#but it is pretend silver so it looks like absolute garbage now

[under--pluto]

I made an online purchase and they've not given me a delivery estimate, and to be quite honest I think that should be classified as a hate crime :/

#so rude! #it is a lovely silver chain bc my lovely silver crucifix is on a no longer silver chain #bc I didnt have any so I just put it on the nicest chain I could find #but it is pretend silver so it looks like absolute garbage now #also sterling silver is sooo expensive oml #thank God for sales #anyway it is gonna look so pretty I lov my cross #and it has a good story so it's even more special #Bless the Nonna who left it for me I hope she is resting well #words.png #also I hate buying jewellery online but there's no stores near me and it was a REAL good sale

[kalims]

presenting them a failed dish | all

summary. you present them a failed dish (you of which they just happen to like very much.) question is, are they gonna be biased or brutally honest despite all that? 

content. alignment, all characters

featuring. all nrc students, gender neutral

wc. mentions of death (comical)

though not all the judges seated are all privileged with a good nose like the merman, nor a good set of ears like the fae, not even the combination of both from the beastmen.. all of them could smell the seeming scent of something burning? they know because they can see the gray smoke clouding above their heads.

… but they could all collectively feel the looming sense of something ominous inside that kitchen.

they all exchange nervous looks. the previous contestant called lilia's dish already made them lose their appetite. they're pretty sure that this next meal would finish them off and send them to the next universe.

the door opens and the smoke comically flows out. ironically enough you emit a ray of sunshine, as though you are immensely proud by your achievement as you hold the tray of what seems to be the eye of the storm.

"it's ready." despite the very clear aura of death behind you, and in your hands. you smile brightly and they actually pause to sweat a little.

oh god. is it normal for the smoke to form into a skull before disappearing completely..? they swear they just saw a bouquet of spider lilies behind you.

for once they quip back a comment in favor of you keeping that hopeful grin. they don't have the heart to shatter it right now when they're probably seconds away from death.

at least once they die, you're happy…

"so.. what's this supposed to be?" midst their stunned silence one of the student asks.

you answer in a quip. "an omelet." and they almost fall over. that smell is supposed to be an omelet?

you happily take off the lid and his jaw drops, at the smell alone.. is that even a dish? that's just burnt ash!

"I hope you enjoy the meal~"

"... I will."

the ones pretending that everything is okay even though it's most definitely not. he can physically feel the smoke tickling the base of his jaw and he's starting to regret picking up the spoon for a bite in your expense. surely it isn't too bad?

wrong. everything is bad. he just saw god, he isn't sure if it's worth swallowing the monstrosity just so you won't be disheartened by his reaction. he's so down bad for you

deuce, trey, azul, idia, jack, ruggie (kind of, it's free so) silver

"..."

the ones who are in fact, not pretending that everything's okay because it isn't!! what in the seven's name did you do, and use in that kitchen to create this absolute piece of garbage—the mistake of the century! do you really think they'd eat… that for you?

okay so maybe your offended look may have swayed him and he's reluctantly pushing a small portion of it in his mouth. aaaaand. he's out.

ace, sebek, epel, jamil, leona

"are you sure this can be eaten?"

the nervous ones that are constantly asking if it's fine and what in the hell you put in this thing for it to come out like that! you described the use of the ingredients perfectly! but why does it look so… bad? was your plating the problem?

but they never judge a book by its cover so… bon appétit… that's what he was thinking just about two hours ago. oops.

cater, riddle, ruggie, silver

flat out refuses to eat. it's not him… it's you 🥺 get that musty ass dish out of his face this instant! all you need is a wake up call instead of these stupid incompetent judges who are hell bent on being biased af!!

he'll drag you in the kitchen himself. you will not leave until you've made a dish that looks decent enough to eat, and definitely lives up to it's visual.

vil, jamil, leona, sebek, ace

* u hear that? he's already finished his fill lol *

the ones who for real needs to go to a mental hospital cause he doesn't even question anything about your dish, grabs a knife, spoon, fork, whatever he needed, pokes it once before slicing a piece off (but can you slice dust??) and popping in their mouth casually. 

you can't even tell if it tastes bad or not cause their face didn't even twitch. you've got an inkling that there was a glimmer of tears but he blinked them away for your sake. (but he's definitely never gonna try it ever again)

malleus, jade, lilia, silver

also finishes his fill but is eating in a very clearly more energetic, and enthusiastic way. this can go to ways. they either chew on it twice, pause then inevitably pass out for a few hours.

or they finish it and pass out for the whole day. eh whatever, they like you a lot so they'd probably keep eating em' anyways.

floyd, rook, deuce, ruggie (kind of, once again) kalim

shit cooking besties let's go!! he now thinks that you're a god in cooking cause he tasted it, and was sent to heaven instantly. which is also kind of suspicious cause it looked like it grew sentient and crawled out of hell

lilia

GENUINELY ENJOYS IT?? they're just humming a tune while savoring the dish slowly..

ortho, grim, rook

immediately suspicious and thinks that it's littered with poison or something. they think it's absolutely genius that they even noticed it. it's come so bad to the point where they had to get another replacement judge cause they kept criticizing YOU instead of your food.

who else? sebek

sorry I had to make a separate one for this man. at this point all of diasomnia has separate parts lol

let's say, the dish was just presented. without the chef so he just stares at it in interest. silently wondering who'd dare to serve him such an… unruly dish. seriously… even the villagers make better food than this.

he doesn't even bother to eat till you step out and ask how it was.

bro when did he finish it all??? WHY IS HE EATING THE PLATE???? "I'm absolutely famished. may I ask for seconds?"

malleus ( bro switching up in 2 seconds maximum, what a simp loool )

commissioned piece, not pr

#ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed ! #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim x reader #kalim al asim #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #x gn reader #twst fluff

[pro-crastinate17]

yk what i’m posting this! i am not being self critical for once! i am sharing my writing and not thinking about it too hard! 

tw: blood/gore, violence, murder etc, rather graphic in description! (lmk if i missed any warnings /g) 

blood in the shadows 

He really shouldn’t be out alone tonight. There are murderers on the loose. 

They found the first body in a dumpster, the pieces shoved into a garbage bag. No one goes down that alleyway anymore, now that it reeks of blood. 

His footsteps echo down the street. There’s no one around, at least not that he can see. Still, his gloved hand drifts toward his waistband, where undoubtedly a weapon is sheathed, and he tightens the straps of his maroon backpack. 

The second victim was less subtle, and significantly less identifiable. In fact, the murder had been committed before the first, but the apartment building it was committed in had been empty for months, and no one thought to look until the stench was so pungent it could be smelled from the street below. The police deduced that the weapon was something dull and heavy, like a hatchet or poker, from the wounds that rendered the body to bloody debris. 

He glances over his shoulder, as if he’s seen movement, but there’s nothing behind him. He seems… disappointed. Almost like he’s looking for a fight. Strange. He’s the kind of man who looks like he’d snap in half with the wind. But he carries himself like he knows these streets, like he knows his way around a brawl. Even so, he should be more careful. There are murderers on the loose. 

The media circus surrounding the first overshadowed the second, despite the gore. Apparently, it was much more horrific to slice your victim up than to simply bash them to bits. It seemed too personal, too methodical. The bloody bashing of skulls happens all the time. But the precision and brutality with which the poor victim was mutilated? Quite uncommon. Or so they thought, until another body turned up. And another, and another, and another. No connection between the victims, but each cause of death was the same. Throats slit, dismembered with shocking cleanliness, and shoved into a garbage bag. Within a month, six victims had been found. The media was thrown into an absolute frenzy, speculating on motives and handing out absurd nicknames left and right. Ignoring the other killer entirely. Ridiculous, truly. Couldn’t they see they were just giving him the attention he wanted? Encouraging him? 

His steps begin to quicken. He’s spotted someone on the street ahead of him. He moves, almost silently, from shadow to shadow. He pulls an object from his waistband- a knife. Even in the darkness, it gleams silver and red. 

When the media decided to ignore the second killer, they allowed the bloodshed to flourish. A lower count of victims and a more common style of killing created only a footnote in the story of bodies in garbage bags. This was a different breed of murderer altogether. No artistry in the killing- none necessary. This one did not take joy in the attention, or the infamy, or the analysis. No. This one killed just to kill. The adrenaline rush, the fear in the victim’s eyes, the satisfying crunch of bones. The body, broken and bloody beyond recognition. That’s what makes a murderer. A serial killer is not an artist, nor should he pretend to be one. He should not take pride in the sharing of his work, but in the work itself. He’s a thrill seeker like any other. 

Yet there he stands, gloating with a blade in his hand. He moves with practiced ease, and blood spills from his victim’s throat before they can even scream. Swiftly, he pulls the twitching body into an alleyway and sets to work. It seems to be hours before he’s content. The smell of blood is almost suffocating as he carefully bags the chunks of flesh that used to be a human being. Finally he ties the garbage bag off and tosses it into a trash can. Then he removes the black clothes he wore, now soaked in blood, and exchanges them for a t-shirt, jeans, and a sweater. Innocuous. The ruined garments go into another trash bag, which he places in his backpack. His business is over. He’s ready to go. 

This body will be found in the morning. The victim will be identified within days. News outlets will give the killer another nickname. They’ll dissect his motives and speculate on his methods. They’ll guess, wrongly, at his identity. They’ll feed his ego, and his ego will feed his bloodlust. He will never be caught. There’s only one way for this story to end, for the cycle to break. This is the right thing to do. After tonight, everyone will know his name. It’ll be mine they wonder about. 

I slip out from my hiding spot across the street, moving with the same care and caution as he did stalking his own victim. He doesn’t see me coming until it’s far too late. He whips around, the terror of each of his victims present in his eyes as my hatchet slams into his skull. Blood, shards of bone, and bits of his brain fill the air, and he falls with a definitive thunk. I lug his body in which he claimed a life tonight, and I let myself go. Each swing of the hatchet brings a sick sense of relief. The rage I’ve been holding in is released as the man who destroyed me is, himself, destroyed. Of every murder I’ve committed - far more than the four that have occupied the last month - this is easily the bloodiest. It brings me such joy to prove him wrong with his own death- this is no art, this is no delicate matter. This is bloodshed. Humanity in its purest form, smeared across the street. It cannot be learned. It cannot be taught. Violence is an instinct like any other. The carnage I leave behind is more an artist’s signature than this man who killed only to perform could ever hope for. This is where I thrive, and no pompous, ego-feeding bastard will twist the thing I love. As a final touch, I paint his name on the wall in his own blood. This will be his legacy. He’ll be found with the pieces of his last victim, and I will be both a monster and a hero. 

I move quickly to a cleaner alleyway, careful not to be spotted, and clean myself up as well as I can. I should get home. It’s not safe to be out, after all. There’s a murderer on the loose. 

#writing #my writing #original #tw death #death tw #murder tw #tw murder #violence tw #tw violence #blood tw #tw blood #gore tw #tw gore #please rb if you liked it :] /no pressure

[planetflos]

𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫. ࿐

❛ synopsis ˒ jj swears you’re a pornstar and goes out his way to prove so, even if it means embarrassing you in front of the pogues.

❛ pairings ˒ jj maybank x fem!reader.

❛ warnings ˒ smutty-ish theme? without the actual smut of course. consumption of alcohol, vulgar talking, swearing, jj being an idiot and both him and pope being absolutely terrible at cards.

❛ ky’s mini notes ˒ finally some outer banks content, am i right? it’s not my best work but it has been sitting in my drafts since last year and i figured it’d be time time to publish it. taglist? check here.

“pope, man, i swear she is one!” the eager words fly out jj’s mouth as he places a card down on the old tree stump. “just look at her, i mean.”

both his and pope’s heads swing in the direction you’re in. the blond boy’s ice blue eyes study you carefully as you help john b, kie, and sarah clean up the remaining red cups, beer bottles, and white paper plates from the kegger birthday party john b threw sarah earlier.

“she has the face of an angel but the body of a pornstar,” jj shakes his head as turns his attention back to the not so intense game of cards he’s playing with pope. “and that’s because she is one.”

“how are you so sure? it’s not like you’ve done research or anything like that. go fish, by the way.” pope mumbles looking at the cards in his hand.

but in a way, he’s wrong—about jj not doing research. of course his idea of ‘research’ would be no other than actually watching porn, but knowing pope, it’s gonna take a little more convincing than just getting off to nude strangers on the internet. he deals with logic before anything else.

jj places a card down. “because…i just know, alright? my intuition told me and you’re never supposed to ignore your intuition. just trust me on this one.”

the two boys are busy rambling and arguing with each other while indulging in the game of cards (which is going absolutely nowhere, by the way) that they don’t notice you walk over to their beer infested area with a trash bag in your hand.

“did you finish?”

your words catching jj completely off guard, pope too. he quickly looks up from the few cards he has left and his eyes fall onto the sight of your cleavage; the way your breast sit oh so perfectly in your tangerine colored bikini top; and your cherry necklace, the silver charm wedged in between.

“are you finished?” you ask again, noticing the shocked look on the boys face. you look over to pope and see the same expression, just more dramatic. “the beer and stuff, you’re done with them all, right?”

cheeks reddening, jj rubs the back of his neck. “oh uh, yeah. i’m done.”

you give him an awkward smile before reaching over to popes side to collect more empty beer bottles giving jj the perfect view of your ass—but not on purpose of course. he exchanges looks with his best friend, their wide eyes practically screaming at each other.

“see,” jj whispers once you’ve moved over to a nearby tree to collect more garbage. “my intuition, it’s never wrong.”

“that doesn’t prove anything, all she did was pick up beer bottles.” pope responds, eyes still wide.

“but did you see her, though? i know you did, your eyes are still wide. look, i’ve seen a lot of girls around here but none of them look like her.”

“true.” pope mumbles, pulling his hat further down over his head from embarrassment.

• • •

the car ride home in the twinkie is pretty pleasant. some indie song plays on the radio as john b and sarah sit up front, playfully punching each other while you chill out in the back with kie, pope, and jj. you can feel the two boys staring at you like a hawk, making it not so subtle when they elbow each other every time you make eye contact with one of them. you pretend to be busy on your phone when really, you’re just shuffling around random apps, opening and closing them.

“so uh, yn,” the blonde boy sitting across from awkwardly clears his throat. “i’ve, uh, been meaning to ask you this for a while now. are you a, um…”

“am i what?” you nervously giggle as you absentmindedly pick at your french tip acrylics, sweat forming in the middle of your palms.

“he has this theory that you’re a pornstar!” pope blurts out, quickly clamping his hands over his mouth afterwards. kie laughs and jj swats his blabbermouth friend on his bicep. john b and sarah’s laughter slowly comes to halt.

“you did not just ask me that!” you shout glaring at the two goofy boys in front of you. “a pornstar—? is this a joke?” you don’t even give the two boys a chance to say anything else or to elaborate on the situation, you’re too embarrassed to look at anyones face. feeling the warm heat flush to your cheeks, you quickly dig inside your bag and pull out your airpods wishing john b would hurry up and drop you off in front of your house.

“a fuckin’ pornstar,” you mumbled underneath your breath as you shake your head. you always knew jj was an idiot, but not this much of an idiot.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #outer banks imagine #outer banks #pogues #outer banks fic #rudy pankow

[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!

#taehyung smut #v smut #bts smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #v fluff #v angst #v scenario #taehyung scenario #bts imagine #taehyung imagine #v imagine #bts au #taehyung au #w: love me or we both go down #ITS FINALLY DONE YOU GUYS HOLY SHIT #this fic honestly has plagued my thoughts and my dreams #since AUGUST

[spirit-tracks]

Wild’s Twilight form is a horse and you can’t convince me otherwise (his Devine beast, Wild horses, ect.) but I want to know your thoughts on what the chain would be! Mind giving me some head canons?

AAA YES!! ABSOLUTELY OF COURSE!!!! Now I'm no expert on animals, but I did a little bit of googling to back my choices; and i added PICTURES!!!

Okay! So Twilight and Time are both wolves, of course-- they seem to look closest to timber wolves, with a stockier build and thicker fur. Time is gold and white, and Twilight is white and greenish gray. Jojo's interpretation of wolf Link also seems to take from this type of wolf.

Legend is a pink rabbit, and going off of his design from Linked Universe, I'd say he's a breed of giant rabbit-- considering his size compared to the other boys. The flemish giant rabbit, maybe?

Alright now to the headcanons!! Warriors! Captain of the guard. Fierce. Pretty. A little bit haughty. I may not get a lot of people who agree on me with this, but personally-- I see Warriors as a big, beautiful bird. Not a bird of prey, though... but one that certainly acts like it.

A peacock! This bird is a symbol of pride and honor. Despite its pretty appearance, though, it's actually quite fierce. His colors would be silvers and blues, most notably in his tail plumage. I wanted the tail plumage to represent his long flowing scarf!

Onto Sky, the first Link in the long line of them. A kind man with a smile that could melt the frigid caps of Snowpeak. I've seen a lot of suggestions for Sky's beast form, from birds to dogs to remlits, but personally, my choice was made the moment I saw him get mad.

Needless to say, I have to go with a lion for Sky. As for his colors, I think he'd be reddish, to match his crimson loftwing. Considering Legend is pink, Sky could also have purples in there, due to it being a color associated with Hylia, and him being Hylia's chosen hero. He's got the crest of Hylia on him somewhere.

I thought a lot on Hyrule. I figured at first he could be a flying animal, considering he can turn into a fairy. Then I realized-- this is a guy who probably grew up in a cave, hunts and scavenges, and protects his territory. This kid is a bear.

A black bear! Small, mainly rummages through garbage, easy to spook-- and yet still dangerous enough to turn the king of thieves into bacon bits when it came to it. He's a black bear in breed, but his colors are pinks and browns-- fairy colors.

Wild, the champion. I love your horse headcanon anon, because it totally makes sense, but personally I could never give up my headcanon of Wild's divine form being a stag! Somewhere between an axis and a sika, with white spots and a bit of a mane-- and a rack of glorious antlers.

(Me 🤝 Wild has hooves 🤝 you)

In his divine form, I could see his colors being gold and white with a touch of blue, and on his forehead, the master sword symbol from his champion's tunic.

Onto Four! This includes all four of him, of course. I considered at first he'd be a mouse, but that's really too on the nose-- not to mention it doesn't quite fit his personality. I considered a cat! In the end I chose 'cat but a little to the left.'

This is a fennec fox, and it's the smallest one out there! Foxes are typically clever and playful, and said to represent patience-- something Four has no shortage of. His coat would be reds, blues, greens, and purples, of course!

Finally, Wind! The best pirate we've ever seen, right up there with Jack Sparrow. And speaking of sparrows!

Actually not a sparrow. A dove! And I have kind of a deeper reason for it. A white dove represents the mourning of something lost, but the hope of something new. Wind could not save Hyrule-- but he will eventually find the land that will allow hylians to start over again. He is that hope, and so, he is a dove, white and sky blue.

Also in Spirit Tracks, playing the song of birds around doves will cause one of them to land on Link's head and just let me pretend that's Wind sticking around to watch over the new hero *sobs*

Anyway, there are probably better fits for each boy, but these are my personal headcanons. Maybe they'll change, who knows! But I hope you liked these!

#ask #linked universe #lu #lu sky #lu warriors #lu wild #lu wind #lu four #lu hyrule #lu time #lu twilight #lu legend #wicked.loz

[gay-salt-amber]

Poly Roadtrip Headcanons?

Don’t give Epel the aux, Savanaclaw and Deuce will like it but everyone else will be concerned

Ruggie drove for like 2 ½ hours but Trey had to take his spot because Ruggie was gonna straight up murder the next person to cut him off

Some of Ruggies lines:

“FUCKING COME ON PEOPLE IT'S A 55! WE GOT FUCKING GOT PLACES TO BE!”

“ARE YOU MAKING A CAREER OUT OF BEING IN THE WAY?”

And, “You should've been a blowjob!” Which made everyone die laughing

Neige is looking at the billboards and he and Vil talk about the people on them and commonly they’re like, “They are absolute garbage to work with.”

They put their stuff that's not in the trunck underneath lida and Che’nya who typically keep their legs crossed

Jade is the one with the headache and stomach meds cuz he, Azul and Floyd get car sick a lot

Their first stop is Trey’s families bakery, there is a lot of cheek squeezing and Jade is just chuckling in the back

Cater convinced some of  the others in the back of the car to play black jack (card game where you try to get closest 21 without going over) and uh, Lilia is REALLY good at black jack and says, “You’re lucky we aint betting anything~” 

Silver is asleep on Sebeks shoulder with Esther calmly nestled into his hood in their bat form

They pass some older Victorian buildings and Malleus is talking to Azul about how they were built

So, they have like 3 vehicles cuz NRC has a lot of kids plus Neige and Che’nya and Sam, Crowley and Crewel who have a car with the more ‘peaceful’ kids

Jack found Epel’s Ao3 (its Ao4 in twst but imma call it Ao3) and uh- hes so confused cuz bois never read fanfics and he asked Leona with no explanation, “What tf is the Omegaverse?” and uh, Leona died

Jamil is listening to music while Ace and Kalim talk for half of the roadtrip and hard crash onto Jamil’s shoulders (they were on both sides of him) and napped the other half

Karaoke, that's it just karaoke 

Deuce sits with Epel when they do a seat change while at a gas station and now the Epel 5 are all in the back being gay u-u

That's actually how the Light Music club told everyone that they actually made a full album (and then some) and played it for everybody.. Let's pretend that the music from that NRC Light Music club playlist is theirs;w;

They have lunch at a very beautiful park and then go eat dinner at the twst equivalent of a Taco Bell

Deuce sits with Epel when they do a seat change while at a gas station and now the Epel 5 are all in the back being gay u-u

That's actually how the Light Music club told everyone that they actually made a full album (and then some) and played it for everybody.. Let's pretend that the music from that NRC Light Music club playlist is theirs;w;

They have lunch at a very beautiful park and then go eat dinner at the twst equivalent of a Taco Bell

They crash at their hotel the minute they enter their rooms

Their rooms are sorted by couples and everyone is ESTATIC about this

So, Neige and Vil are used to the whole ‘wake up early and go downstairs and get breakfast’ thing that you do at hotels normally but nobody else has that good of an eternal clocks when it comes to these things and Rook is confused

Floyd drove back and was surprisingly a good driver

When they go to the beach, Octavinlle go to the water and y’know be their mermen selves and at first Azul was hesitant cuz y’know, he doesn’t like his body and def doesn’t like being in that form infront of his loves since he thinks they dont like how he looks. But Idia, who hates water, goes in with him and says, “You’re dating a dragon boy and I have blue flaming hair, we wouldn’t ever care about your appearance.”

Riddle is that photo of goth at the beach, y’know the one

#Epel 5 #Floyd x Riddle x Che'nya x Riddle #TWST #Crowley x Crewel x Sam #Rookvilneige #ask #gay #headcanons #jadetrey #twisted wonderland

[lordoftermites]

THE FOX & THE THORNBUSH

Part 2: made this one a flashback (and probably should do with part 1 as well) since I just finished reading A Visit to the Impossible Lands. We’ll just pretend I knew exactly what I was doing when I wrote it.

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye

Summary: A bit of G-rated fluff between Roiben and Kaye, because these two never have enough of that in their story and they fucking deserve it even if I gotta do it myself.

Part 1 here.

―――――――――

“Oh, come onnnn. Just try it,” Kaye says, nudging the paper cup nearer to his lips. Steam rises in lazy swirls to dissipate into the cool air of the brugh. It smells faintly of a berry Roiben thinks is familiar but can’t place, and even less like the coffee she promises it’s made of. “I mean, you liked the bacon and honey blend last week, and that was absolute garbage. This is the best one so far, I swear.”

Roiben inspects the cup in his hand, at the artwork representing Moon In A Cup—Kaye's coffee shop in the mortal world.

Printed on the side of the vessel is an intricate drawing of a tea cup. Its well is designed to look like the cap of a toadstool—a deep indigo, with silver speckles of varying size. Woven branches of spring-green thorn make up the handle. Inside the cup, on a wave of black coffee, floats a crescent moon. It seems to reflect the light of the hall, like a stolen sliver of moonlight. Just above that, as if drawn to the silver glow, a miniature green-winged moth hovers.

On the corner of the left wing is a letter H, written in a pastel pink flourish: Roiben takes a guess that Kaye must have finally managed to track down and enlist the talents of her favorite comic artist. Indeed, it’s fine work.

Kaye pushes the cup toward him again. “Would you stop looking at it like it might be poison and just take a fucking sip already? It’s going to get cold—and I’m not trying it until you do.”  Somehow, only she can make the avid impatience of a pixie an endearing trait. Roiben suspects he might have a small bias.

Although, her admission to not having tested the brew herself first is rather dubious.

Roiben raises a brow at her, but concedes with a small grin. “I was just admiring the new emblem,” he says, before taking a tentative sip of the still-actually-very-hot contents. It scalds the tip of his tongue, but to his surprise, it really is coffee. It’s light, and there’s a bitter, but pleasant aftertaste—something familiar.

The burnt spot on his tongue is beginning to dull, replaced by a slight tingling sensation that spreads upward. He frowns, contemplating. Kaye is watching him intensely, those moonless eyes of hers glittering with anticipation. She's very near to vibrating herself right off of the arm of his throne.

They’ve made it to her favorite part of the testing: having Roiben guess the flavors—and hidden tricks—of her new concoctions. He grins again: he was incorrect only once, and that had been for the simple fact he hadn’t known, at the time, what a Goo-Goo Cluster was.

“Ah,” he muses softly. “Rowan berry.” He smiles, and Kaye looks positively crestfallen. She huffs, but it’s a brief sulk; try as she might to be a sore loser, she inevitably cheers when Roiben chuckles and pulls her into his lap. He even takes another, longer sip of the coffee, to which her smile becomes full and genuine.

There are few things in his life that can warm the residual frost in his bones, and quite nearly all of them either begin or end with that smile.

He runs a finger across his lips. As he’d thought, it wasn’t just the coffee’s temperature prickling his mouth. While he’s had a brief education of what the berries might do, he’s not, until now, had to put that information to use. “A mortal safeguard from glamours when dried and strung,” Roiben says, “it seems it also contains much of the same dilutional properties when consumed by fey.”

Kaye frowns, so he elaborates, pointing to his mouth: “I can’t feel my tongue.” There’s the lightest slur in words there, a confirmation of mild insensibility.

The usual emerald green of Kaye’s cheeks have washed out to something closer to pistachio. Roiben’s laugh rings through the otherwise-stillness of the brugh, escaping him before he can help it; perhaps the berries offer a maddening effect as well. “And you said it wasn’t poisoned.”

“But... Ravus said!” Kaye exclaims, panicked and snatching the “poisoned” coffee from him. She looks at it as though it is an enemy, a vicious foe that must be slain in earnest. “Ravus said the berries are only poisonous if they’re eaten off the plant. And even then, you won’t like, die or anything—they just cause… stomach problems. He said, and I quote, ‘as long as they’re cooked, they’re one-hundred percent safe to eat.’” She huffs again, the forced air puffing her green cheeks, and sinks back against him with a sullen glare at the cup in her hands. “I was going to run a special—Free Biodegradable Necklace With Each Purchase—y’know, some rowan berries for the mortals that come into the shop.”

Roiben knows all too well the potion-maker would not have given Kaye information with the intent to deceive; for a start, of the meager list Roiben keeps for friends, Ravus has proven himself, far and away, a creature of honor and loyalty—self-exile notwithstanding. Moreover— and more importantly, Ravus now has the greater duty of being a father; no doubt he would be remiss in a few, finer details. Roiben is almost certain he would be, should such a day ever come (though he lingers not long at all on that thought and does not allow himself the further consideration of what touching Impossibility feels like).

He knows, too, that the rowan berry will do no more harm than it already has: as some mortals have adverse reactions to the pollen of flowers, the fey suffer something similar with rowan, with only a more... mystical variant. Should the berries be ingested, the ability to glamour by speech is thoroughly subdued, until the berries are expelled one way or another. Roiben had learned of its effect on their kind years back, when Ravus had been a lone, exiled alchemist beneath a bridge, and Roiben had been naught but a fool in a king’s costume, taking many an ill-advised risk to win an unwinnable war.

He had proffered sanctuary to the exiled fey in the city then—of which that asylum had extended to Ravus and his mortal lover. And now, their small child of clay and air, with her curls of flaming copper, aurelian eyes and horn-tipped ears, carried with her the protection of the Court of Termites in its entirety; from Unseelie borough to Seelie grove, the girl would be safe.

Roiben had not, neither then or now, forced fealty, and not for more than one night and one day had he requested the man’s aid in the plan he had used to thwart Silarial. A faerie sigh, Ravus had called that brief servitude. How on the mark that turn of phrase had been—Roiben is still not so sure he had taken a single breath at all that day.

“Fret not, little fox.” The private moniker brings Kaye’s ink-black eyes back up to him. Her brows are woven together in real worry. Roiben gives his consort a pitying look, and brushes a wild lock of deep-green hair from her face. “It’s…—ah, an allergic reaction, I believe mortals call it?” Kaye exhales a wavered breath of relief, before nodding affirmatively. He kisses her pout and smiles; she tastes of honey chapstick, and a phantom of roasted dandelion tea—his favorite.

“It’s very possible,” he says, taking back the newfound nemesis and holding it out for careful examination, “as it is rarely put to use by our like due to the nature of the thing, Ravus meant it’s only safe for human consumption, and likely did not think you would try it outright on your own monarch.” Roiben winks down at her, but she doesn’t seem to enjoy the joke.

“In any case—”

With a shocked gasp of dissent from Kaye, he grins, tips the cup to stinging lips, and drains it to the dregs.

“You were right: it’s much better than the bacon.”

He smiles at her—or, at least, he hopes he’s smiling. He can’t tell: his mouth has gone entirely numb.

#i get to this point with everything i write #where i'm d o n e writing it - whether or not it's properly tied up or not #and that will be my downfall i stg #ok time to get on the pain train for the next chapters #hope yall don't wanna kill me for them bc i know i'm gonna wanna do it myself #rath roiben rye #kaye fierch #kaye x roiben #modern faerie tales #the folk of the air #mft #tfota #the wicked king #tfota fanfic

[pilferingapples]

well just finished episode 3 of Black Sails and uh

so 

that sure is a thing that happened 

Everything leading up to that  was fun and interesting! and then suddenly Everything Stops to be just Ugh

...everyone associated with this show has like. Met humans, right? Actual humans?  that could perhaps have inspired them to handle 

that whole mess

in a way that made any  emotional sense at all??

i’m so mad bc I liked the episode a lot up to that point? The plot was fun and there was so much cool scheming going on? Silver continues to be hilarious and Jack is catching up to him and I like Billy now and I enjoy the way the need to hold crew loyalty shapes every choice the captains make and i like..mrs Barlow, I guess she is?   She is Mysterious in a cool way , the pastor convo is great

and I’m fine  with Vane being the kind of character who clearly needs to get torn apart by lions but like. Ugh. All that  just didn’t feel real at all? It’s not the material but the way it was handled, absolutely felt like the show going Oooh look at us we’re scandalous  and naughty and ugh. No on all counts.  I’m the opposite of intrigued or titillated and if I didn’t have very  good recs that I trust that this gonna Improve I would stop watching right now, that was bad in a way that may have permanently killed my ability to believe in several major characters. Augh. 

.. it does get better again, right? do we all just move on and pretend the bottom third of this episode didn’t happen or what because I really really want to enjoy it again like I did the first 2.5 episodes but right now thinking about watching another episode is like trying to convince myself to touch wet garbage 

#currently very disappointed in #that one pirate show

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Heartbreak, Jailbreak - Narciso Anasui ( Non Pucci AU)

Life in prison isn't particularly the most beautiful thing to encounter, especially if you've been framed, and unfortunately, I had to learn that the hard way. 

To be fair, I don't even think one could call it "framed", since it's mostly police negligence and ignorance. They just wanted to get rid of me and this burden of a murder case faster. 

But honestly, how could a 17 year old kill her family and completely destroy her seemingly perfect life? 

For me, the police's logic is a complete mystery... But that's exactly how I was sentenced to 40 years in prison. 

They thought that I, a prodigy student, ready to take the Medicine University entrance exam, threw it all in the garbage and gruesomely killed my parents and dog, only to then go on my merry date with my then-boyfriend, that was in reality, nothing more than a scumbag.

Well, it's not like I could really do something else, and I pleaded for having a split personality, so for the past 5 years, I've been pretending to be a very dumb, soft and innocent little girl that would never hurt a fly, which made it easy for me to gain the favour and pity of most of the guards around for being a harmless angel. 

Haha, if only they knew. 

 At least I was allowed to read and study at my leisure, I was later given my own cell, shared with nobody else, I could perform piano and violin recitals during certin occasions or events and many other favours. 

Prison life was incredibly boring, especially since all women around were incredibly aggressive and hostile, or just plain dull and uneducated and you couldn't really coverse with them. 

Well, that all changed now, present time, when I met the 2 new girls, Jolyne and Hermes. Let me tell you, these girls were absolutely amazing and you could always have great conversations with them, especially with JoJo. And to think that I met her when I bribed the hairstylist not to cut their hair, and further on, when I'd give them money for random stuff they'd want to get.

Over the time, I realised that the girls also somehow managed to get Stands, but unlike mine, with which I was born, they got theirs through some way or another. And thus, began our random battle with evil as Jolyne had to fight the men who wanted her dead and framed her, mainly her boyfriend, while Hermes was there to kill the man who killed her elder sister. 

We were there for each other, emotionally, morally and physically at all times. The weirdest things happening were, however, this little kid who could use some kind of ghost ability, and inside this ghost music room, a silver haired man was leaning on the piano - They said his name was Weather Report and that his Stand is named the same way. 

Weird, but who am I to judge. 

Emporio, the little kid, mentioned that sometimes another man would join them, but he was much less sociable and was always in a grumpy mood.

And so, here we are, present day- A beautiful day of Spring in the Dolphin whatever Prison, where the men and women were allowed to spend a few hours in the courtyard to get some fresh air...Or something. 

I can only guess the guards were in a good mood or something, who really knows? 

I took my sweet time getting to the courtyard as I was reading while walking, already knowing the path there, my feet dragging me there automatically, and when I looked up from the book, I saw Jolyne, Foo Fighters and Hermes playing catch...I think? 

I greeted them with a soft smile, making my way to the bench, my long pastel pink dress swaying gently on the Spring breeze as flower petals were dancing around gently. 

Everything was perfect, everyone was smiling and laughing- But that all changed when some girl got in front of me and snatched away my book, looked at the cover, then scrunched her nose in disgust.

"Eww, you read this shit? No wonder you're the guards's pet. And to think they all say you are actually a cold-blooded murderer or something, how lame!" she scoffed, walking away with my book. "Please give me back my book. If you want to borrow it, let me finish it first." I spoke in a soft and sort of aloof voice as I stood up, looking after her. "Why the hell would I wanna read some boring bullshit- No, actually, why are you talking back to your superiors?!" she sneered, seeing me walking towards her casually. "Y/Nick, do you want me to get rid of that bitch?" Hermes looked at the girl in disgust. "No, thank you, dear. Let's not resume to violence on such a beautiful day, it would be quite a shame." I smiled mockingly at the enemy, only to have her get in my face, screeching at me. "Shame? Like what your parents felt heaving you as your daughter? Oh, wait, I forgot! They're dead! You killed them!! Hahaha, how vile of you, Miss perfect!" she laughed tauntingly, which only made me bite my lip to stop myself from snapping and twisting her neck in a fit of rage. "Give me my book back, please." I repeated in a lower, more threatening voice, making her gasp and hitting my face with my own book. "WHO DA HELL D'YA THINK Y'RE, Y'WHORE?! You think you're so fuckin' perfect 'cause everyone loves ya or somethin'?! Well, how 'bout I steal all yo' money, ehhhh?!" she shrieked, but the only thing that made me afraid was getting some spit from her on my face. "Your loss." I sighed, rubbing my cheek, taking out my Stand and pulling her hair on fire. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO, BITCH?!PUT IT OFF! PUT IT OFF!!!" she took out a small revolver from her pants, aiming it at me, but I quickly dodged it, and proceeded in engulfing her on fire and getting my book back. 

What I wasn't expecting, however, was to heard a grunt, followed by a thud and some gasps, and upon snapping my head back, I realised a pink haired man was on the ground, and the girls were gathered around him. My jaw dropped in dread realising that because of me, that man was shot, and I rushed to his side, pulling the girls away as I brushed the hair from his face.

"I'm so sorry, mister...Because of me, you got shot. Let me heal you, please." I spoke in a softer voice, taking out my Stand and using her healing water to successfully extract the bullet, then healing the wound. "Are...You an angel...?" he murmured weakly. "No, but my Stand is. Her name is Lilium and she's pleased to meet you...Although she'd prefer to have met you under less...Fatal situations." I offered him a tender smile, as Lilium's wings spread a bit more. "Y/Nick, I don't think you've met him. He is Anasui, the other guy who's around Weather in the ghost room." Jolyne patted my head, introducing us. "Oh, so you're the mysterious man I was supposed to meet! It's really nice to meet you! My name is Y/N L/N, but my friends call me Y/Nickname or other variations, so feel free to be creative." I got up, dusting my dress before offering him my hand to helping him get up. "I'm really sorry about the whole ordeal, I just hope it doesn't hurt too much anymore." I gave him an apologetic smile as he towered over me, looking down at me. "It's fine. Narciso Anasui, call me whatever you like. And uh...Thanks for the fix. You have a nice Stand." he looked at me somewhat awkwardly, unsure of how to react.  "Thank you, Narci! You have beautiful hair! It looks great with Spring. If I had a camera, I'd have loved to take pictures of you in nature." I hummed in amusement as the girls started laughing at the thought. "That's the funniest shit I've heard in a while, I swear-" Hermes booming laugh echoed around the place, annoying Annasui greatly. "I don't get it, why is this little mouse around anyway? You can't tell me she actually did something bad. Why did she get put here? Didn’t smile for a minute?" he crossed his arms, looking at us with a raised eyebrow, almost as if he were interrogating us, but instead of an answer, a deafening silence fell. "Uhm...Anasui..." Jolyne tried to mutter, but instead, I raised my face up to him, smiling with a fake innocence that dripped with a paralysing poison, making him feel that the whole place was thrown into the Ice Age all of a sudden. "I massacred my family." was all I said before walking past him, my hands behind my back, gripping my slightly burnt book, letting my long crimson hair fly behind me.

So much for first impressions. 

---

For the following days, I stood by Jolyne’s and Hermes’ side for the majority of time, and so, I was able to understand most of what happened to them and why they are here, and more, the fact that Jolyne’s dad was going to come over and try to get her out of jail, only for her to try to get all of us out, since his influence is just that great.

What I had to do was to assist their private meeting by knocking out the unsuspecting guard that was supposed to be in the same room and negotiate, but also, tell the older man about the Stand Users and leaders of the prison...

After all, being a “Pet” in this place is rather beneficial.

The meeting went smoothly, so Hermes, FF and Jolyne were preparing their strategies, while I hurried in the Ghost Room to tell Emporio and the other the plan.

“Great, everyone’s here. So, uhm...We have a plan. To escape, I mean. And...It’s going to work. But we need everyone’s help. It won’t be easy, but if we get out of here, Jolyne’s dad promised to get us new identities and places to stay, and a chance to live a normal life from now on. So, uhm...What do you say?” I look at the 3 of them, whose eyes seemed to burn holes in my skin. “Sure.” Weather nodded nonchalantly. “Can we really get out of here? And I won’t have to go to an orphanage?” Emporio looked up at me with hopeful eyes. “Uhm...As far as I know, Jolyne mentioned something about making you her little brother or something, if you’d want that too, of course. You’re a kid, you shouldn’t have to worry about things like these. You’re going to have a normal childhood from now on. You deserve it.” I smiled warmly at him, patting his head. “That’s amazing! I can’t wait!” he hugged me tightly with his little arms. “...Narci...? What about you? You’ve been quiet all this time...Is it because I snapped at you back then? If so, then I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” I spoke in a softer voice, hoping he would answer back. “I’m not coming.” he scoffed, going to the bookshelf, taking out a book, in a way to show that he’s not interested in talking. “Wh-What?! Why?! Don’t you want to get out of this place?! You already have like...15? 20? Years in this place. You’ll get out of here at 40-50 years old, and that’s basically your whole life being lost doing nothing! Don’t you want a second chance to live and learn to be happy again?” I approached him, looking at him with a sad pout. “Don’t give me that look. You only know me from the others. I’m a bad person, why’d you care what happens to me? After all, unlike you, little liar, I am an actual murderer.” he didn’t even raise his gaze from the book to look at me. “...Because in the little time we spent together, I could feel you weren’t a bad person. You are just extremely emotionally hurt and you try to hide behind your cold wall...And...You’re the only person who was sure from the get-go that I’m not a murderer. So...You’re not as bad as you say you are...Murderer or not. I’m sure you had your reasons.” I tried to reason, as he snapped his look at me, his eyes sparkling with confusion and a myriad of mixed emotions, until he threw away the book and slammed me on the bookcase, putting his hands on both sides of my head, towering over me. “I know purity when I see it. You’re the embodiment of innocence and purity, just like your Stand. But your kindness isn’t just that, it’s an act. What are you trying to pull here? And why do you cling so much on Jolyne?” he talked in a low, threatening voice, almost as if he was a wolf ready to tear at my throat. “I can’t tell what you see so nice and kind in me...I really don’t...But even so, I...I want to help Jolyne. She is like me, but she still has a family out there that loves and waits for her. They miss her, and she misses them...But me? I have no one. I, like her, got framed for such horrible crimes...But there’s nobody to support me. Even if I get out of here, I’ll still be alone...But frankly, I was beginning to lose my mind doing the same things over and over again and pretending to be a dumb idiot with some kind of psychotic split personality.” I tried to say, as my breath was taken away from the sudden closeness, blushing at the embarrassment and the anxiety I felt, as I wasn’t used to people being in my personal bubble. “Hmmm....Fine. I’ll help, but on one condition. If you agree, then you can do what you want with me and my power. What do you say? I could be asking anything...Are you really going to do anything to make sure Jolyne gets out of here? That all of us get out of here and have that stupid happy end you see in those Disney movies?” he was so dangerously close to me that I could feel his breath, as his long hot pink hair was brushing against my cheeks. “...What is your condition, Narci?” I bit my lip, trying to stay composed and breath again. “Marry me when we get out of here.” he smirked, making both myself and the kid gasp in shock. “H-Hey, Anasui, you’ll really help?!” Emporio looked at him with his jaw hanging wide open, but all I could do was stare at the magenta-eyed man, as my head was swimming with a hundred thousand of thoughts. “...M-Marry...M-Me...?! Wh-Why would you...?! Me?! O-Of all people?...I-I-I thought you liked Jolyne, she’s much better than me...A-And...I-I j-just...Me?! Why’d anyone want to date me, let alone marry me?...Are you making fun of me, Narciso Anasui, because if you are, it’s not nice messing like that with people’s hearts!” I tried to yell at him, but no matter how I tried to make my voice firm, it was trembling, making it obvious that I was trying my hardest not to cry. “If I wanted to mess with you, I’d have told you to let me fuck you. Yes, Y/N, I know, I look like a very harsh and cold man...I am a murderer, after all...But your conviction to help us get out, your gold heart...They touched me. But I’ll be very clear, I won’t help Jolyne to get us out of here, I’ll help you get a better life. I’m doing this for you, not for anyone else.” he explained strictly, as I could only clutch my shirt where my heart was, trying to regain my composure. “Can you also promise me something...” I whispered, putting my other hand on his neck, to get closer to him. “What is it?” he asked, skeptically. “...Promise me...You won’t play with my feelings...And break my heart...? I don’t think I can handle it again...I don’t know what I’ll do if...” I whispered in his ear, not able to finish my sentence, as he wrapped his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. “I killed my girlfriend for cheating on me and breaking my heart...I couldn’t possibly put you through what I’ve been through.” he muttered back, burying his face in my hair. “Thank you...” was my last, very broken whisper, as I hurried out of there to tell Jolyne that we have full support from everyone.

---

For the rest of the week, the rest of us would meet up outside, in the courtyard, discussing what each of us has to do, all while Anasui kept me by his side or in his gaze range at all times, looking after me like a hawk, his excuse being that he didn’t want me to get hurt or something.

Getting this much attention was sure...Weird.

But as long as we get out of here...

And the worst thing was that...

His embraces were so fucking warm that I lost myself in them.

Because Anasui’s Stand was the strongest, while mine was the most versatile and could heal, it was decided that we would be the ones on the watchout and make sure everyone got out safely before us, which meant that we were in the most trouble...But as he assured me, he would protect me with his life...So, okay?

The big day came by sooner than expected, and the first to go were Jolyne and Hermes, to scout ahead and make sure no harm comes to Emporio, who’d be guarded by Foo and Weather, and then us, in the back, guarding the rear.

As I told them, the master of this prison, who was a Stand User, was going to come after us without a doubt, but what nobody was aware of was the Stand’s power, so we have to be constantly on alert, otherwise...Who knows what would happen.

“Narci...?” I asked in a hushed voice, afraid to attract attention to our hiding spot. “What is it?”  he grunted slightly. “What’s the first thing you want to do when you get out of here?” I looked at him timidly. “Dunno...I think I’ll kiss you.” he spoke to nonchalantly that it sent shivers down my spine. “Y-You can do that here too. I mean, like...When you’re free.” I pressed on, hoping to hear something more humane. “Then, I’ll get a job, get paid, and take you out on a proper date.” he smirked softly, watching my face turn red. “...You shouldn’t be so obsessed with me. You should think of yourself too. I-I really don’t get why you think I’m so great anyway. I mean, I got pity-dated before. A-And I got trophy-dated. And someone lied and covered his obsessive carnal needs under the pretext of loving me. So, uhm...I dunno...But if 3 people decided I’m that of a girlfriend...Maybe there must be some truth behind it. You should settle for someone like me.” I looked away from, feeling my heart ache like never before. “And you’re telling me that I deserved getting cheated on?” he asked in a mocking tone, making me jolt in my place and retort rather vehemently. “No, of course not! Nobody deserves something as cruel as that! Especially not you!” I refuted his statement, which only made him chuckle. “Then why would an angel like you deserve any less? Honestly, you got those fuckers get to your head and you lost all sense of self-worth. You see...I have this...Thing. For showing people important to me that they are special. And there you have your answer.” he stroked my hair gently, making me calm down a bit.

We stood in that comforting silence for a little longer, until we decided that we waited long enough, and we should move out... However, that was the perfect opportunity to get attacked by the enemy Stand User, as it got me by the throat, as I could only dangle my legs in mid air, trying to gasp for air, before darkness took over me and I felt myself hitting the ground.

---

When I woke up, however, I found myself in some kind of abandoned warehouse, where I hugged my knees tightly to myself, looking around, trying to see everything around that was illuminated by the dim, flickering lights.

I was alone.

And I was much too scared to move from the corner in which I was huddled in.

What was I supposed to do...?  I’m all alone. And I’m scared. Is this the work of an Enemy Stand User? Is this the work of the master of the Prison? Either way, I have no idea what to do.

This is the definition of “I’m screwed”.

As I tried to stop myself from crying, the door opened, and in front of me, with a huge, sadistic smirk, stood one my my exes, the one who still terrorizes my nightmares and who still keeps all my insecurities ablaze.

Wait, no...I’m wrong...

It’s not just one person...It’s all 3 of them, mashed together.

This can’t be...This is not normal, even for Stand powers...So what the hell...?

Wait...Did I just say...Nightmare?

Could this be a Nightmare? Could the Enemy Stand’s power be based on people’s worst fears?

Does that mean that Narciso is also witnessing and trying to fight his fears?

Oh goodness, if that’s true...I have to get out of here and help him...

I have to...I must...But why can’t I move my legs...? And why am I shaking like this? Is this also the work of the Stand?

Oh, no, silly me, this feeling is all too familiar to me...It’s fear. It’s helplessness.

I already know what’s gonna happen to me is inevitable...It already happened so many times times before...

He would pin me down, I would protest and try to fight back, and yet....

I didn’t realise how hard I was spiraling, until I heard a familiar voice, screaming out in despair...Almost like a wail...

That voice...It was Narciso.

I didn’t realise when I bolted to my feet, my Stand setting the monstrosity of my combined exes on fire, for the Divine Retribution, and I ran through the door, trying to follow his voice, only to find him on the ground, bloody, a version of myself and another woman, dressed both in skimpy clothes, standing over him with knives in their hands, wearing the same kind of sadistic grins as the horror in the other room.

The fire of rage ignited so hard in my heart that I set them both on fire, not even caring about my mirror image, and wrestling the knife out of their hands, I started stabbing them...

I was being blinded by anger...I never felt something like this in my life...It was absolutely terrifying...

But I had to save Narciso...And without him awake and safe, neither of us could get out of here.

I used my Stand’s Divine Redemption to start healing him up, but I couldn’t focus too much on that, as from the room in front of me, huge zombie-like abominations carrying chainsaws seemed to blindly approach our room.

I cursed myself for playing too much The Evil Within and Resident Evil, and I started dragging the semi-conscious man out of that room, using the 3rd door, only to find myself in a large room that had 2 ropes hanging from the wooden, most likely rotten beams above.

The only thing I could do was climb on the first rope while Lilium used the bottom part of it to make a swing-like knot, so I could sit, while I would use my arms to coil around the rope and drag myself up, along with Anasui on my lap, as closer to the top as possible, to avoid getting attacked, while Lilium would fight them, as much as she could, despite not being a powerful attack type, and my mental strength wavering from all the physical strength I was overusing.

“Narci...Narci, dear, please wake up...I don’t know how long I can keep this up...My arms are hurting so much...The rope is digging into my arms, making me bleed...And you’re so heavy...” I pleaded for him to wake up, seeing as one of the zombies got directly under us and used the chainsaw to cut at my thighs, making me scream in agony and force myself to climb further and further.

Lilium couldn’t take it...I couldn’t take it either...I was feeling my body beginning to lose all its strength...I was going to fall...

“Fuck...Did I make you cry, Y/Nick? Gosh, I’m such a failure as a man...And as your future husband. I will never forgive myself for making you protect me...When I should be to one to protect you.” he growled in anger and disappointment as he jumped off and started killing all of them with such ease, that it was almost with grace.

I finally felt myself beginning to calm down, the adrenaline rapidly disappearing, and I let go of the ropes, falling to the ground like a ragged doll, thanking every deity existent that we were both okay.

When he finished taking care of the enemies, he returned to me and falling to his knees, pulled me in a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I fucked up. I don’t deserve to be your husband. I was weak, I couldn’t protect you when you needed me the most...I should have been there to save you, not the other way around...And because of me, you got hurt.” he growled, obviously hating himself for something like that. “Narci...Please don’t say that. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been able to escape my own room...And now, it was you who saved us, not me. You were the one to give me strength, so please, don’t be upset.” I threw my arms around his neck, cradling him. “I really don’t deserve an angel like you...” he muttered, which only made me scoff and pull him in a deep kiss, which made him widen his eyes in utmost shock. “You’re my husband, I won’t allow you to pull yourself down like that. You promised to stay by my side from now on, so do that! I need you NOW and I need you FOREVER, so don’t you dare go back on your promise, do you hear me, Narciso Anasui?!” I shook him by the shoulders lightly, as he could only nod, still in shock. “Let’s get out of here. We’re going home.” he said in a firm voice, picking me up bridal style, as we started looking for the way out.

The way out was actually killing all the monsters, which was much like a symbolism to killing our own nightmares and traumas, and in a way, it felt empowering to finally have someone by my side to help me go through the darker periods of my life.

And together, we succeeded, and found ourselves back to our hiding spot, with the master of the prison laying down in a pool of his own blood, dead.

Smiling at each other in accomplishment, we held hands, intertwining our fingers together, and ran the hell outta there to the meeting spot, where everyone was waiting for us a bit impatiently, but it all worked out, and we were taken away by the Speedwagon Foundation.

Jolyne and Emporio went to live with her family, Foo, Hermes and Weather got a house close by, while I and Anasui were lucky to get our own place, since we were ‘married’. To top it off, SPW provided us with jobs and the possibility to get any kind of degree we wanted, so of course, with my Stand ability, I chose Medicine, while Anasui chose something to his own strengths, so he chose Engineering, and thankfully enough, both jobs were rather profitable, so we could afford to pay back everything in a short time period.

Days, weeks, months passed, and living together with Anasui proved to be as natural as breathing, and our routine was making us forget about all the troubles we encountered during our lives.

Night time, however, proved to be much cruel, as nightmares were still plaguing us, playing on our insecurities, trying to weaken us...And I was already weak.

“It’s alright, darling, don’t worry, it was just a nightmare. I’m here now, calm down, it already passed.” Anasui pulled me in his arms, showering me with kisses all over my face, playing with my hair, the lights on to shoo away the nightmares. “Don’t leave me, Narci. Please don’t leave me. I’m so scared...I don’t think I could stay by myself. I love you, please don’t leave me.” I clinged to him, crying, not able to calm myself down. “I love you, Y/Nick. You are my wife, how could I leave you? I promised you, I would stay by your side for the rest of my life...Ah...Okay, fine, I was going to keep this until your birthday, but...” getting up from the bed, he went to the wardrobe and pulled out a little pink satin box, and got in front of me, kneeling, and looking at me with a tender expression. “I guess choosing the right time is better, especially if this will reassure you that I will never leave you, or cheat on you...Or anything. You have no idea of the effect you have on me...That you’ve always had, since we met that day. I need you more than you need me. I cling on the kindness and light that you show me, more than flowers lean towards the Sun and moths go towards the light. I love you, Y/N, and if you ever doubt it, I will be here to remind you that you are the most important being in my life and I will treasure you forever. Will you officially be my wife?” he confessed, a soft smile on his face, as I couldn’t stop myself from crying harder, nodding vigorously. “O-Of course! There’s nothing else that I’d want more than to spend the rest of my life together with you...I love you so much, Narci...I will never understand why you can hold so much love for me...But I’m the luckiest girl in the world. I don’t deserve you, but...But now you are my husband...And I’m so happy...I’m so happy, I don’t even have the words to express it...” I hid my face with my hands, to try to stop myself from blushing, but it was in vain.

Chuckling, Anasui got back on the bed, putting the ring on my finger and pulling me into another embrace, wiping my tears and kissing me passionately, then cuddled again, holding tightly to each other.

“I love you endlessly, Y/N.”

#narciso anasui #narciso anasui x reader #narciso anasui imagine #Kujo Jolyne #Jotaro Kujo #hermes costello #foo fighters #weather report #emporio #jojo x reader #JoJo no Kimyō na Bōken #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo imagine #jojo #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba imagine #Stone Ocean #jojo's bizarre adventure imagine #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure part 6 #jojo's bizarre adventure stone ocean

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 6: Tila Juna

Word Count: 1659 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

  *   *   *

As he is meditating, several guards burst through the curtain into Obi-Wan's room.

“Alright, Jedi, what did you do?” asks a Rodian.

“Do?”

“Where is your boy?” asks an Ithorian in his steady, peculiar language, which the cosmopolitan scholar of course understands perfectly.

“Oh, dear. I thought he was with you!”

The Rodian smacks his insolent guts with her staff. “He's run off! What did you tell him? What did you give him?”

“Nothing. I know nothing about this station. And I haven't left this room.”

The Rodian whacks him on the head. “Sneaky Jedi rat.”

The Ithorian wearily halts his coworker’s attack. “Juna’s girl will work just as well for your death matches. Your boy was only ever extra bait. Now he has proven himself to be only trouble.” His gaze is imperious and bland. “When we find him, we shoot on sight. Then we’ll slice off his head before you can pull any of your magic tricks, and divide the spoils between the upper officers.”

“You underestimate him. He cannot be found if he doesn't want to be.”

“We shall see,” the third guard, a Zabrak, threatens.

Obi-Wan feels no fear at her appearance. She looks far more like his Zabrak friend Master Koth than the Sith. No one looks like the Sith.

But, for Anakin, he feels great fear. What did Anakin do? Where did he go? What is he thinking? Anakin amazed Obi-Wan with his knowledge of these low-lives. But on his own, in a place like this? With all the street smarts in the world, he won’t last an hour.

I have lost the Chosen One. Qui-Gon would kill me.

Nevertheless, the bold knight tuts and laughs. “You would love to hear our master plan, wouldn't you? Ah. I pity you all for what's about to happen to you and your little tournament.”

The Rodian hits him again.

“Alright, then,” says Obi-Wan, grimacing. “If you want answers, you'd better bring in your boss. I'll only talk to Knightkiller.”

“Not likely,” the Ithorian responds. “You'll only fight Knightkiller once you’ve defeated all the others. So many of our athletes are paying through their noses for the chance to kill you.”

“In that case, please do drop a line if my Padawan turns up.”

The guards leave, irritated.

A minute later, they return, now practically hysterical.

“Alright!” yells the Rodian. “Something IS up! Where's the girl, Jedi?!”

“What girl?”

“Juna's Padawan!”

“Goodness gracious. Can't you keep a better eye on us?”

The Rodian moves to hit him again, but stops since he doesn't seem affected. “We know you're behind this.”

“It's almost like the most highly-trained warriors in the galaxy can just slip through your nasty little fingers.”

She hits him again.

“The teachers will pay for their students' disobedience,” says the Zabrak, who pulls the other two guards out of the room and slams the door.

The warriors beside Obi-Wan have gone quiet, intimidated by his taunting, in awe of his unknown abilities and those of the other three Jedi. Obi-Wan wonders how long that awe will last, if he can't escape as the clearly more competent children did.

Suddenly, the door to the arena opens up. He hears the crowd chanting his name. When he steps out, his arm shielding the brightness from his eyes, they all cheer for him. He feels disgusted to be a source of admiration for people like this, for doing the worst thing in the world. The sand underfoot is congealed with spots of blood. An attendant hands him a clean sword.

As the announcer speaks, and Obi-Wan's eyes adjust to the light, he sees that his opponent is that boyfriend-killer Tiango. The Mandalorian flexes and poses for the audience, but they are not swayed in their support for Obi-Wan.

In the same chair on which they had bound Anakin, now they have bound Master Juna. Where Anakin was terrified, Juna is peaceful, even content. She is a tall, large, fuzzy alien, a Lollian. Centuries ago, so he’d been told, her fur was bright orange with brown stripes, but he has only ever known her to be gray and silver. One of the two horns curling around her head is broken, but that was not from this death game; it has been like that as long as Obi-Wan can remember. The woman seems entirely unfazed and unharmed by the experience. He knows this cannot be remotely true, and yet she hides her pain so well -- or else, the Force is so strong with her that she sits on a plane of existence above it all, unbothered. She nods at him and he feels as one blessed.  

Obi-Wan instinctively reaches out for his own master. The years of physical peril and spiritual confusion in the life of a Padawan trained Obi-Wan to reach out to Qui-Gon as an immediate reaction, utterly replacing his natural fight-or-flight instinct, the ways of the Jedi overcoming evolution itself.

But of course he cannot reach him. Grief strikes him harder than any of these crooks could, harder than even any Sith could.

He's got to replace that instinct himself, this time; he's got to do it himself. There's someone else he has to reach for now, someone who feels entirely different, strange, and small, still smarting from a bad first impression. And -- more than that -- he, Obi-Wan, has got to be ready for Anakin whenever Anakin needs him, for whatever, just as his master was for him. The weight of this responsibility could crush the young man.

Anakin is here in the audience. Obi-Wan can sense his presence.  

Obi-Wan glances over the crowd -- Tiango seems to be posturing still -- but he can’t locate his Padawan. Anakin seems panicked, urgent. He has seen Tiango kill before, kill someone he cared for. He must be worried Tiango will be too much for Obi-Wan to handle. But Obi-Wan took down several Yoroo Soldiers less than one year ago. Sure, they're not an easy fight, but he knows their tricks; he knows their evil cybernetic enhancements.

Chahlee sends a laser, suddenly, at Obi-Wan, from his blaster-arm. Obi-Wan deflects it deftly, causing the audience to gasp, but the impact bends his vibroblade. Obi-Wan stares at it. He forgot they did that.

   *   *   *

Freed, with the help of Fenn Gallowk and his acid-blaster, on the upper floor of the space station, Anakin knows he needs to hide his Jedi robe and Padawan hair. These people might even know his face. He got lucky with Fenn -- the next person who recognizes him from the Boonta Eve race probably won't give Anakin a chance to talk it out.

Anakin wonders if anyone here bet ON him. He doubts it. But it's a big galaxy, and maybe someone out there took a chance on him.

He remembers Qui-Gon's confident face, and how the man had picked him up to put him into the podracer, and then picked him out of it in the end and carried him on his shoulders. If Anakin is honest with himself, he knows Qui-Gon was, really, the only person who believed in him. His mom, Padme, and Jar Jar had supported him, and hoped beyond hope he would make it out alive. But Qui-Gon was the only one, probably in the whole universe, who believed -- foresaw, even -- that Anakin would win.

No, that's not true. Anakin had believed that too. How could he fail, when they all needed him so badly? When there was absolutely no other way, no choice?

Anakin hurries down the prison hall. The cells are closed on all sides; it is impossible to see who is being kept in them. He hides behind the flap of a garbage chute as a security droid passes; he sits with his back and legs pressed against opposite sides of the chute, careful not to fall down into who-knows-where. It smells awful. He jumps back into the hallway and finds the door to the public area ajar. He pushes his way out and tries to blend in with the crowd, keeping his head down and arms crossed around his blaster and the front of his robe.

Recharging: 3%.

Of all the blasters he could have stolen...

Just around the corner, he sees a big green alien at a desk and, behind them, a coat-check. Anakin ducks under the desk and sneaks into the room full of these criminals’ coats and cloaks. It smells even worse than the garbage chute.

He holds his nose and searches for something bulky, obscuring, and somewhat in his size. He finds a fur cloak, the pelt of a pink monster with its horned face still attached. He puts it on and ties the lower part around his waist so it doesn't drag on the floor. With the hood up, he can hide his own face inside the monster's mouth. He hides the blaster in the copious folds of fur.

Maneuverable? No. Inconspicuous? No. Unrecognizable, and able to hide his weapon? Yes.

Exciting? Yes!

Now he's got to get to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan will know what to do. Even if he doesn't, it's Anakin's duty to be at Obi-Wan's side.

The loudspeakers announce the fight between Obi-Wan and Chahlee Tiango. Anakin feels afraid, and tells himself Jedi do not feel afraid, but it doesn’t help.

He sneaks back out from under the desk and finds two large furry aliens on the way into the arena, arguing with each other and paying no attention to anyone. He sticks close to them and pretends they are his parents. Once the hairy family has entered the arena through this upper-floor entrance, Anakin separates from them and waddles through the balcony seats, trying to get as close to the arena as he can. He sees Obi-Wan and the Mando have already begun to fight. He takes a seat on the floor at the very front of the balcony and holds onto the bars with his shivering hands.

“Come on, Master.”

Chapter 7: Jane

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #obi-wan kenobi #tila juna #anakin skywalker #scifi #adventure

[softisdangerous]

Excerpt from Chap 17 of Call of the Blood

Eric’s POV - Thursday July 16th & Friday, July 17th, 2009

I closed the bar for the night. Interrogating the drainers had been useless, and their screams were both irritating and loud, but at least Chow enjoyed his work. Pam had been telling me for months that it was time to adjust our styling again, to keep up with the times and that my long hair was getting to the point of ridiculous. I did not like to change my hair, but I was inclined to let her pamper me a bit. I had been short tempered with her, nearly biting her head off at every question she asked me. My ill-temper was only exacerbated by the fact that I was ridiculously thirsty, and the only thing that sounded remotely appetizing to me was Jane’s fresh blood.

But I wasn’t about to put her at risk again. No, I lacked the control to drink from her right now. It was nearly unthinkable that after a thousand years I still couldn’t master all of my bloodlust, but I wasn’t too proud to admit it, if only to myself. It did have me questioning what made Jane so unique. I was beginning to wonder if she was all human, or if she had some latent ancestry that made her blood addictive, and made the drinker…what? What effect did she have on me? Insanity? Obsession?

Love?

I squashed that thought quickly. No, she was just unique and Godric was missing.

Pam was putting foul chemicals on my head and idly explaining what she was doing, but I wasn’t focusing on her words. I was still attempting to think. Godric missing? He would have told me where he was. He had always informed me when he was leaving, even if he knew that I wouldn’t be pleased by his departure. How could he be missing? The drainers had no methods that Godric wouldn’t have been able to overcome. He was too old, too powerful for drainers to have taken him. And based on the conversation of prisoners downstairs, I doubted there was nothing these racists could do that Godric wouldn’t simply be able to bat away. That wouldn’t stop me from questioning him, most vigorously.

I despised the newest addition to the prison in the basement. Royce Allen Williams. It constantly talked, finally admitting shame for past actions, only now, when confronted with imminent demise. I knew these weak types. If released, he would return exactly to his old ways, claim it was an act of God and continue on with dishonorable acts. My teeth were already on edge and then when it discussed escaping… I couldn’t control my rage.

Pam sighed loudly when she heard its plans to escape.

“Don’t fuck up your hair,” she demanded as I stood to go collect it.

“I won’t Pam, I’ll bring it up, let Chow do the dirty work, and then he can put the rat back in it’s cage.”

She huffed, but didn’t stop me.

I strolled down to the basement silently.

“I got a plan. I'm busting us out,” the racist claimed.

“Don't be an idiot,” the V dealer advised wisely.

“I'll come back for you. Promise,” the man claimed. I made some noise so they would know I was coming. I heard their heart rates jump and it was almost enough to make me smile. I hummed softly to myself.

“Shh, Shut up.”

“Shushing won't do you any good, Sweetheart. We hear everything. Since you made me come all the way down here, I'm gonna take out some of the garbage,” I told them as I removed the cape that Pam had placed on me to prevent the chemicals in my hair from staining my clothes. I knelt down in front of the pathetic piece of trash that had burned Malcom, Liam, and Diane’s nest to the ground. “Royce Allen Williams, we have a few questions for you, with regard to a fire which killed three of our kind.” I stared him down.

“No fucking way, man. I don't know anything,” he said, pretending to not be afraid, but I could hear his heart pounding.

“Crimes against vampires are on the rise. We even lost a Sheriff just days ago. We seek answers.” I unchained him and pushed him forward and then, most surprisingly, he turned and struck me across the face.

He screamed at me, “Die, you dead fucker!”

I was furious when I felt the burn of silver against my face, how had I not noticed? The stench of human filth was disgusting and overwhelming. One more reason to not chain prisoners this way; it was impossible to scent silver through the odor.

That silver burn against my skin… it amplified all the emotions I had been trying to resist. My fear, my rage, my bloodlust. It all came pouring forth.

I eviscerated him where he stood, drinking his filthy blood and pulling off several of his limbs. It was, in no way, satisfying. I felt worse than before, still thirsty, and more on edge than ever. I tossed an arm away, and it accidentally splattered against the final prisoner, the V dealer, Lafayette Reynolds.

“If you have any silver on you, now would be the time to reveal it,” I told him.

From his hiding spot behind a post he called out, “No way. I ain't that stupid.”

“Yes, you are,” I replied. And then I noticed how much blood I had on my hands. I went to wipe my mouth and realized I had splattered it all over. “Is there blood in my hair?” I asked the man.

“What?” he responded. Was he an idiot or just hard of hearing?

“Is there blood in my hair?” I asked him again, louder.

“I..I don't know, I can't see in this light,” he stuttered out.

I zoomed over to him.

“How about now?” I asked, looking into his deep eyes.

“Yeah, there's a little bit of blood there,” he stammered, his heart pounded deliciously. At least he was honest. I wished I could scent him more, but all I could smell was the blood of the racist and the foul scent of human waste.

“Well this is bad. Pam is gonna kill me,” I realized out to loud to him.

“Who the fuck is Pam?” he asked and I found it amusing that he had so quickly forgotten his place.

“Why, do you wanna meet her?” I asked, toying with him.

“No. No. I'm good,” he replied, and I found his mock confidence charming.

“Well, you're going to,” I told him as I unchained him.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked as I held him by the back of the neck and pushed him forward.

“To find out what you know,” I explained, kicking the remaining bits of the racist out of the way. “I wouldn't try anything rash if I were you. I'm still hungry.”

I brought him up to the office where Pam and Chow were waiting, I pushed him into the chair opposite the desk as Pam started berating me.

“What the fuck, Eric!” she snapped. “You’ve ruined your hair!”

She had already been upset with me, and now this?

“I’m sorry Pam, it was not my intention,” I told her with a sigh, I didn’t often apologize to her, but it was called for.

I sat on the stool, she put a fresh cape on me, and then she began to assess the damage.

“This is a disaster. We'll have to go much shorter than I planned.”

“Yeah, well, I said I was sorry, Pam. But he took silver to me,” I explained. I looked at the V dealer, Lafayette Reynolds. “You were there. You saw it. Defend me,” I urged him.

“I don't know what it is you wanna know, but point me in the direction, and I give to you,” he told me earnestly and fearfully.

“I've seen your website,” I started, Chow had shown me it earlier. It was an impressive bit of tawdriness, and I was certain it was lucrative. “It's quite, uh, low rent. But your clients miss you, Lafayette. They're wondering if you're ever coming back.”

“Am I?” he asked, and I let the silence linger. “Look, I'm here because of the V, right? How 'bout I give you the names of everybody I ever sold to?” Already so cooperative? Lovely.

“And all this time I thought prostitutes were good at keeping secrets,” Pam snarked, knowing the prevarication of that statement more than anyone. Prostitutes would only keep a secret for a price, and for her the price had always been quite high.

“Don't get it twisted, honeycomb, I'm a survivor first, a capitalist second, and a whole bunch of other shit after that. But a hooker, dead last. So if I got even a Jew at an al Qaeda pep rally shot at getting my black ass up out this motherfucker, I'm taking it. Now, what you wanna know?”

Pam smiled, absolutely delighted, and I could see why. This Lafayette Reynolds was a cut from the exact same cloth as her.

A survivor first, a businesswoman second, and a hooker dead last.

“The vampire you had your little arrangement with. Eddie Fournier. What happened to him?” I asked.

“I don't know. I swear to God I don't. Last time I saw him he was doing real good. But I think he may have been taken by somebody,” Lafayette had hesitated to tell me this information, he must have an inkling of the perpetrator.

“By whom?” I prompted.

“I don't know,” he started. “I mean I ain't sure.”

“Hm, that's not very forthcoming of you,” I told him. I looked over at my enforcer, who had been waiting so very patiently. “Chow, you're up.”

“No! No, chill out. Shit,” Lafayette held up his hand to Chow, motioning for him to stop, and then Lafayette caved. “I think it... I think it was... Jason Stackhouse.”

“Jason Stackhouse?” I asked, nonplussed.

“Sookie's brother,” Pam reminded me in Swedish. “Could be fun,” she added and then I remember him. Handsome, AB negative, and he had come to the bar looking for vampire blood.

“Fun, but also stupid. Sookie is too important for us now,” I reminded Pam. She was an asset, one that I wanted working for me.

“That's true,” Pam agreed, reluctantly.

“Sadly, this information is of no use to me. Not now, anyway,” I told the confused looking Lafayette. Then I moved on to the line of questioning that I had been most anxious to discuss. “I understand dealers of vampire blood sometimes trade product with one another across state lines. Any buyers in the Dallas area?” I asked, revealing some of what I had learned from the drainers before I had killed them. Their blood was all bagged up and sitting in the freezer now, and the irony of draining drainers was not lost on me.

“One,” Lafayette said right away, cooperating fully. “He never gave me his name though. I have an e-mail address. [email protected].”

Pam smirked at the email address, and I wondered briefly if she was going to change her online handle.

“A friend of mine in the Dallas area, his name is Godric, has gone missing. Now, while the circumstances of his disappearance are unclear, it stands to reason his blood would be very valuable, as he's over twice my age and ten times the vampire I will ever be,” I said and realized that I had said more than I wanted. That my worries about him were sliding smoothly from my tongue and that I needed to feed again if I was ever going to get myself under control.

“Oh Eric, you don't do humble well,” Pam said teasingly, trying to lighten my mood. She knew with Godric missing, I was more on edge than ever.

“I was not being humble. This happens to be true,” I nearly snapped at her again, and I saw her hurt at my behavior toward her. I focused back on my line of questioning.“Your associate, this ‘pussylover’, has he or she mentioned any new product coming on the market?”

“No, no. And I would tell you. You know that,” he told me and I knew that he was honest, but it frustrated me to no end that he had nothing that could help.

I turned to Chow and asked him, “Take our guest and lock him back out, will you?”

Lafayette jumped to his feet. “Fuck that, I ain't going back down there. I gave you…”

“You gave me nothing!” I shouted, furious that this man had no information that would lead to Godric.

“I'm not going back.” Lafayette tried to push Chow away, and I gave the order again.

“Chow, now.”

Lafayette fought against Chow and I found it curious. I couldn’t help but be impressed by his vigor, his fight, his passion.

“I gave you every... I gave you everything! I ain't going back down!” he continued to shout as Chow manhandled him back down to the basement.

It was then that I heard the sound of an additional human heart beat and the soft scent of roses. I reached out to my blood in Jane and, of course, she was standing in the hall outside the office. What in Hel was she doing here?

The door creaked open and there was sweet little Jane. Her eyes widened as she took in my appearance. Perhaps this would scare her off for good.

“Jane,” I greeted her.

“I guess I should have called,” she said meekly.

“Yes,” I replied. She certainly had the power understatement. I turned to Pam, “Leave us. I need to glamour her.” Pam looked over at Jane and shook her head, leaving the office and shutting the door behind her. Why had Jane even come here? I didn’t want to have to do this, but she left me with no choice! I looked over at little Jane, she looked especially young and doll-like. “I have to glamour you now. You realize that?”

“Why?” she asked, clearly confused.

I prayed for the patience of Baldr, and I rested my hands on my desk. She drove me absolutely insane.

“You saw one of the prisoners, and he recognized you, even. What is to prevent you from telling the human authorities what you saw?” I asked her, and she stared me down.

“I won’t,” she promised. “It’s none of their business. You’re the Sheriff. He was the V dealer, I assume?” she asked, crossing her arms, and pushing her perfect bosom higher.

“Yes,” I acknowledged.

“I won’t tell anyone I saw him. Please… don’t glamour me,” she begged me and I saw her lip tremble in fear. I believed she wouldn’t give up this information knowingly, but her mind was open to any vampire, and now the telepath as well. I had to glamour her, for her own safety.

“It’s too dangerous for you as well. Especially now that you’re friends with a telepath, your silence could incriminate you,” I explained to her. Those dark blue green eyes of hers steeled and I could help but feel proud of her. She could be quite brave, facing something that she feared so greatly.

“What will you do? Make me forget?” she asked.

“That path leads to many problems, as you saw with Ginger. You will retain the memory, but you won’t be able to think of it. You will know, but you won’t be able to say anything about it.” I didn’t want to have to glamour her, and I worried about this.I knew too much glamouring would damage her mind. And her mind was a unique one.

She nodded at me, drawing her courage around her.

I hated this. I remember what she had told me, that it felt like mind rape. I never wanted to make her feel violated, especially in light of the other trauma she had experienced.

“Fine,” she told me and I began the glamour.

“Jane.”

Her eyes glazed over and I imposed my will on her.

“You will not be able to think of the man that you saw Chow take to the basement. You will not speak of what you witnessed to anyone.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

I released her and she lurched to the trash bin, vomiting. Humans and their fluids. I’d had enough of them today. She sat on the couch, and I felt her through the blood. I felt her upset. Why did she do this? It made me hate myself.

“Why did you come?” I asked her.

“I wanted to talk to you. I can see that you’re... busy. I’ll go. I’ll text or call next time,” she told me vaguely, standing to leave. I grabbed her arm, my intention had been to ask her to elaborate, to explain what her purpose was but I felt her warmth beneath my hand and all my urges to devour and claim her came hurtling to the surface. The look she gave me, the feeling from her in the blood...lust. She wanted me. She wanted me even when I was covered in blood.

My fangs dropped hard and I was seconds away from biting her throat and fucking her on my desk.

What the fuck was wrong with me? I released her quickly and forced my fangs up painfully.

“Jane. Things are...tense. With my Maker missing,” I tried to explain, but I really couldn’t. I couldn’t explain my loss of control around her.

“Let me know if I can help,” she offered sweetly.

She had no idea of the danger I posed to her, I shook my head at her. “I will not hurt you again,” I promised her.

She smiled her strange sad smile, the one that made the area where my heart used to pulse ache.

“Goodnight, Eric,” she said softly, and then she left.

What the fucking Hel!? I slammed my hand against the wall, creating a crack in the plaster and I didn’t give a flying fuck.

What was wrong with me?

****

The next evening I took Pam to the mall and allowed her to shop and style me as she pleased. It seemed the very least I could do and having my childe close brought me comfort. I wore Godric’s platinum coated fang around my throat, as if wearing it would allow me to find him.

As we were strolling through the mall, who should we see but Bill fucking Compton.

Then, in a stroke of genius, I had an idea. Bill’s telepathic human could search for Godric. Sookie could investigate the humans at the Fellowship of the Sun and see if Stan’s assertion that they were behind Godric’s disappearance was correct.

“Go to the bar Pam, I’ll meet you there after I negotiate with Billy boy,” I told her. She brushed invisible lint from the navy tracksuit she had dressed me in and then departed with a smile. While it wasn’t what I would choose for myself, I was fine with indulging my child in her game of dressup.

I strolled through the store, and meandered over to Bill.

“Good evening, old sport,” I greeted him, hoping to make him feel at ease. He would be easier to bargain with if he was in a giving mood.

“Eric?” he said, astounded, by either my presence or my new attire, it was hard to say.

“It's the new me. You like?” I asked, smirking. How many times do we have to reinvent ourselves?

“I do. Very much,” Bill agreed, the Mainstreamer he was, he would likely follow all the latest human trends. I almost scoffed at the idea of him wearing one of those hats that truckers wear. The sales associate that had been attempting to hit on him, backed away sheepishly.

“Oh, okay,” she looked between us and I realized that she thought we were a couple. Hilarious, as if Bland Bill could stir my passions.

“We need to talk,” I told him.

He glared and I led him away from the humans and began to explain.

“The Sheriff of Area 9 in Texas has gone missing. Have you heard about that?”

“I hadn't, but I know the vampire of whom we speak. His name is Godric, correct?”

I wondered how Bill knew of Godric. But Godric’s reputation did precede him.

“Indeed. Now it goes without saying he needs to be found. Which is where Sookie comes in. As she's yours, I'm asking your permission to take her with me to Dallas,” I explained my plan to him.

“Eric, you can do whatever you want with me, but I am not putting her in this position anymore. I cannot and I will not allow you to bring her into these matters,” he said, not even attempting to barter with me.

“We made a deal, your human and I. That if I didn't kill, she would work for me as often as I like. Now, you remember this, don't you? You were there,” I reminded him.

“Taking her across state lines is a far cry from taking her to Fangtasia for the evening,” Bill said sternly, clearly not willing to discuss this further. What a fool.

“I'm only asking your permission out of respect. If I want her, I can simply take her. Is "no" your final answer?” I asked him.

“It is,” he said firmly.

I shook my head, and replied, “Poorly played, Bill.”

He wasn’t even willing to try to bargain with me, and I wondered again about his purpose with the telepathic waitress. I checked my phone on the way out of the mall, surprised to see that I missed several calls from Pam. I called her as I strolled out.

“You rang?” I asked.

“Mmm, yeah, the lovely Lafayette Reynolds tried to escape and Ginger shot him,” Pam said in her usual tone.

“Is he dead?” I asked her in Swedish.

“Not yet, our meretricious little Macgyver dug the metal hip out of his dead compadre with his teeth, used it to break his chains, and then attempted to seduce Ginger into letting him go,” Pam explained gleefully. “I like him, can we keep him?”

“Creative,” I commented as I exited the mall. “I’ll be there soon.”

I went behind the mall and took off in flight. I had to stop and pick up the accounting work from Bruce, and then I was able to return to Fangtasia. I strolled into the back, checking over the numbers for the bar. It was scented with rich thick blood, flavorful and powerful...full of untapped potential.

“Sorry to keep you waiting for so long,” I said as I entered the office. “How's the leg?” I asked Lafayette.

“Shitty. Thanks for asking,” he replied with sarcasm at his pain and Pam grinned again.

“After all your proclamations about what a model prisoner you were going to be, you had to try to escape,” I said, curious about his reasoning, but he did say he was a survivor first. I couldn’t really begrudge him that.

“You were going to kill me anyway, right?” he asked next and Pam smirked. We’d certainly have to kill him now, he wasn’t going to make it without medical care.

“Now you'll never know. So, what's it gonna be, Lafayette? Would you like the leg to kill you, or would you prefer us to do it?”

“I'm gonna go with plan C,” he said and he surprised me, such a rare thing for a breather.

“There's a plan C?” I asked.

“Make me a vampire,” he offered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Then he began to make his case, “And you can put me to work in the bar. I'm a good dancer. You seen it on my site. Shit, I get up there and move Earth and heaven, go-go style.”

I came and stood over him, not sure what he knew about vampires and turning. “You are aware there's a gaping hole in your leg? You're damaged goods,” I tested him.

“Not if you turn me. I'll be good as ever.” So he did know at least that much. “Look, I... I'm already a person of poor moral character, so I'll hit the ground running. And I damn near glamour people already. Give me what y'all got, and it's on me, cracker. Not only will I be a badass vampire, but I'll be your badass vampire.”

For a moment, time was frozen. I was sucked into the memory of Pamela asking me to turn her, and me refusing, and her making her case to me. And then her killing herself anyway and I decided… I chose to have her by side, my companion.

My badass vampire.

I liked this Lafayette Reynolds. He lived with a sort of honesty that was rare, and he had shown himself to have the survival instincts and spirit that would take him through the ages. He interested me, and so very few men did. He also reminded me much of Pam and I could see that they would be excellent blood siblings, thick as thieves. It would be good to have youngling around, so fresh and eager...

I scented his rich blood, his untapped potential and….it all intrigued me.

Was I actually considering this, now, with my control all over and Godric missing? Was this just another way in which I was losing touch? No, best not to make any major decisions now. We could start to drink from him now, I could reconsider later, after I’d fed, and had a clearer head. He had a few good nights left in him still.

“Interesting. I'll take it under advisement,” I told him. “Pam, Chow, chowtime,” I offered and Chow grinned at my play on words, puns really were the height of humor.

Then, I leaned over and bit Lafayette.

He was absolutely delicious.

#true blood fanfiction #Call of the Blood

[morelikesin]

Morning

A small drabble on an emotional morning with Phoenix and Miles 💕 This takes place any time after Dual Destinies. I'm writing it where they're already married. This is just a quick bit I wanted to write when I had the idea :') I also drew a quick something at the end. The fic is under the cut!

Phoenix really wished he had more days off - everytime he was, there was always a great smell in the house from Miles' cooking. Being off work more often meant more of that, even if a little less bank coming in. It would definitely be worth it.

Lifting himself up from the cushioned mattress and tossing aside the velvety soft blankets atop of him, he stretches his limbs with a low groan - reaching his arms back before pulling them into his lap as he relaxed. Taking in a deep breath, he pulls his legs over the side of the bed and hoists himself over so he could see what was on the menu this morning.

Closing the lid of the cooking pot to steam the rice, Mr. Edgeworth hummed quietly to himself a peaceful little tune; one of which he'd seem to be making up as he went along. Turning his attention elsewhere as the grains cooked, he lowered the heat for another burner to medium, where he was cooking miso soup. Adding in a good few tablespoons of yellow miso paste, he whisked the substance into the already simmered broth before adding some previously cut up blocks of tofu. Raising the spoon to catch a quick taste, he found it was light, slightly sweet, and smooth in a way he quite enjoyed. Something was missing though, of course - turning towards the fridge to grab a few stalks of watercress to chop and throw in.

Stepping out from their bedroom and making his way downstairs into their kitchen, Phoenix paused a moment to simply watch his love candid from the steps. Miles, dressed in his soft, white robe like every morning accompanied by his perfect-as-always hair. Phoenix could nay say the same, given his own styling takes ten minutes on a good day.

Watching the way he so gracefully moved even without knowing eyes were on him was incredibly cute - though Miles would never let him say that, with how against that description he was when it was of himself. For now, Phoenix knew Miles was cute. Handsome, of course. Sexy, of course. Cute, of course.

Phoenix made his presence known by making a soft yawn as he walked down the last few steps, walking into the main kitchen and making sure to gently hold his hand against the small of Miles' back as he stood next to him. The latter shook his head slightly whilst quickly chopping up the watercress aforementioned - swiftly picking them up between his hand and the knife and tossing it into the soup.

"Good morning, Wright. How did you sleep?"

Phoenix made a darling little laugh that Miles loved so much - the type with a sort of deepness to it; a sort of breathlessness. "Well, I slept just fine with you by me, hun," he spoke prior to pressing his lips against the prosecutor's cheek, "with you being as warm as a radiator and all, ha..!"

Miles scoffed. "Very funny. Is that all I'm good for in bed? To keep you warm?"

"I was about to say no, but..'keeping me warm' sure has a lot of meanings. And I think you're good for all of them." Phoenix sighed, sporting a small smile as he pressed his face into the nape of Miles' neck contently - lips gently kissing his shoulder. It earned a sweet, if calm, sigh from the prosecutor.

"..I could say the same for you. But it's much too early for this, mm? We can work out our flirtations after we eat breakfast."

Phoenix kept his dorky smile splashed on his countenance as he pulled away, raising a hand to brush back some strands of hair from his eyes - finding himself not too annoyed today with his 'naturally-spiky-but-not-spiky-enough-and-more-messy' bedhead. "That works with me; everything smells so good!"

Miles looked flattered from that. "Thank you, Wright. It is certainly better than what you normally make yourself in the morning-"

"Hey- don't knock cup coodles! I could live off of those."

Miles furrowed his brows and gave a glance to Phoenix in exasperation. "This is why I'm the one who feeds us. Anyhow.." The former smiled to himself as he pulled a plastic package of soba noodles in front of him on the counter - removing the wrapper and slowly adding the noodle block into the miso broth. "Maya called me earlier. She asked me to tell you that she'll be unavailable all day."

With Phoenix opening the fridge door to grab something to drink, he paused to speak before grabbing the carton of orange juice - much like many of their groceries, an expensive brand that Phoenix wasn't used to, and Miles' choosing. "Oh? Was she planning on taking Trucy and Pearls somewhere?"

Miles shook his head as he wiped off his hands with a damp washcloth that he'd set beside him prior, "Sort of. She wanted to make a trip to Hazakura Temple - she and Pearl are to train while Trucy is their...how did she put it, ah.. 'hype-man'." He felt silly even recalling the term, but Phoenix's expression seemed to prove that he knew what he meant.

"Hah- well, she'll get no bother from me then. I'll just check up on them when they get back. We have the whole day to ourselves, for once.." Phoenix meekly spoke - pouring himself a glass of the aforementioned juice before guzzling it down in a post-sleep thirstiness. He wiped his upper lip with his wrist as he went back in to pour some more.

"It is rare, isn't it..?" The prosecutor seemed somewhat sorrowful in stating that. "I want to make the most of it. It's not often I'm not out travelling, or you're not on duty, or there's no emergencies."

Phoenix parted his lips to speak, before sighing and looking down to his cup solemnly. He set it down. "...Yeah. But..I still love you all the same." He looked back up to the love of his life; a carefree smile pulling at his lips and a special brightness glittering in his eyes, "We're a family. Things are..always going to come up, but our time spent away or together feel all the same to me. The only difference is that I get to actually kiss you, in times like now. Being apart..just reminds me of how much I trust you."

The words hit harder than Miles expected them to. Even with the defense attorney's unorganized nature, and his less-than-articulate manner, it was somehow more meaningful to him. Phoenix was always emotional, and true to what he said - this was no different. Edgeworth's expression was strong; brows furrowed up and eyes purposefully lying low.

Phoenix paused, "..Come here."

He gestured for a hug after his gentle words; Miles all too eager for the embrace. Phoenix's arms draped over Miles' shoulders, wrapping around his neck as to pull himself closer. Vice versa was Miles wrapping his arms tightly around Phoenix's waist; both of their heads lay upon the other's shoulder, welcoming what warmth was available. They held each other for what felt like so long, and simultaneously not long enough; the only reason for their part was so they could meet at their lips, instead. Passionate, and yet soft - just a simple press without much else, yet it was all they needed. By the end of their embrace, their heads leaned forward to touch at their foreheads while holding each other's hands between their chests. Their thumbs occasionally brushed over each other's wedding rings.

"..You know how much you mean to me, Phoenix."

"I know, Miles." He huffed out a short breath before breaking into a smile, "..You could always just say 'I love you'."

And with that, the silver-haired Edgeworth broke into a laugh and slowly pulled away, "Alright, alright..I love you. You know that."

"I love you too, Miles."

Phoenix watched as his love went back to his work - Miles grabbing his wooden chopsticks as to stir the noodles. The more defensive of the two sat at the dining table, glass in hand.

"...I'm going to guess that you won't want onions in your serving of noodles."

Phoenix pretended to gag in response to Miles, "Ghk-! Absolutely-! Onions taint everything they touch..." He hesitated, "..Other than onion rings. But that's the only good thing with onions!"

Edgeworth rolled his eyes with a playful smile, chuckling to himself a bit at just how strongly Wright felt over such a thing as onions. "Of course. Though, you're missing out on their flavour, dear - I've never met someone other than you who has a distaste for them."

"You haven't met anyone with any tastebuds," Phoenix scoffed back - earning a snort from the other.

"Oh, have I? Dear, I think you're referring to yourself there."

The defense paused; his face lifting as his cocky court grin curled onto his lips. "Unfortunately, Edgeworth, I think you have some words to eat. Clearly my statement is right - anyone who's ever tasted an onion could tell you that it tastes like damn garbage."

The prosecution stifled a laugh, lolling his head to look over his shoulder at his rival. "Oh, Wright. I'm afraid you've buried your grave - onions obviously give any dish they're added to an excellent depth of flavor."

"Well obviously they do not- ow-!" Phoenix burst into a soft laugh as Miles leaned over to smack his arm with his chopsticks - ending their court imitations. "Hun-!"

Miles rolled his eyes and looked back down to his cooking. "My love. We don't need to argue over onions. Besides, I'm not about to settle a case over opinion."

"Ha-! Well then, baby doll, I'm prepared to settle a case of any kind. Maybe you just don't have that kind of determination?" Phoenix jested, taking another swig of his orange juice.

"Of course you would be, Feenie." Miles hesitated before chuckling to himself. Swirling the noodles inside the pot, he shook his head. "That's a new one. I don't know where that came from... It's sort of cute, no? Feenie. Hm."

When Miles went to look at Phoenix for his approval, he was numb; his husband's face suddenly not as lively as it once was. His eyes gazed low, gazed dryly. His hands tensed around the glass he held, knuckles bearing white. Worst of all, his countenance really held no expression at all - the fact that it was so stiff, so miserable looking was what'd caused Miles to choke back a breath.

What was it about that name that suddenly struck Miles as odd? Feenie. Feenie.

"It's.. uh.. not great, honestly, Miles. No offense or anything."

"I'm- sorry." Miles was admittedly stunned - a little ashamed, a little confused, very concerned. "..For some reason its.. ringing a bell-"

"Dahlia."

"I'm..sorry?"

"..Dahlia used to call me that. You know, before.."

The room was drenched in silence - Miles struggling to find any words to say. What could he say to that - what should he? Though, the look on Phoenix's pitiful face urged him to find something.

"...I didn't mean to hurt you, saying it. I-" Miles hummed to himself and turned his head to Phoenix, lip bitten and unsure how to word himself. He slowly looked back down to his cooking when words couldn't properly form in his throat.

"It's fine." Phoenix nodded - looking away and tapping his fingers on the table in a sort of anxiousness. "You didn't know."

"I didn't remember," Miles scolded himself, "I should have remembered such a thing like that."

Phoenix looked a little put off. "Don't feel guilty for that. It was so long ago - I.. I didn't expect you too."

The soft bubbling of the broth in the pot filled the silence between them; chopsticks occasionally hitting the sides of the pot, Pess jingling her collar as she scratched herself from the living room all the while. Phoenix tried to will Miles to turn around so he could assure him it was fine, without words - however when Miles never did he spoke up hesitantly.

"I didn't mean to ruin the mood."

Miles quickly scoffed and turned to look at Phoenix with a pained expression, "You didn't, Phoenix. You were just telling me of something that hurt you."

"It's just a nickname, though," Phoenix laughed at himself, seemingly ashamed, "It's a little stupid to hurt so much over a nickname, isn't it?"

"I don't think so," Miles replied, his tone hurt from his husband stuffing his emotions down - such a thing from Phoenix was rare, and it made this hurt just a little more than usual. Setting the chopsticks horizontally on the counter, he ushered himself away from the stove to lay a gentle, lithe hand on Phoenix's forearm, and leaning down so he could rest his chin atop his head.

Phoenix nearly melted into his touch, feeling comforted by Miles' body and his warmth. Finding solace in the safety of his arms, Phoenix allowed himself to exhale a deep breath and relax. Unsatisfied with the arrangements, however, he shook his head and gestured his head down. "Get in front of me a bit, Miles."

He wasn't about to complain, though as he moved in front of Phoenix to kneel, Miles was still a tad confused. Before he could ask why Phoenix wanted him to, the man placed his hands on the prosecutor's cheeks and leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

"I prefer looking at you, dear," Phoenix hummed. He moved his hands down to take Miles' own - raising them to place endearing kisses against flushed knuckles and fingertips, much to his husband's timidity. "..Thank you. For not minding putting up with me and all."

"Ah, yes," Miles started, smiling, "I married you because I simply 'didn't mind putting up with you'."

Phoenix laughed as he realized the hilarity of what he had said, "Hey! You know what I mean!"

"I married someone I just 'put up with'." Miles continued, chortling to himself, "Not in an act of pure love or anything."

Phoenix hushed Miles' teasing by leaning down and pressing his lips against the other's - the two humming against the warmth before falling into the quiet passion, then lingeringly pulling away. Their hands kept their doting hold still.

"..I love you, Phoenix. However, breakfast is due to overcook."

Phoenix shrugged and pressed his lips against Miles' cheek, unwilling to pull away as proven by how he spoke against his skin. "I don't mind."

"Suppose you wouldn't," Miles breathed out, amused.

Miles held himself in Phoenix's grasp before reluctantly pulling away to take charge of the stove again. Phoenix didn't seem to be happy with such an arrangement, so he took it upon himself to stand and wrap his arms around Miles' waist, head resting on his shoulder. The prosecutor pressed his palm against Phoenix's forearm in silent fondness - his other busy stirring food.

#ace attorney #narumistu #wrightworth #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #gyakuten saiban #aa #tw #trauma tw #finished #my art #don't steal #original #morelikesin #traditional art #mine #my work

[hcpefulmarshmallow]

NSFW Alphabet.

-I started writing this up forever ago because I saw it around, figured I might as well, and then forgot. Pretty sure the original list was made by @/fairy-tail-babes, but do correct me if I’m wrong. Happy Sinday, feel free to steal.

A = Aftercare      ---Afterward, Nagito tends to be quite affectionate, if a little lethargic. He'll compliment his partner a lot, and whisper sweet and loving things in a low, soft voice. At times he comes across as a little clingy, even scared that the intimacy will end there and his partner is going to up and leave. But with plenty of cuddling, some softspoken words, and a nap, his partner is going to have one happy marshmallow on their hands. 

B = Body part     ---He doesn’t really have a favorite part of his own body. Nagito has never thought of himself as especially handsome, or especially hideous. In fact, he’s never thought about his appearance much at all. That said, if he S/O shows a preference for something (usually his hair or his eyes, let’s be real), then he will take better care of that part of him. As for his partner, he often has a strong appreciation for their hands, chest, and neck. He’ll find their hands fascinating because of the wonderful duality about them. Kissing their fingertips can be either the most chaste, adoring act in the world, or the most suggestive, with only the smallest change in technique. He loves that he can hold their hand in public around other people, but also during their most private, intimate moments. He can spend hours just watching his fingers entwine with theirs. As for the chest thing, aside from the obvious, one of his favourite places to kiss his S/O is just above their heart, and likewise, he will probably melt if they did the same to him. He considers his lover’s very life to be an absolute miracle, and the pinnacle of hope, so something symbolic of that - like their heartbeat - is comforting to him, and he adores falling asleep to the sound of it. And finally, aside from finding the curve of their neck very alluring, he likes kissing them there, and also just nuzzling while he holds onto them. It’s a very secure, comfortable place to be. He can hear them breathing, breathe in their scent, and block out the world for a little while. 

C = Cum     ---Nagito has something of a double standard in this regard. He finds his own viscerally disgusting (along with pretty much everything else about himself), but he’s very comfortable with his partner’s. He will probably go into shock the first time they swallow. He won’t hate it though.

D = Dirty Secret      ---The fact that he has a dirty side probably is his secret. He tends to assume that people will assume the worst of him, so if anyone knows he had a horny thought in his life, they’d probably think he’s a pervert, on top of being useless and stupid. Thus, such thoughts tend to come with a lot of shame and frustration for him, as does every desire for anything gratifying that he feels. 

E = Experience      ---No. Generally, he prefers only to participate in sex with someone he deeply cares for -- a preference he’d rarely ever stray outside of, and only under certain, strenuous circumstances. Between Nagito’s own selectiveness, and tendency to drive people away (either consciously or subconsciously), he doesn’t have many willing suitors. Rest assured, though, he’s very perceptive and a fast learner. It doesn’t take long to figure out what he’s doing. 

F = Favourite Position      ---Any position that allows for eye contact and plenty of touching. Bonus points if they’re close enough to kiss. He likes to look at his partner while they do the fucc, and marvel at everything about them. 

G = Goofy     ---At first, a little bit. He’ll laugh a lot as he does when he’s nervous, and may act uncharacteristically clumsy. Once he’s comfortable, it’s more a matter of what kind of what they’re about to do. Though, he’s never too serious to smile for the person he loves. 

H = Hair      ---The people want to know, and thus, they shall: yes. His hair is the same colour all over. Do with that what you will. 

I = Intimacy      ---Nagito is the type to go the extra mile to make every time special. It can honestly be a little exhausting, especially if he and his S/O already live busy lives. He spends a lot of time on foreplay, and will pour his whole entire soul into making his partner feel loved and special. Every. Single. Time. So yeah, as with all other aspects of his personality, he can be tiring and painstaking at times; but he’s always worth the extra effort. Every time with him is a whole experience.

J = Jack Off      ---Typically, something he does to blow off steam every now and again, with nothing in particular on his mind. When he starts to crush hard on someone, he’s surprised to find himself thinking of them more and more, even during his...private moments. The first time that happens, he’s surprised at how much more intense it makes everything feel, and he has to stop and take a cold shower. In part, because he wasn’t prepared for it; and in part, out of shame alone. Eventually he can’t stop himself and does finish and it’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever given himself -- only to wind up not even looking that person in the eye for a good week. His fantasies while masturbating tend to be rather benign, too. It’s more abstract sensations - like the way a person smells, or the sound of their voice - than anything literal. 

K = Kink     ---You know, the whole #letnagitogetpegged2kforever thing started as a meme on this blog. It was initially “hey someone be nice to him uwu” and gradually evolved into, “for the love of god rail him please i swear”. In case it isn’t clear, I tend to use these kind of things as shorthand for my many, many rants on how Nagito is a Good Boy and Deserves Love, like the filthy apologist I am. It goes hand-in-hand with the running joke that his kink is love and affection -- though let’s be real, nothing makes him drop his pants faster than being made to feel loved, adored, and safe. Nothing.     That said, he will jump at the chance to be f’d in the a’, all the while insisting, “you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to”. Plenty of kisses and kind words, and some light hair pulling, and he will fall to pieces. He also really, really likes going down on his partner. If his S/O is smaller than him, seeing them in his clothing and nothing else does Things he can’t quite explain. If his S/O is stronger than him, he finds he enjoys being manhandled a little or pinned, so long as they’re at a point where he’s totally comfortable with them. He enjoys teasing and being teased, and hearing whatever noises he can elicit from his partner. Praise works so many kinds of wonders. The first person to tell him he’s not actual human garbage for whom death is too good will own his soul, I swear.

L = Location      ---Bed. Yeah, I know. But it’s familiar, comfortable, and well-equipped that he can take his time and give his partner his all. 

M = Motivation      ---It’s really not difficult to get him going. If his S/O makes their intentions clear, all it takes is a few indecent words and well-placed touches, and his interest is piqued. He is very touch-starved, what do you want?

N = NO     ---As a general rule, Nagito doesn’t like things that remind him of unpleasant times in his life. Nor would he want anything to depersonalize the experience, undermine his sense of safety, or is likely to go wrong due to his luck. No pain, and as much as he might pretend otherwise, no degrading. If he actively asks to be degraded, it’s a sign that he’s too involved in his self-loathing to be enjoying himself, and it’s probably time to take a break. Nothing unsanitary. Nothing that keeps him from being able to communicate, even if he’s not very good at it. He wants very badly to enjoy being tied up, because the idea of handing over that kind of ultimate trust to his partner is thrilling. However, that’s the kind of thing that needs a lot of working up to. He’s been tied up before in his life. Didn’t go well for him.      As an aside, Nagito is, as we all know, very bad at communicating his limits, especially if he feels they aren’t shared. It will likely take some intuiting on the part of his S/O to help suss him out a little. He is how he is. But he’s trying. 

O = Oral      ---He doesn’t mind receiving, of course, but definitely prefers giving. He’s pretty good at it, too. Sometimes he’ll exhaust his S/O that way, and be quite content even if that’s all they do. 

P = Pace      ---Left to set the pace himself, Nagito tends to take things slow. Agonizingly so. He likes to make it last. Like I said: every encounter is an Experience. 

Q = Quickie      ---Quickies don’t work for him as a replacement for sex for all the reasons above - it’s just not enough time to do all the things he wants to do - but for leaving him breathless and wanting more, as a precursor to later on, they’re pretty effective. 

R = Risk      ---The word “risk” is a strange one for Nagito. Due to his luck, he can get away with a lot more than most people. This has probably lead to a share of escapades with the right adventurous-type S/Os. 

S = Stamina      ---You know, regrettably, it’s not the best, once the actual fuccing begins. He’s pretty easily overwhelmed. But what he lacks in stamina, he makes up for in every other way. He would never want to leave his partner disappointed. 

T = Toy      ---Nagito is not opposed to the use of toys, either giving or receiving. Generally speaking, he’s pretty open-minded about trying new things, and if they work out, he’s happy to incorporate them into their regular routine. 

U = Unfair      ---Yet another long-running joke on his blog is that Nagito doesn’t deserve rights because he is a bottom. And you know what? That’s fair. Most of the time, he will default to - and be comfortable in - a more submissive role. But that isn’t to say he won’t be just as gifted at, and have just as much fun, taking control of things every now and again. And for someone so polite and composed and otherwise relaxed, it’s almost disorienting how easily that switch is flipped. Nagito has a silver tongue and a strong knack for finding peoples’ weak spots. He can tease his partner for hours, and if that wry smile is anything to go by, he really, really enjoys it. What I’m saying is, Top!Nagito is very powerful and should be feared.

V = Volume      ---So, you know how it’s physically impossible for him to shut up at any given moment? Yeah. Outside of his usual rambling about how his partner is a perfect, wonderful person who he loves with all his heart, interwoven with other filth not at all for polite company, he moans and whines a lot. Especially as he becomes more and more worked up, and less and less coherent. Sometimes he will try to muffle himself with his hand or a pillow (particularly early on while he’s still self-conscious); most of the time, he won’t bother. At a certain point it may be nearly impossible for him to control the sounds he’s making, so if some quiet is needed, it may be up to his partner to find a way to keep his mouth occupied. 

W = Wild Card      ---Nagito has an intense fascination with intricate lingerie. You know, the type that has a million straps and pieces and whatnot. Not just for all the obvious reasons -- he really does enjoy trying to figure out how all this complicated clothing works, and can spend ages just tracing it all with his fingers in amazement. RIP to the S/O who was trying to rile him up to make things move faster. What can he say? It’s the puzzle-solver in him. 

X = X-Ray      ---Slightly above average. He’s not overwhelming, but nowhere near disappointing, either. Once time, an anon submitted a logical deduction that explains this in full. I fucking love this community. 

Y = Yearning      ---His sex drive isn’t too high, but it’s high-er when he’s alone with his S/O more. In case it isn’t crystal yet, sex is primarily something he uses to express the way he feels about someone, and seek the contact he’s so desperate for. The deeper he’s fallen for someone, the stronger his desires will be -- or at the very least, the more likely he is to honour them, rather than bury his need for love and pretend it doesn’t exist.  

Z = ZZZ      ---He tries. He really does. But after a long session, he’s probably too tired to stay awake for very long. It seems only appropriate to end this list as it began: with plenty of cuddling, some softspoken words, and a nap, his partner is going to have one happy marshmallow on their hands.

#lemon; #「 report card 」 headcanons #( i am very slowly catching up on all the things i started )

[kitten-keith]

Horrid Self Indulgence

Wrote this long thing and now it’s gone cause I posted it to the wrong account and copy paste didn’t work so /fuck me/ anyway.

The whole following fic is purely self indulgent garbage, thus the name (it’s even called this in my google docs because I HAD A PLAN for what I was doing and it was supposed to be insanity) though as usual things get derailed and Idk. I had wanted to get into the hijinks of this concept but lost steam after starting the second bit. But the first bit can stand alone. ish. I guess.

Idk. It’s all completely ridiculous though so idk have fun.

Klance, slightly intoxicated, sharing a bed, Keith is uncomfortable AF and Lance is trying to be chill about it. Weird head shit and accidental rituals. You’ll see. Seriously. Horrid self indulgence.

-----

It was a pleasant moment between comrades that went horribly, heinously, horrifically wrong. 

And if that’s what bonding with Keith friggin Kogane gets him then absolutely not, never again.

It was such a simple stupid fuck up. How was he supposed to know?!

They were at a dinner, stumbling awkwardly through an alien planets customs, trying unsuccessfully to pretend they were okay with the garbs they’d been forced to wear and that the food didn’t make them nauseous when Lance had made the biggest mistake ever and looked at Keith. 

See, because he was the leader his attire had to display this-this—nobility. And god, Keith was anything but noble. He was sitting to the right of the planet’s leader, Allura across from him, and he looked like they might as well have sat him at the kids table with how his brows furrowed and he looked at the ground like he was trying not to cry.

His face was red enough to match the silk scarf loosely clinging to his shoulders and his thumbs rubbed absently over his ungloved hands. He was bare aside from the scarf and a darker one wrapped around his waist for modesty that he’d had to fight for. Apparently this planet had no concept of an external penis or whatever and needed to be educated on human biology before they gave in to Keith’s demands. 

The whole thing was about respect, leaving yourself bare to show you had nothing to hide, but to remind everyone of his station the locals had him decked out in jewels from head to toe. They were braided into his hair, dangling from thin chains across his chest, Lance was positive there was some sort of jeweled sandal decorating his tiny delicate toes too. 

(And not because he paid attention to that sort of thing. Just. Ya know. Shiny shit.) 

Allura was actually dressed about the same though being a woman with no external penises she was actually way nakeder than Keith. And, as she was a full on princess they’d given her a whole slew of silver that had strategically covered all necessary bits that Lance’s mother might have flinched at. 

Not that Allura seemed to give a fuck in the slightest and even seemed to enjoy it as she spoke animatedly to the world leaders, the jewels on her body making small clinking noises with every movement. 

Lance had spotted perfect (and he means perfect) dark nipples exactly 16 times since they’d all sat down to their meal and absolutely couldn’t take it anymore so that was when he’d turned his attention to Keith. 

And somehow had been unable to turn away from him since.

The other Paladins were stripped some and given a few shiny baubles. Lance himself was wearing flowy pants slit up the sides over the dark boxers he’d thankfully been allowed to continue wearing. A couple gold plated necklaces and an arm band and he was good to go. Lance has no issue being topless and actually kinda liked the style. Hunk was a bit more uncomfortable, same pants, same boxer treatment (his were white with yellow suns on them, Lance clapped him on the back for unintentionally matching.) 

Hunk had the same kind of jewelry too but try all he might he couldn’t drop his hands from where they were wrapped around his chest.

He said he was cold repeatedly but lance figured he was just self conscious and offered him plenty of wolf whistles back in their dressing rooms because “man hunk you wanna bench press me later cause those arms are making me weak~!” 

But sadly it didn’t seem to work. 

Pidge was an interesting sell. Same bottom situation in her signature green but she’d also managed to get away with a pair of socks that she was no longer wearing on her feet.

They were providing just a hint more cover for her chest after she’d wrapped Lance’s, Hunks’s, and her own scarf around herself like a makeshift halter top. The locals hadn’t liked it and Allura had tried to explain that female breasts were nothing to be ashamed of but Pidge’s size and thus assumed age had granted her the “let the child be” excuse. 

And sure, Lance was a grown man who was all for equality and free the nipple and aaallll that jazz but if they had forced his pseudo baby sister to go topless he might have lost his absolute shit and gotten them all sent back to the castle. 

Not that that would have been the worst thing at this point because then he wouldn’t be staring at Keith like this— to avoid staring at Allura! Of course— and then he wouldn’t have gotten elbowed in the side by the Pidgeling and gotten the funny look from Hunk and nah man okay. 

Lance wasn’t ogling the leader of voltron. 

He wasn’t. 

He was just. 

Uh. 

Worried about him. 

Yeah, that’s right. Worried. 

Which was what lead him to follow Keith’s retreating form the second they were allowed to adjourn for the night. 

It’s what compelled him to bump his shoulder and wave a hand in greeting. 

And maybe that pout had something to do with Lance’s laughing, throwing his arm over his shoulders, and ushering him to his room for the night. 

“Come on dude, I've got something for you, stashed from that one planet with the abomination? You know the one… Kell? Krell? It’s good okay, better than what they just tried to feed us. Take the edge off.” 

Take the edge off. 

Famous last words? 

Keith groaned and wrapped his arms around himself tightly but nodded and willingly turned off course from his own room. Lance wondered if this was so easy because he’d been so beaten down by the day or because he actually found solace in Lance’s company. 

He didn’t have the nerve to ask and instead simply sauntered into his room, leaving Keith to stand idly by the newly shut door. 

“It tastes better than nunville but it’s a little stronger so you’re gonna wanna sip at it okay?” 

Keith nodded but his eyes looked glassy, like he wasn’t actually listening. 

Lance moved to his temporary rooms vanity setting and shuffled through his bottles of toiletries. When they’d decided to indulge the locals in their customs and stay a few nights basking in their hospitality Lance had been told to pack quickly but he hadn’t forgotten anything important. This included the little silver pouch that he’d somehow barely touched since keeping it with him all this time. 

He opened the pull top with his teeth to take a small sip before offering it to Keith who was still standing right against the door as if he was afraid to move. Considering how loose the scarf around his waist looked, he might have been. 

He did look… good though. 

Remarkably so. 

Amidst the finery and the sheer and silk fabrics, his hair in a loose braid over one shoulder and that almost permanent flush across his cheeks, he was beautiful and adorable and stunning all at once and it was doing ridiculous things to Lance’s chest. He almost regretted taking the sip that he did because he worried about what he might let slip aloud, looking at Keith like that, but as the alien substance travelled down his throat and warmed his body he kept his wits. He felt the buzzing under his skin but retained his sense. He was here to offer Keith a moment to relax. Nothing more.

He walked over to Keith and instead of handing him the pouch he resealed it and held it softly under one arm as he reached out with both hands for Keith’s waist. 

Keith flinched so hard his back hit the door, “what are you doing?!”

Lance rolled his eyes, pushing closer and grabbing on to the scarf around his waist tugging and tightening it for him. 

“Looked like you were having trouble.”

Keith’s flush was so hot Lance could practically feel it.

Poor thing. 

“Right… thanks…” he stayed against the door but took the pouch when Lance offered it. 

Lance turned to walk over to his bed and make himself comfortable and by the time he turned his attention back to Keith the boy was swallowing.

“You remembered what I said about that stuff being hard hitting… right?”

Keith shrugged.

Took another sip. (This one looked more like a sip at least. Maybe Lance wouldn’t have to carry him back to his room later.)

He sealed the stopper and looked around the room briefly before walking in the straightest line imaginable to sit on the foot of Lance’s bed, holding the pouch out to him again. 

Lance considered it, wondering if it would help or hinder his case to not make a fool of himself with Keith looking like that and decided why not. Besides, he could pace himself, unlike some people. 

When he finished taking his last sip, feeling the warmth and the contentment sitting in his stomach as he leaned back on his elbows on his bed, he hummed to himself and shut the top, putting it to the side. 

Keith shuffled around so his back was to the bed post and he placed his hands over his lap uncomfortably.

“So uh. Was—was that it?”

“Chill Keith. You’ve been looking so tightly wound today I figured you could use a break.” 

Keith visibly paled and moved to curl in on himself but thought better of it. His thumbs started to track back and forth over his fingers though. Bad sign. 

“Relax!” Lance demanded, stretching the vowel sounds to make it more playful. 

Keith neglected to heed this order and instead looked away. 

“Look, I doubt it’ll cause any problems, everyone knows their customs made you uncomfortable. Here, if you want you can go ahead and get under the covers.” Lance reached behind him and pulled up the bed sheets. It would help his own situation too. Cover Keith and that pretty skin of his up. Put that beautiful body away because his own was starting to get ideas he didn’t need. 

He remembered Allura looking just as beautiful if not more so and it helped for a second to feel better mentally but he was still fighting not to be turned on next to half naked (that was being generous) Keith. 

“That might actually be… are you sure? I could just— leave. I could leave.”

Lance rolled his eyes. 

“Would you chill if you left or would you stay up all night worrying about the kinds of impressions you’re leaving?”

Keith was silent. His thumb disappeared behind his pointer to dig his little blunt nail into his middle. 

“Get in the bed. Let me tell you stories.” 

Keith’s eyes lit up at that and for a moment he started forward to crawl across the bed toward where the sheets were up, but he stopped himself again. 

Lance sighed.

“Feeling exposed?”

Keith nodded.

“You know we showered together back at the garrison right? I’ve seen you naked. Completely naked. And lathered.”

Of course, this was before Lance’s full sexual awakening and before Keith had filled out like he did with those abs and thighs for days but uh— that wasn’t a necessary addition to the conversation it just wasn’t. 

Keith still flushed like a tomato and it made Lance’s little traitorous heart do a flip.

“Right right. I forget you didn’t even remember me from the garrison.” Lance offered sardonically, trying to shift the mood. 

Keith bit his lip. Man, even that looked good. Lance wanted to bite that lip. He could just see it. Lip to lip with Keith Kogane groaning out. Lance’s hand on his shoulder pushing him back on the bed, the other reaching beneath him to get a nice big handful of that round perky ass—

Okay. 

Okay maybe Keith shouldn’t get under the covers. 

Maybe he should leave. 

He should leave. 

He should—

Keith started to mumble something when Lance turned away and shut his eyes. 

“Alright you have ten seconds, go on princess.”

It was silent for a moment. 

Lance squeezes his eyes shut tightly because this was the exact opposite of what he was supposed to be doing.

“10.” 

But he was doing it.

“9”

There was the sound of Keith shuffling behind him, pulling up the sheets more and crawling into bed. He was getting comfortable by the time Lance reached 3 and Keith spoke up telling him he could stop. 

Lance nodded and turned around so he could face Keith, continue conversations, see if he could find a relevant story in his brain about his family or something simple back home that would help Keith unwind. 

Instead he was struck a bit dumb by Keith snuggled under his (always color coded) blue bed sheets, his inky black hair splayed out on the pillow. Lance had always thought Keith’s eyes were this remarkable shade of blue but surrounded by all the blue in his bed Lance realized he was wrong. They were clearly more of a violet, wide and staring at him under lashes that were too long and too elegant for a guy who made a living kicking furry alien chinchillas in the face.

And with that thought came the image of Keith kicking ass, those muscle toned legs under skin tight space suits…

Now basically bare and in his bed. 

Naked. 

Naked Keith in his bed. 

Naked Keith in his bed staring at him expectantly like— like—

Right. Right he was waiting for a story. 

Okay. 

Lance flopped onto his side, too close to Keith but in an effort to remain comfortable and casual it had to be done, and went back to racking his mind for an idea that didn’t involve pressing his body as close to Keith’s as physically possible. 

Something jingled as he went down and he remembered the abundance of jewels that had been decorating Keith’s body. 

There were still a few left in his hair that he seemed to not care about but it looked like the little jeweled sandals were there, as were the ones that had decorated his arms.

It took him a second but Lance scooped them up and put them on the bedside table before getting comfortable again. 

“Oh okay so, let me tell you about the time my big sister Veronica brought home the biggest stupidest “boyfriend” she could find…” 

Lance could see Keith smile just beneath the blanket. 

He reached out and started to pick the jewels out of Keith’s hair as he spoke, occasionally running his fingers through it. If Keith had a complaint he didn’t voice it. Besides, just because it was styled stupid didn’t make it any less soft.

By the time Lance got to the big reveal of the story, the part where Veronica had hired the guy to piss off their dad over an argument they’d had about Veronica’s openness to bringing a girlfriend home (maybe, in the future), Keith had completely knocked out.

And for some reason, Lance thought that was alright.

They could totally just. Sleep in the same bed. No problem.

With Keith wearing nothing but a silk scarf.

He thought this was a perfectly good idea as he showered and put on a fresh pair of boxers and crawled under his sheets to the sound of Keith’s light breathing.

He was a little dizzy, but forgot that the biggest after effect of inebriation was poor judgement, and easily curled up next to Keith.

Keith, who was just awake enough to take Lance’s hand.

Lance thought it was adorable.

Because Keith was adorable. 

And Lance wanted to be touching his skin like this (sort of) anyway.

It worked for him. 

He was sleepy too.

So sleepy he lapsed almost instantly into dreams.

Dreams of Allura dancing just out of his reach. Of her nonchalance at his flirting and efforts to be noticed by her. Making him feel useless. Undesirable. Unworthy.

He was so pathetic.

Keith’s voice was in his head. 

Telling him how kind he was. How sweet he was.

“I couldn’t do any of this without you Lance.”

“I need you.”

“I hope you know that. I hope you know that—if you could see yourself how I see you…”

“Lance you’re so…”

“I want…”

“I wish…”

Keith was at his side. Mumbling those nothings into his ear in little breathy sighs. 

It felt nice. 

It was nice to hear. 

Nice to feel Keith pressing in beside him.

“I wish you could see what I see in you… love yourself as much as I do...Lance, I…”

Well this was awfully self indulgent of him. Dreaming of a Keith who would say those kinds of things. As if the real Keith capital L Loved him. 

Like Lance hadn’t spent years trying to get his attention the same way he had with Allura too. 

As if he hadn’t gotten shot down with every attempt to—

“I liked you then too! I was just… afraid to let anyone in…”

“Liar, you didn’t even remember me.”

“That was the lie…”

“That was…?”

“You were so cute… always trying so hard… always going the extra effort to make people smile or laugh… I always thought you were…”

“You liked me back at the garrison? Like... one smoothie two straws, like-like…?”

Keith turned away, rolling onto his side. Face probably flushed a deep crimson again. Man he was so cute…!

“Like write your name in my notebook with a bunch of hearts, like-like… yeah.”

Extremely self indulgent dream. 

But Lance was gonna take it.

He squeezed himself close to Keith’s body, wrapping an arm around his chest as Keith jumped.

“And now you…?”

“Now I…”

It was silent. 

Lance tried to ignore how perfectly Keith’s ass cheeks felt pressed to his crotch.

He felt naked.

Naked Keith in his bed. Saying all these pretty hopeful things...What a perfect dream…

Lance gently bumped his hips. He couldn’t help it, and it was his dream after all right?

Keith was silent, but reached a hand back to slide down Lance’s waist, breathing loud.

Was that how Lance’s mind worked? Show me a love confession followed by an immediate bone. 

Lance’s wet dreams were clearly things of substance.

“Do you love me?”

He bumped his hips again. His dick hardening fast.

Keith’s fingers dug into Lance’s boxers, applying just enough pressure to drive him forward, keep him pressed to his ass.

“I do… do you…?”

“Hmm… never thought about it before.”

Keith made a low unhappy noise.

“I def love your face… your so fucking pretty face…” 

Keith went silent again. Lance ground his hips against him and his hard cock was finding a very comfortable place right between his cheeks. 

“And I love this body...your ass is heaven, Keith, wish you could feel this...” 

Keith was definitely naked. Naked enough that Lance was desperate to get out of his boxers. 

How could his dream provide him perfectly naked love confessing Keith and not leave Lance equally perfectly naked?

Sense, where was it?

“I love how brave you are… stupid and reckless and it drives me insane with worry. But brave.” 

Keith backed into Lance’s lap, rolling his hips and made Lance’s mind stutter.

“I love how—how much you care about things even when you don’t show it… I love your laugh…”

He could feel Keith’s entire body against his front, a single useless silk scarf around his waist, the rest probably lost somewhere in the bed. His hand found one of Keith’s nipples and he started to slowly rub his fingers around the nub causing Keith to raise his chest into the touch a bit more with a small high pitched sound.

“I love how you hum during flight simulations and I always leave coms open so I can hear you…”

With Keith raising his chest for Lance’s hand it gave him a moment to slip his other hand underneath him. He pinched his nipple between his thumb and forefinger once before sliding that first hand down the span of his body. Feather light touches over the ridges of his abs, loving the way Keith twitched and rocked harder back into Lance. 

“I love how unbelievably dense you could be sometimes, you’re such a mess you’re perfect—” Lance moved his head so he was right against Keith’s ear for the word “perfect” but lost his nerve when he dropped his face into the back of Keith’s neck, “What am I saying… of course I love you.”

Did Lance have feelings for Allura? Yes. Did he wish she’d reciprocate? Yeah. 

Did Lance feel guilty about indulging himself in a dream with someone who he also had some very strong (possibly stronger) feelings for? No, not at all. 

Because real talk? If Keith had said half of this in real life Lance’s heart would have combusted and he would have kissed the life out of him by now—

Because that was just what Keith did to him sometimes. 

He just… blew his mind with how much he could make Lance feel. 

Christ.

Good lord.

He hadn’t taken advantage of the opportunity to kiss him yet. 

He reached up with the arm that was beneath Keith, his hand spreading wide over his neck to grab his jaw and tentatively guide him to face him. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Keith’s hips ground back hard as he laughed, “you’re asking that now?”

He was right. 

Besides, kinda stupid to ask permission from a dream right? 

“Stupid stupid me, right?” 

“Stop that.”

“Right let’s get to the smooching.”

“Yeah alright I take it back.”

“If you love me you have to love all of me.”

Lance could practically hear Keith rolling his eyes. 

“Hey it’s my dream—“

And it was absolutely superpowered. Maybe there was something in his drink that had different properties on this planet because when Keith parted his lips and lifted his head they had never looked so inviting in his life. He had to stop himself mid sentence to dive for those lips.

Smashed up his nose a little bit on Keith’s cheek which he was sure he would have felt too if this wasn’t a dream but Lance didn’t care because he was kissing Keith Kogane.

And yes. He’d had plenty of dreams where he’d kissed Keith. Plenty of dreams where they’d made out on the rec room floor or the garrison showers or had sex in reds cockpit. 

But they had never ever felt like this.

His brain practically fizzled out. 

He felt Keith’s tongue against his and then suddenly it was gone.

Felt like he was falling, disoriented. Someone (Keith?) reached out to catch him. Dug little blunt nails into his arm in panic.

“Lance—what—“

The dream shifted. Lance was alone, floating in an empty pool, naked and confused and annoyed.

The water was cold but didn’t make him shiver. 

There was a splash in the distance, and Lance hoped it was Keith but he couldn’t see anything. Time passed and he started to lose sense of where he or the water began. 

He’d have given anything to be back with Keith. 

What a shitty way to end his dream…

When he woke up his throat was dry, like he’d had too much to drink the night before and his head spun a bit. 

He sat up and found he was on the far side of the bed where Keith had gone to sleep. Didn’t even see Keith, so maybe he’d gotten up earlier and Lance had managed to settle into place where his body heat had been. 

Of course that was for mere moments before he glanced to the opposite side of his bed and found… himself?

He also realized very suddenly he was buttnaked with only a silk scarf tied loosely around his hips and his hair was long enough to tickle his shoulders.

He looked down at himself and saw the expanse of absolutely flawless Keith body, down to the little dark hairs just under that useless scarf.

Lance wasn’t sure why he did it, but he reached down to grab himself in his palm (Keith in Keith’s palm??) And was immediately overwhelmed by the sensation of it. He had to bite his lip to keep quiet and fell back on the bed hard as his hand tightened to seek out the feeling. He was partially hard already and from the feeling of it he must have been suffering all night.

But excuse you Lance. This isn’t your body what are you doing? 

Dreaming? Still? Could have sworn he was very much awake now…

He forced himself to stop, noting quietly that he was absolutely not going to forget what it felt like, and looked over at his own body. 

Had to be a dream. 

Had to be.

He shut his eyes, letting his finger tips graze over the inside of Keith’s thighs because dream or no there were so many nice things about that he was gonna keep doing it.

Well until someone shook him awake (again?) 

It was strange seeing an expression that was so clearly Keith, puzzled with furrowed brows and tight lips, on his own face. 

But there it was. 

Staring at him like he was the strangest mystery in the known universe. Which, to be fair, if he was still wearing Keith’s face he kind of was. (And kind of had to be considering he definitely wasn’t the one wearing his own face.) 

Keith (you know, it felt like Keith and acted like Keith, but he really didn’t know if that was Keith) was the first to register the shock of the mornings revelation. Lance actually felt kinda slow and confused. Maybe he’d drank too much— no wait, Keith did. 

Anyway.

So. 

Keith started screaming. And Lance started screaming. 

And maybe that wasn’t a great idea while guests on a diplomatic mission in another world palace with your comrades in arms down the hall while you’re both pretty naked and in bed together. 

But uh. 

Fun morning.

#I hate that I have to do this again #Klance #body swap #sharing a bed #smut #smutty stuff for this blog because it's owed lbr #all I do anymore is whine #and my writing is off #idk #this is one of the older ones so maybe it's not too awful #keith is a mess #Lance has mixed feels #heavy pining #whatever

[queenofbaws]

UD/MoM: Of Mummy Men & Bathtub Soup - 3

Chapter: 3/? Chapter title: What goes bump in the night Fic rating: T - Language, blood, light comedic body horror Chapter summary: Conrad has a plan. Author’s note: Reminder - this is also on AO3, where the texting actually looks like, uh...texting! Previous | Next ---

Driving with the CREEPs had been absolutely out of the question. Full stop. Period. End of sentence. Number one: He wasn’t about to get into that Mystery Mobile of Hartley’s, the second- or maybe even thirdhand piece of shit minivan that screamed of playdates gone by—no thanks. Number two: If he was gonna be spending the night with these dorks, he needed to squeeze in as much Conrad-time as possible before those floodgates opened. Number three (and this was probably the real heart of the matter): He knew he wouldn’t’ve been able to control his face as they zipped by Alex and JJ’s place.

Nope. Could not. In fact, even as he drove by it, all by his lonesome, he couldn’t help the way his eyes stuck to it, making his head turn until it was out of view again.

Their mom was out of her goddamn mind, calling that place a—wait, what had she called it again? A drafty…rickety thing? Some garbage like that. If that was her idea of drafty and rickety, by God he didn’t want to know what she’d think of his apartment in The Willows. She might actually go full fainting-couch on him, ‘Fetch the smelling salts!’ and all that jazz. But here? He hadn’t been lying when he told the nerds that this was where the rich SOBs had decided to set up shop; as a rich SOB himself, he felt especially qualified in his assessment that if even one of these suburban monstrosities didn’t have an in-ground pool in the back, it was only because the owners had filled it in to start the process of paving their own tennis court.

He jammed his turn signal on the second the understated-but-sophisticated (Mom’s words, not his) realty sign planted in the front yard caught his eye, slowing his roll so his ectoplasmic entourage would get the picture.

“Heeere we go…” Conrad muttered under his breath as his car smoothly glided into the driveway. He went to kill the engine, realizing with a snicker that he’d been humming the Ghostbusters theme to himself. “Oooh Jesus…oh God help us all, it’s contagious.” That got another laugh out of him—more of a snort, really—and count that as number four on his list of reasons why he was glad he hadn’t shown up to this song and dance with the creepazoids.

His eyes flicked to the rearview and he watched them begin the no doubt arduous task of maneuvering the minivan into the driveway in reverse, and while that might’ve been its own kind of entertainment, he had a good fucking feeling he’d be getting more than his fair share of Schadenfreude out of them tonight. Instead of watching, then, he unhooked his phone from its dock on his dashboard, unbuckling his seatbelt and sinking lower into that plush, buttery leather seating as he checked his texts.

JJ: Did you touch any of my stuff the last time you were here????????? JJ: Hello? JJ: Hellooooooooooooo????? Conrad: Omg why would I take any of your stuff? JJ: Because you’re a little sneak thief who doesn’t know how to keep his hands TO HIMSELF! Conrad: Now slow your roll there princess Conrad: What’s missing? JJ: My favorite bracelet Conrad: What, the black and silver one? JJ: OBVIOUSLY that one!!!

He reached down to the cup holder in his center console, popping the lid off his water bottle before bringing it to his mouth to take a drink, all the while pretending he didn’t see the lovely bracelet tucked away in the second divot. Was it black and silver? Hmm. Hard to tell, hard to tell…maybe if the person viewing it perhaps…squinted a certain way, or tilted their head to the side…or just kinda…looked at it.

Conrad: Oh man that sucks Conrad: Haven’t seen it though JJ: Uh huh JJ: Just like you haven’t seen any of the other stuff that’s gone missing around here JJ: SNEAK THIEF!!!!! Conrad: Look under the bed, lost shit always ends up under the bed Conrad: It’s like…a law of physics or some shit

Ah, but Julia wasn’t the reason he’d checked his texts. Don’t get it twisted—her being snippy about her stupid bracelet was fan-fucking-tastic because it told him without really telling him that she hadn’t noticed his car drifting through her neighborhood like a shark cruising for a school of sardines—but nonono, see, there was a different message he’d been hoping for.

Fliss: It’s due the Tuesday before break, I just checked. Conrad: Cool cool cool, all the time in the world then Conrad: So you got any fun weekend plans? Conrad: All work and no play yadda yadda

He sucked his teeth at the lack of response. Now, true, getting her number had been, oh, chef’s kiss, fantastic, but it seemed the charm boomerang hadn’t hit yet, huh? It was probably still whizzing its way through the air, just thuppita-thuppita-thuppita, zeroing in on its target like one of Cupid’s arrows. It would get there! Oooh, it would get there! It just…

Well, it hadn’t quite gotten there!

Yet.

His thumbs hovered over his phone’s keyboard as he thought of something witty to say, something that wouldn’t come off as skeevy or desperate or—

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG!

“Jesus fucking Chr—” There was a pathetic noise as his phone tumbled out of his hands, half-fumbled, half-flung, and he dropped both of his hands onto his thighs, shaking his head and staring straight through his windshield as Washington continued to pound on the window only inches from his head.

Regardless of what they found (or didn’t find) in that stupid house, there’d be a haunting by the end of the night, all right. He was going to kill him.

He blinked once, twice, and then let his eyes roll towards the window. When Wash met his gaze, still knocking of course, Conrad pressed the back of his own hand to the glass, slowly raising his middle finger. It got him to stop knocking, but man alive it started him off guffawing like a goddamn goon, and honestly? Not a whole lot better.

Grumbling, he bent down to search the footwell for his phone, grabbing it up before jerkily opening the door, managing to get in a good, solid thwack to Wash’s side. “Insufferable, that’s what you are. In-fucking-sufferable.”

“Baby’s first five-syllable word! Color me impressed.” Asshattery or not, he hadn’t been raised in a barn, that Josh Washington—he offered one of his fists and Conrad knocked his knuckles against it, only sliiightly harder than friendly greetings usually called for. “Gotta hand it to you, Bishop…I was kinda expecting we were gonna pull up to nothing short of Grandma’s house, doilies in the windows and everything. This, uh…” he paused just long enough to cast a judgmental look about the property, “…this is not that.”

“Pretty sick, right?” He locked his car and slid his phone into his back pocket, glancing over his shoulder for only a moment to watch the rest of the geek squad struggle under the weight of unloading their equipment.

“Eh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Wash chuckled, jamming his hands into his pockets as he continued to look around. “You sure Mommy isn’t gonna get her panties all in a bunch over this? Us sneaking around and putting our grubby mitts on everything we see?”

“How about you save the snappy shit for the camera, how about that, man?”

Houses Washington and Bishop went back a ways, their storied meeting taking place right around the time Big Bob Washington himself had hit it big in the movie scene. Conrad was still a little fuzzy on the details of who, what, where, when, why, and how the blood pact or whatever had been formed (he had a suspicion it had something to do with investments or stock portfolios or some shit like that), but the moral of it all was the same: There hadn’t been a family holiday since as far back as he could remember that Josh wasn’t there, his lame-ass friends close in tow. His sisters too, but uh...well. Hmm.

Aaaaaanyway, it was for that reason that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would not keep the snappy shit for the camera. Wash was, in no uncertain terms, incapable of holding his lips together for more than thirty seconds at a time.

Except miracle of miracles, either someone upstairs had been listening or he was just real invested in putting on a good show for blondie, because their outdoor filming was carried out with the snark kept to a bare minimum.

It was magical, really, watching the change that came over those dorks when they were working on their stupid show. On the best of days—the absolute best—there were maybe two functioning brain cells between them, and even then, both of them were usually being used by Ash to memorize some sort of obscure literary trivia. But when it came to their pointless ghost hunting show, get out of the way! They moved like a well-oiled machine, setting cameras up for the best angles and shooting where the sunlight was best. It was almost impressive. Impressive in a decidedly pathetic way, sure, but like…impressive.

“So this is it, huh?” Sam asked as she joined him in front of the house, the others having already carted the king’s share of the equipment inside. “Crossing the threshold into Mummy Mansion. Well…definitely looks big enough to be hiding some ghoulies, I’ll give it that.”

He glanced up from his phone (and by extension the text thread he’d been trying to telepathically will Fliss to answer for the past twenty minutes or so). “Really wish you wouldn’t call it that,” he muttered, shoving his phone into his pocket again as he resigned himself to just not getting an answer. “Seriously ruins the ambiance of the situation.”

Having reached his daily recommended intake of goodwill towards man, Wash piped in from right behind him, “And what ambiance would that be, exactly? Because, uh, the spookiest part of this shit is the three-car garage, my dude.”

“You know, I seem to recall you saying you were desperate for help finding locations for this flop of a—oh, whoop, okay then…” He took a step back as Sam, seemingly done with their conversation, took it upon herself to head inside and leave the two of them on the stoop.

“Is that how you remember it?” Washington droned, “Because I seem to recall you accosting us at a party and begging that we come to this dump with you.”

“Begging? Begging.” He scoffed as loudly and derisively as he was able to (which turned out to be both very loudly and very derisively). “First off, I don’t beg. Especially not the likes of you.”

He kept scanning the property and the surrounding development, pulling one of his hands out of the pocket of his sweatshirt just long enough to flap his hand in his general direction.

Conrad grabbed the hand puppet in question and twisted it until Wash pulled away, giving him a good parting smack in the process. If any of the neighbors had been watching, he had to figure it would’ve looked, uh, not all that different from the slap-fights they’d gotten into as kids. “Let me humor you—humor you. Explain to me what I’m getting out of this arrangement, okay? Because let’s be real here, sure seems to me like you guys are the ones benefiting from this arrangement…”

“Oh, you mean besides your whole ‘I need you guys to scare someone for me’ thing?” Josh asked in an insulting (if not unpleasantly decent) impression of Conrad’s voice. “You get to tag along and pretend like you have friends for a night, so—”

That earned him a harder smack, but he pulled away just in time. Trying not to sputter, his laughter turned indignant. “O-oh, I can pretend like I have fr—fuck you, asshole.”

“Call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“Newsflash dickwad, people love me.”

Washington raised his eyebrows. He said nothing.

This house was getting a new ghost tonight, no fucking question.

“Know what? I…” he drawled, yanking the front door open, “…don’t have to stand here and take this from you.”

“Sounds like someone’s feeling a little self-conscious all of a sudden.”

“This is why people hate psych majors, you get that, right? This? This moment right here? This is why everyone rolls their eyes in class when it’s icebreaker time and you go ‘Hi, I’m Josh, and I went into psych because I’m just really, really good at reading people.’”

“Awful lot of talk for someone whose feelings aren’t hurt.”

Oh, he just had to remind himself of the long con. This was a necessary evil, a building block for what was to come. This was the metaphorical five bucks he had to fork over to partake of the all-you-can-eat spooktacular later, so he could grin and bear it for now.

“I mean, I can’t blame you…it’s probably one hell of a treat to be able to surround yourself with people as compassionate and entertaining as we are, especially considering that rancid personality of yours.”

…yeah, he could grin and bear it for now, but he was absolutely murdering Wash later. With his bare hands. He was going to count how many different colors his face turned as he strangled the life out of him. His bet? Six.

He held his gaze for a moment longer, unwilling to so much as blink until he was inside the house. Then, to prove precisely how mature he was, he proceeded to slam the front door shut in his face, exhaling a relieved breath in the silence that followed. Conrad tugged his coat off and tossed it onto the stairs leading up from the entryway; the action felt unnaturally natural, if that made any sort of sense. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised…like, no duh it felt as though he was walking into Julia and Alex’s place—that was the whole point of this ordeal, wasn’t it? If the CREEPs got a solid feel for this place tonight, then it would be that much easier for the real job to be an in-and-out kinda deal later. Let them find the nooks and crannies to hide and hook up their fakey-fake bullshit now…reap the benefits later. A stellar plan on his part, really. Genius, almost.

A gust of wind blew his shirt hard against his back as Wash yanked the door back open, charging in with nary a sidelong glance his way. He did, however, manage to sneak in a horribly accurate backhand right under Conrad’s ribs, making him grunt and double over in surprise. “Hey, we’re starting in the basement, right?” he called up towards CREEP HQ, his mouth hooking into a smirk.

Leaning into view against the upstairs railing, something that looked suspiciously like an insulated lunchbox hanging from a strap on her shoulder, Ash offered up a smirk of her own. “That is where Conrad said we’d find our mummy, sooo…”

Long con or not, he was not about to stand here and get picked on by a bunch of AV Club nerds LARPing as Mystery Inc. “I didn’t say we’d find a mummy, I said someone already found a mummy!”

Half-pushing, half-shoving (at least until blondie joined them and Washington went back to being a dark, mysterious edgelord), they made their way down into the basement, walking carefully on the stairs. Everything in the house was well built, that wasn’t the issue, but without any carpeting or finish of any kind, the stairs felt a little…questionable. Rounded at the ends, maybe, and definitely, uh, made out of concrete. Or cement. Or both? Maybe both. Either way, they looked like they’d give you a hell of a bonk if you were unlucky enough to slip on them.

In his visits to the lovebirds’ nest, he couldn’t say he’d spent a whole lot of time in the basement. Like Julia and Mom had said during the dinner that started this whole fucking mess, the basements in this development were, uh…

Creepy! Creepy was the word. Hence the CREEPs.

“Yo, Conman,” Wash said, interrupting his surreptitious look around the place, “Your mom ever mention any of the previous owners using this place as a sex dungeon? Because let me tell you, I am…feeling that vibe.”

Ash’s disgust was palpable. “Josh, oh my God, could you not?”

“Could we get some lights down here maybe? I—” Both of the girls (and okay, maybe someone else, though they would remain nameless) gasped when Wash pulled the cord to the overhead light, plunging them into darkness. “Helpful,” Sam said flatly, “Mature. Professional.”

It wasn’t that he was afraid of the dark or anything like that—because he wasn’t—but he did not, under any circumstances or stretch of the imagination, trust these freaks out of eyeshot.

That didn’t turn out to be such a huge problem after all. As it turned out, the stairs weren’t the only janky part of the basement’s setup: something about the doorframe didn’t fit precisely right. It let a sliver of light from the entryway shine through, meaning once his eyes adjusted, he could see a bit more than he first thought. The Scooby Squad continued to act like buffoons, all of them bumping into each other in the dark until the recording light of Hartley’s camera popped on and Wash started rambling on about spirit boxes and communicating with the other side and blahdie, blahdie, blah.

Then one of them flipped something on and the world exploded into shrieking, ear-bleeding, brain-shattering static. That time he didn’t pretend—he jumped like a cat getting its tail stepped on, yowling just about as loudly. “Holy shitballs!”

For his part, Wash kept on his ghost host with the most bullshit, saying, calmly as could be, “Now, just to make sure none of what we’re saying affects what she’s hearing in the radio signals, she’s going to have these noise canceling headphones on…whenever she hears something from the box, she’ll call it out to us, right, Ash?”

In the silence that followed, Conrad blindly felt his way over towards Hartley, trying to position himself so he could get a halfway decent view of the camera’s display screen. Through it, he could see Wash and Ash, both perfectly eerie in the green light of night vision, their eyes made beady and black.

Another few seconds passed without Ash responding, and Sam cleared her throat from somewhere behind them. “Well. At least we know the headphones work.”

On the display, Wash paused, his forehead wrinkling. “Oh. Right. Uh. We’ll…fix that in post.”

Conrad couldn’t help but snort—and loudly, at that.

“Hey! Are you guys gonna leave me hanging the whole night?!” Ash snapped, way whinier than any tv psychic he’d ever seen. He could see her in the monitor, holding one side of the headphones away from her head, and even over the shrillness of her voice he could hear that awful static escaping from the headphones’ cup. “I’m already getting a headache! Can we get on this with? Puh-lease?”

He snorted again, quieter that second time, and began a slow circle around the main room of the basement. He made sure to keep the glowing square of Hartley’s display in his periphery to serve as a sort of buoy in case he got turned around in the dark. Was this what the others’ basement was set up like? He had to figure it was…like, if the rest of the house followed the same plan, then the basement would too, wouldn’t it? Stood to reason, at least.

Conrad walked along the back wall, skimming his hand along the exposed brick as he went, careful to test each of his steps before he put his full weight down. The floor was, much like the stairs, duh, made of cement or something like it, ancient dust crackling under the soles of his shoes as he walked. Whatever these people had used it for, he couldn’t say (hell, maybe Wash had a point with the whole sex dungeon thing, he could see it…), but the plan for the other house’s basement was to turn it into a gym.

Probably.

That sort of sounded right.

He hadn’t really been paying attention when JJ had started rambling about it.

Paying attention wasn’t really his thing.

As he walked, the CREEPs kept doing their stupid ghost stuff (“Is there anyone here with us? If there’s anyone—” “Sunday.” “Saturday, actually. You’re a little early, whoever you are! Do you have a name?” “Time. Go in. Apple.”), Hartley and blondie dark blobs behind the camera, Wash and Ash pale monstrosities in front of it. Whatever ‘spectral entity’ had taken it upon itself to control their spooky little radio…thing…clearly had a metric fuckton to say, though none of it seemed particularly helpful. Or, y’know, mummy-related.

For shits and giggles, he rapped his knuckles gently against the stretch of wall he was walking along, putting his ear close to try and hear for any sign of hollowness as Ash continued to spit out unrelated words.

“Stop. Open yard. Carpet.”

“Oh yeah,” Wash muttered at that. And oh, Conrad knew that tone. That was the temper-tantrum-on-the-horizon tone. Joshy-boy wasn’t all too pleased with the messages they were receiving from the Great Beyond. What a shocker. Like he expected lotto numbers or something. “Obviously. Carpet.”

“Oooh, maybe that means you should pull up all the carpeting. Maybe the mummy left a manifesto on the hardwood,” Sam offered, and though he couldn’t see her, he could hear the grin in her voice. It made him smile in turn.

Welly, well, well, well, he thought to himself, Guess I wasn’t too far off the mark when I said you’d sniff through his bullshit, was I, new girl? Know what? Good. Wash deserved a little pushback every now and then…he needed someone to remind him he wasn’t half as big as the britches he seemed to think he fit into. That twerp had had it too easy for too long.

Uh…other than the whole dead sisters thing.

A force of habit, Conrad shook himself out physically, flinging that line of thought right out of his head before it could catch like a hangnail. Instead of dwelling too hard on why it might be that the guy who’d lost both his sisters in the past year was suddenly so super obsessed with making contact with the dead, he made his way back towards their huddle, guided by the dim glow of Hartley’s camera.

“Ice,” Ash said, then again a moment later, “Ice?” And God help them all, that must’ve been the phrase that activated Hartley as a government sleeper cell or some shit because all at once he was singing the opening of that Vanilla Ice song, and that just would not stand. Someone had to put an end to that travesty.

“Let me try,” Conrad said, stepping out from the sidelines. He only had to feel around for a second or two before he made contact with Washington, shoving him out of frame to take his place.

“I’m sorry, is this your show?” he asked indignantly, nudging him right back.

Ah, but it was too late. Conrad looked up towards the dark ceiling, raising his voice until it filled the cavernous room. “Hey, uh, mummy man! Or…woman, I guess—the stories weren’t really clear on that front. Why won’t you let anyone live in this place, huh? Is it a territory thing? Or like…?”

“Okay, that’s it.” Warning? What warning? Before he could register what was happening, there was a pair of (pathetically scrawny) arms around his torso, jerking him out of the spotlight through sheer dumb luck. If he’d been paying attention to him, oh, there wouldn’t have been any chance of Wash getting the best of him like that, no sir, no ma’am. “This is why I said we didn’t want you coming, you fucking—”

He struggled against the impromptu bear hug…until his and everyone else’s attention was brought back to Ash. From that distance, the darkness only obscured the finer details of her face, so he could see the way she was half-hunched over, her hands pressing the headphones tightly to her ears; it was like she was trying to hear what was being said, or, probably more to the point given what he’d heard from the machine earlier, trying to keep up with what was being said.

“Answer me. Where? Cold call. Name. Help. Where? Answer me.” Something about the repetition, he was ashamed to say, brought a finger of chill running up and down his spine like a ghostly lover’s touch. “…gone.” With that, Ash whipped the headphones off of her head, holding them away from herself as though they were actually hurting her. “That’s it,” she said, the anxiety in her voice cranked to eleven, “I’m done. I am absolutely going to have a full-blown migraine in the morning.” She kept holding the damn things out, and like…

If no one else was going to take them…

Snatching them up from her, he shrugged, going to slide them over his own ears instead. ‘Going to’ being the operative phrase of course, as Wash made a grab for them immediately. A grab that missed. Conrad ducked out of his way just as Ash pulled the cord leading to the light, and the moment of confusion was the perfect excuse to put a few feet between the two of them. Once safely out of his reach, he put the headphones on, and…oh good Christ! The second the cushioned cups plunked over his ears, the rest of the world was swallowed up by dizzying radio static. Shit, did it need to be this fucking loud?! Did ghosts just whisper through this thing or what?!

“Oh shit!” he said at what he thought was probably a perfectly normal, non-shouting volume that no one could make fun of him for later, “This is so fucking loud! How do you guys do this?!” In front of him, the others’ mouths moved, but uh, if they thought he could hear them they were out of their goddamn minds.

Maybe they were still asking the spooky scary specters questions for him to answer. Eh, it was worth a try. Frowning, he really tuned into the random noises coming from the headphones.

“I think it just said ‘grapefruit?’” he said, shrugging as he looked their way. “It might’ve had more syllables though.”

And they all nodded, so something about that must’ve made sense to them.

Man, if this was all there was to ghost hunting, he couldn’t figure out why more people didn’t do it—this shit was easy peasy. Across from him, their mouths just kept moving, and maybe he wasn’t an expert in the field of paranormal activity or anything along those lines, but it seemed strange that they’d all be talking over each other like that. Wouldn’t that confuse the super-not-fake ghosts?

“It said ‘lamp?’ Maybe?” Another minute or so and he reached his limit: He had to take the fucking things off. Removing the headphones felt a lot like surfacing in a pool, like he’d entered a completely different atmosphere where the laws of sound were different. “Man, I get what you meant earlier…” he muttered, mostly to Ash, rubbing his ear with one hand and holding the headphones out to the group with the other, “My head’s fucking ringing, and—”

That was about the time he noticed they were laughing.

Hmm. Cool.

Great.

Fantastic, in fact.

“Okay, ha ha, what did I miss?” he asked, already suspecting he knew the answer.

Wash’s shit-eating grin told him all he needed to know about this particular reindeer game. “No idea what you could mean, my good man. Are you…are you accusing us of making fun of you while you couldn’t hear us?” He glanced from one of his friends to the next before assuming a perfectly punchable expression of insult, “Wow. Do you really think so little of me? Of us? Seriously, that says a lot about our friendship. Here I am, working for all these years to forge some kind of trust, some kind of bond, and you just assume—”

Oh yeah? Two could play at this game.

With a sniper’s precision he turned to Sam, lifting his eyebrows as he tipped his head down to her level. “Not for nothing, but you do realize that by choosing to regularly associate with this dickbag, you’re slowly but surely allowing yourself to get infected with…” he glanced up for only a second, flapping a dismissive hand in Wash’s direction, “…whatever’s going on over there, right?” He watched as her expression made the shift from one breed of amusement to another entirely, her head tilting to one side and her lips pursing into a sly smile.

Good.

Let the psych major deal with that.

“Did you have to sign some kind of waiver? ‘I hereby acknowledge my sense of humor, social standing, and sanity may be irreparably harmed in the process of joining Washington Pictures, Incorporated, etcetera etcetera ad infinitum?’ Something like that?”

She laughed, and oh he felt Washington roll his eyes. “Aw shoot…you know, it never even crossed my mind. I should probably look into that.”

Offering her both a sagely nod and the headphones, Conrad sighed, “You probably should.” When she didn’t take the god-awful headset out of his hand, he jiggled it temptingly. “But here, new girl, you wanna try and commune with the spirit world? I won’t lie to you…turns out it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Well, unless you’re super into grapefruit, I guess.”

Sam held his eyes for another beat, and he realized with a brief sinking in his gut that oh no. It wasn’t only Wash’s shit this one could sniff through. The thought brought him neither joy nor comfort. Eventually, though, she took the headphones from him, shaking her head as she said, “Okay, okay…but only so I can say I know what it’s like.” She paused before putting them over her ears, eyes moving to each of them in turn. “I swear to God,” she started, lowering her voice into a deathly serious register, “If any of you three decide it’s gonna be funny to sneak up on me while I’m doing this…”

“Hey, no fair!” Hartley said, actually sounding legitimately offended, “Why didn’t you include Ash in that?”

“Because Ashley isn’t an asshole.”

Conrad snickered…and then stopped. “Hey!”

It seemed Ash had recovered from her time speaking with the other side, lucky her. She stood between Hartley and Wash, arms folded, averting her eyes as she said, “She has a point,” juuust loud enough to be heard.

“Man, whatever. Fuck you guys,” he shot back breezily enough, pulling his phone out of his pocket to see if he’d missed anything important during all of that.

“Y’know, for someone who insisted on coming with us for this, you’re sure not…hey, are you even listeni…”

He was not, in fact, listening to Hartley. Not to say he couldn’t hear him—he could—but fuck if he was listening, because there, right there, bright and bold on his screen was what he’d been waiting for.

Fliss: Define “fun weekend plans.”

Fuck the CREEPs. They could handle a few minutes of chit-chat with Casper on their own…he wasn’t about to miss this opportunity.

Conrad: Define fun, huh? Conrad: Tall order…

That time her response was all but instantaneous, dispelling every last ounce of uncertainty he’d had that morning. The charm boomerang was coming around, all right…collision course, baby.

Fliss: Call me crazy but I can’t help the feeling you and I both have very different meanings for the word. Fliss: Just a hunch I have. Conrad: Fun…fun…hmm…how does one…describe fun Conrad: Oh you know…dinner, dancing, partaking of frosty amber liquids… Conrad: You ever do anything like that? Fliss: “Frosty amber liquids.” Conrad: That doesn’t sound like a yes OR a no to me, leading me to the conclusion that maybe you need to be introduced to the wonders of FUN Conrad: If you’re looking for a guide into the wide, wondrous world of ENTERTAINMENT and RELAXATION, I should let you know I am both ready and willing Fliss: Uh huh… Fliss: I’m sure you are. Conrad: Would it sweeten the deal if my offer came with a satisfaction guarantee? Fliss: This will surprise you I’m sure, Conrad, but… Fliss: No? Fliss: I’m not sure it would. Conrad: Well if you check the fine print

That was where his text ended.

It was not where he had intended for his text to end, but it was where it ended nonetheless.

See, that was when Sam began screaming bloody fucking murder.

His phone clattered to the floor as he jumped a mile out of his skin, something dark flying a yard or so past his face until it crashed against the wall (later, he’d realize it had been the headphones). Whirling around, he saw Ash drop to her knees in front of Sam who, at some point during the past few minutes, had ended up on the floor herself, her legs splayed out before pulling tight to her chest. Her face was white as a newly bleached sheet, her eyes taking up the better half of her face, and maybe it was just the dark, dank basement thing, or maybe it was all the ghost talk, but holy shit the sight of her had his own pulse going at about five hundred miles an hour.

“Which one of you did that?!” she snapped, glaring first at him, then Hartley, then Wash, her lower lip threatening to start wibble-wobbling at any second.

His many, many years as an older sibling had taught him that particular expression was not the look of someone you wanted to fuck with, but…whatever she was talking about, he sure hadn’t done it. So quietly, helpfully, he pointed a finger towards the most likely candidate.

“None of us—” Wash began…at least until he saw him pointing his way, “Oh fuck you dude, you’re not helping! Asshole. You okay, Sammy? You get spooked?”

She wasn’t smiling. The fear and indignation on her face was such that it was hard for him to remember what her smile had looked like in the first place. “Which. One. Of. You. Did. That?” she repeated, jaw grit tight, “Seriously, that wasn’t funny.”

“Really gonna need you to elaborate on the who-what-where. We stayed right here like good little boys and—”

She cut Washington off by pointing viciously towards the (probably broken) headphones on the ground. “That stupid thing,” Sam said slowly, “Said my name.”

And that was a little too PG13 horror-movie for him, thanks very much. Conrad bent down to scoop his phone off the ground, praising every deity he’d ever heard of, and a few he hadn’t, that his case had kept his screen from cracking. If anything supernatural had ever happened in that stupid basement, his unshattered screen was probably it. Two drops in one night? And it was still in one piece?! Oh, someone was looking out for him.

“Shit,” Hartley sighed as Conrad swiped his texts open again, typing an explanation-slash-reply to Fliss’s single accusatory question mark, “Guess mummy man’s picked his first victim.”

Mummy man!

Before he could forget, Conrad added the big MM to his silent list of thank yous, going so far as to pick a random wall and shoot it a quick finger-gun and a wink. Someone sure had his phone’s best interest at heart…might as well have been Schrodinger’s mummy.

…he caught himself actually entertaining that thought and froze, pulling in a deep breath before scrubbing at his face with his free hand. Oh, this was going to be a long fucking night. He knew this was going to happen…he was letting himself get infected by their weirdness! That had to stop. Effective immediately. If not sooner.

He watched as Ash and Hartley did their awkward flirting routine as they tried to fit the spirit box back in its case. When the social anxiety of witnessing that train wreck became too much, he turned to see how Sam and Wash were faring (not a whole lot better, just judging by the pout blondie was rocking)…and then an idea popped into his head.

He stopped mid-text, holding down the delete button until everything he’d typed up disappeared.

Conrad: How about this… Conrad: Three guesses what I’M doing for fun tonight Fliss: Hoo boy. Conrad: You get three whole guesses! Conrad: If you can’t get it, then you have to be my partner for that project due before break Conrad: Sound fair? Fliss: Uh huh. Fliss: Sure… Fliss: You’re forgetting a very important detail though. Conrad: ? Fliss: What do I win if I guess correctly?

He thought for a moment, absently clicking his tongue. Then, smirking:

Conrad: Fliss. If you can correctly guess how I’m spending my night… Conrad: Which you won’t, fair warning Conrad: Then you have my solemn oath Conrad: My word as a gentleman and a scholar Conrad: My promise Fliss: Oh God. Fliss: Forget I asked! Conrad: I will do the entire project FOR you Conrad: No ifs ands or buts

The little ‘…’ bubble appeared at the bottom of his screen. Disappeared. Popped up again. Disappeared again. He watched as it happened, knowing there was no way in hell she’d missed the obvious—that she was agreeing to work with him on that dumb sociology assignment either way—and simply hoped for the best.

After what felt like twenty years, his phone buzzed in his hand.

Fliss: As long as you understand you’re doing the annotated bibliography win or lose, then fine. Fliss: It’s a deal.

#man of medan #until dawn #queenie writes supermassive #ghost hunting au #my fanfiction #and so the idiocy continues