#absolutely but it would be so fruitless to do otherwise you know? personal voice and opinion matters

[venturelovebot]

More bully!J*no because I'm seething from the Anubis trailer still

Her fist directly connects to your face.

It catches you completely off guard– one minute she was kind. Then, Sloan walks off. Now it's like she's a completely different person.

You had no time to register what had happened before you land on ground. Your backpack is helplessly dropped in the mayhem and you're left with little to no defense.

"You don't think I'm onto what you're doing?" She growls.

She grabs the front of your shirt and picks you back up. You're frozen in absolute fear.

"I'm sorry! I don't know what you want!" You wail.

"Pathetic." She scowls.

Her foot immediately connects to your stomach and you're sent stumbling backwards until you hit the wall behind you. Her hand feels for something in her pocket until she pulls out a relatively sharp looking knife and begins walking towards you.

Instinctively, your arm flies in front of your face in a fruitless effort to protect yourself. She smacks it away and leans down to your height, pointing the knife directly at your frightened face.

"You have no idea how much I'm going to enjoy doing this." She grins.

The blade inches closer to your skin as tears fall from your eyes.

"Stop! Please!" You beg her.

"Shut up!" She backhands you.

Her hand that holds the weapon flies up before a fist grips it tightly in retaliation. Now she's the one who's frozen in fear.

"What are you doing..." Sloan asks. "... to [Y/N]?"

They wrench the knife out of her hand before letting go of her wrist. She's instantly shoved out of the way to make sure you're alright.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" They instantly start checking your battered body for signs of injury.

Your nose is bleeding. Everything hurts... but now that they're here, you're okay.

They lean in to cradle you while petting your head for comfort. You sob into their shirt as they hold you close.

"I'm so sorry..." They can feel themself close to tears. "I'm so, so sorry..."

"Stop apologizing!" She yells. "You're not supposed to feel sorry for them!"

She reaches for you once again but is only stopped by Sloan brandishing the same knife she had brought along with her. Normally they would never resort to violence so quickly– but this time it's a completely different story.

"Don't come any closer." There's a dark tone in their voice you had never heard before. "Just leave us alone."

They begin helping you off the ground and grabbing the drinks they had dropped after seeing you being attacked. Your backpack is slung over their shoulder, and they don't even look back at Teo as the two of you head for home.

"I promise I'll never let you out of my sight again." They reassure you.

"It's okay..." You lean into them as they support you near effortlessly.

"It's not okay." They bite their lip to prevent themself from crying. "I'll do everything I can to make it up to you."

"It's not your fault. Please don't be mean to yourself." It's your turn to comfort them now. "Let's just go home. We both need to wind down from today."

They only nod.

Inside, angry thoughts overflow and taint their thoughts like poison.

They had to do something. It could wait for now, though.

Right now it's time to get you patched up. They had to focus on you– otherwise... well, they didn't want to think about it.

You're safe in their arms. That's all that matters now.

[softluci]

inappropriate everything [mdni plz]

this is probs the most explicit post i’ll ever do, just because i cannot get it out of my head, but um: immediately minors dni. immediately no. IMMEDIATELY no. k thx.

so, um. i have friends who are perfectly sane and normal people until they see an attractive person who they like, be it a celebrity or a character or whoever. right? okay. here are some of the things my friends say when they see someone they find just, like, Absolutely Stunning:

“i’m literally creaming—sorry, i mean creaming—SORRY, I MEAN—” “my back is arching” (alternatively: “why is my back arching?”) “almost meowed” “mmmeow” “purring…” “i’m literally chewing/gnawing on my phone” “my throat feels so empty rn :/” “i want them so bad please i am on my hands and knees BEGGING” “gripping my sheets” “sir your boobs look a little heavy…do you need me to hold them for you?” “bites them bites them bites them bites—” “they are so sexy it’s like a disease” “i want them so bad” “every time i see them i grip my sheets and curl my toes" "they're too fine i want to slam my head into the wall” “just moaned out loud”

anyway. this is gonna be pt 1, w/ just luci; when will i do the others? who knows! i'm returning to the abyss right after this, but enjoy!

lucifer 

he isn’t in the wrong here. you are—why were you on the phone in the kitchen and not your room? what lucifer was doing hardly counted as eavesdropping, really. voices carry in the house as is, and you were being loud. as a matter of fact, he was on his way to tell you to quiet down, and he just so happened to be curious as to what you were talking about, and with whom.

“no, barbatos—don’t fucking laugh, this isn’t funny—” you could hardly speak, trying not to laugh yourself.

eyebrows raising in mild shock, lucifer leaned against the doorway, waiting for you to notice him. thinking about it—lucifer was being very courteous. he could’ve listened to barbatos’s end if he wanted to, but he had enough respect for him to refrain from doing so. he contained his “eavesdropping” to you out of the kindness of his heart and, as a result, he had no idea what—who—you were talking about.

“that man, look—that man. you get it. you get it. you’re the only one around here who knows my heart, i’m telling you.” 

the conviction in your voice stung him, jealousy simmering in his chest. he’d heard enough, he decided, and pushed off the doorway with his shoulder. he stepped towards you in silence, fully intending to interrupt this clearly fruitless conversation—

“lucifer is such a genuine problem, but there’s no solution.”

he stopped, eyes widening. was he a problem for you? why would you go to barbatos instead of him? what—

“that man is so sexy, it's like a disease. no, it—why are you laughing?” your laughter was loud, strong enough to have you leaning against the counter for support. 

lucifer blinked. once, twice, before your words sunk in. then, while you gasped for air, he continued towards you, pride swelling in his chest. a smirk settled onto his face, threatening to widen into a grin as he let you carry on.

you tried to continue talking as best you could, “barbatos, i am in distress—i am dismayed—do you know what i go through when he calls me to his office? do y—i have to prepare myself. i have to steel mys—you don't know what it's like.” you collapsed against the island in a fit of giggles, inhaling sharply to try and catch your breath. 

lucifer heard—because all bets were off now—lucifer heard barbatos in a similar predicament on the other end, chuckling quietly. for barbatos, that was quite close to hysterics. by that point, he'd truly heard enough. more than enough, actually. he thought it best to alert you to his presence, as a courtesy—otherwise, who knows what other secrets you might've spilled? and what if someone less kind heard you? that wouldn't do.

lucifer took a final, soundless step forward, standing close enough that you couldn't turn around without touching him. he reached forward, plucking your d.d.d. out of your hand with ease. you whipped around, and he inched closer, trapping you between him and the counter. “barbatos,” he drawled, grinning at you, “they'll have to call you back. apropos of nothing, of course.” 

perhaps not polite of him, but lucifer hung up before barbatos could respond. although—he imagined his friend was quite amused at the moment. he slid his free hand around your waist, to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. your heartbeat was erratic—you were so dramatic, it was cute. he slid your d.d.d. into your back pocket, aware of the steady rise in your temperature. he kept his hand on the small of your back, bringing other up to your chin. lucifer enjoys eye contact, you understand, right? now—

“a disease?” he leaned into you, breath ghosting along your face. “that wasn't very nice.”

[ducktracy]

What shorts are you most excited to review?

TOO MANY!!! The Great Piggy Bank Robbery for sure will absolutely be my #1 i’m excited for, along with other favorites like Baby Bottleneck and Kitty Kornered… i’ll warn you in advance that i already KNOW those are going to be insanely long because i really want to talk about the most minute details (like watching Piggy Bank the other day i spent about 10 minutes thinking about why does Daffy have a mailbox? does he own the farm? that’s weird if he does. but why would only he have the mailbox if he’s a farm animal? and look! it has his name on it! he used a stencil. there was not at all intended to be so much thought put behind this but the implication is fascinating. these are the kinds of things i like to scrutinize)

HARD TO SAY THOUGH there truly are so many… 99% of the Porky and Daffy entries for sure HAHA. i try to focus on the present, but like… right now, i’m really looking forward to reviewing Porky’s Last Stand, which was the first short of 1940 and one of my favorites—before that i was excited for Wise Quacks, before that The Daffy Doc, etc. i do tend to think in terms of “what’s my next favorite” BUT i’ve learned to love many cartoons i never would have liked had i not dug super deep into them, so it’s really hard to say!! i enjoy surprising myself with shorts i didn’t know i would like in the first place… pretty much all of the Daffy and/or Porky shorts though without a doubt though

[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!

[glowingbadger]

Hi it’s me, crawling through the window. Would it be possible to get a crumb of arranged marriage w/ Hubert? His line w/ Dorothea about being willing to get married for politics sake has fueled my brain rot for him.

Good God I need to secure my windows-

I mean HELLO FRIEND ANON YES IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE

Lol actually though, I have been thinking about this for Hubie since we all started chatting about that arranged marriage stuff! I think it's a perfect concept for him~

This like... got weird while I was writing it though?? Idk man hahaha it ended up on the less-spicy side of what I usually write, and with some very weird dialogue in places... Idk, I hope y'all like it. Maybe if there's interest, I'll follow this up eventually with a more smut-focused piece?

I've been traveling and working so much lately that I just don't even know what writing is anymore or how it works hahaha

TW: A brief mention of non-con

Hubert (FE3H) x Reader ("wife," neutral pronouns)

Arranged Marriage - semi spicy i guess?

"Frankly, he's a pain," Linhardt must be able to see your surprise and confusion written across your face. He goes on, "He's reliable and capable, of course, but also the most persistent nag you'll ever meet. Actually, no-" he glances upward as though to cross reference his own thoughts, "No, her Majesty is worse. But Hubert is a close second to be sure. Always on and on about sleep schedules and proper nutrition and etiquette..." He sighs and closes the massive tome on his lap, as though to close the conversation with it, "frankly, he's an insufferable mother hen. Does that help?"

"Well, it's... Not what I expected," you admit with a shrug, "but thank you all the same."

~

It's been several weeks since the papers binding you in marriage to Hubert Von Vestra had been signed- and this alone had sufficed. No ceremony, no grand ball, just paperwork and a handshake with your father. A handshake that ensured that, even under the Empire's unification, he would maintain nominal control over his considerable portion of land, and in return, would swear absolute loyalty to her Majesty. It was a beneficial arrangement for all parties, and you were not ignorant to the part you played. You were hardly even a bargaining chip- moreso, a hostage.

Your new husband had made no secret of what manner of harm may befall you if your family were to renege on their deal. Fortunately, you know your father to be a reliable coward, so you have no reason to believe he would be bold enough to step out of line.

Hubert Von Vestra is a terrifying man. A zealously loyal man of storied cruelty and a frigid disposition. His frame looms over you whenever he's near, and though he's hardly placed a finger on you since you'd been given over to him, his mere presence is... arresting. There's a sort of charisma to him that's equal parts frightening and fascinating. Perhaps it's madness brought on by your circumstances, but you can't help wanting to glimpse just the slightest bit into that brilliant, ever churning mind.

Unsurprisingly, he has been resistant to your attempts to understand him. He hardly indulges you in small talk, and if you were the paranoid sort, you'd think he intentionally makes himself busy when you're around. Eventually, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, you'd settled on a routine of bringing coffee to his study adjoined to your bedroom in the evenings. He'd been visibly surprised the first time. It wasn't until the fourth night that he'd given a curt "thank you." About two weeks in, he'd actually sat back in his chair and laid down his quill pen to receive the cup from your hands. After a month, he'd leveled his narrow gaze at you and said,

"I cannot begin to fathom what satisfaction you glean from playing 'maid' to me."

"Well, I, uhm," you hadn't expected him to address you so directly, but you managed to say, "You... work so hard, I wanted to do something for you, I suppose."

His expression is inscrutable as he replies,

"You are aware that my work was much the same before you arrived."

"I am," you say softly, "But- all the same..." you trail off, and Hubert seems content to let the matter rest. And so you leave him be amidst his reports and correspondence, coffee at his side on the desk. Yet for as unproductive as your exchange might have seemed, it does leave you with an idea. The thought to learn about the man from those who knew him long before your arrival at the capitol.

~

Your investigation into the true character of your husband does not stop with Linhardt. In fact, his testimony only leaves you with further questions. But perhaps the others would say otherwise; perhaps the United Empire's most up and coming crest scholar simply inspires maternal behavior. This has to be the case- you simply can't imagine that the notoriously ruthless heir of the even more notorious Vestra lineage would be so... Doting.

And yet the more you learn of him, the more contradictory he seems.

Caspar's take is much like Linhardt's- a picture of a man far closer to a school marm than any assassin or master of torture. Ferdinand seems both smitten and incensed by him, oscillating wildly between the two. Then eventually, to your shock, Bernadetta takes the initiative to speak to you about Hubert of her own accord.

"I'm, uh, really so-sorry to bother you!" she approaches with arms drawn close to her chest and eyes resolutely avoiding yours, "I- I just heard that you were... asking about Hubert, so, I, uh..."

It takes some time to prompt her further. You assure her again and again- no, this isn't intrusive at all- yes, you'd very much like to hear her perspective- no, you're not mad at her. In truth, you're endlessly intrigued about what a gentle soul like Bernadetta would have to say about a man feared across the continent. Finally, she manages,

"He's... actually really kind!" she blurts out, as though the words would abandon her if she gave them the window of opportunity. Your eyebrows raise slightly.

"You think so..?"

"Yes, completely-!" she stammers, "I know he's super, super scary, and powerful and spooky and cold and, uh, all of that. But still," her voice falters as she continues, "He only scolds people when they do something dangerous. And he only hurts people to protect others. I... I know he's done some te-terrible things. But... he's always been nice to Bernie," finally, she meets your eyes with an imploring look in hers, "So, uh, I'm really grateful to him. And I think it would be really nice for someone to reach out to him. If... if that's not too weird or anything. For you."

You smile warmly and nod,

"Thank you, Bernadetta. I know it can't be easy for you to come to me with all of this, but... I'd like to try, if I can."

The opportunity doesn't come in the way you expect.

At first, it seems the night will proceed like many others before. You bring a cup of coffee to your husband's desk, setting it down quietly so as to not disturb him. He's silent, but this is common enough, so you head back to the bedroom to undress for the evening. All nights prior, he would lay beside you long after you'd settled in, then rise to resume work in the morning before you woke up- all the while never allowing your bodies to interact in any way.

Tonight, just as you're about to close the door to Hubert's study behind you, long fingers catch around your wrist, visibly startling you.

It's the most physical contact you've had to-date, but he only says,

"One moment."

You whip around to face him, a touch of anxiety evident in your eyes. It's clear in his own that he notices, but if anything, he only seems amused. He steps forward, his taller frame menacing you as he speaks,

"I understand that you have been busying yourself with some manner of investigation as of late."

It takes a moment for his meaning to reach you. When it does, your face burns and you can't bring yourself to meet his scrutinizing gaze,

"Oh, uhm..."

"I assure you, my dearest wife," he says with barely concealed venom, "anything that I do not wish for you to know will be kept from you. Aside from which, your efforts thus far have proven amateurish at best."

Something seems off about his tone. You could understand if he felt uncomfortable or hesitant about your efforts to learn about him, but this seems far more grave, more... business-like. He steps towards you once more, and you step back in turn. Yet before long, you feel your legs bump the edge of the bed. A gloved hand trails a fingertip down your jawline to your chin, then urges you to look up at him.

"Whatever you are planning, my dear, I promise it will be fruitless. You had best rethink how you spend your days before your actions bring you to harm."

"No, I-" your brow creases deeply, your face burns, your body burns hotter and you don't want to consider why, "I've just been trying to learn about you as a person, nothing else. We're- we're married, after all, so..."

He gives an abrupt, dry laugh.

"Ah, so I am to believe that you've been interrogating my allies out of some misguided affection, is that it?"

"Hubert, just listen to me!" for a moment, you feel bolstered, defiant, and you straighten your posture, "You won't tell me the first thing about you- the only way to learn so much as your favorite color is to ask someone who's known you for a decade!"

Briefly, he does seem to consider your words. But his eventual reply is as aloof as any prior,

"If you're no spy or politician, then you're worse- a fool." he says, and before you can respond, he's seized both of your wrists and pushed you back onto the bed. For a moment, the room spins and your voice leaves you. A shrewd eye watches you with cruel condescension as he pins you against the sheets.

"I should think that you'd be well aware what I'm capable of," he nearly whispers, "I personally ensured that the rumors spread through your father's territory and further still. Do you think that anyone would even dare lift a finger to help you if I chose to seek retribution for this recent behavior?" He draws nearer, his grip tighter at your wrists, "Perhaps as punishment, I'll simply take my pleasure from you by force."

Your lips tighten, you take a breath. Then, meeting his gaze directly, you reply,

"You won't."

His visible eye narrows.

"And what evidence do you have to prompt such unfounded confidence? Perhaps you have crafted a flattering falsehood of me in your mind," a mocking smirk curls his lips, "Am I a misunderstood sentimental sort to you, then? A sad, lonely man for you to save?"

You scowl, though you suspect it looks more like a pout to him.

"I don't know what I think of you yet- not completely. But I don't pity you like that, and I don't think you're sad or lonely. I know you're not."

For the first time, it seems that you've caught him off guard. That frigid mask falters for just a moment, and you go on before he can replace it,

"You're surrounded by people who care about you. I've seen it for myself. Whatever you've had to do in the service of your ideals- it hasn't kept the people around you from wanting to know and understand you, even if it's despite you."

Hubert is silent for a moment. His gaze bores into you like he thinks he'll discover some hidden layer if he can just keep digging. Then, he sighs,

"How did I ever become bound to such a troublesome spouse..."

When you wrest your arms from his grasp, his hands fall away with little resistance, and you think that perhaps he had never truly intended to keep you in place by force to begin with. He moves to leave the bed, but your fists find the front of his clothing and tug him back down to you.

You press your lips to his without hesitation, and you can feel him inhale sharply, his entire body rigid above you. His lips are surprisingly soft, his scent like coffee and old parchment, and though your heart threatens to burst from your chest, you hold firmly to him by his clothes. Near imperceptibly, he leans down against you, and your fear, along with any remaining doubts, begin to dissolve. Knowing he won't pull away, you let your hands relax against him, running up his chest where you can feel his own pulse pounding. It's so human, so entirely reasonable and normal. Now, at last, Hubert Von Vestra is merely a man of flesh and bone.

Your tongue meets his naturally, your lips parting in time with his as your kiss deepens to a fevered pace. One hand reaches that sharp, handsome jawline, reveling in the erotic sensation of his mouth moving against yours. And yet, all the while, his hands remain staunchly on the bed beside you. He doesn't touch you- doesn't even let his body meet yours.

It's impossible to tell whether passion or madness drives you to bring your teeth to his lower lip, a single insistent bite communicating desire mounting faster than you can contain. And for a moment, you sense something new; a sound catches in Hubert's throat, a reaction he fights to stifle. Then, he pulls away. His pale skin is tinted a rare shade of pink, and his hair is ruffled out of place enough to reveal both narrowed eyes. His cloak has spilled around his frame to surround you both, and somewhere in your frazzled mind, you imagine that you're caught in some beautiful, velvet-lined trap.

"I- must... return to my work." Hubert says stiffly. He pushes up from you and turns away, leaving you still flustered on the bed behind him. You sit upright, holding your arms tight around your body as you watch him straighten his hair and clothes.

"You, uhm..." your face reddens still as you search for the right words, "you could... join me in bed, if you liked."

Hubert turns to the door of his study, speaking without daring to even glance your way,

"Anything that you offer to me now will be born from the impulse to survive. I have been bargained with before." His shoulders slack just slightly, his voice low and sober, "The proudest nobleman will even sell off his own child to a monster if he feels it will spare him its teeth."

You open your mouth to protest, then shut it without a word. You feel that you know your mind and heart, even in this moment, but you lack the words to convince a man like this. In a feeble attempt, you murmur,

"You don't frighten me, Hubert. Not anymore."

He half turns toward you, though his hand remains on the handle of his study door.

"You yourself said that you do not know what you think of me," he says, "As such, I will not lay a hand on you until the day that you do."

You stare down at your hands in your lap, barely registering the sound of the door clicking shut as he leaves you in the bedroom. No matter how you try to sort out your tangled thoughts, the memory of his lips on yours won't leave them. If anything, it eclipses any sense of reason, standing resolutely in the way of your path to clarity. Letting out a groaning sigh, you fall onto your back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it could offer you any advice.

What do I think about my own husband? You wonder, the thought nearly enough to make you laugh. Well for one, he's a pain.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

under pressure

(hey guys, welcome to another installment of the swashbuckler au. Geralt’s gonna get very very Protective in this 'chapter'.

warnings for this chapter include: a very brief mention of blood, being threatened with a knife, and mild peril)

Why? Jaskier wondered. His back was pressed tightly against the rough brick of an unfamiliar alley wall and the man who had demanded his nonexistent coin-purse was pressing the tip of a very sharp dagger just below his navel. Why am I always the one getting into these kinds of situations? 

“I told you, good sir, that I have no money on my person.”

“Everyone around here keeps gold ‘im. What kind of idiot goes around a port town full of pirates without some kind of insurance against coming to harm?”

“Are you saying that because I have no money you are going to do me harm?”

“Somethin’ like that,” the man leered. The dagger pushed in again and Jaskier knew that it had ripped through the fabric of his shirt when the tip suddenly bumped against the skin of his stomach. “Since you don’t have any money you’ll just have to come back and explain this misunderstanding to my captain yourself.”

“Excuse m-”

The man yanked Geralt’s lucky red bandanna down and tugged it backwards, sliding it between his teeth and effectively gagging the ex-nobleman. He spun Jaskier around and shoved his chest up tightly to the brick. The brigand roughly yanked his hands behind his back and tied them with a length of rope that appeared from seemingly nowhere. The newly minted pirate struggled violently, kicking out his legs and wiggling his torso in an effort to dislodge or disrupt his attacker. Maybe his struggling would get someone’s attention (although it was highly unlikely in a town such as this). Unfortunately the mugger was practiced and nothing Jaskier tried seemed to bother or slow him down at all. 

Starkey and Lambert were only a few feet away! He could hear the rise and fall of their voices as they bartered for supplies with the hardtack merchant around the corner. The anxious brunette whined, trying to make the sound high enough to reach his friends and crewmates. If only he could get the kerchief out of his mouth for a split second, then he could whistle or shout…

He felt the surface of the wall scratching his skin through the hole in his shirt and he frowned. That would leave an unpleasant mark for the next few days and make wearing his sword-belt an absolute nightmare. If he was still part of the Kaer Morhen’s crew by nightfall, that was. If this man didn’t succeed in his current mission of pressing Jaskier into service aboard some other pirate vessel. Jaskier’s blue eyes widened even further as a real sense of panic set in. They might not be able to find me in time. We might head out to sea before Geralt even knows I’m missing if they don’t turn around and noti-

“Hey, where’s Jaskier?” he heard Starkey ask. Oh, thank gods. 

“Shit.”

“We’d better find him quickly because I can see Geralt from here,” Starkey added. “I don’t want to be the one to tell him that we lost his precious little siren while we were busy bickering with a shopkeeper.”

“Fucking hells,” Lambert groaned. C’mon, Jaskier pleaded silently. Just around the corner, lads. Please, Starkey. You guys know I’m too annoying to stay quiet for this long. 

The man with the dagger had already started yanking him backwards down the alley towards a questionable-looking wagon. Jaskier’s attacker kept one hand fisted into the back of the kerchief and used it to maneuver his head around, much like one would control the reins of a horse. The ex-noble made a loud, wordless noise from behind the cloth. Muffled as he was, he was praying that any one of his crewmates heard it and felt the need to investigate. 

Another stranger in dark clothing appeared around the corner and helped the first man lift Jaskier onto the back of the wagon. The newcomer reached for Jaskier’s wildly flailing legs and pulled them together. He tied the brunette’s ankles with another piece of strong hemp rope and tested the knots with his fingers for any slack or give. There was none. The young man screamed and grunted, trying with every ounce of strength he possessed to free himself from their twin grips. It was a fruitless endeavor; they were strong and clearly practiced in the art of stealing other people’s crewmembers.

“Jaskier! Oh, fuck! Hey you there, let go of him!” Lambert was running down the alley towards them, hand on the hilt of his cutlass. The man keeping the gag cinched tight pulled his dagger out again, holding it up against the column of Jaskier’s throat. The second kidnapper released Jaskier’s tied ankles and made his way towards the front of the wagon. Lambert slid to a stop, eyes narrowed threateningly. “Captain! Starkey! I found ‘im. He’s in danger!”

Had Jaskier not been scared witless by the threat of having his life ended rather abruptly via blood-loss, he probably would have smirked. These men, regardless of who their scurvy-ridden captain was, were about to get their asses handed to them by one of the most wanted pirates to ever sail the seven seas. Certainly one of the most renowned and fearsome.

The blade of the knife pressed even more tightly against the skin of his Adam's apple and Jaskier flinched. Maybe, if I even live long enough to see Geralt kick their asses. At least my death will be avenged quickly, otherwise. 

As if summoned by his lover’s thoughts the handsome, white-haired Captain appeared at the opposite end of the alley. Jaskier thought he might cry from the mere sight of him. He definitely wanted to let out a relieved sob when Geralt growled out, “It’ll go easier for both of you if you just put the dagger down and release the boy now.”

The ex-noble felt his captor’s muscles twitching nervously as he released a humorless chuckle. Don’t slip up now, Jaskier prayed. Not while you’ve got a knife against my neck.

 “Why should we do that?” his captor questioned. The man tugged at the already taut bandanna and Jaskier whined in pain when the damp material bit into the skin of his cheeks. The fury written across Geralt’s features was absolutely terrifying; he looked like an avenging angel, his strong stature defined by the light of the square behind him and his silvery hair wild around his face. 

Jaskier didn’t want to die, not in the slightest, but this wouldn’t be the worst last sight to see, all things considered. The man tugged the material again and Jaskier’s eyes widened when his neck scraped against the edge of the dagger’s sharp blade. “He’d fetch a fair price from our captain. He’d probably fetch a very hefty bit of gold if we took him down the coast a-ways, actually. Your threats aren’t going to lose me a nice bag of coin.”

Geralt took one slow, measured step forward and drew his cutlass with an effortless extension of his arm. “I’ll give you one last chance to let him go peacefully before I start slitting throats,” he snarled. The scowl on his face would make any ordinary person soil their knickers on sight, but the man holding Jaskier had probably seen something like this before. He was experienced. He teasingly nicked the young man’s tanned skin with the dagger and Jaskier hissed. The sound had Geralt’s eyes going wide with rage. His nostrils flared and his hand twitched. The kidnapper smirked confidently as a thin line of blood beaded on the brunette's skin, “Oops.”

There was a blur of movement from Geralt’s end of the alley, a whooshing sound, and then a wet thud. The man keeping Jaskier captive fell back, dropping his dagger to the ground below as he did. Jaskier wriggled forward in an attempt to reach Geralt and ended up toppling heavily off the back of the wagon and onto the cobblestone street. Lambert dashed to his side and pulled the kerchief out from between his teeth. The younger man was panting, blue eyes wild and confused. “Did Geralt just hit that guy with a knife!?”

“Yeah.”

The ex-noble gave a short, hysterical laugh. His eyes took on a glazed, unfocused quality and Lambert looked to Geralt for help. “Neat,” he muttered.

Jaskier wasn’t sure if it was the shock of having his life legitimately threatened, the smell of his own blood invading his nose, or the impact from hitting the stone walkway, but just as Geralt knelt down at his side, he passed out.

----------

When his eyelids finally fluttered open again, Jaskier had to squint. The late-afternoon sun slanted in through the porthole of Geralt’s cabin, surrounding the grim-faced Captain with a halo of golden light. “My hero,” Jaskier sighed. He was a lucky man to have a lover so attentive, protective, and also incredibly sexy. 

“Jaskier!” the pirate pulled him into a sitting position and wrapped him in a hug, crushing the slightly smaller man against his broad chest. “I was so worried that he’d gotten your vein or hurt you some other way that we couldn’t see. Are you alright, little nymph?”

“I’m alright,” he blushed. Geralt’s nose was buried stubbornly in his hair, breathing in repeatedly as if he’d been afraid he’d never see Jaskier awake again. “Really, darling, I’m just a little shaken. That’s all. I thought we were running errands today. I wasn’t expecting to be taken captive and threatened with a life of piracy.”

“You’re - Jask, you’re living a life of piracy.”

“It was a joke,” the ex-noble teased. Geralt relaxed his grip slightly and leaned back. His amber eyes searched Jaskier’s blue ones for any sign of dishonesty or hidden pain and found none. His siren was telling the truth. The Captain took a seat on the edge of his small bed and dragged his lover onto his lap. Jaskier noticed with a sly smile that he was draped in one of the White Wolf’s overly-large burgundy shirts. One he didn’t wear very often but that Jaskier found him endlessly attractive in nonetheless. “Geralt, did you change my shirt for me?”

“Your other one was ripped. It had blood on it. We also had to bandage your wounds.”

“Oh. Thank you for letting me borrow it,” Jaskier flapped his arms a little, letting the sleeves roll down over his hands. “I love roomy shirts to sleep in.”

“You can just ask to borrow them,” the Captain relented. “You don’t always need a scheme to get what you want, little nymph.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sighed, cuddling close again. “I absolutely did not think up the idea of coming to bodily harm in order to borrow your shirts, as likely as that sounds. Thank you for rescuing me, Geralt.”

“I am not an easy man to scare,” the pirate intoned seriously. His grip on Jaskier tightened and his voice grew scratchy with emotion as he continued. “But seeing you like that today had me more frightened than I’ve ever been before in my life. I’ve faced down bigger ships with better guns and more men than mine. I was briefly incarcerated by the mayor of Novigrad and sentenced to hang. I’ve seen my fair share of scary things, my sweet siren, but I would never be able to live with myself if you came to harm. That’s the most terrifying thought of all.”

“Geralt,” the young man gasped. He wrapped his arms around his Captain’s shoulders and moved to straddle the larger man’s wide lap. He pressed a brief but bracing kiss to the White Wolf’s saltwater-chapped lips. “The thought of never seeing you again is the worst thought in the world. Let us never be parted.”

“Hmm.”  Geralt’s left hand moved to grip Jaskier’s corresponding hip while his right arm went around the back of his nymph’s slender shoulders. He gently pulled their chests together and nibbled his way up the uninjured side of his little nymph’s neck, reveling in every soft, yielding noise the brunette made. He pressed a rough, wet kiss to the soft skin behind Jaskier’s ear and growled possessively, “Never.”

(of course 1/2 of all my swashbuckling au credit goes to @limrx)

[nomazee]

saw you responded to my prompt idea (Heather) and I'm really sorry for not including a specific character the first time! i did send in a second ask as a follow up. but ushijima pls

Starting Over

(original ask: hi there 😎 hope you're doing well!! just dropping by to suggest a prompt idea!! IM THINKING; Heather by Conan Gray? There's flirty banter going on w/ u 2, and you think the feelings are mutual.. but then there's someone else in the picture. He's giving them all of his attention and you're kinda pushed to the side. Angst pls ): hurt my feelings but then hold my hand after. fluff maybe)

ushijima x reader; tendou & reader

word count: 3000+

content: unrequited crush, angst, loneliness, personal development

(thank you so so so much for this request!! don’t worry about forgetting to add the character, it’s completely alright!! i sort of strayed from the prompt a bit but i tried to maintain the primary concept as best as i could. i enjoyed writing this a lot and i hope you enjoy this!!

also just a fun fact--i was absolutely prepared to make the reader and wakatoshi’s gf fall in love with each other and elope and i’m very close to rewriting this and making it go down that route 😃

ALSO-ALSO—i have a multi-part series in the works right now (by “in the works” i mean BARE BONES PLANS) and im gonna share some details + a sneak peak soon!!! i’m kind of excited cause it’s gonna be the first long multipart series i’m gonna make, so i hope you guys are excited about it too!!

thank you all so much for the support recently, every like and commment and follower i receive motivates me so much and i love u all to bits <3

happy reading!!) 

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

Wakatoshi is not a romantic. You know that best out of anyone—knowing the boy for years gives you a decent awareness of what type of person he is. He doesn’t have much of an interest in things that aren’t volleyball. Even his friends are scarce, limited to you and Tendou and some of the other third-years on the volleyball team. It’s not like he’s lonely—he’s reserved by nature and choice, never really expanding his social circle and putting his energy into extra practices rather than nights out. 

You suppose that’s why you get along so well with him. You also suppose that’s why it was a shock to hear that Wakatoshi accepted someone’s confession. 

You were no stranger to hearing about these confessions—not because Wakatoshi tells you about them, but because you’re often the one who has to act as the messenger between the confessors of the week and Wakatoshi himself. It’s a bit draining, frankly, to be looked at as a tool to get closer to the ace, but you put up with it because at least you still have him. 

Her name is Hana, and she was one of the very few people who confessed to Wakatoshi personally. 

He told you the details while walking you to your dorm, and you were a little suspicious of how in-depth he seemed to go about the event. He was interested, you deduced, and in the moment you forced yourself to shove down the ball that rose white-hot in your throat. 

“She invited me to dinner on Sunday. Her family owns a restaurant. She said she’ll make me my favorite.” 

Oh, you think, I’ve made his favorite plenty of times—you cut that thought off in fear of sounding bitter over losing someone who was never really yours. 

“So you’re going, then?” 

It’s silent. You stare intently at the way your feet step against the concrete. At the persistent lull in the conversation, you glance up to Wakatoshi. 

His cheeks are red, and his gaze is trained pointedly away from you. 

He’s blushing, you realize. He’s blushing because he’s embarrassed, embarrassed that now he has someone he’s interested in. 

You know you should be happy, and the robotic voice in your head chants, “That’s cute! That’s great!” But you know yourself a little better than that, and decide that you aren’t the happiest with this epiphany. 

But you’ll sure as hell make it seem like you are, for Wakatoshi’s sake and Hana’s, too. 

You give a smile, one without crinkles at the corners of your eyes, and elbow him playfully. “That’s cute, Toshi. I’m surprised you found someone you’re interested in, but I’m really happy for you.” 

He’s smiling, now, and it’s a gentle smile you rarely see form in your presence. As you wave goodbye to him at the steps of your dorm building, you wonder if you’ll have to stop calling him Toshi in fear of upsetting Hana. 

---

You’re getting ahead of yourself, you think in the days following Wakatoshi’s unintentional admission of feelings. He’s just trying out a date for once. It’s not like you’re going to lose him immediately.

For the remainder of the week, Wakatoshi still walks you to your dorm after practice (you stay in the library until he’s done), and still lets you sit with him at lunch. By Friday, you make an excuse to avoid the cafeteria (read: avoid him, but you don’t tell him that) and tell him not to wait for you after practice. 

You text him on Sunday asking him to tell you how the date goes. He responds with, “It was very fun. I really like her :)” and you feel your heart crack under the strain of your unrequited feelings. But you suck it up, like a good friend, you think, and tell him “that’s great!! i’m so happy for you :)” 

On Monday, you go back to sitting with Wakatoshi at lunch. When you smile and place your bento box on the table, he waves awkwardly and blinks at you. 

Oh, you think, yet again. Maybe I shouldn’t be sitting here.

You feel a stifling lack of familiarity in the air, and it pains you to admit it. You nod back at Wakatoshi, then blink at your lunch tray, feeling too awkward to even open it up and start eating. 

He doesn’t say anything. You uncharacteristically take the initiative. 

“So… your date,” you begin. “Did you like it?” 

His eyelids flutter yet again, and a fond smile crosses his features. “Yes, I did. Her restaurant is very nice, and so is her family. The hayashi rice was very good. She wants to go out again this weekend.” 

“You’re going again?” It’s rhetorical. You know the answer already. He nods, and goes back to eating his lunch. A few minutes pass by, and you still can’t find the strength to pick at your bento. 

Just as you open your mouth again to babble about a random topic to fill the silence, Wakatoshi’s head darts up and his eyes focus on something behind you. You twist around to see what it is, but a cold feeling in your veins tells you you already know. 

She’s pretty, you think as she waves at you and Toshi and takes a seat next to him. Really pretty, actually. 

And an angel. She greets you politely, with a wide smile that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. Her hands are soft and she has pastel yellow acrylics on her nails. “Hi! I’m Hana, it’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?” 

The question sends another wave of cold electricity through your system, and you feel like crying at the realization that Wakatoshi probably didn’t even talk about you. He probably never talks about you, you think, because there’s just not much to talk about when it comes to you. 

You give a smile. Your eyes don’t crinkle. “[Y/N],” you tell her. “I’m Ushijima’s friend.” 

Maybe the use of his family name is a bit petty, but you convince yourself that you’re just trying to make yourself distant, trying to make yourself appear as less of a threat to Hana. You think it’s natural that she might get antsy about another girl being in Wakatoshi’s life, but then think that she’s probably too kind to ever get jealous or upset. It only makes your heart ache more. 

You see the subtlest flinch from Wakatoshi at the use of his surname, but you assume he doesn’t really care much. Him and Hana start talking casually, and tears prick behind your eyes as Hana does her best to involve you in the conversation. She’s so nice, so so nice, and it isn’t fair for you to be so bitter. 

“I have to go study in the library now,” you tell them, picking up your untouched bento box from the table and standing up. “But it was really nice meeting you, Hana.” She smiles again, glossy lips and pearly teeth before Wakatoshi interrupts you. 

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving early?” 

You pause, and think of the irony of that—he didn’t tell you Hana was sitting with him, otherwise you would’ve left them alone in the first place. But you brush it off, and maintain your smile. “Yeah, I guess I forgot.” You huff a humorless laugh. “But I’ll see you guys later.”

You don't end up going to the library, instead settling for the nurse’s office. She’s nice, you think, nice enough to let you get away with a stomachache and sitting out of class for the remainder of the day. 

When you’re dismissed, you habitually wait for Wakatoshi at the side door of the school building. It’s a Monday, and he doesn’t have practice, so he’d be able to walk you back to your dorm rather than making you wait in the library. 

It’s a fruitless effort, and you hit yourself for not anticipating it earlier—maybe if you did , you would’ve been at your dorm already. If you did, you wouldn’t wait for twenty minutes with the empty hope that Wakatoshi would still walk you home. If you did, you wouldn’t have to watch them pass down the sidewalk together, his team jacket draped over Hana as they talked with each other, hands interlocked and smiles persistent. 

As you blink away tears and walk away from the scene, you think that Hana must really be someone special, to break down Wakatoshi’s walls so quickly and make him be so familiar with her in a matter of days. 

Either that, or you were never anything special. Just complacent with the relationship you had with the boy, which you think was only formulated out of the coincidence of growing up together. 

You try not to let the thoughts get to you, but after a heartbreak it’s a little difficult to think positively about yourself. You settle for taking a nap once you get to your dorm, and hope that the school’s library is open during lunch tomorrow. 

---

Thankfully, it is, and you wordlessly leave Hana and Wakatoshi to their own devices during lunch. He doesn’t question it, doesn’t text you, doesn’t ask you after lunch or during class about it. When you dismiss, you don’t wait for him to walk you to your dorm, and for the second time, you’re left walking alone. It’s a little nerve-wracking, having such a sudden change in your routine, and you’re starting to regret not expanding your social circle. If you did, you’d have someone to talk to at lunch, someone to walk with after dismissal, someone to hang out with during the weekends, another contact in your phone that wasn’t just your parents and Wakatoshi. 

The week ends. Wakatoshi never texts you, never asks you if you’re okay or questions why you’re so distant. It’s simultaneously painful and relieving—knowing that your presence could so easily be deducted from his life made you rethink a lot of things, but at the same time you think his lack of action makes it easier for you to deal with it. 

During lunch on Monday, you’re alone in the library. Until you’re not. 

Red flashes by your vision until you can properly process the form of a boy sitting across from you, chin resting in his palm as he looks at you curiously, a teasing expression on his face. 

It’s Tendou—you know him fairly well. You can’t consider him a friend just yet, but you’re somewhat close to him, what with both of you being friends with Wakatoshi. 

You blink at him, and cock your head to the side. He follows suit. He’s interesting, you think. 

“Hi, Tendou.” You greet. “What are you doing here?” 

He narrows his eyes at the stiff greeting, and the arm supporting his head drops to the table. A smile peeks through his features, and while his eyes don’t crinkle you can still tell it’s genuine and friendly. 

“Just wanted to say hi. I didn’t see you in the cafeteria with Wakatoshi like you usually are. Actually, I haven’t seen you there for a while now. It took me some time to find out where you go, but I’m here now!” 

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you settle for a blank stare. He huffs in mock annoyance, and throws his head back with a groan that nearly alerts the librarian. 

“Aren’t you happy? Now you can stop moping around and hang out instead.” A pause, then, “So what’s up with you and Toshi? Why don’t you sit with him anymore?” 

So this is a therapy session, you think sardonically. Alright, sure. I guess I can tell him. 

“He has a girlfriend.” You wince at how sad the words sound coming out of your mouth, and quickly try to defend your tone. “Which is a good thing! I’m not upset—” oh yeah, definitely not, “—but I wanted to leave them alone, so they can hang out. I don't want to get in their way.” 

Tendou doesn't respond immediately, instead settling for tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in suspicion. You’re sure he already knows the real reason, but give up on trying to clarify yourself any further. 

He gives a wordless hum, eyes darting to the bento box you’d set aside at the beginning of the period. “You’re not eating.” It’s not a question, more of an observation, and you tense up. Tendou isn’t a threat, you know that, but his hyper-awareness of everything and everyone around him intimidates you greatly. 

“Not hungry,” you respond, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze. “I eat breakfast, and I don’t normally get hungry until the afternoon.” 

“It is the afternoon.” Technically, he’s not wrong. It’s almost 1:30. Regardless, you huff at his technicalities and remain silent. 

His gaze is still locked on you. You wonder what he’s still here for, and jokingly tell yourself he’s going to give you a letter and ask you to give it to Wakatoshi like everyone else does. 

“You don’t have to stay alone just ‘cause Toshi got a girlfriend.” He’s blunt in his words, which you detest and appreciate at the same time. “He’s not your whole life—doesn’t have to be. You’ve got me now. I’m your new friend, Tendou Satori!” By the end of his spiel, he’s back to his playful self, tone turning childish as he strikes a pose and winks at you. 

You make an agreement (more like, he makes a proposition and forces you to comply) to wait for him in the library after school and let him walk you to your dorm. As he leads you to the building, chatting loudly and making you laugh harder than you have in weeks, a strong resolve plants itself in your head. 

You have a new friend, and his name is Tendou Satori. 

---

For the next week and a half, Tendou is complacent with your dismissive attitude regarding Wakatoshi and indulges you in mindless activities to distract you from any stresses. During the weekend, he takes you out to the mall, buys you boba, and forces you to try on clothes of his choice with the promise that you can do the same to him. While you both giggle in front of the mirror of the dressing room, he pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of you and him in the mirror, and posts it on his Snapchat. You don’t think much of that. It’s the most fun you’ve had in a while, and even before then you don’t remember enjoying your time with Wakatoshi as much. 

That epiphany makes you hurt a bit, but then you feel Tendou grasp your wrist and lead you off somewhere and things are better. Things are a lot better, really, until a new week approaches and Wakatoshi texts you for the first time in nearly a month. 

You hung out with Tendou? 

You blink. It’s an interesting way to start a conversation. You suppose Wakatoshi’s not one for formalities, and conclude that he must’ve seen Tendou’s post. Frankly, you’re a bit insulted that Wakatoshi seems shocked at the concept that you can make friends on your own, but you brush it off and text him back. 

yeah!! we started talking a while ago. he’s cool. 

Oh

Are you mad at me? 

You don’t know what to think of his question. You don’t know where it came from, or how to respond. Discerning his tone of voice is a bit difficult over text, even more so than it is in person. Nevertheless, you answer honestly. 

no? not really? why are you asking? 

It takes him a while to respond, and your anxiety grows with each passing second. 

You haven't talked to me recently. You don’t eat lunch in the cafeteria anymore. Did I do something wrong? 

You don’t know how to explain it to him—don’t really have the energy to go on a rant about how you were avoiding him for your sake, his sake, and his girlfriend’s sake, how you had feelings for him for years and he never noticed and how it was kind of a dick move to be upset over you avoiding him for a month and not even bothering to approach you about it in the first week you started going to the library or the nurse during lunch and walking to the dorms alone. 

You settle, once again, for something simpler. 

don’t worry about it :) i wasn't avoiding you, but i wanted to give you and hana time alone, so that i didn’t bother you.

Are you and Tendou dating? 

You’re sure you’re going to get whiplash from this conversation. You let out a breathy chuckle and tap away on your phone. 

no, ushijima, we’re just friends 

Oh. Okay

Would you like to sit with me and Hana at lunch tomorrow? 

You read the text, then reread it, and lean back in your chair with a sigh. You’re not sure that Wakatoshi knows what he’s doing, but you still appreciate the intended kindness behind the words. You straighten out your posture, look at the blinking line in the message box, and turn your phone off. 

The library doors open, and Tendou bounds through with a cute little hop, immediately going to your usual table with a smile. 

“Ready to go?” He asks. You check the time—it’s nearly half past six. Tendou notices and apologizes. 

“Sorry for making you wait so long. Practice ran a little longer than usual and I didn’t get the chance to text you about it. Wakatoshi was kind of out of it, so Coach made us all suffer the consequences.” He coupled his statements with a laugh, and it eased the unpleasant feeling that arose with his last sentence. His thin fingers wrapped around your wrist carefully, and he tugged you out of your seat to lead you back home. 

Wakatoshi left a bit of an empty gap in your life. And you knew that you’d still be reminded of him often and that pain in your chest will return sometimes. The doubt of your previous friendship and the personal guilt of not trying to get closer to him sooner would still linger for a while. But Tendou Satori was a good distraction, and a great friend.

[nature-and-music]

Comfort

Author’s note: The story takes place in the 1990s, involving Robert Plant and an unnamed reader. This is purely written as a form of fiction for my friend @earlscourt1975​ who was feeling blue a while back.  I wanted to write something to help you feel better.  I hope you like it.

Another long day of another drudgerous week had passed once more, signaling the beginning of Friday night and the upcoming weekend.  Around this time, most individuals head out on their own, with family, or with friends for some much needed relaxation.  Others prefer to stay indoors and lounge around to complete another chapter of their story, listen to music, or mellow out with the television on.  I was one who enjoyed both the former and the latter in any situation, but not tonight.  I already took the liberty of calling my friends before I left work, saying that I was coming down with something; doing my best to impersonate coughing and sneezing.  Frankly all I wanted to do was to find my bed, lie down, and sleep.  The weight on my shoulders felt heavy as I was approaching the flat; mindlessly taking each step up the stairs as I searched for my keys.  Once I was inside, I kicked off my shoes, dropped my supplies, and shuffled to my room.  I never bothered to place my tupperware in the sink or even toss the remaining bits of food into the trash can.  Nor did I make an effort to grab a snack or heat up a quick meal for dinner.  Everything seemed so grey and cold, I just didn’t want to deal with anything; people, places, events.  Nothing.

I groaned loudly when there was a knock at the door, probably just some mail or one of the little old ladies asking for some sugar or butter.  Just put a smile on and pretend to engage in joyful interaction; not tonight.  Why bother answering? To my surprise, I heard the sound of the lock turning; there was only one person who I gave a copy of my key to.  As I turned around, I saw a figure with golden wheat hair walk in; grasping onto plastic food bags.

“Robert? Good to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“Well, I haven’t heard from you in a while.  I thought maybe I could drop by and have dinner with you, if that’s alright?” Robert wondered with a smile; although his eyes said otherwise.

“Yeah it’s fine,” I answered back, pressing my face into the pillow again.

Robert sighed, “Here I’ll get it ready, you stay here.”

As he prepared our meal, I could hear the sound of plastic being gently tapped upon the trash can; then sink water running and a sponge scrubbing.  After the water drained away and the tupperware placed onto a drying rack, Robert returned with napkins and paper plates.  As I reached over to help he insisted, “No, it’s alright, I’m almost done.  Just, uh, let’s try to keep your sheets clean.  Or we could sit down on the floor, since that will make for an easier clean up.”

After slumping down onto the floor, he shoveled our food onto the plates, handed me the plastic utensils and paper napkins, along with a styrofoam cup.  It was my favorite meal and drink; he remembered, what a sweet gesture.  At first, we exchanged in some light conversation about work and how our families were doing.  We did our best to continue our chat, but very soon silence had crept back into the room.  Robert could sense that something was wrong, how to approach the topic, he was unsure of how to do it; but he tried.

“How are you doing?” Robert asked.

I kept my eyes on the plate, moving the meal around with the prongs of my fork, “I’m fine.”

Robert leaned in, “Only ‘fine’ you say?”

Exacerbated, I turned to him and replied, “Yes! I am fine, okay?”

Robert slinked back and continued to eat, looking back towards me now and then.  Something wasn’t right, he could tell the moment when he stepped in.  Perhaps it seemed a bit much for him to arrive without so much as a phone call, and with dinner no less.  However, he had been trying to reach me while he was on tour; his attempts being fruitless due to the differences in the time zones.  That and I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t been able to find time to speak with anyone over the phone at home.  As an alternative, he had been writing letters to me instead, but they were left unopened on the countertop.  

Even if I did make an effort to call or write back, what was there for me to say? Work is fine, busy as per usual.  The family is alright, healthy, and happy.  Friends seem to be doing well for themselves.  What else was there to talk about? That is, what could I say to others without having them worry about me? I was never one to discuss matters involving my own personal feelings; while I had some people to turn to in life, I wondered if they truly did understand what I was feeling.  Or if you could even muster up any kind of courage to tell them anything.

“Well, I think we should talk,” Robert stated.

“There’s nothing to talk about.  Everything is fine, really, it is.”

“Well if you won’t say anything, then listen to me, please,” he begged.  “I’ve been very worried about you lately.  I understand that we can’t find time to call, but the letters that I’ve been writing to you.  I sent them months ago and haven’t heard from you,” he proclaimed inching closer to me.

I got up and grabbed our plates, “Thank you for dinner, that was very nice of you.  I need to get some rest, I had a long week.”  So I ventured off to the kitchen and tossed our empty plates and utensils away, he followed closely behind me.  “Thank you for helping me with the dishes, Robert.  I think it’s time for y-”

“I’m not leaving you, I’ll stay here with you all night if I have to,” he insisted as he cornered me.

I brushed him aside and headed out, but not before he placed his hands on my shoulders, “Robert, please I- I-,” I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

Robert turned my body around and held me close, keeping a firm and gentle grip on me as we sank to the kitchen floor.  My eyes stung from the salty tears that cascaded down my cheeks, my skin felt warm, and my heart was beating rapidly against my rib cage.  His hand rubbed circles into the center of my back, as he carefully rocked me.  Cradling and keeping me close to his body; having no intention of letting me go.  After some time, I felt myself coming down from my heightened state, breathing becoming normal, and muscles beginning to loosen; I wrapped my arms around him.  My fingers grabbed at his shirt, as I nuzzled my face into his chest. 

Robert pressed his nose against my shoulder, “Do you need to lie down?”

After a slow nod, he helped me to my feet and supported my body against his as we returned to my room.  Once he was finished assisting me onto the mattress, he sat down and wiped away the moistened trails from my face with his thumb, “Try to breathe, slowly, deep breaths.”

I paused, closed my eyes and followed the sound of his voice as he quietly repeated the words “Breathe in.  Breathe out.”  As we partook in this exercise, the uncomfortable sensations throughout my body were slowly starting to dissipate.  Feelings of calm, peace, and stability were returning; thoughts of self-doubt and stress were momentarily leaving, even if it was only temporary for tonight.

“Do you want anything?” he asked, brushing my arms.  “I will stay here with you, tonight and tomorrow, if you wish.”

Once I opened my eyes, I could see him.  Not just his physical presence, but something more.  This was difficult to describe, but having Robert, here at my side was like having a source of warmth and comfort.  He was like a being that was created from light; made of a droplet from the golden sun all rolled up into a single person.  I smiled at him, and he returned a smile to me as well.  I sat up and hugged him, “I’m sorry Robert.”

“For what?”

“For everything.  Never calling you or replying back to your letters.  Never dropping by the studio to say hello when you’re in town.  I- I’ve been having a really tough time lately.  I never try to talk about it because, well, I mean-”

He looked me in the eyes, rubbing my shoulders, “You’re not sure how to talk about it?”

My eyes widened, “Yes, yes.  Absolutely, I- I- I don’t know where to start.  And plus, everyone, we’re all so busy with everything in life.  I don’t want to be a burden to anyone, you know?”

“You’re no burden, you never were.  It’s hard to talk about how you’re feeling,” he noted.

I nodded, gulping down the lump in my throat, “Very.”

“Do you want to keep talking about it?”

“Tomorrow Robert, I promise,” I answered as I shifted down onto my side facing him.  “Right now I just want to fall asleep.”  I held onto his hand, gazing into his ocean blue eyes, “Could you hold me, please?”

He smiled again and lied down, keeping his arms gently around my form.  Soon my exhausted body and heavy eyelids had given into the spell of slumber, the very last thing that I could see was Robert’s kind smile and considerate eyes.  While I was unable to see him, I felt a soft pair lips planting a warm kiss to the top of my head.  Tomorrow, everything would, no, it will turn out alright.  Tomorrow, I would let Robert know what I’ve been harboring within myself for a long time.  If he was able tolerate my reluctance tonight, then he was willing to listen.

[silkylious]

Pro heroes Katsuki , Deku, Kiri trending on Twitter after posting a video of them and their s/o doing the baby mama dance how they react and

A/N: Thank you for the request! since you didn’t specify if you wanted a scenario or headcanons, i’ll do headcanons since they're easier for me to write, hope thats okay!

also i have a todoroki oneshot in the works, so stay tuned for that!

Kirishima Eijirou

Kirishima was probably the one to bring up the dance in the first place. A toothy grin stretched his face as he leaped over the back of the couch, where you’d been enjoying a quaint read, a dainty hand caressing your engorged stomach. His hand snatching the book right out from your grasp, he didn’t give you a chance to respond before he practically shoved his phone in your face. An eyebrow raised skeptically at his antics, shifting your gaze to the screen in front of you. 

“Eiji, what’s this...?” He explained the challenge, his sharky smile only widening the further he explained. You were a little hesitant at first, and as you were about to voice your apprehension, your eyes caught sight of his smile, childlike and boyish. Fuck. How could you say no to that?

You spent a good half an hour trying to get the dance moves right, Eijirou cheering you on while fucking up his own moves. 

Kirishima can’t dance to save his life. You can’t convince me otherwise. But did that stop him? Nope.

He adjusted the camera on make-shift tripod, consisting of boxes and other random objects. he started the timer and you two began busting out moves, Eijirou still lacking all the skill needed for this exercise, his moves choppy and uncoordinated, though his enthusiasm made up for his amateurism. The precious grin adorning his face made you glad you took him up on his offer.

By the end of the routine, both of you were left panting for oxygen. He heaved a breathless chuckle before pulling you into his grip from behind, his large hands gingerly stroking your tummy, his lips pressed lovingly to your cheek. With his signature million watt smile ever present on his face, he sighed out words of tranquil, “Thanks for doing this, babe,” he pressed another exaggerated kiss to your face.

The video was posted on his official Twitter, right before you went to bed.

The next morning, no words could articulate the sheer affection you felt bubbling up in your chest when you opened your eyes to the sight of Eijirou’s pure jubilation. Just the look of unbridled happiness on his face made you fall head over heels for him all over again. While you were busy ogling him, his own heart accelerated with uninhibited pride and love as his eyes scanned the screen in his hands.

Kirishima loved to show you off, how could he not? you were amazing in every sense of the word, and you were all his, to love and to cherish. So you can only imagine the utter joy he felt when he saw #TinyRiot trending on twitter.

He skimmed through the countless replies and comments of people congratulating the couple and clowning on his less than impressive choreography, some were from his coworkers, some were from his fans, he replied to them as best as he could with delight radiating off of him. He continued going through his mentions until he eventually felt the heated stare on his face. Turning to his side, he finally met your eyes, your rounded figure peacefully nestled beside him on the bed, your stare so full with love and mirth it made his chest tighten, almost suffocating him.

Kirishima has always been good with words, and people in general but in that moment no matter how hard he tried to speak nothing would come out of his mouth, captivated by your adoring gaze. You looked at him like he was your entire universe. And he couldn’t handle that, the feeling building in his gut becoming too much for him.

 He had to let it out, less he spontaneously combust. Since he knew his voice would fail him if he tried to speak, he settled for pulling you in for a passionate kiss, hoping it would convey all the words he couldn’t say.

Midoriya Izuku

When you first approached him with the idea he had been a bit apprehensive. Don’t get him wrong, heaven knows he’d do anything to keep you content. But being in the position he was in, Izuku was painfully, sadly aware of the target put on not only his back, but his family as well. 

He didn’t want to expose you and his child to the danger that came with his blinding spotlight.

Izuku wears his heart on his sleeve. No matter how hard he tried to mask it, the boy was an open book, so you could immediately sense the reluctance on his face when you mentioned posting the video online.

You knew of the complications that came with dating a Pro-hero, the number one Pro-hero, so you were perfectly understanding of his hesitance and didn’t push it further. Though you couldn’t help the disappointment that flooded your features either.

The look of mild discontent on your face didn’t sit well with him, his conscious already conquered by guilt. As his green irises descended onto your pregnant belly, something in him snapped.

He wanted to provide his unborn son with a normal childhood, well as normal as someone like him could. And he wouldn’t be able to do that if he kept barring his family from enjoying the simple delicacies of life in fear of getting them hurt. He was a hero, for god’s sake! The arrival of a new addition in his tight-knit family only meant that he’d have to work harder to forge the perfect world for them, for his son.

His habit of mumbling his thoughts had you fully aware of the dilemma going on in his head, and you knew if you didn’t stop him now nothing else would. His forehead was flicked by dainty, soft fingers, snapping him out of his trance, “It’s fine, ‘Zuku, don’t worry about it.” too late, he’d already made up his mind.

Now with his previous dread thrown out the window, he grabbed your hands and hopped off the couch where he’d been previously watching some All Might docuseries, a determined look in his wide verdant eyes.

You spent a good hour practicing the moves, Deku was holding up just fine, the dance classes he’d taken with Mina during the Cultural Festival doing a good number on him. With enough effort and unrelenting obstinacy, he’d mastered the routine in record time. Now with the camera set up, it was time to preform.The whole dance, a gentle twinkle lit up his face, he truly couldn’t be more content watching you dance your heart out without a care. 

The clip was posted, and you two were off to prepare dinner, ignorant to the fucking storm of notifications blowing his phone up. 

Now hear me out; Deku absolutely fanboys over All Might in interviews or in public. His fans had already noticed the striking similarities between their quirks and they were well aware of his love of the retired Pro, so he was dubbed “All Might Jr.” His heart almost went into cardiac arrest when he saw #SmallMight trending on Twitter. Poor boy had just finished washing the dishes, he went to check his phone only for all colour to leave his face before he was red as a damn tomato.

You peered over his shoulder to see what had gotten him so flustered only to bring your fist to your mouth in a fruitless attempt at silencing your fit of giggles.

Now as blissful as it was to have a combination of his fans and colleagues (who had already known about the pregnancy) congratulating him, he knew it wouldn’t take long for the media to scrutinise his decision, bringing unwanted discourse into his personal life. But he was more than ready for that, after all, he had vowed to himself that he would protect you and his child, whether from villains or from mainstream media, he would let you both live your lives without any inhibitions.

Bakugo Katsuki  

Katsuki flat out refused when you initially asked him. Which was to be expected. Katsuki is private person when it comes to personal matters, you literally had to beg him to tell your friends about the pregnancy (honestly you were about ready to pull up a PowerPoint presentation on why Friends Matter and They Deserve to Know Important News™) 

The rejection didn’t stop you from nagging him about it though. 

He was in a similar situation to Deku, being the number two Pro-hero and the symbol of victory shined a light on him, for better or worse, he didn’t want to expose you and his daughter to the dark facets of his career. That and he did think it was stupid. He didn’t understand the appeal of sharing something so special with the general public, it was your private lives dammit! 

“Why do you wanna do it so bad?” it was a valid question, though phrased with overbearing aggression, he was getting fed up with your persistence. He immediately dialed down his abrasiveness when you flinched, your gaze descending to the floor, your hormones making you more susceptible to his harsh mannerisms.

“I just thought it would be cute to do...” Your voice trailed off, and his mind berated him as he watched your bottom lip quiver. He just couldn’t resist you, could he?

Eventually, he gave in, but he made it a point to spend as little time as humanly possible on the dance. Which was honestly very easy for him, the guy is a natural at almost everything, fucking figures he can dance. It made you a bit jealous how good he effortlessly was.

Bakugo did nothing half-assed, this was no exception. As the routine progressed, he loosened up more, almost enjoying the exercise, wouldn’t admit it though, he’s very adamant about making this seem like a chore even though he relished in that bright smile of yours. Tsundere headass.

The recording went by without a hitch, Katsuki putting his all into the choreography and slipping you a few gentle caresses here and there. Overall, the cheeky grin on your face made it worth the trouble.

He spurned posting the video on his account, so it ended up being posted on yours, you had a decent following and in minutes the #MiniSplosion was trending. 

Even he couldn’t deny the wave of pride that puffed up his chest, reading the influx of comments bleeding in. He loved showing you off, but his position made it damn near impossible to do that. He wanted to protect you, he figured after this he’d just have to work harder to keep his family safe.

You totally teased him about being a softie on the inside, but you didn’t push it too much, not wanting to tarnish the mood. He’d reply back with some empty remark but the soft tug at his lips, the tenderness in his stare and absence of his usual frown betrayed him, god he was such a sap for you. Pulling you in for an abnormally sweet peck, vastly different from his usual ferocious, passion filled kisses, he flicked your forehead and muttered, “You happy now?”

The surmounting adoration in his heart partially scared him, he couldn’t believe he fell that hard for someone. Yet he wouldn’t have it any other way, he couldn’t even imagine the idea of being without you, without his daughter. He was lucky to land himself such a strong, patient and kind partner, one that would stick it out with him through the end, and now he was undoubtedly going to flaunt it.

@Ground_Zero: My babygirls <3

...

Let’s just say it didn’t take long for #SoftGroundZero to go viral too.

[rightsockjin]

Summary: SCOOBY DOO AU! Seokjin and his dog Jjangu, have a special bond, one that no one could ever challenge and it was absolutely adorable. They were always paired up to scope out the place, but when Namjoon decides to pair the team off differently and you get stuck with him instead, things take a turn for the worst…or is it for the best? ZOINKS!

Rating: M

Genre: SMUT! Mystery. Slight enemy to lover

Warnings: Food play, fingers. licking, sucking. Cunnalingus. lewd noises. Walked in on kinda. Jin is thirsty. Y/N is thirsty. Both have a meal. Moaning. Haunted house. 

Word count: 4,887

Author’s note: This is so loosely based off of Scooby Doo it almost doesn’t make sense to say it is based off of it but it’s more about the vibe of Jin’s outfit. Also! Spooky season had begun! And this is a good kick off.

“Jin and Y/N, can you guys check out the west wing?”

With those eleven words from the leader’s lips, the whole dynamic of the group was turned around. Jjangu whined at his feet. His cute puppy eyes stared up at him like he knew he would be separated from his owner soon. This wasn’t normal. He usually wasn’t paired up with anyone. It was usually him and Jjangu against whatever crazy conspiracy they were checking out which always made him feel safer because dogs tended to have a sixth sense that most people lacked, but you had joined and now it seemed that he’d have to endure the presence of another person.

This wouldn’t have been a problem had it been anyone else but Namjoon knew Jin had a slight crush on you that he didn’t know how to handle and it seemed like Namjoon was just trying to push his buttons. You didn’t even like him anyway. He knew that. It was in the way that you looked at Taehyung and the way you laughed at his jokes and how close you seemed to be. He had no interest in being your second choice. No interest whatsoever but it seemed that Namjoon, the ever observant nearly omniscient leader, hadn’t noticed what he had.

“I’m going to take Jjangu with Jungkook and I-” the leader began but Jin cut him off instantly.

“Why can’t he come with me?”

Namjoon glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes for a split second, but you were too focused on Taehyung- again- to even notice. Jin gave the leader a look that had embedded a question.

Namjoon rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“JK  and I are going to the most arguably haunted part of the house and I doubt highly that Jk’s muscles will do much if we can’t see what’s around the corner. You know that Jjangu is much better at warning us when there’s something afoot.”

Jin’s heart sank. Namjoon had a point. The east wing had the most noise coming from it and he was arguably in more danger than he would be. Jjangu was a valuable asset. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to argue.

“But then what about me? I’m never paired up without him! Look at his puppy eyes…”

Namjoon indulged him but wasn’t deterred, “I need him Jin. You have an actual human with you this time.”

“So do you! And Jungkook had muscles! Y/N is built like a damn noodle.”

“Hey!”

Jin snapped his head to look at you, unamused with your interjection.

“Tell me I’m wrong, doll face.”

You glared at him, mirroring his crossed arms, then looked back at Namjoon expectantly. When he said nothing she scoffed.

“I don’t want to go with him if he doesn’t want me there. Just let me go with Taehyung or something-”

“No,” Namjoon interrupted, “Look, you wanted to come along and as much as we enjoy having you around, this is serious business. Things can go very wrong in one of our missions and it’s my call as to what happens. I need you to do as I say. It’s for everyone’s best interest.”

He turned to Jin then, “You know better than to question me. Just do it. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Jin slumped but knew he had a point. He glanced over at you, “I’m sorry. He’s right.”

He gave Jjangu a sad smile and like he had just spoken directly to him, the puppy walked over to Namjoon and sat with a diligent growl. Satisfied, Namjoon looked at his team who split into their otherwise usual groups- Joon and JK, Yoongi and Hope, Jimin and Taehyung- then looked at Jin and yourself.

Reluctantly, Jin walked over and stood by you. How could he have known from the way you filched at his proximity that in a matter of minutes he’d have you bent over a table and his face would be buried in your lower lips?

The answer? He couldn’t have known, but he’d have to thank Namjoon later.

It was silent as you both walked into the hallway that led into the west wing, contrary to the reports of screams and moaning that had brought the extended mystery gang to investigate. In a way, it made it even more creepy. The flickering of the lights that lined the walls made you jump and the cool air seemed to nip at your skin. Why had you worn a skirt to investigate a haunting? What made you think that your orange corduroy skirt and a maroon turtleneck would keep you warm in the near middle of winter in Seoul? Nothing. Nothing had told you this was a good idea, except for that stupid voice in your head that told you that maybe, just maybe, Jin would finally look at you as something more than an annoying girl who clung onto his friend group.

Though judging by his reaction only seconds before, it wasn’t looking good. Namjoon had done you a solid back there after you had confessed to him that you had a massive crush on Jin but it seemed that your attempts and his help were fruitless.

Up ahead, you could see a multitude of doors. As you walked, the wooden floor of the manor creaked and once again you jumped. Jin, having been ignoring your reactions for the last ten minutes, chose this instance to acknowledge your existence.

He sighed, his shoulder slumping as he slowly turned to look at you.

“Are you sure you’re cut out to be scouting, Y/N?”

No. You were not sure you were. You were easily frightened and the occult wasn’t your cup of tea but Namjoon had assured you it wouldn’t be horrible as places like these were usually a hoax but you saw no cameras. No signs of rigs or traps. You saw nothing to suggest a hoax.

“Y-yeah. Totally.”

It was then that another loud creak and a prolonged, pained moan vibrated through the hallway that you and Jin were in. You felt all the blood drain from your face and a shiver of fear ran straight through you like the ghost that was supposed to haunt these rooms.

Jin watched you in shock. Usually, he was every bit as scared as you seemed but something had possessed him and instead of fear, he was filled with worry and determination. He had a job to do and the quicker he cleared your side of the manor, the quicker he could get you out of the house.

“It’s probably nothing,” he assured you, “probably one of the guys trying to freak us out. Come on.”

The firmness in his voice surprised him. It didn’t waver. It was strong. Confident. A shiver went down your back completely unrelated to the coldness of the season.

He took a step over to the first door on his left but when he didn’t hear your booted steps behind him he stopped and looked over his shoulder. You hadn’t moved at all. He let his eyes rake your body but only for a second. And a second was all he needed. The way that your long legs were framed by the slightly too short skirt made his mind run wild with thoughts too unholy to entertain. Why had you worn something so inappropriate for such an occasion? Namjoon’s words came back to him then.

“She likes you.” He had said. Had he been right? Had you maybe worn the deceivingly tight shirt with- were you even wearing a bra? Jesus you mustn’t be with the way that your breasts were outlined so perfectly against the thin fabric of your turtle neck. He shook his head as blood began to collect in an unfavorable place. This wasn’t what you guys were there for.

With exasperation and a little bit of nerves running through his body, he reached out and grabbed your hand pulling you forward.

You stumbled but didn’t fall. His hand in yours made you feel less alone in the slightly darkened house. You could smell the dust in the air and something that smelled like… apples and musk.

Jin hesitated for only a second longer before he wrapped his long fingers around the brass knob. It was cold to the touch. Unlike your hand in his.

The room was dark and the last thing he wanted to do was throw you into the unknown. He felt around for a light switch. Instantly, the hum of machines filled your ears. An unappealing white light filled your field of vision, blinding you slightly.

Briefly, Jin’s hand tightened around yours as he ventured further into the room. As soon as you were in, the door that Jin had opened, slammed shut, hitting your ass and pushing you farther in.

“Ow! What the- did…did that just close on it’s own?” Without thinking, you clung onto Jin’s arm and hid behind his towering figure. Jin felt his stomach drop, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of you clinging to him, or the door.

Decisively, Jin took a step towards the door and tried to open it. Unsurprisingly, it was jammed. His heart sank. He was trapped in a room in a house that was supposedly haunted. This could not be worse. You could have been with Jungkook who had the muscles to protect you, or with Taehyung, who had no fear in the face of danger, or even with Namjoon, who always had a plan, but no… you were stuck with him and he felt guilty.

Would he be able to protect you if something really dangerous happened? Given, these expeditions didn’t usually turn truly dangerous but in the case it did, would he step up? Or would he fall into his old ways and leave you to fend for yourself?

“It must have been a draft or something… and the wood is probably swollen from age… It’s nothing,” he assured, though he wasn’t sure himself.

Jin turned back around to look at the rest of the room. What would Namjoon do? Scope out the room and find another way out. He was met with a larger than normal looking kitchen. The hum from the refrigerator seemed to drone on and on.

There was an oven and a stove. Some carts to wheel food, multiple counters covered in what looked like… fresh fruit?

Curious, Jin took a step forward. A loud crack of what seemed to be a speaker echoed in the room. Fear ran through Jin’s body and instinctively, he jumped behind you. He used your small body as a shield, his front pressed firmly to your back side.

Through the fabric of his pants, you could feel…something, lightly poking you. It was just a hint. The idea of something you hadn’t realized you might be able to have, to evoke in him. It was thrilling to say the least. Confusing at its core.

Oh.. unfortunate choice of words.

And suddenly, you weren’t exactly scared anymore. At least not for the same reason. What had Namjoon said to you earlier? That these places were usually not haunted but set up to seem so. What did you have to fear?

Only one thing. Rejection.

Subtly, you pushed your ass back into what you hoped was the beginning of a hard on. There was a road that led from hate straight to love and lust. If you could push just the right buttons, then maybe, your situation could change.

Jin was panicking. And for once, it wasn’t because he was the only one who thought that the house they were investigating was truly haunted. No, it was for something much less precedent.

You.

As soon as he had felt you shift ever so slightly against him and your round, plush…strong, ass grazed against his excited member he knew. He just knew he was screwed. Well… if he was lucky. Should he push? Should he pry…your legs apart…

Over your shoulder, he chanced an inquisitive glance down. He was met instantly with the curve and slope of your perfect breast. Through the fabric, once again he was forced to notice the peaking of what he imagined to be your nipples.

The outline of something textured was also present. Jin found his fingers twitching from your arms to try and touch it. But he couldn’t. Not without knowing that you wanted him to.

Again, as if you were reading his mind, you pressed your backside into his pelvis. Were you doing it on purpose? It almost felt like it could be an accident. He couldn’t tell.

Carefully, you took a step away from Jin. He let his grip on you fall as you walked with no intent present towards the table covered in food.

He could see a bowl full of something white and very near it what he assumed were strawberries. Perhaps, chocolate sauce. Honey? He wasn’t sure from his vantage point. With legs heavy as bricks, Jin walked closer to the same table. Your back was still to him and he was partially grateful for that since there was something else heavy between his thighs that was making it hard to move.

As he neared you, you listened. His footsteps echoed in the vast kitchen. Intent absent but curiosity present. You didn’t have a plan. Not something tangible. But you had felt it. The hope that blossomed between your back and his pelvis.

So without taking a second to consider what it was that you were doing. You bent yourself nearly in half and dipped a finger in what looked like caramel sauce.  The breeze hit you almost instantly.

Jin watched in shock as your skirt rose up the short amount it could. But what was more of a shock, a surprise, was not that your skirt was pulled up over your ass or the fact that it was being so readily presented to him. No, it was instead the fact that your ass and lower was bare. A thin strip of fabric the same color of your turtle neck ran up your round cheeks, separating them slightly. The same fabric covered your core. A mark of wetness stained it.

As quietly as he could, he slapped his own cheek. Once, then twice, then once more for good measure but still you were bent in half and your skin was on display. For him. It had to be for him.

He watched as you dipped your finger into the runny substance nearest you. You hooked it. A glob of the substance clung to it, then oozed slowly down and back in the bowl. Jin watched, his mouth dry as your pink tongue darted out of your mouth and intercepted the substance.

A thick glob landed on it but you didn’t pull it into your lips. Instead, you let the liquid like substance drip down and onto your chin and progressively back into the bowl. It was a couple of seconds later that you finally pulled your tongue back where it should be and hummed delighted.

“You should taste this caramel Jin,” you said, your voice had lowered an octave and it did things to his now very hard member.

“Sh-,” he cleared his throat, “Shouldn’t you not eat that? I- I mean… it could be poisoned.”

You chuckled. Idiot. Why hadn’t that crossed your mind? Well… honestly if you were gonna die then you guessed deliciously was the best way to go. And with some good cock to be the cherry on top.

“Best poison I’ve ever tasted,” you joked, licking at your chin and your lips. Without hesitation, you dipped the same finger into the whipped cream in the bowl next to the strawberries.

You didn’t mess around. You put your whole finger in your mouth and suck it clean of any and all sugar.

You made a show of it. Tilting your head back and arching your spine in further presentation of your private area. You moaned around your finger.

“You’re crazy,” Jin said from behind you and you deflated slightly, feeling embarrassed. Shouldn’t he have jumped your bones by now? Ravaged you? Shouldn’t he have had some reaction aside from talking about what you were eating? For God’s sake, you were ass up and legs spread to him.

Shouldn’t he… have at least taken a step closer to you?

Slowly, and unsure of what the hell had gotten into you, you began to straighten. How could you have thought that this would work? Jin clearly didn’t like you. Namjoon had lied and whatever you had thought you had felt was all in your head.

But then there was a warm hand on your lower back. Fingers splayed and pushing to keep you arched. Pressed up. Another hand, ever so gently, and delicately, began to run up one of your thighs. It was a feather light touch. If you weren’t so present and sensitive you may not have even felt it. But then he was at your inner thigh, writing hangul into the skin.

“I didn’t say you should stop,” he whispered. His breath was warm on your shoulder. You were frozen. What did you do now?

“Do- would you like to try some?” You asked, almost like a waitress offering a house wine.

Jin didn’t know how to proceed. But he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him up.

“Hand me a strawberry,” he said and you did so quickly.

You picked the first one you saw right off the top and held it up for him. Instead of taking either hand off of you, he learned down and wrapped his plush lips around the tip and sucked the fruit into his mouth.

Red juice oozed out of the corner of his lips. You licked your own as his hand moved up slightly. His palm barely graced your exposed skin.

“Delicious,” he groaned, watching your mouth.

You weren’t even sure what he was talking about but boy did you want to find out.

“Want a taste?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer. Instead, he reached over your head, his hips pressed against the bareness of your butt and his chest touched over your shoulders. The warmth that radiated from his body made goosebumps break out in the places that weren’t touching him.

He plucked a particularly juicy strawberry from the cluster and twirled it in front of your face. Your mouth watered. You waited patiently as he seemed to be admiring the perfectness of the fruit before he dipped it into the whipped cream and brought it to your lips.

“Open,” he breathed by your ear. You let your jaw fall into a perfect ‘O’ as he brought it closer to you. Slowly, almost as if he were the one enjoying the flavor, he placed it on your tongue. You waited for him to speak. To tell you what to do. But when no command came, you closed your mouth and bit down.

A symphony of juices met your taste buds. The fruit was sweet and delectable. Tart but cut with the sugar of the whip.

Jin’s member throbbed in it’s restraints. The pure pleasure that was evident on the part of your face he could see was enchanting. Drops of strawberry juice dripped down his long finger and onto his wrist.

You didn’t wait for him to ask. You licked the delicious juice from his skin. The wet muscle picking up every last drop. Somehow, it tasted better from his hand than it would have from your own. Somehow you knew this.

Jin let out a muffled moan. If your tongue felt that good on his finger, he could only imagine how good it would feel elsewhere. All over him. Jin’s hand suddenly cupped your burning core.  A gush of your own juices flowed out of you at the contact.

“You know,” Jin said as you continued to suck at his fingers greedily, “ these strawberries are delectable but… I have the feeling that they’re nowhere nearly as sweet as you?”

It was a question. He was asking you if he could have a taste. Of you. Of the juices that came from within you. How could you refuse?

Slowly, you nodded your consent. Without skipping a beat, his fingers pressed softly into your mounds and he pulled himself off of you.

You felt him squat behind you. His face now level with your center. You heard him gasp. His hand fell away. You felt self-conscious but you held yourself how you were. The taste of the fruit was still present on your tongue.

“No underwear?”

You swallowed the lump of embarrassment in your throat before you spoke, “No-not really. The shirt had a b-built in set-” A kiss on your thigh stopped your explanation.

Jin looked at your slits with the eyes of hunger. He had never felt more ravenous in his whole life. He had a feeling he could never get his fill.

A glint of silver caught his eye. Clips, where the shirt was held together at your core. With trembling hands, he hooked a finger under it and pulled it away from your skin. Already, his finger was coated in your slick. Excitement coursed through him, but he had to be patient.

He pulled at the clips and they came apart easily. A gust of cool air hit your slick slits and you couldn’t help but moan.

Jin let out an impressed whistle. He licked his thick lips. But first…

“Can you pull your shirt up?” he asked you. He held himself at bay even when your arousal hit his nose. His mouth was watering. Saliva pooled on his tongue.

You did what he asked, pulling the shirt out of the skirt and up over your breasts exposing your completely transparent bralette. From where he was sitting, he could vaguely make out the swell of your breast and the peak of your nipple, as pert and perfect as the strawberry that he had picked up earlier.

Finally satisfied, he shuffled a little closed to your center and took a deep breath. Shiver ran down your legs and your spine. Jin didn’t know where to start. Every angle of you looked delectable. Like a full course meal. Did he start with the potatoes or the beef? Did he skip and go straight for the desert?

He decided that he wanted to better see what was being offered to him. So carefully, he pulled your lower lips apart. Thick strands of slick webbed your labia together. Instantly, like the sauce from earlier, it began to drip from the quantity and weight of it.

Jin’s eyes widened. More was dripping out of your entrance, like a fountain. Still he held back, feeling the need to check on you one last time and ask for a final favor before he began his meal.

“If it’s okay with you, I don’t like to eat alone. I would like it if you ate with me.”

You weren’t sure exactly what he meant. But you were eager to please. So you nodded and did the only logical thing you could think of. You picked up another one of the strawberries and held it up for him to see. When you felt him pat your leg in confirmation, you put the fruit in your mouth.

Jin, feeling like he finally had the go ahead, leaned in. His mouth hung open, his tongue poking over his bottom lip. He shut his eyes, intent on enjoying what was sure to be his favorite new meal.

His tongue lightly but not limply slotted between your slits and you felt your whole body convulse. You choked on the fruit in your mouth. You coughed and sputtered but Jin didn’t feel phased.

The very tip of his tongue was grazing your clit. It was torturous. The lack of movement. You wanted more. You need him to give you more.

Then as if he had heard your thoughts, hit wet muscles suddenly moved up to your hole. It prodded at it before he suctioned his lips to the circumference and drank your essence.

You moaned through another mouthful of strawberry. It made a wave of pleasure run over Jin’s body. He groaned into your body. Sucking and pushing his tongue into your core. He fucked it into your heat as deep as he could make it go.

You sucked at the strawberry in your hand, scared to take another bite but too into what he asked to stop all together.

“Fuck, Jin I-”

He pulled away with a wet pop of his lips. You could hear him smack his lips, then he sighed happily.

“Don’t tempt me with that mouth Jagiya,” you said pressing a kiss to your pulsing clit. You shivered as he rubbed his lips over it. Shock after shock of elation ran into your stomach. You were close. You were so close. The cold of the room and the heat of your arousal contrasted so well. A heap of sensations that you didn’t realize you liked all added up to something that made your legs weak at the knees.

Maybe it was because Jin was the one between your legs. You weren’t sure.

He began to kitten lick at your bud. Your knees began to cave but you held yourself up with your arms. It was too good. Too much.

“Jin, please I’m going to…ah.. I’m gonna-”

But he didn’t answer. He only continued his ministrations. Licking harder, slower. Moaning against your bundle of nerves. With every hard lick came a wave of heat that coiled into what you knew would be a hard orgasm.

“Don’t stop… please,” you begged. And he didn’t. Delicious. His tongue was the definition of heaven and all things good.

He let go of your lower lips and held your thighs up to his mouth. You were on the edge. Your blood pulsed at the speed of light between your legs. Then, the coil snapped and you saw white. Your body pulsed, your mouth dropped and your whole body tensed.

You moaned Jin’s name not thinking about your volume. Not caring either. He kept going, not caring that you seemed done.

You were too delicious. Too sweet to let go. Like honey or butter scotch. God, he could eat you out all night long. He could live happily between your legs. He wanted to. He would love to be attached to you this way. God what a wonderful gift to be able to taste you like he was doing that instant. He let up on your clit but had no intentions of pulling away. He drank up your cum like it was the first sip of water he had ever had. Your entrance clenched as he dipped his tongue in and moaned and groaned and ate like the king he was.

Gluttony was a sin. But he’d be damned to give this up.

Suddenly, you both heard footsteps from outside the door. Jin froze, his lips again stuck to your entrance. Your body was weak and overstimulated. Neither of you dared to make any noise.

The familiar voices of the guys could be heard but they were muffled through the wall. You expected Jin to pull away from you but were surprised when he went right back to his suckling.

“Jin, “ you whined, pulling yourself away, but he followed, slurping noisily and moaning against you.

“Seokjin,” you said again, hoping he would stop but it was like he was deaf.

“I’m sure they came this way,” you heard what you thought was the voice of Hoseok from outside.

“It was a bad idea to give them this section,” a voice that sounded a lot like Jimin said, “If I remember correctly, I think  the kitchen is right over here.”

Again, Jin moaned from between your legs. A new orgasm was begging to build at your core. Coming much faster and stronger. You bit your lip to try and keep your gasps of pleasure at bay.

He reached up with a single finger and began to rub tight circles on your clit. You couldn’t help the scream that escaped you.

The footsteps outside the room stopped. You could almost hear the confusion and fear from the other side.

“Did you hear that,” What sounded like Jungkook asked.

“Y-yeah,” someone else, possibly Taehyung answered.

“Did that sound like-”

“That sounded like-”

And then Jjangu barked at the door and you knew. You just knew that you were screwed.

Then it hit you. An orgasm so strong it felt like an explosion. Like Dynamite. You moaned loudly, not being able to stop. The barking got louder and there were knocks at the door. Screams of your name and Jin’s but, he was much faster than you anticipated. He pulled his mouth from your core and flipped your around. He connected his messy lips with yours and pulled your shirt over your perfect chest.

When the door opened, he didn’t stop. His body covered yours. And you didn’t see their reaction but it must have been priceless because all you heard were shocked gasps from your group of friends, then the slam of a door.

You guessed Namjoon was right.

Master list

[khaosgaming22]

Expunged Part II

Drifter hefted his coat up over his shoulders as he fired up his ship from The Derelict where he transmatted Guardians in for his Gambit. It was tattered and scratched from the last time he wore it. On that cold, desolate hellhole planet with the shadows that snuffed out his crew's light. As for the rest of them well... only one came back to tell the tale. He activated the communications. "How you doin down there Moondust?"

"I've told you numerous times to refrain from using that nickname of yours Germaine." She said back through the crackled radio. The icy moon had a blisteringly cold atmosphere and an almost perpetual cycle of snowstorms.

"Any idea where this friend of ours might be hidin?" He asked and the ship jettisoned from its hangar toward Europa.

"We don't even know who sent the signal let alone what it is. They simply said that they mean to show us something." Eris says stumbling over a pile of snow laden with orange streaks encased in the ice.

"Okay well meet me in this clearing. Storm's too heavy where you are for me to land." He clicked on autopilot and sat back in his chair maneuvering his jade coin around in his hand then setting it ablaze. The ship sat down eventually and Eris walked up to it having crossed the field of ice and snow. She removed her shawl from around her mouth and watched as Drifter got out and stepped onto the moon. He was not two steps on that they heard a low hum coming from the north. They looked and saw a sparrow rounding a glaicer in the distance and speeding towards them. The sparrow disintegrated and the stranger jumped off. Drifter put a hand on his revolver. He turned to her.

"So. You must be this stranger we've been hearin about, the one who sent that signal." The stranger nodded and they saw what she was. Metallic.

"You're an Exo." Eris notes out loud. The stranger nods but does not speak. She walks past them and looks off at the distance.

"Good spot to land." Her voice sounds English with the reverb that always comes with Exos. Drifter and Eris look out at the horizon. A pyramid ship wedged into the surface like a chisel. This is what I brought you here to see."

~

Kenneth and Drake flew to Europa immediately after hearing of what they found. Ken got the signal from the Drifter and Drake from Eris, they knew full well the danger of the situation, Europa was not Vanguard approved, still they piled into Ken's ship

"This ship is a dump. What happened to your old one?" Drake asked looking around at the interior. It wasn't as cozy as Ken's usual one. No Golden Age relics.

"You think I'm gonna fly my good one in this far out? And risk never getting it back? Hell no I took the junker." Drake sighed and sat down in the cockpit next to him after swiping off the dust.

"Are you certain that this flying scrap is going to survive Europa?" He asked and looked out the window as they ascended off Earth and jolted into lightspeed. Ken was hesitant.

"Do you want the nice lie or the cold hard truth that you probably shouldn't even pick it's really not worth-"

"Kenneth."

"....maybe." Drake got up from the chair and grumbled to himself.

"I'm going to walk around." He said halfheartedly and exited the cockpit to find another hopefully not-too-disgusting place to sit and think. He found a broom and began to brush off a place for himself to sit and meditate on the last time he had gone out this far. Eve buzzed around him, she could tell something was troubling her Guardian but ever since his encounter with his father she had been quiet. He thought about calling Torra but he didn't want her to worry anymore.

Drake still felt ashamed for the events of that day. It was idiotic to think he could take on his father alone. He didn't want to involve anyone else because he didn't want anyone else to fix what he thought was his mess. It wasn't his mess. It was his father's, but none of that mattered now and not just others, but his own lover got hurt. When he woke up he saw Torra over him, he remembered the tears down her face. She had taken her hood off to try to get through to him, a fruitless attempt. As he contemplated what had happened he heard the door open and Eve quickly returned to her bag.

"We're here." Ken announced. His gear had changed drastically from his Last City garb. His hood was white as snow with a glow from his Solar Light running through it, he had a thermal mask over his face along with a wolf insignia on his chest piece. His arms had armoring around them and his boots were gray with pipes running through them. Probably some sort of heating system, it looked appropriate for the surroundings but jerry rigged together in classic Ken fashion.

"I was wondering when you would change." Drake said standing up from his spot on the floor. "You were gonna freeze to death in...whatever you had on before."

"For your information I got that from The Nine. But yeah no that ain't gonna stand up to the temperature of this place." He said fiddling with his Hunter knife.

"Right. Well then we should get going now." Drake looked around the ship then turned to Ken. "Where exactly is the exit?"

"Right there." Ken pointed with his knife to a small round hatch that looked about the size of a trash can.

"...on second thought, transmat me out Eve."

Eve did so and Drake was dropped into the white powder below as the ship flew off to find a suitable landing zone. He looked around through his hood and got hir bearings before summoning his sparrow and sidearm. The wind howled around him and he had to use thermals and the location point to guide him through the terrain, but eventually he came to where an glaicer collided with another creating a flat field of ice where he saw both the ship and where the signal came from.

Drake took his sparrow up over the cliff and onto the ice meeting up with Ken and speeding off toward the camp that was set up against the glaicer. The storm was not as bad here as the cliff blocked the bad weather so he could make out three figures. Eris was sitting by the fire, Drifter was standing and fiddling with a radio and another hooded Exo that Drake had never seen before was leaned up against the tent. She had a pulse rifle slung across her back.

"'Sup Drift? How's it goin." Ken asked and got off his sparrow. Drifter waved to him not moving from his place by the fire. Drake understood why, whoever this hooded stranger was was an Exo, with no feeling for the blistering cold, Eris was Awoken and Drifter was human.

"Aside from the storms that come up over the ridge every now and then, not too bad." Drifter answered and took a swig of something in his canteen, Eris said otherwise.

"We have much to talk about." She said gravely and the stranger walked forward to greet the Hunter and Warlock.

"Greetings." She said in a metallic voice. Ken recognized it was modeled after a posh British accent and along with her frame she would be eye candy for any interested Guardian. "My name is Elsie Bray and like Eris said, we have a lot to explain."

~

The pyramid ship, Elsie's origin and why they were here already were heavy subjects, but then she told them why they needed them here so urgently. Drake was astonished at all of it. He had studied the records left on Mars' Braytech facility before The Eclipse, Elsie was Ana's sister but not from their timeline. Instead she somehow was able to move through the Vex Network using her weapon as an anchor point. Fascinating. He would have numerous questions for Elsie, but those would have to wait.

"You have an Exo friend yes? He's a Titan." The two thirds of a strike team nodded. "He is here. But... he is lost to something. He's gone on a rampage destroying everything in his path in blind rage." This concerned Ken greatly. Drake couldn't believe it.

"No. No those days are over, Chao reset himself he is a different person now there's no way-" Ken put his hand on his shoulder and pointed to the ebony pyramid looming behind them. Drake lowered his head and stood up. "Where is he now?"

"He is almost here, but I know how we can help him. He's an Exo, we can use my bastard father's laboratory to reset him again and hopefully that will calm him down. Ken shook his head.

"No. Nu uh no way absolutely not, we are not resetting our friend he will lose everything he knows about us. We'll break his corruption just like we did Drake." Elsie nodded but did not look as sure of herself.

"Come with me, he's just up the glaicer. The storm will have moved on by now."

~

The three of them took their sparrows up to where an old communications satellite dish laid in ruin from both the weather and their corrupt Titan friend. Ken pulled up his hood that had blown off from the ride up and took out his handcannon from its holster. Drake readied his sidearm and Elsie followed suit with her weapon while they braced themselves. They could hear the crushing of metal coming from the radio tower and soon it would no longer hold, fallong over onto the outpost with a crash. On top of the building was a Titan in armor that was black as soot and looked like a knight. His armor had changed. He was breathing heavily.

The Titan turned his head and saw the three of them, then he did something that Drake nor Ken had ever seen. His chest exploded and his fist became encased in ice, he ran off the building jumping up and slamming it into the ground. Drake was so baffled at this that he had to be woken up by a shout from Ken.

"Drake get your head in the game man! We gotta take him down!" Ken shot rounds of his Sacramento at Chao but he slammed the ground and more ice shot up and the shots hit it instead. Then the Titan slid into them and they shattered into shards that exploded out and at Ken and Drake. This was not normal ice, it was sharp and tough as a rock crystal and it embedded itself into Ken's leg. He yelped out in pain.

"Agh- Son of a bitch that hurt! Drake! Don't let them hit you!" Drake ran over to Ken and put his healing rift down but it would only do so much and the Titan was not stopping to let the Hunter go through rehab. Chao slid into Drake and landed a punch knocking him off his feet and over Ken as he clutched his chest in pain. Elsie helps Drake up.

"I've called for Drifter and Eris, they'll be here shortly. Kenneth! Can you keep him busy?" Ken dodged out of the way of one of Chao's attacks and pulled out the shard with another scream.

"Yeah I can keep him busy but where the hell are you going?!" Elsie summoned her sparrow once she heard Drifter and Eris coming up the ridge.

"The Drifter and Eris are coming to help! I'm taking Drake somewhere where we can even the odds! We'll be back soon!" With that she and Drake sped off.

------------------------------------------

And here it is everyone! Part 2 of Chao's story here on Europa. I know this is like 2 seasons late and we're almost to Splicers (which looks really cool btw definitely look out for stuff around this new season) Hunt was the worst season for me and the burnout hit quick, I played enough of Chosen to hear all the voice lines of my favorite blonde mechanic during Battlegrounds and took down Caital's champ in the tank. Long rambling short: It's almost summer and I'm ready to write more stuff as the longest and hardest school year finally starts to wind on down. And as always I hope you enjoy! (Art was done by the Magnificent @scout-fang check out her stuff if you haven't but you probably have already lol)

[tsarisfanfiction]

Melt VI

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Kayo Kyrano, Virgil Tracy, John Tracy, Brains, Grandma Tracy, Scott Tracy

Part 6 of my entry for @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: Smell. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

I give up.  This fic wants to do its own thing and I am simply the helpless scribe.

A soft hand on her arm alerted Kayo to the fact she was trembling.  Not from cold or fear, but anger.  She knew Brains, trusted his genius; their Pods were all well-tested and reliable. John said something was afoot, and she fully agreed.

If Grandma hadn’t put her foot down and firmly request she stay and keep her company, she would have been on the mountain by now.  John hadn’t been able to find any sign that anyone else had been there, but there was only so much a space station could do, even if that space station was Thunderbird Five.  Some detailed scans of the area using her own hand-held scanner, and they’d find something.  What that something would be, Kayo didn’t yet know, but it would be something and they’d have a trail.

Someone had tried to kill her brothers.  Of that, Kayo had no doubt at all.  The question was who, and how?

She rested her hand over Grandma’s, and waited.  They hadn’t been able to see Scott before he’d been taken in for surgery, despite John’s guidance through the corridors, but Grandma insisted that she wait for him to come back out before ‘haring off’ on her investigations.  Despite her fury that anyone would dare attempt anything like this, the little sister in her wanted to see him for herself, and she’d agreed.

From what she’d gathered from John, Virgil was in no hurry to rendezvous with her, anyway, and Thunderbird Shadow was both faster and closer.  She had plenty of time to sit with the elderly woman who had lost so much but refused to give up yet, and wait.

Hospitals were unpleasant places, full of the sick and dying.  It tore at her every time one of her brothers ended up in one – this was not the first time, and nor would it be the last.  The sterile stench of antiseptics couldn’t quite disguise the prevailing illness of the place.  It was almost certainly her imagination, but she could even pick up the congealing scent of burnt flesh, taunting her with the knowledge of what had happened to her brother.

Kayo wasn’t naïve. With her estranged half-uncle and many years investigating the underbelly of the world, she had seen many things that a woman of her age could barely imagine.  She’d seen men and women with horrific scarring, with stories of fire to go along with them.  If it was so bad that Scott needed surgery – and he did, was in there right now – all the money in the world wouldn’t stop this incident from adding another collection of scars to his skin.

A nurse approached them, informing them that Scott was out of surgery, and despite her clear intention of keeping them away from him for a while longer, there was no arguing with Doctor Sally Tracy.  Kayo slipped into the room on the heels of the diminutive yet formidable lady.  It was a private room; the boys might dislike using their money for privileges but this was something instilled in them by her father long ago.  It was easier to maintain security that way.

Scott was still asleep, too soon out of surgery to have shaken off the anaesthetic, but that made it easier.  If he was awake he’d be arguing, refusing to let her go back to the mountain and throwing an absolute fit over Virgil also going back.  In an induced sleep, there were no nightmares plaguing him, and the ever-present frown that seemed to be settling as his permanent expression these days was gone.

She ran her fingers through his hair, gel stubbornly clinging in there but losing its battle to keep his preferred hairstyle intact after the day it’d had.  If not for the bandages on both his fingers, she might have held his hand, but that wasn’t possible and besides, she had places to be. This visit was a quick one of simple reassurance for her; he was alive.  A more sentimental, emotional, visit could wait until she’d got to the bottom of what had happened.

“I’ll be back,” she promised.  She met Grandma’s eyes, got a nod, and left.

“Virgil’s fifteen minutes out,” John told her the moment she left the hospital, appearing above her wrist uninvited.  He didn’t ask redundant questions – how is he, how did the surgery go?  Like her, John had one priority – find out what happened, and make sure it wouldn’t happen again.  He probably already knew the answers to those questions, anyway. Kayo had long since accepted that the combination of Thunderbird Five and John Tracy was enough to terrorise anyone who knew the full extent of their reach, and that was before EOS entered the equation.

She didn’t know how much John saw, but she trusted that he saw enough, and that he ensured she knew everything she needed to.

Closer and faster, she got to the mountain first.

“Don’t land or leave Thunderbird Shadow until Virgil arrives,” John told her firmly.  Even if she didn’t know the Tracy’s personal history with avalanches, Kayo would have been wary.  As it was, she appreciated that their already fierce protectiveness was ramped up to the extreme in this environment and additional situation. She could handle this herself, but out of respect to a family that had never fully healed, she didn’t.

Instead, she had Thunderbird Shadow lazily circle the peak, keeping far enough away that her engines wouldn’t trigger another avalanche, and set the scanners going.  Immediately a signal jumped out at her, Thunderbird Shadow locating her buried sister.  That was where Scott and Gordon had been found; presumably, that was also where they and the HeliPod remains had landed.

She spiralled down lower, until she could see disturbed snow with her naked eye.  Tell-tale signs of something heavy on otherwise loose snow told her where Virgil had landed to retrieve them, with the hole he had melted leading down towards Thunderbird One’s signal.

Her brothers had been buried there.  She tightened her grip on the yoke.

“Thunderbird Shadow, I’m on final approach now,” Virgil said, his hologram appearing above her console. He looked tense, and she remembered John mentioning the family bear being unhappy with the return mission. That didn’t seem to have been an overstatement – in fact, from the look on his face it was almost certainly an understatement.

“F.A.B., Thunderbird Two,” she responded, turning her ship around to see the green craft appearing on the horizon.

“What’s our plan?” he asked her.  His voice was clipped; no, Virgil was not happy.

“I’ve already done a fly-by of the mountain.  No signs of anyone except our climbers,” she reported, scowling at the peak.  There had to be something.  There was no way Brains’ well-used invention would have exploded like that otherwise.  “I’ll keep looking, unless you need a hand with Thunderbird One?”

“Keep looking; I’ve got MAX with me for extra hands,” Virgil grunted.  “Brains also wants him to retrieve or at least scan the remains of the HeliPod once we’ve got Thunderbird One secure.”  Kayo rather suspected that Brains’ priority was less the Thunderbird and more the HeliPod, but said nothing.  There was a time and a place to poke an angry bear with a stick.  This was neither.  As long as they got all the information they needed, the order in which they gathered it probably wouldn’t matter.

“F.A.B., Virgil,” she said instead.  “I’ll leave Thunderbird Shadow hovering and-”

“No,” he interrupted. “Stay in that cockpit.”  The glare she got through the hologram told her that if she even tried to leave Thunderbird Shadow, she’d find herself plucked out of the air by a grappling cable.

She’d forgotten just how touchy Virgil could be when Scott was hospitalised.  Their brother’s hospitalisation, combined with their current location, had him entirely on edge.  If it was Scott, she’d have argued.  John could be dealt with via a ‘communications blackout’, while Gordon and Alan were straight-up ignorable as long as it wasn’t their speciality environments.

When Virgil was in this mood, it was best to just obey him no matter how much her instincts screamed that she’d get better information if she went EVA.

If push came to shove, she could always come back again later.

As it turned out, push did not come to shove.

Her circling remained fruitless all the while Virgil and MAX worked together to extract a battered Thunderbird One from the snow – it was a good thing Scott wasn’t there to see the damage the avalanche had inflicted on his precious ‘bird.  The side facing the downslope was near enough intact, but from the sky it was painfully obvious that the perfectly cylindrical shape of the main fuselage was no longer perfectly cylindrical.  The right wing was crooked and clearly wouldn’t be retracting into its sheath any time soon, and the side of the hull looked like it had been punched repeatedly by a giant.

There was a painful symmetry in how both the right side of Scott’s body and the right side of his bird were injured.  Kayo immediately decided not to dwell on that and watched from a hovering position higher up the mountain as the silver Thunderbird was hauled clear of the snow by her big green sister.

“MAX is scanning now,” Virgil told her after a moment.  “Is something wrong?  You’ve been hovering in the same place for a few minutes.”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” she assured him.  “Just-” An unwelcome thought struck her.  “Virgil, where were the climbers trapped?”

“You’re hovering right there,” he told her, and the unwelcome thought spread wings.

She was hovering here because it gave her a good view of the mountainside and the crash site.

Neither she nor John had found any evidence of anyone else anywhere near the mountain.

“Virgil, where did you drop off the climbers?”

“The hospital,” he shrugged. “Didn’t have a chance to check them over myself, and we were going there any- Kayo?”

Dammit.

She gunned the full throttle.

“Kayo?”  John had joined in again, and she caught a glimpse of Alan behind him.  When had John gone home?  “What’s going on?”

“Brains, once MAX is done scanning the HeliPod, have him scan the mountain immediately below where the climbers were rescued,” she ordered.

“W-What?  W-Why?”

“Think about it!  We’re not showing up evidence of anyone else, and the climbers could see everything in the valley from where they were,” she pointed out agitatedly.  “We were so busy looking for something else-”

“We forgot about the climbers,” Virgil finished, his face a dawning horror.

“Put me through to Grandma,” she told John.

“Already done,” he said, as the older woman appeared over her console.

“Dear, what’s going on?”

“Don’t leave Scott’s side, and don’t let anyone you don’t recognise in,” she said quickly, pushing her ‘bird to go faster.  Someone had tried to kill Scott and Gordon, and if she was right that same someone was in the hospital with a now unconscious Scott, whose only protection was his grandmother.  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You think they’ll try to finish the job?” Alan asked her, his voice small.  She’d forgotten he was with John.

“I’m not taking chances,” she replied grimly.  No point sugar-coating things at this point.  “John, my ETA’s two minutes; what’s EOS got from the security cameras?”

“Nothing yet,” he said, equally grim.  “But we’ll keep looking.”

“Let me know what you get,” she replied.  “Brains, what’s MAX found?”

“MAX is still w-working on the scans of t-the HeliPod,” he said somewhat apologetically.

“I’ve got Thunderbird Two scanning,” Virgil interjected.  If she’d thought he was angry earlier, now he was downright thunderous, not that she could blame him.  “You’re right, Kayo.  There’s something here that doesn’t look like it should be.”

He didn’t share the scan results with her, but John and Brains simultaneously let out noises that could almost be hisses.

“That’d do it, alright,” John muttered darkly.  “This whole mission was a trap.”

The hospital loomed in front of Kayo and she grit her teeth.

You should never have left Scott and Grandma alone in an unsecure hospital.  That was a rookie mistake, Tanusha Kyrano.

She just hoped it wasn’t a mistake that would cost a life.

Part 7

[phoneboxfairy]

Working Up a Sweat (The Gym Fic!) (smut alert)

Ao3 link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405093 (Includes all proper formatting/italics/etc)  Commission for @a-god-of-calamity :)   Magnolia, Fiore, a fair sized city boasting sixty thousand residents, and home to a few notable families. Perhaps the most notable is the Dragneel clan. Unlike other families the Dragneels are not old money. Rather, Igneel, the family patriarch often referred to as The Dragon King, earned their wealth and notability slowly but surely, starting with the purchase of a single hotel a few years before the birth of his son. By the time the son, Natsu, was in middle school that single hotel had transformed into an empire. A second hotel was dedicated in providing luxury accommodations for travelers who otherwise might not have been able to afford it. Eventually the empire grew to include include shelters for families in need and the Dragneel Fund, which provides support to those who need it. But even Igneel the Dragon King cannot live forever, so making sure his heir would be ready to take over became a priority starting right around the same time Natsu entered high school. He made sure the boy had extra lessons on proper business management as well as plenty of first hand experience helping in various positions within the organization. By the time Natsu was twenty five he knew that company like the back of his own hand.  Even the old man was frequently heard praising his son’s skills. But lately...lately it all seemed like it was a bit too much. As much as he loved his family and the company, he desperately sought some sort of an outlet. Natsu tried to work out at his private gym, knowing full well how working out can relieve so much pent-up stress. But his efforts here were fruitless. When he was at home he couldn’t help thinking about work, about the company that led to his family’s wealth. Good thing Magnolia has some pretty awesome gyms. The newest one in town was called Fairy Tail, and already had a reputation for its facilities, classes, and top-of-the-line equipment. One afternoon after a stressful meeting, Natsu made a detour from his usual path home, instead ending up in the gym. He paid for a membership and made his way to the locker room. That’s where he first saw her. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of what he immediately described as a smoking hot blonde.  She’s curvy but clearly works out, he thought, judging by the way her sweatpants and tank top hugged her form. Her hair was tied up in a sloppy ponytail, and she had this fierce determined look on her face. What a babe. Wow. He shook his head to clear his mind, turned around… ...and walked right into a locked door. Thwack It didn’t go unnoticed. A few people snickered. But otherwise nobody really seemed to care about Natsu’s silly blunder. He dusted himself off then headed in the direction of the weight room...this time paying attention to where he was walking. As soon as he got to his destination he got right to work pumping iron. For a while that’s all he could think about. Then a voice caught his attention. "Are you alright?" "Hnh?" He looked up and saw her, the babe from earlier. Oh shit, better play it cool. "I...saw you run into that door. I would have stopped but I was running late for my class. I didn’t want my students to miss any yoga time." She was blushing. The rosy tint to her cheek made her look even prettier. "Ohh. That's nothin'. I'm fine. Thanks for asking!" He flashed a smile. Her blush deepened. "You're welcome." Pause. She bit her lip. "I'm Lucy, by the way. Lucy Heartfilia." "Nice to meet ya, Lucy." He recognized the name. She was the heir to the Heartfilia travel company, a group that sent quite a few customers to Dragneel hotels.  Rumor had it she had spent part of her inheritance buying a small bookshop and turning it into what locals referred to as paradise for bookworms. She was also every bit as beautiful as he had heard. "Likewise. You're Natsu Dragneel, right?" "Yeah, that's me. How'd you know?" "I saw your family crest on your hoodie. And I, um, recognized you from the paper." Those publicity pictures don't do him justice at ALL, she thought. To say nothing of how utterly hypnotic it was watching him do dumbbell curls. "Wow, you're beautiful and smart. I like that." “Thanks.” Her smile lit up her face. “So, what brings you to Fairy Tail? Don’t you have a private gym in your mansion?” “Yeah but sometimes you just need to get away, ya know? Escape from everyday life.” “I definitely get that. I should go, though. It’s been a long day and I’m supposed to meet my friends for dinner.” She handed him a folded up scrap of paper, blush setting her cheeks ablaze. “Call me if you want. Or, you know, if you have time.” “A cutie like you? I’ll make time.” A smile that exposed a fang and made Lucy’s heart flutter. “Al...alright! See you later, Natsu.” With that she left, leaving Natsu feeling pretty good about the whole situation. It wasn’t every day you had a meet cute with an absolute babe like Lucy, after all. With her on his mind, he couldn’t help smiling. That first night they shared a few texts. He wasn’t really surprised she didn’t talk much. After all, she did say she was meeting with friends. No way was he going to monopolize her free time like that. He also wasn’t surprised when they met up again a few days later after their respective workouts and immediately began flirting. Natsu was, however, quite surprised when Lucy asked him out. “Do you, um, want to go out sometime?” “Like a date?” Flustered nod. “Sounds good to me. I know! I can take you to dinner Saturday night.” Lucy paused and seemed to contemplate this for a minute. Then she smiled. “I like that idea. If you want I can show you around my bookstore first...” The light in her eyes suggested she wanted to, so why was she acting so shy about it? Well, Natsu wasn’t about to make a beautiful woman feel bad about something she was so clearly passionate about… “Sure!” Another one of his bright smiles. “Text me your address and let me know when you wanna meet up. Don’t keep me waitin’, alright?” Mock sternness. She saw right through his ruse, giggled,  melted his heart. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Dragneel.” Lucy leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Natsu’s eyes widened. He sure as hell hadn’t expected that, not so soon anyway. “Is that a hint of things to come?” “Only if you’re good.” Her response left him speechless, eyes wide as he stared at her in admiration of her boldness. She treated him to another cheek kiss, giggled. “See you Saturday night.” With that the pair went their separate ways, both contemplating their upcoming date. Truth be told it was quite an exciting prospect. Neither one were exactly unlucky in love, but all previous relationships seemed to be lacking...something.  Natsu was fed up with women trying to hook up with him in an attempt to score some of the family fortune, and Lucy had had more than enough of men seeing her as nothing more than a smoking hot body and a prolific bank account. Their meeting had been quite fortuitous. Lucy didn’t care how wealthy Natsu was, as she had money of her own. And sure, Natsu thought Lucy was a total babe, but he was also quite enamored with her personality, her sense of humor, and the way her smile made her entire being light up. Sexual attraction was there, sure, but with it was also the possibility of something more, something sweet, something lasting… Natsu sure hoped so, anyway. With these thoughts in his mind, the heir to the Dragneel Fund spent his Saturday morning preparing for this date. Lucy spent hers minding her shop for a bit, although she did close early to make sure she was adequately dolled up for her suitor. “Adequately” was an understatement. She thought she looked beautiful, a perfect mix of relaxed and classy in a black uneven tank top, matching skirt, a white overshirt, cut out leggings, and black boots. Her long hair was tied into two side ponytails, and a light dusting of makeup accented her face. By the awe-struck smile on Natsu’s face when she opened the door, he was pretty impressed too. “Hey, Lucy! Looking good. I feel kinda underdressed.” A gesture at his black dress shirt and jeans. “Don’t feel that way. You look great, Natsu.” Cute blush, beautiful smile. “Come on in. I’ll show you around.” The Celestial Gate was a shop like none he had ever experienced. It had that old book smell that reminded him of his father’s study growing up. Lots of shelves were lined with an endless quantity of books. There was even a cozy little reading area with couches, beanbag chairs, and tables to set snacks on. Now, Natsu didn’t exactly visit a lot of bookstores, preferring to order any needed reading materials online, but somehow he found Lucy’s shop every bit as appealing as its owner.   “I have an idea.” “Hm?” Lucy would never admit it but she had been glancing at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking.“Why don’t we stay here? We can order something to eat and get to know each other.” That look on her face seemed to be a mix of surprise and relief. He suspected, given their similar backgrounds, that she too had had more than her fair share of glitzy, ritzy dates. Here’s the thing about glitzy, ritzy dates: You can’t properly get to know someone on them. Not really. “I’d love that.” “Awesome. Hungry for anything special?” “This is gonna sound weird but...pizza!” She giggled. Natsu grinned. He didn’t think that was weird at all. That’s how Natsu Dragneel and Lucy Heartfilia came to spend their first date sitting together in an oversized beanbag chair she called a fuf, eating pizza and talking about their life experiences. Once the food had been put away he laid back, stretching his arms behind his head. She quirked her head, bit her lip. “Can we cuddle? Is that okay?” “Duh. Go ahead.” A gesture and a smile beckoned her closer. She paused for a moment, smiled, then snuggled next to him. As if on instinct he curled his arms around her. Why not? It felt right to hold her close like this, although he couldn’t explain why. His fingers dared to stroke over the bare skin of her midriff. She didn’t object. In fact, she snuggled closer and let out a content sigh. “So warm...I like this...” “Me too.” He chuckled. He lifted his other hand to her cheek, let his thumb brush over her chin. She gazed up at him, eyes full of curiosity and wonder...with maybe a little anticipation thrown in. She nibbled her bottom lip. His heart melted. So cute, so absolutely beautiful. She looked like she needed a little tenderness, and honestly he was glad to give that to her. That decided, he leaned in, took her by surprise, kissed her. No resistance. That kiss was sweet...but entirely too fast. “Natsu?” “Yeah, Luce?”Luce...I like that... “Kiss me again?”“Alright...” Another softer chuckle. Another kiss, then another. She seemed to melt into his arms, and almost all her inhibitions floated away.Almost.As good as it felt to make out with her, to feel her body against his, Natsu couldn’t help noticing a little hesitation. And undeniable chemistry or not, he wasn’t the type to force someone into something they weren’t comfortable with yet. Especially not Lucy. So he pulled away from the kiss, rested his forehead on hers. Smiled.“That was nice...” “Yeah… we should do it again sometime.” “Definitely.” Here she kissed his cheek. “Thanks for an amazing first date.” “First, huh? That means there’ll be more, right?” “Duh.” She giggled. Natsu waited for Lucy to lock the shop up, then walked with her to her apartment door. They shared a tender kiss with a promise for more, and he watched to make sure she made it inside safely. Then he went home, unable to keep himself from smiling. Maybe an hour passed since Natsu had kissed Lucy goodnight and headed home. He had enough time to hop in the shower, change into comfy pajama pants, and flop on his bed and turn the TV on when his phone buzzed. A message...from Lucy? And a photo at that? It wasn’t exactly a surprise. After all, they had sent each other silly selfies before. So he opened the message, opened the photo file… ...and was treated to an absolutely stunning vision.  There was Lucy in a rather racy lingerie set. Black silk and lace. A pushup bra and a low-rise thong, accompanied by a cheeky message. “New set...you like?” Oh yeah, he liked, alright.He sent back a single word.“Wow.” She didn’t reply right away. That’s when he realized something was, well, amiss. His suspicion was confirmed when her response came through.“Oh my GOD wrong convo. I meant to send that to my bffs. Sorry sorry sorry!” She was mortified. Aw, poor girl... Natsu got an idea.“It’s fine. I like seeing that side of you. Let’s make it even, though.” “...you like it? And what do you mean, make it even?”He leaned back on his bed, grinned, snapped a pic, and sent it to her. “Fair’s fair ;)” At first he wondered if he scared her off, since she didn’t respond. When she did..she was clearly impressed. “Well...that explains why you always wear baggy pants ;)” One message made him blush. How could she be so adorable and sexy all at once? “Duh. ;) Just know you can always be yourself with me, sexy-as-hell selfies and all.” “Thanks, Natsu. I should go to sleep, tho. I can barely keep my eyes open. Talk tomorrow, k?”“Of course. Night, Luce. Sweet dreams.”A kiss emoji was her last message of the night. From that point on, things seemed to change between the two. To be clear it wasn’t a bad change. In fact, Natsu thought it was an improvement. Lucy was becoming more open and flirty with him, whether they were on a date, in the gym, or texting at the end of a long day. They had known each other for a little over a month, and had gotten into a routine. Chat and flirt at the gym on the days Lucy taught her class, go on dates every Saturday. Then Lucy caught Natsu by surprise by sending him spicy little snapshots every night accompanied by the same three word message: “Just for you… * kiss*”   The first night she was wearing an outfit that reminded him of a librarian...well, except for the way her top was unbuttoned to reveal a flash of black lace bra and the curve of her breasts. On another night she was laying down in a silky nightgown that accented her form perfectly.One night he was treated to the sight of his gorgeous girlfriend’s body barely wrapped in a towel, offering him a teasing glimpse of generous underboob and soft freshly washed skin, skin he wanted to kiss and touch more with each passing day. Late Thursday night, she surprised him yet again with a text. “Rough day?” “Yeah. Ugh. Board meetings suck.” “I feel that. Here. Maybe this’ll make you feel better...” Accompanied by a rather large download file. Curious, he clicked it...then realized it wasn’t one pic, but several. The folder was titled “Yoga Fun.” Yeah, he liked the sound of that. There was Lucy in a tight tank top and shorts that hugged that beautiful ass of hers, doing a variety of sexy yoga poses that succeeded in taking his breath away and sending blood straight to his cock. He couldn’t, wouldn’t stop looking at the utterly erotic vision before him. Then his phone buzzed again. “What do you think?” He responded with a pic of his own, showing one hand stroking over the growing bulge in his sweats. Buzz buzz. Another photo file showing her in the bath, her completely bare body covered in nothing but warm water and bubbles. “Mm, yummy. Now to enjoy a nice bath. More tomorrow...” Followed by a wink and a heart. That night Natsu gave in to temptation. He let his imagination wander as he flipped through Lucy’s photos, his fantasies focusing on what he would very much enjoy doing with the voluptuous blonde. At this point the sexual tension between the two was as thick as fog. They were clearly both head over heels for one another, both pretty damn sure they were going to hook up at some point… but the question was, when? The answer turned out to be sooner than either expected. The next night, after some pretty intense flirtation and a goodbye kiss that included him grabbing her sweet little ass in the middle of Fairy Tail’s evening rush, Natsu got a message. “Want to play with me tonight?” The accompanying image made his mouth water. She lay on her back in a rather skimpy ensemble consisting of a cupless bra and low-cut lacy panties. Her free hand, the one not holding the camera, stroked over her bare skin. Her hair was down, flowing freely around her, and there was a sinfully inviting look on her face. There was only one acceptable answer here. “YES.” “Good. What’cha wearing?” For once words failed him and he went for the direct approach, took a hopefully appealing selfie showing off chest and low-hanging sweatpants, and sent it to her. Her response sent his heart racing. “Yummy, but a bit overdressed, yes?” “If you say so...” He paused, flung his sweatpants off, took another pic. “Is that better, babe?” “Getting there. I’ll give you a special treat if you lose the boxers, Dragon Prince.” One single text sent his pulse racing. Was she serious?! Gods, he hoped so… He also didn’t want to keep Lucy waiting, not with such an intriguing promise hanging in the air. So off went the boxers. He grasped his cock and snapped another photo, hoping she would like what he had to offer. By the looks of it, she was quite impressed. “Dragon is right. I’d love to ride that...” Accompanied by a wink. He blushed. For several moments there was silence. Natsu wondered if Lucy had forgotten about this special treat… then his phone buzzed, indicating a received video file… That video file… holy shit, it was hotter than anything he had ever had the privilege of witnessing. Lucy was on her knees on her bed. Her legs were parted, and she ran her hands through her hair. The whole time she was flashing a sexy little smile at the camera. Her hands roamed. They cupped and squeezed her generous tits, and fingers brushed over perky, berry pink nipples. Holy shit she’s fucking perfect… He couldn’t, wouldn’t, take his eyes off of her, slowly pumping his cock as the video continued. Her hands wandered downward, stroking over her tummy and lower. She did a little shimmy dance as she hooked both thumbs into the waistband of those tiny panties, tugged down, exposing silky skin and a bare hint of blonde hair… “Natsu...” Her seductive whisper made his cock twitch. He grasped harder, eagerly anticipating what was next, wanting to see her most intimate regions… ...but the video stopped there. Knowing Lucy, this was deliberate. She did like teasing, after all. He sent her a video of his own, showing her exactly what he thought of her special treat. “More please?” “Of course…*kiss emoji* You know… I think of you when I touch myself…and I feel like playing tonight...” “Oh? I’d like to see that.” “You can if you want...vid chat, maybe?” “Yes please.” The text went through and perhaps a minute later Natsu’s laptop beeped. Incoming video request. He did a flying leap over to his computer desk, perched himself in the chair so he was comfortable and visible to the camera, and accepted the request. There was Lucy, beaming up at him in all her beautiful glory. He could see her a lot clearer now, thanks to the larger screen. Her skin looked so soft, supple, glistening with a fine mist of sweat. “Ready, Natsu?” “You bet,  Lucy. Let’s play.” His voice was dark and low, practically a growl. The sound gave her a sweet chill. Playing with him was going to be fun… “Alright...” Soft giggle. She bit her lip, gazing up at him with those big brown eyes as she tugged her panties off and let them fall to the ground. One hand shifted between her legs, parting her lips so he could see easier. “You like this, Natsu?” A purr as she traced fingers over her clit and those delicate pink folds. “I love it, Lucy...” Definitely a growl as he grasped and pumped. His breath caught in his throat as he watched her pull out a vibrator from under her pillow and gently trace it over her skin, taking the same path her fingers had taken moments before. “Shit...I wish that was me...” “And I wish you were...right... here...” She slipped the toy into her pussy, then let it buzz away as she fucked herself. Her voice got a little higher. She sounded a bit like a video girl when she moaned, except those girls had absolutely nothing on his goddess. “Babe, if I were there you wouldn’t have to play with that damn toy...” “Ohh...really… what, mnn, what would you do to me if you were here?” “Anything you wanted.” Fuck, the thought of really being with her was making his already impressive erection even bigger. “I think I’d lay you on that soft bed of yours, warm your entire body up with my mouth, then take my time pleasuring and fucking you until we were both completely satisfied.” “That sounds like heaven. Mnnn...” The toy was drenched, and he could see her horny juices leaking from her folds as she humped her hips, one hand pinching and tweaking her nipples. “Na...Natsu...” “Go on, Lucy-baby.” He caught a glimpse of her nodding in response. Then she moved the toy up to rub little circles against her clit...and immediately cried out. “Ohh….Natsuuuuuu!” Her entire body trembled in utter ecstasy, all for him. Natsu kept pumping, fueling his own passion with the thought of being buried deep inside her, imagining her milking his cock as she came… “Lu...Lucy….!!!” One last mighty pump brought forth a spattering mess of his seed. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t say he cared. It’d get cleaned up eventually. “That...that was fucking amazing...” “M-hm. It was...” Big happy sigh. “Hey Natsu?” “Yeah?” “I’m gonna hop in the shower. I’ll call you when I get out, alright?” “Alright. Take your time, baby.” A giggle as she blew a kiss, then the screen went blank. She did indeed take her time. He had time to get cleaned up and was loafing on his bed, this goofy happy smile on his face. He had also had time to send a message to the company’s merchandiser requesting that a Dragneel Fund hoodie be sent to a certain bookshop that next morning along with a large bouquet of flowers, which explained part of that goofy smile. Ring Ring They exchanged some sweet talk followed by the comfortable pause of two people very much in love. Then Lucy sighed. “What’s up? Everything’s good with us, right?”“Everything’s wonderful. I was just thinking, that’s all.” “Thinkin’?” “Yeah...” Was it his imagination or did her voice falter here? “I...I think I love you, Natsu. Isn’t that crazy? I mean, we haven’t exactly known each other very long...”“That’s not crazy, Lucy.” His voice was low, soft. He was imagining holding her close as they talked, maybe even running a hand through her hair. “You’re not the type of girl who’d be so open and sexy with someone unless you really cared for ‘em.” “...how do you get me so well?” “Because I love you, duh.” Too late to take the words back now, not like he wanted to. “It’s weird. This whole thing started out as a big physical attraction but the more we’re together, the more I’m around you, the more I realize it’s gotta be love.” Sniffle, sniffle.“Lucy? Are...you crying?” “Y..yeah, a little. Because I’m happy. You...you make me happy...” Siiiigh. Then,  “I... think I have an idea for our next date.” “Alright. What’s that?” “We could meet at your place and have some, um, private gym time. I could show you some yoga moves in person...” Yoga moves...the implication was clear with the tone of her voice. Oh, they were going to get flexible, all right. “I like the sound of that. Same time, right?” “Yeah.” Yawn. “Sorry. I’m about to fall asleep.” “It’s okay. I’ll see ya tomorrow. Sweet dreams, princess.” “Night, Natsu. Love ya.” Click.That was that. Both fell asleep easily, smiling even in slumber. In the blink of an eye it was Saturday afternoon. Natsu got an early start, heading down to his gym to make sure everything was in order an hour before Lucy was due. Then he started lifting weights, pumping iron until the doorbell rang. There she stood, smiling at him in a slightly oversized hoodie and those same shorts she had teased him with the other night. “Hey, beautiful.” “Hi.” Blush. “Where should I put my bag?” “Anywhere’s fine. I’ll get staff to take it up to my room.” “Okay.” She set the overnight bag down, then made a show of unzipping her hoodie. She peeled it off slowly, flashing him a saucy smile as she revealed a skimpy crop top that accented every curve.Damn…“So, ah, how do we start?”“Watch me and follow my lead.” A quick kiss that would have been chaste were it not for Lucy nibbling his lip. Watching her was no problem, not when the sight of her enthralled his senses. He wasn’t great at yoga, but she was more than willing to help. She brushed her hands against him, giving him subtle hints at how to correct his posture. Eventually she started showed him some more complex poses, more for the sake of showing off for him than anything else. Splits, bending over, even a rather suggestive headstand. Then she felt a warm hand stroke up her thigh. Siiiigh. “That feels good...” “Want some more?” “Yes please.” “Whatever you say. Keep posin’.” And pose she did. She did another headstand, starting with her legs straight up but moving into splits. His hands found her ass, squeezed, then adventurous fingers stroked over the front of her shorts. She blushed, exhaled, didn’t protest. She also didn’t tremble at all, no small feat when she was being intimately fondled. Damn him and his amazing hands. Slowly, carefully, she moved her legs straight upward. “Hold still.” “Okay.” Inhale, exhale. She didn’t have to wait long to find out what he was up to. His hands roamed again, this time tugging her shorts upwards and off her legs. “Oh...Naughty boy.” “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Dark chuckle, flash of fang. “I like it...and I think you’d like it if I got rid of some of these clothes.” “You know I would. Show me. Please.” “Anything you want, love.” In one smooth motion Lucy got back on her feet. Then she made a show of peeling her top and sports bra off...a show Natsu watched intently. She didn’t break eye contact, not even as her hands roamed and cupped her now bare breasts. He caught a glimpse of her tongue flicking over lips. Holy shit. “Now what?” “Don’t tell me you’re playing innocent, Natsu...” “No, no way.” Here he reached over, cupped her cheek, smiled at her. “I want you, but I want you to have a say in what we do tonight.” “Oh...okay. In that case...” Her eyes brightened and her smile turned mischievous. “Tie me up.” Not a question, none of her usual shyness. He nodded then wrapped some athletic tape around her wrists. Then he took a good long look at her. There she lay, naked except for those little panties. Those would come off soon enough. First he focused on her bare form, leaving kisses and love bites all over her body. He grabbed and kneaded her ass. She squirmed. Good sign. "Hold still.""Okay..." He tugged her panties off, baring the sweet pink treasure between her thighs.And what a treasure. He gazed at her in reverence. One hand stroked over her tiny tuft of soft blonde hair."Damn, Lucy. You're perfect.""Thanks. Don't be shy, though." Eyes heavy, voice low and sensual. He nodded then turned his full attention to lavishing pleasure on her. Fingers traced over her clit with feather soft touches while his other hand parted her lips oh so gently.She smells incredible... Growl. He leaned in and flicked his tongue against her delicate pink folds. She trembled, quietly begging for more."More" was exactly what he wanted to give her. His free hand stroked her thigh then squeezed her ass. Then he treated her to a spank. She moaned and arched her back. So he did it again, his hand leaving a red mark on her peach skin. Her scent changed, and she was definitely getting wetter. “The cute rich girl has a spanking kink, huh?""Mm-hm.""What if I spank you while I'm eating you? That sound good, Lucy?""Why don't you see for yourself?" She winked and giggled...but then his hand met her ass again and the giggle became a moan.He nibbled her clit. His fingers kept her lips parted as he moved again, letting his tongue trace over her slit. She was a hot, delicious mess: squirming, tits heaving, biting her lip as she begged for more. Another spank. She made an absolutely feral sound, which he took as encouragement to go on.Not that he needed encouragement...His tongue slid into her slick folds, lapping up her delicious wetness. He had wanted to taste her ever since they had played together on camera, and reality exceeded his expectations. She was a goddess, and her pussy tasted like heaven. He wanted nothing more than to savor her, to satisfy her over and over...He also wanted to carry her up to his bedroom, pin her down to his bed, and bury himself so deliciously deep inside her...Well, that would happen soon enough. She shifted, draping her long legs over his shoulders, spreading to give him better access. He slipped two fingers into her, fucking her with his hand as he licked and nibbled. He hit a certain spot. She shuddered.“Ahhhh!” Aha!He hit it again, rubbing what had to be her g-spot with increased pressure. "Holy shit Natsu just like that....mnnnnh...yes..." Another nibble, another thrust. Lucy didn’t just moan Natsu’s name. She screamed it as her body was rocked by a glorious orgasm complete with a spray of her juices. Never had he ever made a girl squirt before, but no other girl was quite like his Lucy… he smiled at the thought as he untied her, feeling her soft hands fluff through his hair as he licked her clean. “Thanks for the snack, babe.” “Mmm, and thank you for the orgasm. I’ve never cum so hard in my life, love.” It amazed him how she could go from delicious temptress to sweet girl next door so quickly, but he could honestly say he loved both sides of her. With that decided he pulled her into a kiss, one he hoped conveyed every bit of feeling he had for her, one she was happy to return. “Let’s go to bed.” The softest of whispers yet so sensual. He nodded, picked her up and carried her to his room. He lay her on his bed with another oh so tender kiss. In all his fantasies he had imagined playing as rough with her as possible, taking her with animalistic fervor. Now that she was in his bed...it didn’t seem right. His Lucy deserved to be pleasured, savored, worshiped. And Natsu was very keen on worshiping her. She helped him shuck his sweatpants off and he got right to work. He kissed and nibbled her body, caressed her soft skin, taking in every reaction. She had to be exhausted from their ordeals down in the gym, but you’d never know it. She writhed with each touch, moaning with each caress and kiss. He nibbled her collarbone while his hands explored her breasts. Soft, smooth, full. He squeezed and kneaded, all while suckling the tiny berry of her nipple. Every so often he switched, mostly to devote equal attention to both sides. Then she let out a sound kinda like a whimper. “Want it, baby?” “I...need it. Please, Natsu...” “Alright. Gimme your hand...” Nod. He clasped her hand and braced himself over her. She wrapped both legs around his waist, her way of encouraging him to make the next move. When he pushed his hard cock into her sweet, damp, depths, the euphoria both felt was audible in their moans and sighs. “Nnnnnh, feels so good, Natsu...” Words couldn’t describe the feeling of finally being one with her, of making love to this woman who meant so damn much to him… They moved together, each motion accented with kisses that raised in intensity as passion heightened. Her hands wandered. He wondered absently if there was a rhyme or reason, or if she just wanted to explore his skin with her fingers. Either way it felt incredible. She felt incredible. He paused mid-thrust, towering breathless over his goddess, gazing at her and seeing her gazing back at him, her eyes amber with love light. “Love ya, Lucy.” “And I love you. Now shh.” Delicate fingers traced over his mouth. Her hand slipped to his cheek and pulled him into a kiss. He got the hint right away and resumed pleasuring her.  So warm, so inviting. So perfect. Minutes...hours...how long did they spend together that night, entwined in passion? Neither cared about time. Being together was all that mattered. Once passion reached its peak and the waves of bliss subsided they lay together kissing and cuddling. They only paused, reluctantly, when Natsu got up claiming a need to pee...which ended up taking longer than Lucy expected. He came back, scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom, settling her into the warm waters of a bath. Then he got in with her and treated her to a kiss. Later on, dried off and cuddling in bed, Lucy grabbed her phone and took a selfie. Natsu quirked his head at her.“For memories.” “Ohh. We’ll have plenty of those.” He kissed her and she knew he meant it. This beautiful night was just the beginning... (Epilogue coming as soon as I can get it written :) )

[measurelessdreamer]

New Olivarry fic!

The impossible happened and I managed to write (probably) my last Olivarry fic and I’m actually proud of myself XD If you want, feel free to read it here or down below! <3

Coffee Beans And Cakes, It's You For Whom My Heart Aches

Summary:  Barry Allen thought he was done with love. He had missed out all his chances and if love was supposed to be only unrequited in his case, then what the hell was the point? So he filled his life with routines and small pleasures to keep himself going and convince himself he was okay. He hadn't anticipated one of those routines would eventually sabotage him and turn his whole life around, but sometimes you just need to live in a lie for a while to be able to see the truth. Barry learned that the hard way.

Relationships: Barry Allen/Oliver Queen

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Slow Burn

Words: 13268

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Barry finally turned off his computer and hurried out of his lab, waving both Joe and Eddie with a smile, silently dodging their offers to accompany him which they both knew were fruitless to ask. It was his habit to stop by Jitters for his favorite kind of coffee and spend a few minutes in solitude just sipping and relishing the bittersweet taste he knew so well and today was no different. Being already twenty-nine, it was only normal to have his life filled with small routines like this that ultimately were the sole reason why he was able to be himself and not just some kind of zombie, struggling to see the point in waking up in the morning. Don't get him wrong. Sometimes, days got rough and he was on the zombie spectrum more than he would actually like, but when that happened, it was small pleasures like this that got him back to smiling and simply enjoying what he was supposed to no matter how much other people considered it crucial.

Nothing new ever happened during his afternoon visits to Jitters. He just loved that where people were usually swarming inside like bees in their hives he could have a peaceful time and think. It was liberating in ways not many people would understand but he didn't care. He just knew he wouldn't change this routine for anything. As hectic as his life sometimes was, this was something he wanted to keep intact no matter what. Too bad destiny had other ideas.

As expected, there were only a few people inside. One man was standing by the cash register, strikingly aggravated by the debate he was having with the barista, which Barry supposed looked more like an argument despite how the man, probably in his thirties, was trying to stay calm. Barry moved to stand a few feet next to him in a queue he just created, patiently waiting for his turn. He absolutely didn't mean to eavesdrop, his parents and Joe had raised him better than that, but he was standing right there and it wasn't his fault the man was apparently losing his patience and raising his voice as the result. Besides, he couldn't simply leave his spot unless he decided to skip the coffee and go home, which in his mind was not an option. Not even some uptight customer would change that, thank you very much.

So he just stood there and listened because what else was really there to do?

"Sir, I apologize, but I've already told you that this cake is reserved for the couple’s menu only. Feel free to choose any other, though. Surely we can come to an agreement we'll both like," the female barista said, doing her utmost best to remain as polite as possible even though Barry could see her resolve was on the brink of despair.

"I don't want any other cake," the man stated. "It's my son's favorite, always has been. We have it every time we're here. It never was 'reserved for a couple’s menu only' before so why now?"

"It's our policy to include some desserts for only specific types of menus and I'm sorry, but I don't make these rules."

"I understand, but can't you make an exception just this once? You'll get your money either way. Besides, it's not like this place is filled with people fighting for this particular cake and you're gonna close soon anyway."

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do, sir," the barista sighed and looked genuinely sorry and annoyed by this stupid policy too, but her hands were tied. Her boss probably wasn't one of the kindest people on this planet.

"Of course," the man scoffed. "It's funny, though. Not sure when exactly love of couples started being more important than love for your own damn child." The venom behind those words was borderline outrageous, even more, when Barry noticed how it made the barista slump her shoulders in defeat and shame, but it was probably the thing that caused Barry's life to change so radically that day. While everyone else would most likely judge the man for being too harsh on the woman, Barry focused on this customer's reasoning and intentions that were definitely meant to be good and decided to help out. That was how he'd been raised after all.

"Actually," he spoke, causing the barista to look at him, "he's here with me." What happened next was downright comical as the man literally froze mere inches before the exit door and spun around to gape, unabashed, at this man he'd never seen before, claiming they were a couple.

As tempted as Barry was to burst out laughing on spot, he formed a smile and turned to the barista that was staring him down skeptically. She wasn't stupid. Of course it was obvious he didn't know the man that just made his way back to them, still gaping at him, but then again, it wasn't like they needed some license or document to show they were dating. They just needed to convince her to either believe them or take pity on them. Whichever came first.

"I'm sorry about him," he started again, motioning to the man next to him. "He's not much of a people person, but he means well."

"And he's your boyfriend," the woman summarized, not buying a single word, and glanced at the other man. "Why didn't you say so before? You must have noticed him coming here."

"We usually keep it quiet. He's a bit shy, you know?" Barry clarified, letting his eyes fall on the man and locking them with his on instinct, suddenly finding it nearly impossible to look anywhere else besides the magnificent shade of blue boring into his. He almost forgot he was supposed to make sure the barista bought his little act. "Darling, I told you, you should've waited for me. We would've solved this together and spared your nerves. As much as I like the grey strands in your hair, smiling suits you better."

At this comment, the man openly glared at him, but his eyes, those incredibly pretty eyes, were glinting with amusement that kept Barry's smile intact without him even putting real effort in it.

"I was waiting for you," the man joined in. "for full ten minutes even. It's not my fault you're always late, honey."

"Seems that supertardiness is one of my powers. Glad it didn't stop you from falling in love with me."

"Believe me, I'm questioning myself about this all the time," the man teased and smirked.

Barry couldn't contain the small chuckle escaping his lips and the absolute wonder that this whole charade was going so well despite them having no clue who the other person was. Barry was too old to believe in fairytales, but part of him never stopped being a dreamer. It was probably why this connection between him and the blue-eyed stranger seemed to be almost magical like it wasn't just random luck but a plan in the grand scheme of things. But that was just silly and he was the fool for imagining otherwise when he was probably the only one feeling this.

Once he couldn't face these thoughts without breaking off his act of a loving boyfriend, he glanced at the barista and found her looking at them with an odd expression. Some sort of mixture of amusement and intrigue, probably, but then again he was only skilled in reading criminals per se, so he could be wrong. He put the question of figuring it out later to the back of his mind before he broke the silence that was on the brink of becoming awkward. "Could we have the couple’s menu, please?"

The woman snapped out of whatever trance she was in and beamed at them without any trace of her previous embarrassment intact, taking in their coffee orders and asking for their names, for which Barry was more grateful than ever since it was the most subtle way of finding out who the man was he could hope for.

"Barry." "Oliver." They both said at the exact same time, momentarily stunning the whole party. Barry's eyes once again met Oliver's, already getting lost in them and their spellbinding glimmer as if he had nothing better to do that day than openly stare.

"You seemed to be in real sync," the woman pointed out as she was writing the names right into the huge red hearts decorating the cups that were most definitely ordered for the sole purpose of labeling everyone who proved to be worthy of getting the couple's menu. It was sweet, but all Barry could do was inwardly laugh about it when he noticed how Oliver glared at the cups. "Does this happen a lot?"

"Oh, yeah, all the time. We're practically the same person," Barry answered and saw the tiny smile playing on Oliver's lips from the corner of his eyes for what it was, ignoring how elevated it instantly made him.

"You're really lucky, then," the woman said and smiled so warmly Barry almost started regretting they were so openly lying to her. But only almost.

"Hear that, Ollie? You're lucky to have me," he teased and, for reasons he probably won't ever be able to grasp, bumped his shoulder against Oliver's. He had no idea where this boldness came from, but the man next to him didn't recoil or stiffen and he decided to take that as a good sign.

"You shouldn't encourage him," Oliver said to the barista, shaking his head. "He's insufferable enough as he is."

"Says the guy who wanted to burn this whole place down minutes ago," Barry countered. "Don't you think an apology is in order? You're the one that keeps telling me agreements and rules are here to be followed not broken every time I'm late."

This time it was Oliver who moved closer, not out of fake affection like Barry had, though. Not that it really mattered to Barry's hammering heart once he felt a strong arm hooking around his shoulders and spreading warmth through his whole body as he heard the blue-eyed stranger whisper: "You're playing with fire."

However bewildered Barry was from the whole situation, he didn't let this intimidate him. "Do you want me to tell certain someone we both know that it's okay not to apologize for being a bit of a jerk?"

"I was not-" Oliver began but his words came up short when Barry just arched one of his eyebrows at him. He was probably having too much fun with this, but after having such a boring day at work, this was exhilarating to the bone and he couldn't get enough of it. "Fine," Oliver sighed in defeat and aimed his next words at the barista, who was once again dedicating them that same odd look like before. She smiled after hearing Oliver's apology and waved with her hand, saying she understood Oliver's outrage at the policy she didn't see the point of either.

"See?" Barry remarked and smiled. "Wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Oliver merely chuckled and only then let go of Barry's shoulders, making him involuntarily wonder why it caused a small downfall to his mood not to be so close to the older man anymore.

The barista once again saved him from any more uncomfortable questions his brain was so fond of sending his way when she asked whether they wanted to have the cake packed or not. When Oliver confirmed the former option, she sheepishly asked for the name of his son and wrote down "William" on the pink box covered in numerous hearts of various sizes, which once again didn't fail to make Barry chuckle. He got a glare aimed at him in return, but something was telling him every time Oliver did that, the venom behind it got less and less serious.

Once they had the cake safely in the box and their coffees in their hands, Oliver proceeded to pay before Barry could even get his wallet out. Had things been any different, he would have argued about this, but he figured it made sense that only one of them would pay since they were "together" and besides, he understood it for Oliver's way of saying thank you since Barry was the sole reason he got the cake for his son in the first place.

Barry anticipated they would exchange vague goodbyes after that since the barista was already too busy with another customer to pay them any mind and be on their way back to their lives as if nothing like this happened with the only difference that they now had a hell of a story to tell, but no such thing happened. Barry proceeded to go sit down to his usual spot and Oliver followed, awkwardly asking whether Barry would mind him sitting there with him, to which Barry merely smiled and nodded.

"It's nice to meet you by the way," he said, not raising his hand for a handshake and risking the barista would see. "Circumstances could've been better, but it was fun."

"You made that abundantly clear," Oliver deadpanned.

"Hey, you got your cake, didn't you? So if anything you should be grateful."

Oliver shook his head but smiled at his strained tantrum and Barry felt warm all over because he knew that meant the man was as grateful as he should be and Barry didn't need to hear the words to know that. Somehow just seeing was enough in this case and send his heart skyrocketing for no valid reason yet again.

"Why did you do it, though?" Oliver eventually asked.

Barry could reply with another teasing remark, but he decided to go with the truth instead. "Because you were right. When you said that love between two people who are a couple shouldn't mean more than the love parents have for their child. I'm pretty sure they have a suggestion box here somewhere. We might let them know what we think."

"And see them ignore it and keep doing whatever the hell they want? No thank you."

"Are you always this optimistic or should I just consider myself lucky?"

"It's just been a hectic week for me."

"Central isn't to your taste?"

"Is it that obvious that I'm not from here?"

"Only to people who you're fake-dating," Barry teased. "You're visiting or?"

"I've recently moved in, actually. To stay close to my son."

Weirdly enough, only then did some trivial realizations dawn on Barry. After all, he knew from Iris that a certain person of her interest had moved from Star City to Central recently. "You're Oliver Queen, right?"

"We're already on the full name basis? Here I thought you were one of those people that would take things slow in a relationship."

Barry's eyes widened in amusement after hearing an honest-to-god joke from the man who seemed anything but carefree not so long ago. "I consider our relationship too special for that."

"In that case, you should know it's not fair I don't know your full name."

"Barry Allen," Barry replied, unable to fight off his smile. Exchanging names like this had to mean something, right? If Oliver planned to forget this day even happened, that they met in such a crazy way, he surely wouldn't go through the trouble of staying there, talking with Barry and possibly finding out more, would he? More importantly, what was Barry promising himself to get out of this? What was he hoping all this meant?

"I bet your son is gonna love the box once he sees it," he changed the subject to keep his mind in here and now. "Horrid pink with hearts all over. Who wouldn't love such a creative design?"

Oliver openly laughed at the comment which Barry stored in his brain for safekeeping on instinct. "He's gonna love the story behind it even more."

The conversation didn't cease any time soon after that. Sure, there were moments of silence between them, but they all felt as natural as the times their mouths were overloaded with words. Whoever walked past them, there was no way they suspected Oliver and Barry had just met. It was like the barista said, they were awfully in sync to be mere strangers to each other. Barry could muse about it in his head, but he knew that wouldn't get him anywhere he liked and so he just kept the conversation flowing as effortlessly as before.

They left the coffee shop together. Oliver thanked him again, with words this time, and after they exchanged goodbyes and smiles, that was it. Barry was on his way home, feeling like the world could collapse and he wouldn't notice because while his legs were moving, his mind had failed to leave Oliver's side just yet. Once he realized it, he chastised himself for keeping his hopes up when the odds of him seeing Oliver again were so close to zero it hurt. Not in a way how hearing Iris and Eddie were getting married did, of course, but it still hurt more than it probably should have considering everything. So he decided to stop thinking about it once and for all and just get on with his life, back to his routines and stability.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To his utter surprise, he found out that it wasn't even remotely that simple when he walked into Jitters the next day and noticed Oliver waiting for his turn. He politely said hi as he passed by and was stunned to the bone when Oliver not only said it back but engaged him in the conversation before he could get too far. Just like that, they fell right back in whatever force was making sure they felt good in each other's company. And once it was their turn to order, somehow, without either of them confident enough to explain it, they just knew they were gonna drink from the cups covered in love again. It was a silent agreement between them. That day and every one that followed until it became another routine bringing joy to Barry's life.

Oliver rarely decided to take the cake currently on the offer with him home. Instead, he ordered just one piece which they both shared as they were sipping on their coffees and talking. Neither of them minded the charade they had to keep going in order to convince every barista that they were indeed a couple. It wasn't a matter of not wanting to risk someone calling them on their bullshit one day or not being able to live without having their coffees served in the horrid looking colors. The couple's menu was cheaper than getting all of it separate and while that shouldn't matter since the cheapest approach would be paying solely for their own coffees by themselves and not getting any cake, it made perfect sense to both of them when the possibility to spend the time together was on the table. Most of the baristas didn't care about whether they were telling the truth or not either. Only the woman from the first day did even though Barry was pretty sure she was fully aware they were only faking and just kept her mouth shut to keep the game going.

That was probably why Barry was doing it too. It was fun, exhilarating and yet so natural he didn't feel nervous or under any kind of pressure even when he forgot to watch himself and leaned maybe just too close to Oliver's personal zone. Then he remembered that he was supposed to fake they were in love after all and he leaned all the way in, using Oliver's biceps as a pillow or squeezing his shoulder and relishing in how it felt when Oliver returned the gesture.

It didn't take long before these moments in Jitters started being his favorite part of the day. He was no longer questioning the magical vibe between them. It was just warming him to the core that he had a friend who was so easy to talk to. With Iris being busy planning her own wedding, he had every right to miss such simple interactions that were about serious talk as much as it was about merely messing around. Two months of these regular meetings passed and he felt like Oliver could safely compete with both Joe and Iris about who knew him best and possibly come of it as the winner and from what he learned from Oliver, the feeling had to be somewhat mutual.

One day, however, turned out to be different after all when Barry entered Jitters and couldn't see Oliver anywhere inside the coffee shop. His face fell down for a split second before he realized he was being ridiculous, relying on a deal they never had in the first place. Oliver was his own person after all. He couldn't expect the billionaire to come there every day for the rest of their lives. Besides, it was probably a sign that Oliver had grown tired of their silly charade and this was his way of showing they needed to stop. Barry could understand that although he was definitely going to miss the cups where Oliver's name would occasionally be written with a small heart above the letter "i" instead of a dot. Even the mere thought made him smile despite how bitter he was still feeling.

But then the door to the coffee shop opened and there was Oliver with his blue eyes so bright Barry supposed all those magazines were rightfully going mad over them. Not that he'd read any of them, but he knew from all those times Iris' celebrity crush would be showing just a tiny bit too much.

Their eyes fell on each other, making Barry's heart leap in his chest when Oliver dedicated him one of his rare but immensely warm smiles. It was as if this one moment, however brief, was straight out of a romance novel, ending in the most horrid way ever when Barry noticed Oliver didn't come alone that day.

As soon as the blonde woman with glasses and a smile so charming Barry felt his stomach drop, leaving him utterly confused because what the hell, Oliver looked at her and Barry supposed that was that. He watched them interact, witnessing Oliver dedicate her the same smile, and fighting not to visibly squirm. She was really pretty and they looked good together. Barry should be happy for his friend because that was what they were. Friends. They were not together. Never would be. Not because Oliver wouldn't handle being in a serious relationship, Barry knew him well enough to know that was just bullshit the tabloids kept feeding to maintain interest among their readers, but because they were just pretending and that was okay. It was what they both wanted.

But then why did he suddenly feel so hollow?

He didn't get a chance to find out that day when he noticed both Oliver and the woman with him were making his way to him. Shit, shit, shit, what was he supposed to do? To say? What if they noticed him staring and thought he was weird? What if this woman was going to scold him for making the whole coffee shop believe he was dating her boyfriend? What if Oliver no longer wanted anything to do with him?

"No supertardiness today?" Oliver quipped. "Some special occasion?"

"If by special you mean Captain Singh was again in one of his moods, which was worse than usual and made me pretty much run away from there, then yeah," Barry replied, trying to be as nonchalant as possible and hoping to God it was playing off.

"Captain Singh from the CCPD?" the woman asked. "You work there?"

"As a forensic scientist," Barry confirmed and frowned. "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Felicity. Smoak," the woman beamed and extended her hand. "I'm only asking because I'm applying for a job there."

"Barry Allen. And really? What kind?"

"Hacking. Not the bad kind, like stealing people's money or anything! Although I could do that, but only if it was meant to do good. Not that I think people should steal. They definitely shouldn't do that. Especially not when there could possibly be another way how to solve their situation."

"I think he gets it, Felicity," Oliver gently pitched in.

"Right, sorry! I'm just... I'm supposed to have my interview tomorrow and I thought I was fine, but now after hearing you talk about Captain Singh I feel like applying was the worst idea I ever had."

"Hey, it's okay," Barry said. "I'm sure it'll go fine. Besides, he's a lot nicer to newcomers even potential ones. Just convince him he needs you and you'll get the job."

"Wow," Felicity gasped and looked at Oliver, "you were right. He really does know what to say to make people feel better."

"I didn't say that," Oliver denied and if Barry didn't know him any better he would think he was blushing, but that was just a silly thought, wasn't it?

"Oh yeah, just like you don't come here every day at the exact say time, right? I wonder, is it because of the coffee or something else?"

"Actually, it's for the cakes," Barry joined and earned himself another glare that made him feel warm all over.

"Of course! I knew I wasn't imagining that there was something different about you. Now I know why," Felicity said, glancing briefly at Oliver's abdomen. But there was no harsh truth behind her words and they all knew it. She and Barry were just messing around. Oliver's torso, chest, basically everything definitely couldn't have been considered to be anything but dreamy not that Barry was picturing it or anything, but he had eyes and it was clear that Oliver was in good shape and that was that. It didn't have to go anywhere else.

"Well, I'm definitely not paying for either of you today, that's for sure," Oliver grumbled and turned to face the barista to order now that it was their turn.

"You're lucky we don't put up with you for your money, then," Felicity remarked, Oliver pretended he didn't hear it even though it was obvious he did and Barry could only stare at how carefree the whole situation was despite him almost bolting out of there mere minutes ago. Felicity's natural light just made it that easy to stay and have a good time. Oliver was really lucky to have her.

The billionaire didn't plan to order the couple’s menu that day, but before Barry could compose himself enough to make it seem like he didn't mind, which he really shouldn't anyway so what the hell, brain, yet again, Felicity cut the billionaire off and asked the barista to give him and Barry the couple’s menu, vouching for them that the man wouldn't find two people more in love in the whole city. Oliver rolled her eyes but let her have it her way, ignoring her every teasing remark about the romance-themed cups coming their way. Barry was too stunned to really pay them any mind as they were making a beeline for one of the tables.

Before they sat down, Oliver's phone suddenly buzzed, making him curse under his breath as he fished it out of his pocket. Barry figured it must be something related to his work when the billionaire just apologized to them, claiming he had to take it and marched outside with his coffee.

"Must be important," Barry pointed out sadly, remembering this wasn't the first time their afternoon got a bit ruined by Oliver's phone.

"He takes his job seriously. It wasn't always like that, but since he's had William, he's a changed man."

"You must be proud of him."

"More than anything."

"How long have you been together, by the way?"

Felicity almost chocked on her coffee. "Come again? Together as in being an item? Because we're not that. We might have been something before, but now we're just friends."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought-"

"I guess that makes sense. He's the guy everyone has a crush on and once you get to know him, it's even worse. I fell hard far too quickly and it was working for a while, but eventually, we both figured we were better off as friends. It wasn't meant to be for us."

"I'm really sorry to hear that." And he really was despite how his heart skipped a beat upon hearing the information.

"Don't be," Felicity shrugged. "It's better now. Really. He needs someone he has no problem to talk to. I wasn’t it for him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a place in his life. And what about you? Do you have someone like that?”

He should've known this topic would turn against him and he had no reason to be upset since his feelings had never passed the “unrequited love” stage. Felicity's obviously had. She'd gotten a chance with Oliver, they'd been happy for some time and then life had decided to take it from them. He'd had numerous opportunities to do something about his feelings and he hadn't. He had no one else to blame but himself. But maybe that was why it hurt so much even after such a long time.

"Nope, it's just me. I mean, I have family and friends, they are everything to me, but I don't have anyone... like that. There was this one person, but I... I never said how I felt and they're getting married next week so... it's just me."

"Oh, Barry, I'm so sorry," Felicity consoled.

"It's fine," he waved off and for the first time ever felt like these words represented the truth in his heart. Even if it was only remotely, he couldn't dwell on this for the rest of his life. He needed to move on sooner or later and it seemed like subconsciously, he'd already begun. "Just wasn't meant to be, but it's better to know that now than find out years later, right?"

"Yeah, it might not mean much right now, but I believe things like this don't work out for a reason. One day we'll both be grateful for it."

He smiled and nodded. "I think you might be onto something, Miss Smoak." His eyes then fell on Oliver who was still outside, talking relentlessly to whoever was on the other side of that call. In the chilly day of November, the billionaire looked barely as if he'd even registered the cold despite the visible puffs of air coming out of his mouth and reddened cheeks. He looked like he belonged there and Barry found it impossible to look away.

"What about Oliver?" he cleared his throat and looked at Felicity who was watching him with an expression he didn't dare to figure out. "Does he have anyone like that?"

Felicity glanced at her friend with a smile. "I don't think so. Not officially at least, but he's been different these past few weeks so I'd say someone has appeared in his life even though it's likely he hasn't realized it yet."

Barry wasn't sure how he felt about that. He considered Oliver a friend, one of the special ones even, so, of course, he wished to see him happy, but just imagining that one day the billionaire would come here to drink from love-themed cups and share one piece of cake with someone else, some beautiful woman probably, it... didn't sit right with him.

He probably got too used to having these meetings in Jitters as a constant in his life. With Oliver being the fundamental part of it. After Iris and Eddie got busy preparing their wedding and he found it goddamn hard to be in their presence, it really made sense that he would need someone new in his life. He had Cisco, Caitlin, Wally and Ralph he was thankful for it every day, but sometimes, you just need something new or to do things differently than you normally would to see everything from a new perspective and ultimately appreciate what you had all along.

His life just seemed so much easier with a cup decorated with hearts in his hands, an indicator that it's essential to find the time to mess around sometimes and to forget about everything else. It reminded him of the times he'd spent with Iris, those little moments when they would just put their feet up and talk about whatever till it was too late to even hope they would get enough sleep that night. And for the first time, he felt determined to reach out to her.

"You look like you just figured out something," Felicity pointed out. "Something good, I hope."

"Remains to be seen, I guess," Barry said but smiled with all sincerity within him.

"That actually reminds me... Are you by any chance free this Friday night?"

"Uh, yes? If this is about Captain Singh again, then I assure you that while he has bad days, he never made me work on Friday night."

"That's... good to know, sure, but it's not why I'm asking. It just so happens that I was supposed to go with Oliver and William to the movies this Friday, but something came up and I don't want the ticket to go to waste. You and Oliver really seem like you hit it off so the ticket is yours if you want it."

"Um, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why not? You're Oliver's friend like me and if you're worried about William, he's thirteen and so basically, all he cares about is seeing that movie. He won't pay you that much attention and even if he did, just remember that he puts up with Oliver so you'll definitely be fine."

Barry wanted to say yes. It wasn't even his anxiety caused by meeting William for the first time holding him back from voicing out that one damn word. Oliver had talked about his son enough times for Barry to know William wasn't anyone to be wary of. He was into comics, movies, tv shows, and video games and Oliver was proud of him. It was apparent from every single word the billionaire uttered about his son. That counted for something. Had William been a spoiled brat, there would never be this spellbinding glint of content in Oliver's eyes.

So really, William was not the problem. But then what was?

He eventually settled for "I'll think about it," and maybe got a bit more relieved than he should have when Felicity flashed him a smile and nodded. They both noticed Oliver finally hung up and was now making his way back to them.

"Sorry about that," the billionaire said as he took his seat. "What did I miss?"

"Barry is going with you and William to the movies!" Felicity announced and watched both men gawp at her.

"That's not-" Barry started, but Felicity shushed him with a wave of her hand. "Oh come on, you were gonna say yes. You won’t regret it, I swear. Besides, it will make Oliver immensely happy if you come. Isn't that right, Oliver?"

Oliver stared at her hard, but seeing she wouldn't relent, he sighed and looked at Barry. "Yeah, what she said. But only if it's no trouble for you."

Barry didn't have any other choice than to cave in. Oh, what the hell, he thought, it was ridiculous that they hadn't met one single time outside Jitters anyway. "What movie are we seeing?"

"Ready Player One. Have you seen it already?" Felicity asked.

Barry had actually. The other day he went with Cisco, but it also didn't go unnoticed by him how the corners of Oliver's lips quirked into a tiny a smile as he agreed to go and he found himself ecstatic to see that movie again even though he was fully aware the motion picture itself had very little to do with it.

"No, but I always wanted to. I never pictured you to be into this kind of movies, though," he said to Oliver.

"You're implying I'm getting old?"

"N-no! Of course not! It's just that-"

"Relax, Barry," Felicity chuckled, "that's just your fake boyfriend making fun of you. There's no need to get all flustered for him. It doesn't do his ego any good."

Oliver narrowed his eyes at her and for a few seconds, Barry had the time to look away and at least try to figure out why today everything was so different. Why he was so flabbergasted when he should be just having a good time with Oliver like he always would. Felicity was nice and kind so there was no reason to even consider she had something to do with this, but something did. And why the hell couldn't he get to the bottom of it?

When Felicity and Oliver turned their attention back to him, he formed a smile, hoping neither of them could see how strained it was. It wore off quickly and soon he was back to talking with them like it was that easy. But then they were parting ways and Barry saw Felicity hug Oliver and he felt his insides churning and the bitterness was back. He needed to get his shit together before Friday would come. Leaving the impression he was weird shouldn't be the first thing he does in front of William, especially now when he really wanted to come and spend his Friday this way. So he told himself to suck it up and try to see the bigger picture here. It probably wasn't as big of a problem as he was making it out to be anyway.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They had agreed to meet outside the movie theater and Barry was actually on time or at least that was what he first thought, but then the main entrance came to his sight and he stopped dead on his tracks. Because there Oliver and William were and he couldn't hear them. They were too far and the streets of Central were as alive as ever, but to him, there was no noise because the whole world fell silent. He just watched, surrounded by the imaginary tranquility, Oliver and William talking.

It looked like William was trying to explain something he considered amazing and Oliver was giving him his utmost attention. The billionaire must have understood something wrong, though, or at least pretended to because the next thing that happened was William shaking his head incredulously and soon falling into a round of laughter, which Oliver mirrored. He had definitely faked it, then, just to get his son to laugh like this. Before Barry knew it, he smiled at the scene before him almost feeling sorry he had to break it with his appearance, but after witnessing this little and yet meaningful interaction between the two, he felt much more relaxed than when he'd left his apartment that night.

"You're late," Oliver told him once he noticed him.

Barry innocently shrugged, not regretting his reasons for violating his punctuality that night. "I didn't want you to feel special, thinking I was trying for you. Your ego is already big enough as it is."

Before Oliver could counter the snarky comment, William snorted and all attention fell on him. "So this is the Barry you've been talking about?"

"He talks about me?" Barry asked, amused.

"Oh yeah, like all the time."

"He doesn't mean that. He's just trying to be funny," Oliver said and Barry smiled as their eyes locked for a brief moment. "I figured. Wonder who he got it from, though."

"Hear that, Dad? I'm just learning from the best like you taught me."

"Just get inside before I change my mind and we go home," Oliver replied, but the way he shook his head with an amused smile he couldn't fight was the only indicator they needed to know his threat wasn't meant to be serious at all. William looked like he wanted to say one more thing but chose to rather stay silent and go inside anyway with Oliver and Barry following behind. Once inside, he sent them to buy some snacks and drinks while he went to the washroom. Barry just found it endearing how Oliver rolled his eyes at his son being so bossy. Still having the moment between Oliver and William that was the reason he'd come late freshly on his mind, he was more than thrilled that he had come here in the end. Hearing Oliver talk about William was something he always enjoyed, it would always uncover this side of Oliver he doubted many people could see. But actually seeing them interact pushed it into a completely new level and he knew he would regret it if he didn't get to find out about that.

"He's cute," he said as they were waiting in the line.

"Don't let him hear you. He would never forget that."

"But it's true."

"He's thirteen. Saying he's 'cute' might as well be an insult to him."

"Oh yeah? And what’s your excuse? Because I remember you being bothered every time I called you cute in front of the baristas.”

“I wasn’t... bothered.”

“You calling me a liar, darling?”

“Nope, just delusional,” Oliver deadpanned and got away with it only because it was their turn to order. Once that was done the man behind the cash register looked at them and asked: “I don’t mean to intrude, but are you, guys, a couple?” Before they could answer he went on. “Because we have this offer going for tonight. We’ll give you a small bucket of chocolate covered cinnamon bears for half the price if you’re a couple.”

Barry had to chuckle at that because really what were the odds of two establishments having such a similar offer, but then another thing shocked him. Both he and Oliver remained silent, no longer trying to say that they were just friends hanging out even though that was the truth. Instead, they looked at each other, reading where they stood from each other's faces without any difficulty. What the hell, William was definitely going to be ecstatic about the extra snack anyway.

"Yeah, we're together and we'd love to have that bucket," Barry said, but there was something different about saying those words even though he had said similar ones so many times he'd already lost count. He saw Oliver smiling at him and that somehow caused the whole world to freeze and mute again, overwhelming him with an unfamiliar feeling of warmth. The next thing he remembered was Oliver handing him the said bucket with numerous brown bears inside and the two of them making their way to William who was already waiting for them in front of the entrance to the auditorium.

"You took your time," William concluded, clearly more intrigued than mad when he lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

"Yeah, that's on me," Barry said. "But we got you this, so all forgiven?"

William took the small bucket and beamed for a split second before he looked back at Barry, all serious again. "You're all good. This time. But I'll be watching you so you don't teach my dad your habit of always coming late. Like I said, he talks about you a lot."

"I believe what William meant to say was 'thank you', right, buddy?" Oliver mildly chastised his son.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," William said and rolled his eyes when Oliver arched his eyebrows at him expectantly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Barry and Oliver said in unison, which made William snort before he took his drink from Oliver's hands and motioned for them to follow him. "We should get inside. It's gonna start soon."

Both men followed him and sat down at their rightful place with William sitting between them, exchanging the bucket with cinnamon bears for the one filled with popcorn with his dad, obviously saving that for later, which made Barry smile for probably the hundredth time that night. It wasn't like he minded, though, when it was making him feel warmer than he ever had. Even when the movie started, his mind didn't completely get the hint it was time to focus on the screen instead of the two people beside him. He was actually glad he had already seen the picture. That way it didn't matter how many times his eyes flew over to Oliver and William to watch them for a few minutes instead because he would still be up to date. He just couldn't help it.

It was clear the screening of Ready Player One was going to end for good soon. Most people had already seen it and thanks to that the auditorium was almost completely empty. Barry had never witnessed anything like it since he'd always been into movies and wanted to see them as soon as possible, but this solitude was really... nice. It gave Oliver and William the room to comment on what was happening on the screen without needing to worry they were disturbing someone else.

William would occasionally brag about how much more pop culture references he could spot than Oliver and no matter what, the billionaire didn't attempt to silence him, to put him down. He didn't get bored, he listened to all his son said and even looked truly immersed by the movie. The sight made Barry so spellbound he couldn't stop staring for several minutes and even when he eventually forced himself to watch the screen and not look away again, his mind stayed there in that magical moment. Everything he'd seen that night convinced him that Oliver was a good father, which was another thing tabloids never got right. Their loss, he thought and kept smiling till the end of the movie.

After they left the movie theater, William excused himself again when he spotted one of his friends from school to go say hi.

"I'm really glad I came with you, guys," Barry said once he was alone with Oliver.

"Even though you've already seen the movie before tonight?" the billionaire asked and chuckled when Barry's eyes widened. "Yeah, I knew the whole time. You might be an amazing forensic scientist, but that doesn't mean you can lie."

"I don't know if I should take this as a compliment or an insult."

"Take it as me showing my gratitude you came anyway, then. I keep hearing it's not one of my stronger suits."

"Oliver Queen is actually bad at something and openly admitting it? Has the world started ending while I wasn't watching or what?" Barry teased and chuckled when the billionaire rolled his eyes at him in that affectionate way he did with William. Then, however, Barry’s phone buzzed, alerting him of a message from Iris. Being reminded he had to attend her wedding and that he still wasn't completely okay with it, his mood fell down so radically Oliver would have to be blind not to notice.

"Hey, you okay?" he gently asked with nothing else but clear concern written all over his face.

"It's nothing," Barry lied, all too aware Oliver could tell and expecting to be questioned about this further, but the billionaire didn't say anything. He just nodded, seemingly content to let the silence stretch out and let this be the way of how this amazing night was supposed to end. Barry should've been grateful that his friend wasn't prying, but for some reason, he decided to clarify regardless.

"You remember how I mentioned two of my friends getting married?"

"Iris and Eddie, right?"

"That's them. And it's happening next Tuesday and I just...," he trailed off, not even knowing where he was going with this.

"You don't feel like you're ready yet," Oliver finished for him, obviously remembering all that Barry had willingly shared with him about his bitter experience with love. If the circumstances were any different, Barry would be touched that Oliver cared so much he listened and remembered all that had been said between them. But like this, he just felt embarrassed to the bone.

"Barry, there's nothing wrong with taking your time," the billionaire said and although Barry believed his words, there was just something odd about the way he said them. Or maybe it was about the special kind of sadness he could see in these piercing blue eyes before him. He couldn't decipher what it meant for anything and it was driving him mad because here he was, bothering Oliver with his problems when the latter could be possibly dealing with something much worse and just keeping it to himself to have this weight solely on his shoulders. Now that was pathetic and for a while, Barry felt speechless until he remembered what amazing time he'd been having every time he'd met with Oliver and an idea popped up in his head.

"Come with me," he said before he could think better on it.

"What?"

"To the wedding. As my plus one."

Oliver stared him down, obviously not buying he was being serious. "You want me to go to a wedding and pretend we're together in front of dozens of people?"

"Why not? We're already pretending and obviously doing a good job."

"You call fooling a bunch of baristas, people we don't know, a good job?"

Barry slumped his shoulders and let his head fall when it occurred to him how ridiculous he was being. Of course pretending in front of his friends and family would be different and honestly, he had no right to ask that of Oliver so what the hell was wrong with him? Was he really so scared of facing Iris and Eddie that he forgot he and Oliver were in this together as equals? Since when was he so selfish?

"You're right. I'm sorry. I don't know why I even suggested it. Just forget it happened," Barry pleaded and looked up only after he heard William making their way to them.

They said their goodbyes quickly after that, which made Barry hate himself immensely more. He just had to ruin a perfect evening like that, didn't he? He wondered what that meant for him and Oliver. Whether the billionaire was upset and would ditch their regular meetings in Jitters or worse, ditch him completely. He got his answer at least partly the next Monday when he went to Jitters and Oliver wasn't there. But honestly, he had no one else to blame but himself so he took the coffee with him outside, feeling the breath of winter embracing him mercilessly and taking it as the punishment for being such a fool as it was and he went home, already trying to prepare himself for tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Surprisingly, interacting with both Iris and Eddie wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. Somehow the bond he had with them found its way to work again despite his disbelief and talking with them felt easy. Even seeing them together, stealing glances, smiling and just being happy gave him this vibe that it was how it was supposed to be. They belonged together. It was as clear as a day when they were both glowing in the most beautiful way there was.

Barry felt happy for them as sincerely as he should have right from the start. It made him realize he had been even more of a fool all this time. He could have honestly enjoyed this wedding, but the way he'd parted ways with Oliver last Friday was all he could think of. He could deny it all he wanted every time someone asked him if he was okay, but it didn't make his pain disappear or him forget about it. The ceremony hadn't even started yet, but he already knew he had to fix this somehow or at least try. He would call Oliver after the wedding or maybe come to his apartment. What if Oliver wasn't home or refused to let him in? What if he didn't want to have anything to do with him ever again?

He was so immersed with what-ifs and maybes that he failed to realize everyone around him turned their attention away from wherever it was to openly stare at something. He got out of his trance only after the voice he knew all too well found its way to his ears.

"Seems that you're already rubbing off me," Oliver said with a smile. "But unlike you, I have a valid excuse for being late. I had to find out which wedding was the right one. Did you know there are two other weddings happening today? It's November. Who gets married in a goddamn November?"

"That'd be us," Eddie said cheerily as he and Iris appeared beside them. "You have to forgive us. We just couldn't wait any longer to make this official. Besides, we had no idea Oliver Queen himself would come by."

"It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Queen," Iris babbled out and punched Barry on his arm, which finally made him overcome his shock of seeing Oliver there. "Why didn't you tell me you were bringing someone with you when I asked?"

"Actually, that's on me," Oliver claimed. "It wasn't the plan. I just changed my mind in the last second."

"You did?" Barry blurted out as the fool he was, still unable to believe this was really happening.

Oliver looked at him and smiled so warmly Barry thought his heart was going to burst and that was no longer normal. Even in his standards. He knew he was missing something, but figuring it out seemed still so out of reach. "You're gonna introduce me to your friends or not?"

"Right, sorry. Iris and Eddie, this is Oliver," he said, suspecting Oliver was daring him to introduce him as his boyfriend. Barry, however, said or implied no such thing and just left the introduction as it was. With a single look at both Iris and Eddie he could tell they saw them as the couple they weren't. He had no idea why he refused to tell them they were wrong, though.

"How long have you known each other?" Iris asked.

"Just a few months," he replied and somehow the conversation kept going until Iris and Eddie excused themselves to get ready and Barry finally had time to talk to Oliver alone.

"Why did you come? Not that I'm not happy to see you, but... when I didn't see in you in Jitters yesterday, I thought..."

"I'm not so easy to get rid of, Barry, don't worry. Besides, there's booze and cake for free. You know me, how could I say no to that?"

Barry laughed at that and squeezed Oliver's arm in the affectionate way they were both used to by now. "Thank you, Ollie."

Oliver dedicated him another smile and that was that. The two of them never left each other's side for too long during the whole event. They fell into a conversation with numerous people Barry knew, Joe, Cisco, Caitlin, Wally, Dr. Wells, Ralph, all of them obviously suspecting he and Oliver weren't just friends and yet Barry didn't correct any of them because he was having such an amazing time that he thought this would totally ruin it and he didn't want to do that the way he had the last time.

Being with Oliver just felt so refreshing and easy, he didn't feel like the stranger he'd been worried he would be all this time. He was bursting with gratitude and he wanted Oliver to know that because he was all too aware the billionaire had helped him to heal from his unrequited feelings and how they'd broken him. He thought the damage couldn't be erased or conquered, but thanks to Oliver that was exactly what had happened without him knowing all along.

This was what kept him smiling during the whole ceremony as he watched Iris and Eddie exchange their vows. His eyes fell on Oliver's hand right next to his and he had no idea what possessed him right at that moment, but the next thing he knew, he lightly stroked the back of Oliver's hand with the tips of his fingers and before he could freak out, Oliver turned his hand with his palm up and stopped his own hand from retracting. Barry relaxed and entangled his fingers with Oliver's, letting the all too familiar feeling of warmth by now spread and his heart go skyrocketing at the contact.

They didn't let go for the rest of the ceremony and Barry was pretty sure no one was watching them, trying to determine if they were together or not. This right there was just for them and only after they had to stand up and let go, it occurred to Barry to actually wonder whether he knew the answer to the one question of all those people staring at them. He'd been pretending all this time to be in love with his friend. Had it really gotten so out of hand that he failed to notice he stopped faking it somewhere along the way without taking any hint?

Suddenly, he felt like the whole world was going to collapse on him. Remembering all those times his knees went weak upon seeing Oliver smile or when a shiver ran down his spine upon standing so close to the billionaire their bodies were almost touching. Back then, he was too exhilarated that he could still make friends, that he had made a friend as amazing as Oliver and that after all this time he finally felt normal and content and... happy. He'd been healing all this time and he just didn't know, but now it all made sense and the realization was more than just dreadful.

Because how could he expect Oliver to ever feel the same? Oliver Queen whom every girl wanted, who was funny and much more thoughtful than anyone would expect him to be, who was an amazing father who cared about small things and would always do anything to make his loved ones happy. And who, most importantly, was straight. Barry inwardly cursed. He was so screwed he wanted to cry. How had he let this happen? Why couldn't he just stay out of the quarrel the day he'd met Oliver? Why couldn't he just stop going with this play of pretending they were in love so willingly?

Everything was caving in. The world suddenly felt too loud and his head hurt. He desperately needed to get out for at least a minute, so he marched towards the nearest exit, not giving even a tiny bit of damn that it was too cold to stand outside only in his suit. All he wanted was to think in silence and peace, but even that seemed to be too much to ask when he noticed Oliver came after him, all perfect and dashing, making Barry's body wanting to react despite him being all too aware Oliver was the last person he wanted to see right at that moment.

"Hey," the billionaire said with concern written all over his face yet again and Barry wanted to laugh at the irony that Oliver himself was partly the reason for it and just didn’t know about it. "Is everything alright? If it's too much for you to be here, we can leave. Just say the word."

"No, it's not that," Barry sighed, unable to look at him. "Everything's fine. I just needed to get some air and think."

"Alright. Then I leave you to it. Just don't stay here too long. I have a feeling Joe would blame me if you froze to death."

Barry didn't laugh as he was supposed to. He didn't even smile or look at Oliver who turned away to leave. But that was the thing, deep inside Barry didn't want him to leave. Not like he had last Friday and not like he was leaving now, which was why he uttered that question he couldn't let go no matter what. "Why did you come, Oliver? The real reason this time."

The billionaire came closer and spoke after letting out a huge exhale. "Just wanted to make sure you'd be okay."

Barry knew Oliver well enough to know it was true, but he also knew him enough to figure out it wasn't all Oliver had to say. "I was doing okay. You saw that so you could leave any time you wanted, but you stayed anyway. Why?"

"If you wanted me to leave, Barry, you should've said so."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then tell me what's wrong."

Barry took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the mess his thoughts were in and failing to find the right words, growing more agitated with every passing second because Oliver was waiting for him to explain what was going on with him and he so desperately wanted to but found it too hard to even say anything at that point.

"Everyone inside thinks we're together," he finally said.

"So? I thought that was the plan. The two of us, pretending and lying to your family and friends, or did I get it wrong?" Oliver said and Barry knew that was meant to hurt.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Oliver denied but sighed when it was obvious Barry wouldn't let go. "I just find it interesting that lying to those you love is comes easy for you. You could've introduced me as your friend and denied there was more between us, but you didn't."

"From what I gathered you didn't deny anything either."

"Well, maybe because I didn't want to deny whatever they were thinking in the first place. Ever thought of that?" Oliver almost growled or maybe that was what Barry's messed up brain was telling him it was because at this point he really wasn't sure anymore. It felt like the world was trying to fool him, daring him to fall for its tricks just one more time and come of it finally broken for good because there was no way he had just heard that right. Oliver couldn't have said any of that because it just didn't make any sense. Not that it mattered because Barry's brain completely shut down once he finally noticed how close they were standing, looking directly into each other's eyes, unable to look anywhere else.

Barry's heart was hammering against his ribcage, deafening any other sound and most importantly all his common sense from trying to bring him back to reality. He didn't know how to respond, what to say, he just wanted to know what it felt for at least one fucking second and so in a flash, he connected their lips in the most horrible angle he could have and let it all crumble on him, ceasing to care completely whether Oliver would rebuff him, shove him away and never speak to him again. He just needed to know it was real. That he hadn't imagined ever falling for his best friend again and that he didn't wish more than anything to stop pretending.

He got much more, though, because Oliver didn't break away from him at all. Against all Barry's expectations, Oliver fixed their angle like it was the easiest thing on this world and kissed him back as zealously as possible, making Barry feel he could burst any second with pushing it even further and biting on Barry's nether lip, requesting an entrance Barry granted on instinct and moaned at the sensation, feeling his pants rapidly getting too tight to his liking, but he wasn't ready to let it end just yet. It was a dream coming true for him. Who would want something like that to end?

"I knew it! I knew I wasn't hallucinating it," Cisco's voice suddenly came to the surface and broke the trance he and Oliver were in, causing them to jump from the embrace and Barry wanting to die right on spot.

"Cisco, what hell, man? What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you two. It's time to cut the cake and Iris wants you there. Although I'm pretty sure she'd be willing to let it slide if she knew you were this... busy. I mean, Oliver Queen? Common mortals like us weren't enough for you or what?"

"You do realize I'm right here and I can hear you just fine?" Oliver asked, openly glaring at Cisco who backed away immediately. "Right, sorry. I'm just gonna run from this not at all awkward moment and say you're both alright."

"We'll be right behind you," Barry promised and tried to pull off a smile which was probably more strained than ever before he turned to face Oliver with an unreadable expression on his face. "That was..."

"Close," the billionaire finished for him. "It's a good thing he caught us like this instead of us arguing. I can imagine you being questioned about having troubles in paradise is the last thing you want."

"Wait, what?"

Oliver let out a deep exhale and finally forced himself to meet Barry's eyes. "You should go inside before they get too worried. Tell them I'm sorry, but I had to leave early."

"Leave? What are you talking about?" Barry said and grabbed Oliver's hand before the man could get too far.

Oliver glanced at their joined hands and lifted his free hand to gently separate them. "You got what you wanted. They're not gonna doubt anything now. But I'm done." He briefly looked at the ground, clenching his teeth, before looking at Barry again. "This would be so much easier if it just stayed in that stupid coffee shop." And without any more words, the billionaire walked away, not stopping or looking back and making Barry hate himself for failing to prevent this from happening. He watched Oliver leave again and although it didn't make any sense to him at first, after a few more seconds of silence, he realized he was the only one to blame for this. Because Oliver thought Barry had seen Cisco coming and kissed him only to make sure everyone believed they were together and honestly, could he really blame him for it? When he was too chickenshit to say anything to prove him wrong?

He did go back inside after that, but feeling more hollow than ever before, he wasn't a joy to be around anymore and eventually ended up leaving early too, thinking of everything he felt during that make-out session and coming to the most dreadful realization there was. He was in love with Oliver Queen and he just let that man walk away.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oliver knew both Felicity and William were trying to make him talk about it, but it was pointless. He was already getting over it, he just needed more time. It wasn't like Barry had ever tried to fool him into thinking it was more than just pretense on his part. Oliver had only himself to blame for suspecting this and now he had to pay the price. It was fine, though. He knew how to handle rejection or... heartbreak even. It wasn't anything new to him despite everyone assuming otherwise considering who he was.

Several days passed since the wedding. Oliver hadn't gone to Jitters at all as the coward he was, knowing all too well the building alone would remind him of Barry enough to make the pain raw again and ruin his whole facade and that wouldn’t help him with getting over this, which was why he turned away the offer of the owner of Jitters himself after he got a phone call from him that night, finding out he had supposedly won some price even though he was one hundred percent certain he hadn't taken part in any competition in the first place.

The man eventually admitted he just made that up to make him come because he had a daughter who, again supposedly, was a huge admirer of Oliver Queen and would die for a photo with him. Feeling too tempted to tell the man to shove it and go to hell, it took Oliver several seconds of silence to overcome the overload of emotions inside and say he'd be right there, already regretting ever going with it the second he hung up, but there was no coming back from it. Besides, there was a chance the man was being honest and in that case, his visit to Jitters would be a good thing, but for some reason, he couldn't help but doubt the man's words. It didn't stop him from leaving his apartment in the end, though.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was way past the closing hours, but the coffee shop was still all lit up, leaving an odd impression with how empty it was. There were no... there was no Barry and that was the whole problem. And it hurt just like Oliver suspected it would. But he told himself to shove it and finally pushed the entrance door and stepped inside.

"Hello? Anyone here?" he asked, getting no answer, which was weird because he was expected after all, so what was happening? Was this some kind of prank or a crazy way to rob him?

"You're here," he suddenly heard and witnessed his heart skipping a beat as Barry appeared behind the cash register. He spun around, marching to leave on instinct because this was just too much to take for him, but froze on spot when Barry shouted: "No, wait! Please stay. I just want to talk."

They couldn't talk. They'd lost that ability after the kiss and just being in the same room felt too suffocating, but somehow despite that, the idea of him walking away after hearing Barry beg him to stay without holding anything back seemed... wrong to him. So he stayed and turned around to face the other man, folding his arms and looking anywhere else. "Then talk."

Barry slowly made his way to him, stopping soon enough to leave several feet separating them. "Remember how we were making fun of the owner for coming with the whole menu for couples in the first place? It turned out he's actually a really nice guy. Maybe a bit too trusting since I convinced him to lend me the keys for tonight so quickly, though."

"Where are you going with this, Barry?"

"Just wanted to tell you how much this place means to me. It's not about good coffee or cakes or the whole vibe I get from it, although I love all those things too, don't get me wrong. But there's more to it."

Everything was screaming at Oliver to put an end to whatever this whole thing was and leave this part of his life finally behind, but then there was this small voice nagging at him to stay and listen. Barry was his friend first after all. He owed him to be there and listen when it was required.

"Every time I hang out with friends, we end up going here and we look forward to it. We don’t find it weird at all," Barry went on and took one step forward. "I met you here." Another step. "Out of all the places, this was the one where I felt like I could relax no matter what." And another. "After the whole thing with Iris and Eddie, I thought I would never be the same again. That I was broken and there was no way to fix it. And it took time, but eventually, I healed and let go. Partly thanks to this place too." He took the last step, locking their eyes and smiling before he uttered his next words."And I've fallen in love under this very roof and I was more late than I've ever been to realize it. But I know now and I'm sorry I couldn't say something sooner."

Oliver wanted to believe it. It pained him how much he wanted to believe it, but what if Barry was just taking pity on him? What if he was meant to have his heart broken countlessly worse than he already had?

"You once said," Barry broke his train of thought, knowing him perfectly enough to suspect what was going on in his mind, "that I was a terrible liar and you were right. Then you told me that you couldn't understand why I found it so easy to lie to my friends and family. And, Ollie, you were right about that too because it's one of the hardest things anyone could ask of me. The reason why I made it look so easy is that I wasn't lying in the first place. I wasn't pretending anymore. The truth is I've probably stopped a long time ago and I'm pretty sure so have you."

"But what if it's not real? What if we're just fooling ourselves like we've been fooling others?"

Barry slowly placed both his hands on Oliver's cheeks. "I think it's been real the whole time. We were doomed right from the start. We just didn't know about it. I'm a terrible liar and you could've told me to go to hell the second you got that cake for William the day we met, but you didn't. You just went along with it like I did. All I'm asking is for you to go with it now too if it's what you want. Because it is what I want and I'm sick of getting everything in the way of me saying it."

Oliver smiled before he could stop it and he knew right there on the spot that there was no reason to question what this was between them anymore. He knew what he was feeling, what he had been feeling for a long time now, and he wasn't going to fight it when Barry was right there, promising happiness Oliver was certain he would deliver when he had been doing it the whole time they'd known each other. It was time to stop refusing it. It was time to embrace it instead. And so he did just that when he wrapped his arms around Barry's waist and sealed the deal with a kiss, letting it serve as his yes to the other man's question. Now and every time anyone would ask him again. Because it felt real. Getting another taste of Barry's lips, he couldn't be more certain he was right where he belonged and it no longer mattered to him it had taken him so long to realize it and accept it. He was now convinced he wouldn't let Barry go for anything and that was what was mattered.

"I take that's a yes, then?" Barry asked once their lips parted and they could catch their breaths again.

"What, you didn't find that convincing enough?"

"I'm not sure," Barry replied and smirked. "You're much better at lying than me after all. You might as well keep trying harder to make me fully convinced."

"You're lucky I have no problem with that," Oliver finished and connected their lips yet again, already sure he would never get tired of this sensation because it was tangible. It was real and most importantly it was theirs.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a regular day the next time they decided to meet in Jitters again. Barry still couldn't get over the fact this was officially his life. He'd never been this happy and sometimes there were still days he thought life would decide to take that away from him in the most horrible way possible, but Oliver never left again and that had to count for something, right?

They were waiting in the line as they had been numerous times before and yet something felt different this time. Their eyes were locked, hands always busy with finding countless ways how to stay in direct contact. They were in their own world, immersed and happy beyond belief it was something only the two of them shared. No one could take that away from them because they would be foolish to ever let it go.

"Welcome to Jitters," a barista they didn't recognize brought them back to reality. "What can I get you?"

Barry ordered for both of them and then finished with "By the way, we're together, so we'll go with the couple’s menu if that's okay" and feeling utterly joyful that this was official and as true as it could be.

The cashier, however, apologized instead and said they were no longer serving the couple’s menus because it was stupid to begin with according to their owner and someone had complained the policy implied one kind of love meant more than any other. Barry didn’t appreciate the irony of this at all, but he tried to wave it off even though part of him felt sad that he would never get to drink from the horrendous looking cups again especially now that he was so blessed with love and aware of it. Oliver must have read it somehow from his face as the know-it-all he was because once the barista wrote their names on the regular cups the billionaire asked: "Can I borrow your pen for a second?"

"Yeah, sure," the barista replied and handed him the object in question.

Oliver thanked him and reached for one cup, either writing or drawing something on it and then doing the same thing on the other cup. Barry couldn't tell what it was, though, because Oliver made sure it was indecipherable from the movements of his hand as the smartass he was, handing the cups back to the barista so Barry couldn't see why he needed the pen for as long as possible. Even once their coffees were ready, Oliver took them both and left Barry to pay for it which had been the plan anyway so Barry decided to let it slide and followed his boyfriend, relishing was he could call him that now, to their table. Only then Oliver handed him his steaming coffee with a smile. "I'm gonna miss the cakes."

"We can buy a cake next time we're here and share it like we used to. We don't need some special menu to be able to do that."

Oliver softly chuckled with so much affection Barry had to mirror it. "I guess you're right."

Barry finally turned the cup around in his hands so he could see Oliver's creation and stopped breathing for several seconds in shock and so much love he swore it had to be illegal because there was no way people could feel this good and get away with it. In the end, he decided to be immersed in it instead because that was what it was supposed to be about anyway.

He didn't throw away his cup that day. He took it home with him and for the rest of his life, he would wake up with it in his eyesight, reminding him that dreams could come true after all. He had never imagined a used coffee cup, although he did try to clean it as much as possible without damaging it, with his name in the center of a huge heart struck with an arrow to be the sign of something like that, but then again, he hadn't anticipated having someone like Oliver in his life either and here he was. And here he would always be. No matter what.

[mc-amps]

The Interview That Never Happened

Rating: Everyone

Warnings: None

Pairing: JuminxMC

This is the article I wrote for @juminfanzine It was such an honor to be a part of that project~ It was also an interesting experience writing this, since it’s so different from a normal fic. I hope you enjoy!

The plan was to interview Jumin Han about C&R’s upcoming pet café. Getting time to talk with someone like Jumin was supposed to be the hard part. He was the future CEO of a highly acclaimed and successful company after all, not to mention a celebrity, appearing in magazines, commercials and even having a scandal or two involving women trying to get a bite of his fortune. As a reporter, I thought the hard part was over, and that the rest of my time would be a breeze.

However, I was quite wrong.

This interview would prove to be my most difficult. Mainly because the interview itself never happened. Instead of trying reschedule, I decided to write about my experience. It was certainly something I would never forget.

The morning started normal enough. The sky was clear and blue without even a hint of foreboding clouds, and the bright sun gave off a warm and inviting atmosphere as it illuminated the C&R building. I made sure to arrive fifteen minutes early with my questions and voice recorder ready to go. Everything was perfect.

The front desk’s stylish receptionist greeted me with a charismatic smile and told me which elevator to take and what floor to go to. It wasn’t until I reached my destination that everything changed. While the lobby had been busy and bustling like a well-oiled machine, everyone worked frantically as if something had malfunctioned. Phones rang and fingers clicked against their keyboards endlessly. It would have been just like any other office, but there was an electric unease and tension in the air.

After avoiding a close call involving someone holding a stack of papers and a mug of steaming, sloshing coffee, I encountered Jumin’s assistant, Jaehee Kang, however, she didn’t notice me. Instead a mess of paper on her desk along with a phone call dominated her attention. She spoke in a hushed tone. Whatever the call was about, it sounded intense. All I could do was wait for her to finish. She soon hung up with a slow sigh and adjusted her glasses. Unfortunately, she still didn’t look up from her papers, so I tapped at her desk, causing her to practically tumble from her seat. I felt bad, but she managed to compose herself with almost inhuman grace. Though that faded once I explained the interview situation to her. The color drained from her face and she swayed a bit, before once again readjusting herself with a sigh. She then went on to explain how she forgot about the interview and that today would not be a good day anyways, before offering to reschedule.

This was a unique situation. I had certainly dealt with rescheduled and even cancelled interviews before, but it never happened on the day of, let alone mere minutes before it was set to take place. I was on a tight deadline. We needed this interview.

And I insisted it had to happen.

Eventually, Jaehee gave in. She took a defeated swig from her steaming mug, before rolling her shoulders and leading me through the labyrinth of cubicles. After several moments of seemingly fruitless searching, we found him, or rather, heard him. Jumin Han’s iconic deep timbre sounded a lot more booming in person.

Something I found rather interesting was Jaehee’s reaction. Instead of cowering in shocked fear, she simply apologized and told me she would take care of this. Was this something she experienced on a regular basis?

By that point, it wasn’t difficult to spot Jumin’s tall frame towering over a young man’s desk. Interviews had portrayed Jumin Han as someone charismatic and polite, albeit somewhat dry and monotone, however, the man standing before us was much more frightening and cold. He spoke in a harsh, yet subdued tone. It lacked emotion, but his anger was quite evident. He didn’t lose his temper either, which made things all the more chilling. The office fell silent. Not even the telephones or fax machines sounded. It was as if they knew not to interrupt this man.

I couldn’t quite make out all of Jumin’s harsh words, but once the employee burst into tears and gathered his belongings, the outcome of this conversation became clear. Jumin’s icy mask stayed in place even as the employee wept in pure anguish. I found myself disgusted and came to the conclusion that Jumin Han was an absolute tyrant. I felt outraged, but admittedly not brave enough to call him out on his cruel behavior.

Soon, the now ex-employee finished packing up. His crying had died down to sniffles as he left the office, head down. Even after he was gone, time stood still with no one typing on their computers or making a peep.

It wasn’t until Jaehee cleared her throat and called out for “Mr. Han,” that the spell broke. Without a word, Jumin narrowed his eyes, staring expectantly.

I wanted to tell Jaehee to forget the interview. Deadlines or not, I didn’t want to be responsible for getting someone else fired. However, before I could stop her, she adjusted her glasses and explained the cat café interview in a calm and concise manner. My heart stopped when Jumin interrupted her with the shake of his head. Wearing an annoyed frown, he announced that in five minutes, there would be a meeting in the conference room. A mandatory meeting. He then turned to me, cold as steel eyes piercing my soul. This was very uncomfortable to say the least. I had to wonder if he was about to throw me out, but instead he said I could sit in the meeting, then afterwards he would see about the interview.

By this point, I just wanted to cut my losses and leave, but something told me that disobeying Jumin would make matters even worse. I trudged after the herd of nervous workers into the large room. Not one of them said a word as they took their seats around the large table. I could almost taste the nauseating cocktail of anxiety and tension.

Jaehee kindly pulled out a chair for me next to the door, before scurrying to her seat. Jumin meanwhile took his spot up front. He silently tugged at his cuff links as he gazed at his peons. A simple gesture made terrifying by the likes of him.

Was he going to fire everyone here? I had the feeling he could get away with it if he truly desired to.

Just as he cleared his throat and furrowed his eyebrows, there was a knock on the door accompanied by a soft apology. A woman stepped into the room, but she wasn’t clad in the office attire. Instead she wore a pink sweater dress along with tights and boots. Whoever she was, I felt awful about the wrath she was about to receive.

However, instead of reacting with calculated malice, Jumin’s eyes widened and he suddenly didn’t look so frightening. He then uttered the words I never thought I would hear: “Sweetheart?”

This was Jumin’s wife?

The mood in the room instantly shifted as Mrs. Han approached her husband. The tension dissolved and everyone could breathe again.

“. . .how is she?” Jumin asked. The amount of worry that leaked from his voice was surprising, considering how cold and calloused he previously acted.

Everyone watched as Mrs. Han placed a gold trimmed pet carrier on the table. With a calm, angelic smile, she opened the door and pulled out a white, fluffy cat. It turned out she came straight from the vet. The diagnosis? A small infection that could easily be fixed with antibiotics. Otherwise the cat, Elizabeth 3rd, was healthy.

Jumin and Jaehee let out simultaneous sighs of relief, though something told me for different reasons.

Elizabeth 3rd happily meowed at Jumin, causing some of the employees to chuckle. She was quite talkative and stared at her master with large, adoring blue eyes. At first I thought the poor feline was a horrible judge of character, but then I caught a glimpse of Jumin and saw something utterly shocking.

A smile.

Not just a small upturn of the lips, but an opened mouth one, showing off his perfectly straight and white teeth. The grin wasn’t huge, but it was still something I had never seen in any of the footage of the future CEO.

Mrs. Han spoke to Elizabeth in a baby voice, asking her if she wanted to see her “daddy.” She then handed the cat off to Jumin, who scooped her into this arms and held her close as if she was a human toddler. He practically buried his face in her snow white fur, not even bothered by the small strands that were sure to cling to his dark suit.

“I was. . .quite worried,” he expressed in a soft voice.

Mrs. Han rubbed her husband’s arm and gave him reassuring words before saying something quite interesting. “I hope you didn’t get too stressed out wondering about the results. I had a feeling it would be a good idea to come here straight from the vet.” She punctuated her words with a knowing look in Jaehee’s direction, causing the assistant to nervously smile. Something told me these women had a connection. Maybe Jaehee had tipped off Mrs. Han about today’s rampage?

Jumin lovingly smiled at his wife. Once again, it was another expression I hadn’t seen from him before, though his expression soon returned to something more serious as he announced that everyone could take the rest of the day off. He then turned to Jaehee and instructed her to contact the employee he had fired and offer him his job back along with a generous raise. With a frazzled nod, Jaehee scurried out of the room, completely forgetting about me once again.

I didn’t mind, in fact, it was a treat to be able to watch Mr. and Mrs. Han before slipping out. He was quite tender with her, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head as they spoke. She even made him laugh as she pretended to talk in a squeaky voice for the Elizabeth 3rd. Somehow, despite all the odds, this woman brought out a side of Jumin that very few had witnessed ever before.

The day had been full of surprises and emotions. It turned out the future CEO of C&R wasn’t as robotic or cruel as some might have thought. He was capable of strong, albeit icy emotions when stressed over the ones he cared about, but he also could be incredibly warm and loving towards them. Truly, this man was the definition of a big giant teddy bear.

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite? - Part 13: MEPHILES

There are some villains I like. And there are some villains I don’t like. But why do I feel about them the way I do? That’s where this comes in.

This is a mini-series of mine, in which I’ll be going into slightly more detail about my thoughts on the villains in the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, and why I think they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). I’ll be giving my stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves in the game(s) they featured in. Keep in mind that these are just my own personal thoughts. Whether you agree or disagree, feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions! I don’t bite. :>

Anyhow, for today’s installment, we’ll be covering the malevolent spirit of Sonic the Hedgehog 2006, and #1 Shadow cosplayer across the nation: Mephiles the Dark.

The Gist: On Sonic's 15th anniversary, a little game was released. You might have heard of it. People like to bring it up a lot, regardless of the time or reason. It's called Sonic the Hedgehog, ostensibly, but we tend to call it Sonic '06.

It did not live up to expectations.

But what's the story?

Life was suffering for poor Silver the Hedgehog. His world was ravaged by a fire monster, he could never truly defeat said fire monster no matter how hard he tried, and his sole companion was only there because the writers didn't understand how backstories work. Things appeared to be looking up for him though, when he was approached by a mysterious black hedgehog, who offered a permanent solution to the hero's seemingly fruitless quest. Silver looked at this hedgehog with no mouth, slitted eyes, and ominous deep voice, and accepted the offer without hesitation.

"If only they knew..." *wink*

The completely trustworthy hedgehog reasoned that in order to destroy the Flames of Disaster, Iblis, Silver must destroy the one who unleashed it in the first place. The "Iblis Trigger", if you will. Who is this catalyst though, according to this perfectly benevolent hedgehog? None other than Sonic the Hedgehog, the hero of whatever Sonic's world is called this week. No more Sonic, no more Iblis, so says the absolutely well-intentioned hedgehog. Silver accepts all of this without question, because his intelligence ranks somewhere between "potato" and "Madoka Magica protagonist". He's then sent on his way by the definitely good-natured hedgehog through the means of time travel. This is barely questioned as well.

Meanwhile, in the present day, Shadow the Hedgehog is doing his duties as a new member of G.U.N, as they were fortunately able to make amends and can now look back and laugh at the time they killed his friend. His mission is to assist fellow agent Rouge the Bat in the kingdom of Soleanna, and when he catches up to her, she reveals a peculiar discovery: a tool known as the Book Scepter of Darkness.

Even the PS3 lighting couldn't contain its power.

After a brief discussion about the kingdom's history, they made their way through the ruins of the ancient Soleanna castle, where Anti-Furry Activist Dr. Eggman was waiting for them, in the hopes that they would politely give the Book Scepter of Darkness to him. The two comrades tussle with some of the doctor's robots, but the Book Scepter suffers in the midst of the crossfire, and is destroyed completely... releasing a slightly phallic surge of dark energy in the process. Eggman promptly gets the fuck out of there, and the darkness soon takes the form of Shadow himself... and the same hedgehog that would appeal to Silver's wishes. He also knows who Shadow is.

"Fucking hell, this is my design...?"

His name? Mephiles the Dark.

Not Mephisto.

Not Mephistopheles.

Mephiles.

The Dark.

Mephiles the Dark.

Mephiles the Evil.

Mephiles the Hoodlum.

Mephiles the Wrong'un.

Mephiles the Right Prick.

So you know he's a villain who demands to be taken seriously.

Mephiles quickly sends Shadow and Rouge on what he dubs "a one-way ticket to oblivion", which is actually just the same place where Eggman forcibly sent Sonic away to, alongside his buddies Tails and Knuckles. It's Silver's time period, the one plagued by the Flames of Disaster. Shadow contemplates these recent happenings as the colour palette suddenly dies for no reason.

A minor disappointment in an otherwise high-quality gaming experience.

Since the computers in this horribly ruined world still work better than Windows Vista, they use one of them to figure out the nature of their plight, and maybe check out Craigslist while they're at it. They are understandably concerned about the answer, as a madman with time travelling capabilities is no laughing matter. Shadow takes this potential threat very seriously, and he will not be distracted under any circumstance.

When they meet up with Team Sonic, they decide to work together in order to figure out how to get back to their time, because friendship truly is magic. Along the way, Shadow and Rouge discover the dusty form of a sleeping E-123 Omega, and they leave him there. Because friendship truly is magic.

Soonafter, the five of them encounter Iblis, and a tedious battle ensues until Iblis itself gets bored and fucks off. Using the power of two Chaos Emeralds, they induce Chaos Control, which in this game means...

*spins Deus Ex Machina wheel*

...they go back in time. Alright then.

So they do. Except for Shadow, who catches sight of the evil Mephiles the Dark and immediately gives chase. Mephiles has a surprise for him however... another Shadow. An imprisoned Shadow. Mephiles claims that he was used as a scapegoat for what happened with Iblis, which naturally unnerves the Ultimate Lifeform.

RAW EMOTION

Mephiles offers Shadow to join him in his cause for justice, under the belief that humanity hates Shadow, humanity fears Shadow, and humanity will make a martyr out of Shadow the first chance they get. Unfortunately for Mephiles, Black Doom said all this beforehand, and he's dead now, cause Shadow ain't taking this shit anymore. He made a promise to the Professor and Maria, and he intends to keep it. It's time to live up to his family name, and face Full Life Consequences™.

They fought.

Shadow won.

With a little help from a non-dusty, present day Omega, who was sent by Rouge.

Mephiles escaped with his time travel prowess, and Shadow and Omega followed after him. They arrived back in the present, but with no sign of the deadly demon. Meanwhile, said demon was reiterating to Silver that Sonic is totally the Iblis Trigger he's after, absolutely, dead-on. Silver barely questions him once more, and as punishment for his extreme foolishness, Shadow finds him and teaches him a lesson in pain.

"I'm Shadow the Hedgehog. Get shanked. This is who I am."

During battle, they accidentally induce Chaos Control together, which summons another time portal that Shadow somehow already knows in advance where it'll take them. They travel to ten years prior, where they find the then-alive ruler of Soleanna, the Duke, attempting valiantly to harness the energy of the omnipotence known as Solaris. Instead, he gets an explosion in the face, and Solaris divides itself into two different entities. Aggressive flames, and a mass of darkness... Iblis and Mephiles. They were two halves of the same being the whole time.

The two hedgehogs split up to stop the two halves from escaping. Thanks to the Book Scepter of Darkness the dying Duke gave him, Shadow successfully seals the formless Mephiles away, thus explaining how Mephiles knew who Shadow was ten years later. Shadow and Silver eventually return to the present, but not before Silver laughs in the face of Sonic continuity and gives his blue Chaos Emerald to the young Princess Elise, the daughter of the recently Wasted™ Duke.

After reuniting with Rouge, and after obtaining a brand new Book Scepter of Darkness, Shadow and her learn that E-123 Omega is engaging Mephiles, meaning they must head to Wave Ocean (head to Wave Ocean?)... ... ...Shadow and her learn that E-123 Omega is engaging Mephiles, meaning they must head to Wave Ocean immediately. (Sorry about that, I'll fix it in post.)

Omega was indeed engaging Mephiles. Very easily at that. Yet Mephiles took his humiliation in stride and escaped while laughing all the way. Omega confesses to Shadow that he is in fact the one who will go on to imprison him in the future. Rouge reassures her old friend that even if the rest of the world turns against him, she'll always be at his side no matter what. Shadow in turn expresses gratitude for one of the only instances of good writing in this game, and the three of them leave for Dusty Desert, where Mephiles is hiding away like a Scooby Doo baddie.

When they finally confront Mephiles, he tries the exact same tactic that failed to bring Shadow over to his side to bring Shadow over to his side. He did not succeed in bringing Shadow over to his side.

"Ugh, blackcurrant."

They fought again.

Shadow won again.

And with the new and improved Book Scepter of Darkness, he seals the villain away once more... for about five seconds, before the Book Scepter unexpectedly tears itself apart. The fiend has apparently developed an immunity to this old song and dance.

"Now for my next trick, I shall make my credibility disappear!"

He then summons a whole pack of Mephiles's's's's's to do away with Team Dark. But unbeknownst to him, Shadow has a trick of his own up his non-existent sleeve. By removing his inhibitor rings, he could become even more needlessly overpowered for a limited period of time. This was more than enough to send the army of clones flying like skittles.

Alas, the real Mephiles escaped yet again. And this time, he topped himself by fulfilling IGN's dreams and killing Sonic the Hedgehog himself. The older Princess Elise, his latest friend, was grief-stricken.

RAW EMOTION

Unable to keep her emotional turmoil in check, the princess wept, which released the mighty Iblis into the present time. As it turns out, this was Mephiles' real plan all along. He intended for Silver to kill Sonic so that Elise's ensuing tears would unleash the flames, but he finally decided to do the deed himself. Using all seven Chaos Emeralds, which he warped them to where he was like it was nothing, Mephiles rejoined with Iblis once more, and Solaris was officially back in business to corrupt reality as he saw fit. Time distortion? Environmental disasters? Soulja Boy game consoles? It's all the work of Solaris.

But while Solaris was fucking time and space's shit up, Sonic's friends (and Silver) gathered all the Emeralds together, and with some... curious assistance from Elise, they brought the dead hedgehog back to life. In his super form, no less. Shadow and Silver were granted some of Super Sonic's power in order to turn super themselves, and the Hedgehog Master Race obliterated Solaris so bad that he reverted to his original form of a tiny white flame... which was soon blown out by Elise, despite knowing that time would reset itself in the process. The threat of losing her memories with Sonic took a toll on her, but with the hedgehog's own encouragement, she pulled through regardless.

Merry Christmas.

Thus, from the Soleanna Festival onward, everything started over. This time around, the festival could commence in peace, as Eggman wasn't there to menace the princess with his golden udders. For the Flames of Disaster, Iblis, Mephiles, Solaris... they were all literally forgotten by time itself until Generations. Why they were now holding a festival for a god who never existed remains a mystery, but Elise couldn't help but feel that the "wind" was strangely familiar, and pleasantly so.

That same wind enjoyed a good night, possibly aware of what he had to go through to get there.

"That's a lovely full moon. A lovely full, whole, complete, non-fractured moon. Would be a shame if something happened to it."

The Design: Mephiles spends his initial scenes as a shit recolour.

"This is my Chaos Emerald OC, his name's Genocide the Blitzkrieg."

On the other hand, he spends his later scenes as a shit recolour.

He can't believe it either.

Which is a shame, because there is an appeal in the concept of a shadowy being made of crystal. It's just incredibly undermined by how it's mimicing Shadow's form, and for little justified reason at that. Outside of a single quip about him being Shadow's shadow, Mephiles doesn't really do anything to warrant the "Evil Shadow" angle he's apparently going for, which makes his recolour status even more pointless.

(And yes, I know his chest hair kind of looks like Solaris. That doesn't mean his design is suddenly good or clever.)

The Personality: Remember how Black Doom was a complete and utter void of evil for its own sake? Good, beause Mephiles is exactly the same, and it could be argued that he's actually worse than Mr. Ten Packs a Day.

Oh sure, you say. He might have a motive in the form of wanting vengeance for being experimented on. Too bad this is not established in any way whatsoever with what we see of Mephiles in the game proper. When he's not transparently fooling Silver, he spends all his time cackling and taunting. Any time he brings up humanity is when it involves Shadow's expense, not his own. His goal to rejoin with Iblis isn't given any tragic or sympathetic angle, and is purely to serve as his Cause Even More Destruction Card. Even Shadow lampshades his lack of motivation beyond craving destruction, and you can’t say his imprisonment in the Book Scepter of Darkness made him go mad, because even before he got sealed the first time around, he was already threatening Shadow with death.

And make no mistake, not all villains need to be especially sympathetic. Villains who are just cruel or selfish bastards for petty reasons can work just fine. Eggman does it beautifully in this very franchise. But Eggman is also funny, brave, intelligent, and has a clear motive beyond evulz that's backing up his actions, despite that motive's simplicity.

What else is there to Mephiles?

His weird attempts at being cryptic...?

"Is Lara-Su Chronicles legit?"

His lackadaisical Crash Bandicoot impression...?

Cortex Laughs Back

There's just nothing to this guy. And for a character with his backstory, it's all the more noticeable and disappointing. But hey, at least he's a cunning schemer and a powerful opponent, right?

Well, about that...

The Execution: I'm going to get straight to the point. I don't like Mephiles. I really don't like Mephiles. Next to Scourge the Hedgehog and Eggman Nega, Mephiles is one of my absolute least favourite characters in the entire Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, adaptations included.

"But why is that?", I hear you not asking. "Why do you detest him so? Is it his design? Is it his lack of personality? Is it his story?"

Those are all key ingredients, yes. But more than anything else, it's that he's played up to be a cunning mastermind, and is regularly applauded even by '06's detractors for being a cunning mastermind... when in reality, he is one of the absolute dumbest characters in the whole franchise. No, that is not an exaggeration. Silver and Elise in the same game were far from flawless, but Mephiles deserves much more ridicule than either of them. He is completely undeserving of the kudos he frequently receives for his supposed magnificent bastardry, and I'm about to tell you why.

Strap in, folks.

We're about to go through why the evil plan of poor Leslie makes no sense whatsoever.

Well done in advance if you don't fall asleep.

Too late.

1. He could have fused with Iblis at any time he wanted. Despite what many fans claim, NOTHING in the final game so much as implies that Mephiles needed certain requirements to fuse with Iblis. Meaning he could have completed his mission at the beginning of the game, from the moment he met Silver for the first time. Instead, he’d rather monologue to Silver and butcher the English language.

Guess I'll go and done that.

Let’s put that aside for a moment though, and assume that Mephiles needed the Chaos Emeralds to fuse with Iblis. That’s reasonable, except...

2. He could warp all seven Chaos Emeralds to his destination immediately. That’s an incredibly useful ability to have, especially when you're plotting something as major as reuniting with the other half of a god-like entity. He has no reason to not use this ability as soon as possible, aside from him simply forgetting he could do it.

Well, Silver had to have some vital role in his plan, surely...?

3. He had no use whatsoever for Silver. He goes out of his way to rely on Silver to eliminate Sonic, but he could easily kill Sonic himself with no trouble at all. Nothing is preventing him from killing Sonic. He’s not trapped somewhere. He’s not been sapped of his powers. All he’s guaranteeing with Silver is giving himself a potential enemy in the future when the jig is inevitably up, and sure enough, in the rare moment when Silver actually questions him, Mephiles dodges the query in the most suspicious manner, and always gives vague, shifty half-answers.

Fig A: The Twitter defense.

He’s only complicating things even more for himself, and again, for no reason. His only potential motivation for manipulating Silver is because it’s the evil thing to do. And the only reason Silver falls for his ruse is because he was made to be a complete idiot in order to make Mephiles look smarter than he actually is. Not that Silver was alone in that department...

But you think “Well, maybe Mephiles is tricky, but not actually that strong. So he needs Silver to kill Sonic since he can’t do it on his own.” It would explain why he’s a damage sponge in his boss fights, and why he relies on minions and clones to do all the work, right?

Nope.

He eventually kills Sonic himself anyway. Which leads us to...

4. He has no limitations to his powers. You might be inclined to assume he would be weak, yet smart, in contrast to Iblis being strong, yet dumb. Admittedly that would make logical sense, and it would tie in thematically to their motifs of being the consciousness and the raw power of Solaris respectively.

But that’s not how it went. Maybe that was the intention (again, note how he’s something of a sitting duck when you get past his minions), but in cutscenes, he’s as much of a powerhouse as the likes of Shadow. Which reinforces the fact that he wasted his time with Silver, because he could have - and did - kill the Blue Blur with his own hands.

But at least he actually killed Sonic, right? After all, that was the key to unleashing Iblis courtesy of Elise’s tears, yes? Weeeellll...

5. He could have killed Elise instead. Elise’s crying is NOT the only way to release Iblis from within her. As the report that Tails read in Crisis City confirmed, Elise had died in that time period due to being aboard the exploding Egg Carrier, and Iblis’ presence is very prominently felt in that time period’s future. So Mephiles could have killed the princess herself and achieved the same results, without ever needing to bother with Sonic and/or Elise’s emotional connection to him.

Okay then, what about Shadow? Mephiles was pretty serious about swaying the Ultimate Lifeform over to his side... wasn’t he...?

6. He wasted his time with Shadow too. Like Silver, his frequent mind games with Shadow served him absolutely no benefit in relation to his goal to reunite with Iblis. He wasn’t even truly invested in turning Shadow evil to begin with. Whenever Shadow tells him to fuck off back to the Antarctic, Mephiles shrugs it off every time. It’s just a game to him, and it’s a game that prolongs his objective even further. Compare this to Black Doom, who at least was genuinely committed in getting Shadow to join him, and as dumb as it was, at least Shadow was actually a vital part in Doom’s scheme.

"It's just... I wasn't ready before... I wasn't sure if I could commit..."

Despite everything however, he still managed to become Solaris in the end. How did he lose then...?

7. He threw the Chaos Emeralds away, thereby giving Sonic’s friends a chance to nab the Emeralds themselves. Which of course revived Sonic, turned him super, and you know the rest. He could have kept the Emralds to himself, or maybe even destroy them outright. Instead, he was generous enough to hammer the final nail in his coffin.

Also, what did he intend to do afterwards? When all of time and space was destroyed, would that have included himself? Or would he have sat around with his thumb up his arse in a featureless void for all of eternity? Your guess is as good as mine.

And finally, let’s go over a few leftover arguments:

“But Crusher, he still KILLED SONIC!”

You’re right, he did. But how did he kill Sonic?

Not by beating him in a fight.

Not by using genuine brilliance.

No... he killed Sonic by distracting him with a light, and stabbing him from behind.

This is hardly flattering for either character. Sonic gets a laughably undignified death, and Mephiles’ method of execution is extremely unimpressive. And on top of that, the dynamic between the hero and the villain falls flat, because there is no dynamic. Sonic himself doesn’t have any kind of connection or relationship with Mephiles, because up until his death, he saw Mephiles a grand total of once. And even then, he knew nothing about him, not even his name. So the person who killed Sonic the Hedgehog - from Sonic the Hedgehog’s point of view - was literally just “some guy”. (Sonic didn’t even acknowledge his existence. It was Knuckles who did that.)

“But Crusher, he still played the other characters for fools!”

You know who else can do that? Del Boy. :P

Mephiles only looks like a master manipulator because with the sole exception of Shadow, the rest of the cast suffered the same fate as Silver. Instead of Mephiles being genuinely intelligent, everyone else is made insanely stupid to hide the fact that Mephiles himself is stupid. Instead of him achieving his goals because he’s legitimately talented or brilliant, he “achieves his goals” because the plot hands them over to him on a silver platter.

“But Crusher, Eggman makes mistakes too!”

That’s true. Eggman does make mistakes. However, there are two small but significant differences that render this comparison moot:

1. None of Eggman’s blunders are on the same tier as Mephiles’ fuck ups. An Eggman mistake is putting an obvious weakspot on his giant boss mech. A Mephiles mistake is going out of his way to jeopardise his entire plan from start to finish.

2. For all his intelligence, Eggman has always had a comedic, goofy edge to his character, so the occasional questionable decision is expected and par for the course for that particular character. Mephiles does not have that excuse. He was intended by the writers to be suave and slick, meaning he has a lot more to lose when he makes consecutive dumbass decisions.

......

I think I’ve made my point. Mephiles the Dark’s reputation vastly overshadows his actual capabilities. To appreciate what he could have been, or what he was meant to be, is one thing. But I’m looking at Mephiles for what he is, in the final product. And what he is in the final product, is one of the worst villains this franchise has ever had. People can laugh it up about Infinite, or the Deadly Six, but they have nothing on this guy. No amount of Dan Green can save him, and while I don’t like to put all of a character’s fans in the one basket, I do strongly believe that at least a sizable margin of his popularity stems from the fact that he’s a hedgehog. Either that, or the fact that he killed Sonic, despite how underwhelming that kill really was.

I’ve went on long enough about Mephiles. Anything else at this point would just be redundant. Here’s a bunch of old memes I’ve made in the past at Leslie’s expense. Enjoy.

Also, his name is dumb.

Crusher Gives Mephiles a: Thumbs Down!