried towards an empty booth in the back, away from their curious attention. Surely, no one would mind her picking her own seat.

Fingers combed through the frizzed waves, settling a few of the stray hairs as she zoned in on the upholstered seat in front of her, struggling to maintain a steady focus without her vision clouding. Fatigue had announced its presence, the walk doing its job of distracting her. Problem was she was fighting to stay awake, her head falling onto her elbow in drowsy comfort.

"What can I get for you deary?" A sweet elderly voice rang through her ears, grabbing the little attention she could maintain.

It was the same waitress from her date with Steve. Was it a date? Not important right now. What was important in this moment was remembering her name, a weakness that has been with Rose her whole life. She knew it started with an M but couldn’t get past that. 

The waitress cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the intense staring, “Do you need another minute?”

Her plastic covering of her nametag reflected as shifted from foot to foot.

Mary

“Just put everything on my tab Mary .”

Satisfied, Rose moved her gaze to the menu, hearing a low sigh of relief, unsure if it was from herself or the waitress, "No, I know what I want, sorry. I'll just have a short stack of pancakes with whip cream and a glass of orange juice. No pulp though please. Thank you."

Mary said a simple ‘be right back’ before scurrying off, shook up from the odd encounter. She could see, almost hear, the whispers between the two waitresses, gossiping about the strange woman in booth 11. A stare in return would silence the irritating discussion and staring, but there was no more energy left to do it. Her head had fallen from her elbow to the tops of her arms now, allowing her eyelids to pull down, welcoming the dark wonders of sleep with wide arms.

Muscles convulsed, heart rate picking up in pace as the claws of the past surfaced, crooked smiles with fanged canines taunting her with flashes, screams of agony and death, the rotting smell of flesh filling her nose. Whimpered pleas went ignored, drifting closer as the flashes grew rapidly. A mutilated hand reached out, blocked by an unknown presence. It was numb at first, barely noticeable but its pressure was felt along the top of her back, between her shoulders in small circles. They coward away, screeching in anguish. Next time they chanted, spiraling back to their caves below.

Rose’s body steadied, her heart rate returning to a safe pace, her muscles relaxing as much as they were able to in the position she was slouched in. Her body craved the soothing touch, drawing back the monsters with gleaming valyrian steel, razor edges slicing through any that dared to come close enough. But who was this knight with the sword created by dragons breath? Everything tensed as reality settled, triggering her body into fight or flight mode.

The hand had flown from her back as she twisted in the booth, connecting a foot to the mysterious savior’s chest, expecting to see the person flown into the booth across the walkway. But when her eyes opened, all she saw was a hand wrapped around her ankle, an inch away from the leather jacket front.

"Well that's certainly a way to say hello." 

Steve.

Rose released a relieved sigh, running a hand over her face in an attempt to hide her embarrassment, "You stalking me now?"

His hand remained wrapped around her ankle with no movements to let go, "Just a coincidence."

"First time was an accident but two times? That's a little suspicious don't you think?"

He challenged her back, his finger drawing circles on the exposed skin of her lower leg, "Would it be so bad to want to see you again?"

Tingles erupted at the location, goosebumps forming under the tickling sensation. It was intimate as if he was touching a more provocative part, erecting an image that made her dizzy.

She turned her head away shyly, tugging at her foot again to no avail, "No, I suppose not."

Steve finally released her foot, relieving the ache that creeped up her calf from the position. Inviting himself, he moved to take a seat across from her, a humorous grin plastered to his face, "It seems to be becoming a bit of a habit of ours to meet in unusual circumstances."

"It seems so."

Rose's bloodshot eyes finally met his, almost startled by his boyish appearance. A blue wool sweater beneath a burnt caramel leather jacket, and a simple pair of denim jeans. The only accessory that Rose had grown used to seeing was his watch, streak free and gleaming. He reminded her of the boys she knew in highschool with the same roguish charm and childish jests. It almost made her blush in self consciousness from her disheveled, sleep deprived appearance but was she really aiming to impress? His watchful eye made her rethink that, feeling the sharpening pins prodding at the purpling splotches along her jaw, encased in yellow that enhanced the coloring further. It was impossible to avoid his interrogating and waiting for its beginning was agonizing, sitting in silence as he mentally investigated the causes of such a mark. He barely knew her so the possibilities were endless.

A steaming plate of pancakes and thick orange liquid arrived within minutes of Steve’s arrival. Rose snatched the glass with parched desperation, thankful Steve’s attention was no longer on her but focused politely at the gushing waitress.

“Mary I’m only stopping in-”

“Nonsense! I’ll get you your usual with extra bacon and some fresh coffee. Gotta’ keep that body nice and fueled with all those late nights you work. I won’t hear otherwise!”

The stubborn woman sauntered off before he could attempt at getting another word in, leaving the two giggling like school children. The laughter died down once Steve faced her again, eyes locking on the bruising. An uncomfortable silence fell in the booth like an overhead cloud of rain, flooding them in awkward sheets of rain.

"She's very fond of you." Rose started up trying to fill in the awkward silence, a poor tactic to avoid the subject to come.

Steve was tense in his seat, arms crossed against his broad chest, jaw hardened with a twitch as he clenched his teeth. She labeled this as his ‘business’ face, one to intimidate and express his disapproval or disappointment, assuming it would be used to those of inferior ranking, "What happened this time?"

His voice dropped an octave, authority projecting like a megaphone inches from her. Rose wouldn’t meet his intense stare down, quietly chewing at the lukewarm pancakes and pulpy orange juice, struggling not to make a displeased expression. 

Steve’s hand glided across the table’s surface, firmly locking his fingers around her wrist in silent frustration, "Answer me."

Power pulsed through his veins, flowing into her wrist, a miniscule finger compared to his bear paw, easily talented enough to crush her wrist to dust. A ring of sore irritation bled under the skin, growing darker as she wiggled against his grip. 

"Just another asshole from work, it's not important."

He studied her, “I don’t believe you.”

Another tug, breathing hitching as the skin blistered, “I don’t give a damn what you believe Steve.”

Cheerful humming and uneven footsteps broke the spell between them, freeing her wrist calmly as he leaned back, using the back of the seat to ground him. The discussion wasn't over his eyes whispered.

Placed in front of him was a plate full of eggs, potatoes, and two sides of bacon with a cup of freshly brewed coffee, light with cream, "Here you go darling. Be careful, the plate is very hot. Holler if you two need anything else."

The aroma was heavenly, enticing even the men at the bar, peaking over their shoulders at the booth wondering if that was where it was coming from but Steve hadn’t moved an inch to touch it. He remained in the same position as earlier, crossed as he waited for an answer.

Stubborn and persistent, Rose had no choice but to say something to divert him from this situation but all that came out was, “It’s really not a big deal, just a part of the job.”

If that wasn’t a horrible attempt then she wasn’t sure what was. He was practically on the verge of laughing at how poor of an excuse it was.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, "And what job would that be? A punching bag? Because you sure look like one."

Rose didn't like where this was going, how controlling he was becoming, "I didn't realize this was any of your business?"

He paused, taking in a few heavy breaths before speaking again, "I’m sorry, I didn't mean for it to be like that.” His adam's apple bobbed as he sipped at his coffee, “You're right, it's none of my business. Let me make it up to you. Say, over dinner?"

Rose rested a hand on her cheek, her eyes narrowing, "How do I know you're not a serial killer and this isn't some elaborate plan to get me alone so you can spill my guts on the floor?" 

"Well, that's planned for the fourth date." He said it with almost a completely straight face if not for the childish grin that nipped at the corners of his mouth.

She couldn’t help but to giggle, lightening up the awkward and tense environment prior, "Who says I'll even agree to see you again after this?"

Fingers danced along the back of her unoccupied hand, challenging her to pull away but it stood still, embracing the butterflies it gave, "You’re still here aren’t you?"

Their fingers played a battle of dominance over who would lead their secret tango, overlapping and folding, scraping delicately over the tops of their hands, “Awfully confident aren’t we? Maybe I’m the one you should be concerned about.”

“Sweetheart, I deal with ugly, power hungry people everyday, a little thing like you is a mouse compared to those wolves.” The seriousness that coated his tongue melted into a playful grin, I have no worries other than how hard you’ll fall for me.” 

Their fingers movement seized, falling into an intertwined mess along the glossed top, a truce.

Rose grew a smirk of her own, her fingers twisting in a chokehold along his, a crack declaring a victory in her favor, “Be careful Mr. Grant, I’m quite a force to be reckoned with.” 

“I’m beginning to see that.”

Comfortable silence filled the space as they picked at their food, hands no longer intertwined but fingertips brushed sporadically, awaiting for another song to dance to. Rose had barely finished her meal, leaving two pancakes to pack in a to go box while Steve managed to finish his whole meal effortlessly and professionally, as if he was in a five star restaurant.

“I’ll be paying in full this time. I won’t hear otherwise.” Scolding her like a child, he left a stack of bills beneath the empty coffee mug.

A flustered blush ran along her cheeks as she realized in that moment she didn’t even bring her wallet with her, distracted by the nightmares to think of something as simple and important as that. Steve didn’t comment on her quietness, patiently waiting for her outside the booth to gather the styrofoam container, walking with a familiar hand along her back as they left. 

“Allow me to walk you home?” He asked as if a question but his face spoke that it was unnegotiable. 

Rose had to contain an eyeroll, "Steve, I am more than capable of walking home alone. I made it here by myself didn't I?"

His eyes weren’t focused on her though but above, at the sky, brightening with the rising sun and swirls of pinks and oranges, "You’re incredibly stubborn, you know that?” 

A genuine smile lifted unwillingly, the word bringing forth a multitude of memories, “I may have been told a few times.”

This must’ve been the look he gave naïve women when asking to warm up inside, defrosting himself from the chill outside which would eventually lead to sexual advances. Pump lips slightly pouted outwards, brows raised in boyish question and eyes shiny in tempting endings, silently asking ‘don’t you want to know more?’.

"No." Turning away, toes nipped with frost against the shaped leather, she proceeded down the sidewalk, aware of his presence towering behind her in a protective shadow. His laugh carried around her, irritating her further with his persistence. 

But wasn’t this what she was assigned to do? No, technically Barnes was the end goal, he was the one that should be tailing her like a lost puppy right now but for some reason the blonde was heavily intrigued by her and that only grew his attraction further. A challenge. An impossible prize he would make sure to win over, squeezing in triumph once she was handed over. A bonus in disguise but nonetheless an obstacle that made her job more difficult to maneuver. She could deny the attraction she felt towards him all she wanted but it was there, wanting and needing the love she desired so much once upon a time. Walking away was the only kindness she could offer, a chance to get away before it was too late. Whether it was for or for him was yet to be determined. Romantic heartbreak was still a sore subject years later, ensuring she wouldn’t fall for the same charm that past lovers and now Steve was presenting. They were all criminals in their own way, robbing her when she was most vulnerable, but this was the real deal. A man who brutally murders with a guiding command like a trained dog, leashed and caged until needed. The images of past victims were enough to push the desperation away replaced with revolt. It was wrong and shameful for even the thought of attraction towards such a cruel person. They needed to be put down, charged for their crimes and left to rot in a cell. She had to remember that regardless of where this may lead. It’s for the case. That’s it.

Growing tired of tolling behind, Steve joined her side with a determination to stay there, matching with her short footsteps the best he could. Being nearly a foot taller had its disadvantages. His stride was double the size of her’s, forcing him to settle in a pace that made it feel like he was tripping along cracks in the sidewalk, making him look clumsy. Little did he know it, the action made him less intimidating and more like a regular person instead of the super soldier that lied beneath.

Just as it had happened earlier, the ten minute walk turned into a twenty minute stroll, enjoying the presence of another while watching the orange orb awaken from its slumber, settling a warmth to the chill that had clasped to their bones. Arms brushed every few strides as the distance between the two decreased subconsciously. Rose loved studying her surroundings during moments like these. The groups of business corporates scurrying like field mice, late for international negotiations, their assistants following close behind with a case of fresh coffee from the shop a block over, spilling in droplets along the concrete from the opened spout. Teenagers fogged with confusion from late night partying, reeking of sex and stale beer. With the people came the noise and vivid lights the city was beloved for. Taxis rotating with new drivers, stores turning on neon signs and travelers waking early to witness every attraction before it grew too crowded. Even Steve was in her peripheral view, staring at her in admiration for her attention to the details surrounding them while maintaining a carefree attitude, taking the chaotic energy and morphing it into a familiar peacefulness. It reminded him of himself, still wowed by the fast paced living and constantly changing environment while holding every memory of the past within it. A true gift only a handful contained.

The familiar eroded brick building appeared as if it dropped out of thin air, leaving a disappointed feeling in the bottom of Rose’s stomach. It had been unknowingly long since she had such a pleasant encounter such as this one.

Steve noticed the shift, catching the droop her face held compared to the carefree expression she held before, “I’ll walk you to your door.” 

Rose maneuvered the dim hallways, shivering from the damp chill that lingered, climbing up too many flights of stairs until the chipped door came into view.

Apartment 6E

The two stood unspoken outside the apartment, Rose tipping on and off the toe of her flats while Steve stood still with his hands tucked in his pockets, a dorky smile on his face.

“I suppose it would be inappropriate to ask to come inside?” 

She shook her head, biting at her tongue to hold back an amused smirk, “No it wouldn’t, but I appreciate you walking me home. I would’ve been robbed of my leftovers by a rabid dog or maybe a crazed squirrel if I cut through the park. My hero.” 

He took a teasing bow, his hand over his left pec, “My pleasure ma’am.” 

"Rose." She whispered as his body lifted, ocean waves swirling against the gray wash of sky, "My name is Rose.”

The water glistened with delight, a splash of dampness landing on the back of her hand as lips feathered the weathered skin, “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

“This beautiful woman expects to be picked up at 6 sharp. A certain someone offered to treat me to dinner." Flirtation dripped with each word, inviting him closer in experimentation. 

He accepted with no contemplation, placing another kiss to the center of her palm letting her nails skim the stubble of his jaw, "I’ll make sure to put on my best suit. See you tonight Rose ."

An unknown emotion developed inside her when he spoke her name. The R rolled off his tongue with slickness that made her eyes plead to roll back. Purposely said slowly and accentuated with a slight roll, watching her internally squirm. A well rehearsed tactic that has worked over the course of the years. 

With a final skim of her, Steve turned away, drifting into the shadows of the hallway. Rose watched until he disappeared around the corner, hoping maybe he’d glance back at her one more time but to no avail. Entering the apartment with a jiggle of her keys, everything seemed as normal as it could be, almost fully adjusted to the new environment Stark’s team had created. That was until her eyes laid onto the island’s countertop. Flourished in white petals with powdery pollen, was a crystal vase of fifty or more white roses displayed in the center of it.

A white rose symbolizes many meanings. Innocence and purity to eternal love, new beginnings and loyalty. Seeing the snow white petals, crisp with freshness and droplets of dew had brought a wash of reminiscence. Back in her homicide days there was a serial killer, the ‘White Rose Killer’. Bodies had been found mutilated with riddles along their chests in lipstick, all containing a singular white rose blooming from their mouths. The killer still had yet to be caught.

A black envelope slept tucked away between two of the flowers, a red wax stamp sealing its contents inside with inviting curiosity. The wax crinkled as her fingers broke the seal, revealing white feathery script flowing along smooth black parchment.

My dearest doll,

   You think you're immune to the powers that be,

Those who say that you're meant for me,

You try to hide, forever deny,

That you are mine, until you die,

You don't understand, the bond we share,

How for ever more, I will strip you bare.

-J.B.B

James Buchanan Barnes.

Rose’s head spun as a wave of anxiety hit her deep in her chest. Stark had warned her of this, knowing the minute Barnes was involved that Wilson would be close behind, hounding on any possible info of her he could find. She hadn’t thought of looking over her shoulder when she left the club with no cover and she led Steve right to it on top of it. 

Drowsiness was covering her senses, blocking the way she thought around these messes. Taking a steady breath, she calmed her nerves enough to focus for a moment. This could be fixed, avoided, etc. But getting panicked and worked up wasn’t adding to her benefit in the slightest. 

The clock chimed as the hands shifted into the new hour.

6am 

Her heart still pounded heavily in its cavity as she laid on the couch with a tiredness she hasn’t felt since the police academy. The pounding faded to dull hum as the pool of darkness swallowed her conscious, beating in the background like a metronome. The monsters prowled hungry at the bottom awaiting her descent, a feast to their famine. She didn’t deny their overbearing welcome this time.

Chapter 5

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Impeccable by Darcy Burke

The Phoenix Club # 5

 The book before the last in this series sees Evie, once a courtesan protected by Lucien, find her happily ever after. I had expected Evie to end up with someone else and though surprised, can see her quite happy with the man she married in the end and look forward to reading the conclusion of this series when the next book is published.

 What I liked:

* Evie: patroness of the Phoenix Club, good friend of the club proprietor, keeps secret her past as a courtesan and her French origins, daughter of a Chevalier, arrived in London as a baby, strong, intelligent, formidable, and loving

* Gregory: second son, even tempered, interested in education, and learning new information, has a contemptible older brother and sister-in-law, smitten with Evie, perseverant, quick study, loves animals…and Evie

* Lucien: good friend, giving, takes care of others, has a difficult relationship with his father, faces issues with the Phoenix Club’s future by the end of this book, will hopefully figure out the problem and find his happily ever after in the conclusion of this series

* The meet-cute that sees Gregory and Evie rescuing a puppy

* The relationship of Evie with her sister – very close and loving and there for one another

* Hearing more of Evie’s backstory

* Seeing characters from previous books in the series

* The surprise Evie and her sister have at the end of this book and who provided the surprise

* Wondering how the series will conclude

 What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like: Gregory’s sibling and sister-in-law, the behavior of the Hargroves, and the treatment Lucien receives from his father

* Having to wait for the book that will end this series and having to say goodbye to the characters

 Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Definitely

 5 stars

     BLURB

 Society’s most exclusive invitation... Welcome to the Phoenix Club, where London’s most audacious, disreputable, and intriguing ladies and gentlemen find scandal, redemption, and second chances. Former courtesan and pretend widow Evangeline Renshaw is happy with her reinvented life as a patroness of the Phoenix Club. She doesn’t need or want a husband or a lover…until she meets the devastatingly charming and surprisingly virtuous Lord Gregory Blakemore. He’d like to court her, but he’ll have to settle for a short, thrilling affair instead. After the death of his father and the marriage of his older brother, Lord Gregory can finally focus on what he wants: a government appointment. However, the enchanting Evie makes him desire intimacy for the first time, and now he wants her most of all. Their entanglement is supposed to be temporary, but he can’t let her go. As Gregory reveals himself to Evie, she wonders if she might finally share the truth of her past. Unfortunately, there are those who seek to ruin her carefully crafted second chance. To protect Gregory’s dreams, she must sacrifice the only love she’s ever known.

[mmmmorph]

Summer 22 - 305

Touch down with apu

My popping ears

The pressure still built in one

To meet the girlies

and hail a yellow cab

To the place where

I had to scour the range

And fix the fucking toilet twice

Grocery run

No TP, no soap, no detergent

(I’m the mom friend)

Then i think she is

In the morning with

An iced latte and workchat

While the girlies got high

In thongs by poolside

Then off to Bayside

With fresh coconuts

Overpriced tat we all bought

Pleasantries with locals

Then a splash of light

Harassment in the

Form of invasive massages

By pushy salesmen

But we got lobster rolls!

Those fix everything

At night/morning

Dark enough for shooting stars

Sisterly talk on the beach

Behind the Fontainebleau

Big sisters and little one

Much too little for these hard things

(Truly, who am I to advise the Little

When I need a Big of my own?)

Brunch and mimosas in

Wynwood with all its bright colors

A light weight buzzed

(Let’s be frank, it was one strong drink)

Then watching so many

Swimming, floating, flying, creeping

things

Consciousness of their own

Voy a Little Havana

Café con leche para mi

Pero espresso straight for my apu

“She is so beautiful. She could be an

actress. One of those Bollywood types.”

Oh yes, isn’t she?

“¿Y espresso sin leche o azúcar? ¿Ella es muy fuerte, sí?”

Claro, hermosa y strong.

Roasting beans in the flesh

Girlies delighted to see

Still sneaking in their smoke

While apu and I watch cocks

strolling the streets

(Men and birds alike)

The distinct intoxicating scent

All those gentlemen have

Their lingering glances

beauty in their creases

Chatting and smoking cubanos

Patient with my broken Spanish, but

Much too broken for the bruja

(Who actually hung up on us)

No patience for little girls

And their little queries like

“Will he really truly love me forever?”

Or “Where will I be in five years?”

Onward to Biscayne

But much too late for that park

When nature awakes to overtake

(I screamed that bobcat OFF)

Did that shake the girls off their high?

Their hobbling run and screech

Only to be rescued by Trash Boy

So adorable in his little park ranger suit

“K, he’s too young for us”

Yeah, yeah apu whatever

You know I’m toxic these days

Six plus he piled high and dangling

With the trash in his Golf Club

An unexpected garbage boy hero

Dinner and more appraising

Glances at that beach place

Voices rising high with drink

Paella y plántanos, great but

Expensive as fuck

(I dragged my doggy bag to South

Beach, thank you very much.)

Shimmering lights and people

Night beaches echo laughs

and herb in the air

Flashing blue red to tell

Sweet girlies being bad

Go home beach closed

half clothed

Wet breast in mesh and thigh gleaming

Squeeze past bumper cars

“Sweetheart, come here.

Baby, I got something for you.”

Ball and Chain

Feeling like chopped liver

In this green freakum dress

There isn’t enough Johnny Walker Black

To make this place truly pop

But fun nonetheless

(A mask and a leg scooter? Really?

We should’ve rolled the dice at Liv)

Of to Mango’s but the strip is now dead

Biscayne again

Lazy in sunshine

Determined to never go

Back to our lives

Until Joia dinner where the

Girls took all the drinks

And never stumbled once

The Pier

It feels like goodbye

(It is goodbye)

Heels off in hand

The night so still

While the waves crash

I remember your teeth

Gleaming in the dark

Maybe, it was you

I didn’t say then but

I’ll say it now

Hello, stranger

-mmorph

[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!