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gukyi · 4 years ago

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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.”

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!

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lesbianlovelanguage · 3 years ago

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Thunder in Our Hearts

my contribution to the flood of fix-it fics <3 read it on AO3 here!

Part Two

-----

Billy woke up the first time in who knows how long. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know how much time he had been in this hellscape, where the only thing he could do was replay his memories like a horror movie made specifically to torture him. There were only so many times he could watch his mom leave, the disappointment on his father’s face morph into violent anger, Max crying over his dying body.

There were only so many times, and he was terrified when he realized he wasn’t sure what he would do when he finally snapped. He’d hurt so many people already, had been hurt so many times before. What new hell would he unleash unto the world? He was afraid, and tired and a million other things he couldn’t process, so he had slept.

Except he wasn’t asleep anymore and he wasn’t sure why.

He opened his eyes to find that he was in the same world he had been in since he died, a twisted version of Hawkins covered in vines and ash. Though he wasn’t sure why or where he was going, he found himself walking through downtown Hawkins. He knew it was the Shadow Monster’s will, and there was no point in fighting it anymore. Max was safe. Her nerdy friends were safe. He couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. Not here, trapped in what he could only assume was hell.

He passively watched the world go by as the Shadow Monster directed his body, trying to empty his mind again before the memories could start. It wasn’t very long before his body stopped and he tried to look around some. Most of this place looked the same, especially the further you got into the woods. The oppressive blue light, the vines that slitered like snakes. The only variation was what appeared to be decaying tombstones, all crumbled marble and obscured names. This was a new one for him. The Shadow Monster had never taken him to the graveyard before.

Dear Billy, she started. I don’t even know if you can hear this.

He could, but why? What was she doing here? It had to have been another sick game for the Shadow Monster to play, trying to break Billy’s already broken soul.

He and my mom started getting into fights. Bad fights.

Fuck. Now he knew it was a hallucination. He knew Neil loved Susan. As much as his father could love someone. He certainly valued their picture perfect family too much to jepordize it. This was just the Shadow Monster trying to fuck with him. Still, he couldn’t help but send out a useless thank you to the universe that Max had gotten away from him.

And sometimes I imagine myself running to you, pulling you away. I imagine that if I had, you would still be here.

Billy wanted to cover his ears and scream, but he couldn’t make his arms move. He wanted the Shadow Monster to quit with this bullshit. Hadn’t he suffered enough? Why couldn’t it let him drift away?

I imagine that we could’ve become friends. Good friends. Like a real brother and sister. And I know that’s stupid. You hated me. I hated you. But I thought that maybe we could try again.

No. It wasn’t stupid. He wanted that too. He hadn’t known how to be a brother, how to open himself up and use his words rather than fists, but god he wanted to try again. Try to be better, for her. Try to be someone she would want to call brother.

But I think that maybe a part of me died that day too.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Something snapped deep inside his chest at Max’s apologies. This may have been an attempt to shatter him, but the Shadow Monster had taken a wrong turn with that one. Instead of hiding his wounded pride, he did what he’d always done. He fought like a wild animal, teeth bared as he desperately tried to regain control over his own body. He wanted to run, to scream, to cry. He wanted to be free, to have control again. He wanted to find Max and tell her not to cry over him. He wasn’t worth it.

And then a fog began to roll in, and through the haze he could see the outline of a figure begin to flicker into existence. No. No. He’d died to save her. Why the fuck was she here now? Fucking brat can’t stay out of fucking trouble.

No, it had to be fake. Just like all of the other memories. But why did this one feel so much more real?

He felt the Shadow Monster begin to drag his body forward and a new force push him to start speaking.

“Max. I’ve been waiting to hear those words Max. Waiting so very long,” the Shadow Monster lied. Billy had never wanted to see his little shitbird sister again. At least then he would have known she was safe. But instead, she was here and he couldn’t tell if she was real or just a nightmare.

“But it wasn’t the full truth, was it Max?” The Shadow Monster had finally pulled him close enough that he could see her face through the fog, and it felt like a punch to the gut. Seeing her eyes puffy from crying, fear clouding her face. It was an expression he was all too familiar with, having been the cause of it himself over the years they’d known each other. But this time it wasn’t just himself. This time it was some other thing, something Billy could have protected her from. Had died trying to protect her from.

He ached to reach out and touch her. Surprisingly, the Shadow Monster allowed him this, moving his arm to touch her face more gently than he had ever managed to in his life. She felt so real. Could this really be something other than a trick?

“You know, I think there’s a part of you, buried somewhere deep, that wanted me to die that day.” He was forced to admit his deepest fear, to watch Max’s face twist down in guilt, to feel his cold dead heart ache. He couldn’t blame her though.

“That was maybe even relieved.” Of course she would be. He was her monster, her shadow in the closet. Her Neil. God, he wanted to puke. Instead, he redoubled his fight against the Shadow Monster’s control, if only so he could just run away. “Happy.”

Max said something in response, but it fell on deaf ears as Billy poured his concentration into getting something, any part of his body back in control. He felt the Shadow Monster responding, but it was all a blur. Until…

“And why, late at night, you have sometimes wished to follow me.” Something cracked deep inside of him, inside the part that had laid dormant ever since the kids had locked him in the sauna. He sobbed in pain, and it must have been strong enough to do something as he felt a single tear drip down his face. Maybe he could do it. Break free from this neverending nightmare.

The Shadow Monster must have felt the crack too though, as it spit out some threat that tasted like bile in the back of his throat, because as soon as it finished using his voice to intimidate Max, he felt himself be violently ripped away from her, from the graveyard. The last thing he saw as he began to pass out was a true monster, something that looked like it had been ripped out of a horror comic, leered over Max as she tumbled over the raised edge of the grave.

He hadn’t fought to stay conscious since the battle in the mall, but he felt himself strain as hard as he could until nothingness consumed him once again.

-----

s/o to @ihni and @hrngrvlv for being amazing cheerleaders! Thank you guys so much

#it has to get worse before it gets better #but I'm working on a part 2 already i promise!#also yes i know the title is insanely unoriginal but I've been listening to the song on a loop for 48 hours #tw dissociation #billy's not doing too hot in this one #billy hargrove #max mayfield #season 4 fix-it #tay writes

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

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ALL IS FAIR

a/n: woohoo!! finally a harry fic! lol sorry i got very into marvel these past weeks but im finally bringing you some harry content! this one was originally requested by an anon sometime and then we kept talking about it until i actually got around to write it! hopefully you’ll like it and if you do, please like and reblog!

pairing: ceo!Harry x ceo!plussize!reader

warning: sexual content

word count: 16.7k

masterlist

“Stop being such a stuck up dick, it’s your birthday, bro!”

Harry rolls his eyes at his friend who walks into his penthouse as if he owned. Niall Horan was so well-known in Harry’s building that he could have easily walked into any homes in the tower and people would still welcome him warmly. It might have a few things to do with the fact that half of the residents in the Compass Tower are women who are hopelessly in love with either Niall or Harry, hoping for a chance to drag either of them into their bed one day. They have a lot more chance to do that with the Irish bloke than with Mr. Styles. Not that Harry doesn’t find them attractive, but he is not the type to have one night stands, something his friend gives him quite a lot of shit for.

“Would you fuck off for twenty more minutes?” Harry sighs, shooting him a look as he covers the speaker of his phone, in the middle of a call.

“You have ten minutes and we are leaving. I’m not letting you work on the night of your thirtieth birthday!” Niall warns him before walking into the kitchen to roam the always full, neatly stocked fridge.

As much as Niall Horan comes off as an irresponsible cocky child, he is quite the businessman himself as well. As the Lawyer of one third of New York’s most influential people, he surely doesn’t have to worry about making a living, enjoying his luxurious apartment a few streets away from Harry’s place on the Upper East Side. It’s not as expensive and impressive as Harry’s penthouse on the top of the tower his father built in the heart of the posh neighborhood most people only know from TV shows, but he couldn’t complain.

“Another designer refused to sign with us, H. We are running out of options,” Lambert’s voice rings through the phone as Harry turns to the floor to ceiling window, staring out to the city skyline in front of him.

“We have quite a few left, right?” Harry asks clenching his jaw.

“Yeah, but I heard that Cometa is planning on announcing something big next week so I think a lot of them are waiting for that to happen.”

“Do you think it’s another collab? But they just had fucking Chanel have a line sold through them!” Harry growls, his blood boiling at even just the thought.

When it comes to fashion in the virtual world, there are two businesses that totally dominate the industry. In the men’s wear, Twisted is definitely the number one selling place. The idea started off as just a freshman school project that originally wanted to sell tech stuff, but a few years into the project Harry met Lambert who was already a rising star in the fashion industry and they joined forces, creating the most classic yet affordable and user friendly online empire: Twisted. Though Twisted mostly features men’s clothing, they’ve been trying to venture to the field of women’s fashion, but it hasn’t been as easy as they thought it to be. And the reason for that is Cometa.

Cometa was originally a website where anyone could sell their own clothes, make their online wardrobe sale. But eventually the business grew itself out and stepped up a few levels, collaborating with various designers and brands, selling exclusive lines and a highly praised seasonal variety four times a year, earning a well-deserved top spot in the online fashion industry. It’s hard to compete with what Julia Bianchi built up through sweat and blood and Harry Styles has been working on stepping up to be a major competition for Cometa in women’s fashion, with not much luck so far.

To top the cake with a delicious looking cherry, Cometa has been trying to set feet into men’s fashion as well in the recent years, bringing out several lines with some mentionable designers, but they never made it be as big as Twisted. The two businesses have been trying to outdo each other for about a decade now, with not much luck so far and Harry’s patience is running low by now.

“I don’t know what it is, but keep an eye out. I’ll call you on Monday, alright?” Lambert sighs through the line.

“Okay, thank you,” Harry nods, feeling a little defeated.

“And happy birthday, man. Go and celebrate!” he chuckles, making Harry’s lips curl up as well.

“Thanks, have a good weekend,” Harry bids his goodbye before the call ends.

Wandering into the kitchen Harry finds Niall with the thickest ham and cheese sandwich between his hands, sitting at the kitchen island.

“So where exactly are we going tonight?” he asks, grabbing himself a granola bar as he joins the Irish lad on the stool next to him.

“Oh, that’s a surprise,” he grins, mouth full as he chews mercilessly. Harry grimaces, not sure how this is the same man who can convince a judge about basically anything, wearing his designer suits, putting on an intimidating and serious act for his cases.

“I have a switch,” Niall once told him when he asked how he does it. “I just turn it off when I’m off the clock.”

“You know I hate surprises,” Harry informs him matter-of-factly, but Niall doesn’t seem to be bothered by his comment.

“You’re thirty now, no one cares what you hate.”

“Says who?” Harry huffs.

“Me,” he grins, making Harry roll his eyes.

The bass is throbbing, red tinted lights illuminating the exclusive bar in the heart of Manhattan where Niall chose to gather some of Harry’s close friends to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. Sitting in the leather couches at a restricted area at the back of the place, they are hidden enough not to draw too much attention to themselves but still feel like they are part of the party.

“Cheers to three decades of this cocky motherfucker!” Niall beams as their glasses meet in the middle, everyone laughing and wishing Harry a happy birthday before they all chug their drinks.

Harry is not necessarily the type of person to enjoy going out too often, but he admits it’s been a while since the last time he let loose. It feels nice to have the evening to himself, leaving the business behind for just a couple of hours before he returns to his busy everydays.

Though the occasion is Harry’s birthday, Niall is surely enjoying the evening a tad bit more than his friend. After Harry sees him send down three tequilas in a row he realizes it’s not gonna end well if he doesn’t get some water into his system as well. Excusing himself from the group he heads to the bar, pushing his way through the dancing bodies until he finally reaches his destination.

Given how it’s a Friday evening, the place is packed and he waits in the line patiently while the bartender is fixing up the order of a group of girls a few stools down from Harry. Leaning onto the counter Harry runs his gaze over the dancing crowd, tapping his fingers against the surface to the beat, even bopping his head a little when he feels a push from behind him.

“Oh, sorry!” A female voice calls out and as he turns around he spots the owner of it, a young woman, her curvy body wrapped in a tight mini dress that leaves very little to Harry’s imagination as his eyes run up and down her figure. He has never seen a curvy girl as confident as her, she is radiating, drawing every male’s attention to herself like she is feeding off the hungry stares and dirty thoughts birthed by her.

Her eyes meet Harry’s gaze and the sly smirk that tugs on her perfectly shaped lips gives it away that she is not that sorry to be bumping into him.

“No worries,” is all he manages to say, the urge to drop to his knees right then and there stronger than anything he has ever had to fight.

“He won’t notice you,” she tells him and his eyebrows knit together in confusion. “The bartender. If you just stand there like that… he will never come here,” she explains.

“I’m not sure I have what catches his eyes,” he jokes, making her laugh and he swears his stomach drops at the heavenly sound.

“May I?” she arches an eyebrow and Harry nods, letting her step in front of him. He stands tall above her, eyes fixed on her figure as she leans onto the counter, the marble pushing her breasts up just enough to spark the bartender’s fantasies when he glances in her way. She waves at him with a charming smile and a moment later the guy is standing in front of her, ready to please her in any way she desires.

“Three vodka sodas and…” she turns in Harry’s way, her lips slightly parted and his breath hitches in his throat. “What did you want, handsome?”

“Just, uhh—Just two water, please.”

Her eyebrows rise, but she doesn’t comment on it, just adds the two water to her order. The bartender nods and disappears to fix up her drinks. Harry takes a deep breath and sticking his hand out to her he introduces himself.

“I’m Harry, by the way.” She takes his hand, shaking it firmly.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you, Harry. Are you here alone?”

“Um, no. I’m here with a few friends,” he replies nodding towards the back of the place. “Are you here with someone?”

Please don’t say your boyfriend, please!

“A few of my girlfriends,” she smiles, brushing her hair over her shoulder, flaunting a better look at her naked neck and just one glimpse is sending a whirl of dirty thoughts into Harry’s mind. He wonders how soft her skin would feel under his lips, what her moans would sound as he sucks on it, leaving a mark on her, letting every man in the house know that he made her feel good.

“Are you guys celebrating something?” Y/N asks, a knowing smile on her lips as she most definitely saw Harry staring at her.

“Actually, yeah,” he chuckles a little nervously. “It’s my birthday.” Y/N’s eyes brighten up as she beams at him.

“Really? Happy birthday then!”

“Thank you,” he smiles shyly. “Are you guys celebrating something too?”

“Well, I…” she starts, her thoughts wandering off for a second before she continues. “I kind of got promoted,” she explains and Harry smiles down at her warmly.

“Congrats then!”

The bartender returns with the drinks and she is already about to get her card from her little clutch when Harry pulls his card out, handing it over to the guy behind the bar.

“Birthday boys shouldn’t pay for others,” she smirks, but doesn’t try to fight him that hard.

“You can pay me back later,” Harry shrugs with a suggestive smirk on his lips. He doesn’t want to part ways with her, but she is obviously expected to be back with her friends and he needs to get back to Niall as well before he absolutely loses control. Stepping closer to him, Y/N slides a hand up his chest, her palm resting at the base of his neck as she leans to his ear.

“Save me a dance, birthday boy?” she murmurs into his ear, her lips brushing against him for a split second before she steps back, grabs her drinks and winking at him one last time she disappears from the bar. Harry stands there for a few more seconds before the bartender hands him back his card and snatching the waters from the bar he heads back to his friends.

Luckily, Niall is slowing down a little, The water does him well and Harry finally doesn’t feel like he’ll have to take care of him, dragging him home once the night is over. Sitting by the table Harry is trying to focus on the conversation, but his gaze keeps wandering over to the dance floor, looking for one particular curvy figure in the sea of dancing bodies.

It takes him some time to spot her, but when he does, he is not able to tear his eyes away from her.

She is almost perfectly in the middle with her friends surrounding her, lips and shoulders swaying to the rhythm perfectly. He catches her chug down the last sips of her drink before she disregards the glass and gets back to dancing. Watching her every move intently, Harry feels his lips slightly part at the sight of this angel who is for sure a devil in the sheets. He can’t stop himself fantasizing about what it would feel like to dig his fingers into her thighs, kiss her neck, her cleavage that’s on show now, how her curves would fit into his hands perfectly. He wants to praise this woman, make her feel good and not just because he wants to be selfless and please her, but also because seeing this woman reach her high because of him would be the biggest ego boost for him and he just needs that.

“Go dance with her!” Niall wiggles his eyebrows at him when he catches Harry staring at her.

“What? No, I’m not a dancer,” he shakes his head, shifting his eyes away from the dancing goddess on the dance floor.

“Oh come on, don’t be a pussy!”

“I’m not a pussy, I just—“

“You’re a pussy. I saw her looking in your way as well, she wants your dick!”

“Jesus, Niall!” Harry whines rolling his eyes. He doesn’t like it when he gets so vulgar, but luckily no one heard their conversation. Glancing back in Y/N’s way Harry sees how men are eyeing him, probably building up the courage to go up to her and that has his blood boiling. He needs to be the one to touch her.

Chugging down the rest of his drink he snaps the glass on the table before standing from his seat, ignoring Niall’s cheering as he makes his way into the crowd.

Harry didn’t lie when he said he is not a dancer, he feels uncomfortable, awkward and uncoordinated most of the times he tries to dance, but he is pushing all of those to the back of his mind for now as his eyes are set on one person in the crowd.

When Y/N spots the man approaching her, she can’t push a pleased smile off her lips, slowing her movements down as Harry finally reaches her, leaning closer to her ear so she can hear his voice over the music.

“Here to collect that dance,” he smugly tells her, making her laugh, though the music is too loud to let him hear her. She just nods and turning around she presses herself up against him, her backside fitting his front perfectly. Harry’s hand snake around her waist, his large palm smoothly moving through the silky fabric of her dress as they start moving together.

She is intoxicating, makes Harry feel like he is some kind of horny teenager, like he hasn’t dealt with women before, but in a way, she makes all of his past flings appear to be only girls. Her confidence in her own body is easily one of her best traits, the way she handles herself, moves her body, the look in her eyes, Harry is getting drunk on just watching her and now he is able to touch her as well.

When he feels himself getting hard in his pants, he knows he should be at least a slightly bit embarrassed by himself, but as Y/N turns around in his arms and he sees the pleased smirk on her lips, the feeling vanishes in a heartbeat. She wraps her arms around his neck as she pulls him close, her lips brushing against his lips.

“Enjoying yourself, birthday boy?” she prompts before pressing a kiss to the soft skin under his ear and he can’t hold a growl back. The friction is almost unbearable, as his hands slide lower on her back, stopping on her ass, he knows he won’t be able to control himself any longer. Luckily, he is not the only one having this inner fight.

Snapping around Y/N grabs his hand and starts pulling him through the crowd towards the hallway of the bathrooms. He follows her eagerly, lucky for them, the club doesn’t have restrooms with several stalls, but single bathrooms with a lot more comfort and privacy. Just what they need right now.

They find the third bathroom empty, pushing their way inside and locking the door before Harry pushes her up against it the moment it’s just the two of them, their mouths hungrily meeting in the middle. He almost grunts against her lips, she tastes even better than he imagined and the way her tongue is the first one to come into action has got his mind blown. His hands roam up her body, running up all her curves until they reach her face and he cups it in his palms, pressing his hips against her. She moans against his mouth when his hard cock pokes against her, both of them desperate to take it further.

Tumbling further into the small bathroom, he helps her up to the counter next to the sing, her legs instantly opening for him, her tiny dress rolling up her thighs, revealing her clothed sex. Harry eagerly kisses his way down her neck and chest, her skin feeling so smooth under his lips. His fingers hook under the thin straps of her dress, tugging them down so he can push the dress past her full breasts and thank God she is not wearing a bra underneath!

“Fuck me, you are so hot!” he breathes out, making her chuckle at his reaction.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” she cockily answers before Harry’s mouth attaches to her nipple, his hand working on her other breasts before he switches.

He quickly gets down on his knees, pushing her underwear to the side before his lips and tongue meet her sensitive clit.

“Oh shit!” she moans, a hand coming to tangle in his hair while she tries to hold herself steady with leaning on the other one behind her. There’s no time for teasing now and they both know that.

She is so lost in the experience, Harry is licking and sucking just the right spots and she tries to close her legs, locking his head between her thighs. His arms come to curl around them, ring clad fingers digging into her flesh and the situation might be a little suffocating for him, but he doesn’t mind it a bit. In fact, if he died this way, he would die a happy man.

She doesn’t let him finish what he started, pulling him up, his lips still glistening from her own juices as she kisses him messily, wiggling herself out of her underwear while he undoes his pants as well.

“Shit, do you have a condom?” he breathes out when his palm wraps around his throbbing cock. She nods, reaching for her clutch she dropped to the counter and digging into it she grabs the package, smacking it against his chest playfully. “Were you planning to do this tonight?” he grins cockily as he rips the package open and starts rolling it down his hard length.

“No, I’m just smart, unlike you,” she retorts, her sass dripping from her tone and it just riles him up even more.

Grabbing her thighs he yanks her to the edge of the counter, a gasp leaving her plump lips as she tries to find her balance quickly.

“Don’t be a brat,” he growl against her lips before kissing her, while he lines himself up with her, the head already pushing in.

“Then fuck me, birthday boy,” she challenges him again and it’s the last straw.

Harry slams into her, both of them moaning at the sensation before he starts thrusting in a fast pace, needing all the friction he can make to get them to finish as soon as possible. Y/N’s head falls back as she holds onto the back of his neck, her other hand on the counter behind her again and Harry glances down, watching her breasts bounce every time he rails into her, slamming his whole length into her every time their hips meet.

She reaches for one of his hands that’s holding her thigh and she boldly brings it to her core, tapping his fingers to her clit, letting him know that she wants some extra effort. Harry doesn’t say it, but he is blown how she didn’t just do it herself, she made him do it. It’s got to be one of the hottest things he has ever seen.

“Fuck, go harder!” she gasps, wrapping her legs around his waist as he picks the pace up, feeling his orgasm building rapidly with each thrust.

They both are a whimpering, moaning mess, the bass of the music is thumping outside and for a moment, Harry feels like he is finally living his life to the fullest.

“I’m gonna cum!” she breathes out, his name falling from her lips moaning after that and when she pulls him down to kiss him, biting into his bottom lip and tugging it, he loses himself.

He feels himself jerking inside her, still sliding in and out of her as he grunts, releasing himself into the condom. He flicks his fingers on her clit at the same time, creating just enough friction to push her over the edge as well. He is coming off his own high when her walls tighten around his cock, dragging his orgasm out even longer as she basically screams, gasping for air, riding her orgasm out to the last bit.

Leaning down he kisses her again though they are still panting, this time making it a lot less rushed than the time their lips met for the first time. Her legs fall from around his waist and he pulls out, both of them cleaning themselves up in the aftermath of their little session.

“I know this was quite rushed and all that, but can I have your number?” he asks, even feeling a little nervous. She puts her underwear back on, smoothing her dress down as she smiles up at him, cupping his face in her palm.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to skip on that,” she tells him simply, shocking him for sure.

“D-Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

“No,” she shakes her head and now Harry is confused.

“You didn’t enjoy it?” he then asks, trying his best to figure out the reason behind the rejection.

“I did. But it was a one time thing. If it’s supposed to turn into more…” she sighs, grabbing her clutch from the counter. “Then I’ll leave it to fate if we ever meet again,” she shrugs before turning around she just unlocks the door and walks out, leaving Harry stand there in complete and utter shock.

This is definitely a first for him, a woman who doesn’t want to see him again. He is not that egoistic to think that everyone is in love with him, but he never had an encounter similar to this. Not after the most amazing sex ever.

Harry fixes himself up, still not believing she walked out that easily, but there’s not much he can do now. Walking back to his table, he acts like nothing happened and when his eyes scan over the crowd again, he can’t see her anymore.

Harry lets out a tired sigh when Zayn, head of the graphic design department walks into his office with a familiar brown paper bag with the logo of Harry’s favorite Chinese restaurant.

“Has it started already?” Zayn asks, though glancing at the big screen on the wall he can see the stream is still waiting to be started.

“No, I’ve been staring at it for like twenty minutes,” Harry grumbles, pushing himself away from his desk to join Zayn on the couch in front of the screen as he unpacks the food. “What do you think it’s going to be?”

Today is the day of Cometa’s big press conference and no one knows what they are about to announce. It’s been keeping Harry on the edge for the past few days, because whatever it is, it has got to be major. Julia Bianchi is not the type of person to hold press conferences, she is a private person who has managed to keep most of her life behind closed doors. That’s something Harry admires in the woman even though they are competitors in the business. He can relate to wanting to keep her life just for herself, he has been doing the same thing. No public appearances, no lengthy interviews, no photoshoots. He likes to let his work talk for himself and it’s proved to be a successful move so far.

“I don’t know, but I hope they don’t suddenly announce a full graphic makeover right before our update,” Zayn chuckles. He has been working on an entirely new appearance for the website these past weeks and it’s supposed to go live sometime later in the month. A change for Cometa would totally throw their attempt off, making them look like they are just copying Julia’s move.

They eat and wait for the stream to start when the screen finally comes alive. There’s an empty stage shown with just two mic stands in the middle and nothing really happens for a few minutes before clapping is heard from behind the camera and Julia finally walks on the stage.

The woman is a real diva. Wearing a matching pant suit with bold floral print all over it, her short hair is neatly straightened into a bob cut, her red lips smiling lightly as she waves around in the room. Julia has been in the fashion industry for almost three decades now and she surely made a name for herself, sitting front row in every fashion show she attends, her words on any new trend being basically the standard.

Stepping to one of the mics, she clears her throat as the clapping dies down and her calm, gentle voice rings through the speakers.

“Welcome, everyone, thank you for coming, as you might already know I’m Julia Bianchi, head of Cometa, the world’s best online women’s fashion house.”

Harry leans back in his seat, eyes fixed on the woman on the screen as he is patiently waiting to hear what she’s got for the people this time.

“I’ve spent twenty-seven wonderful years in the business, building my own one for the past two decades. I fell in love with fashion as a child and moved to Milan to study designing from the bests. Though designing has always and will always hold a special place in my heart, I saw an opportunity in the early years for a brand that would hold together every other brand in the industry, bringing it to everyone’s home thanks to the rapidly developing technology. Cometa has always been my little baby and I’m proud of everything I achieved as head of such a great company.”

Harry realizes what it’s about before Julia could even say the words herself. The phrasing, the nostalgic tone, it’s all adding up to the obvious: Julia is about to announce her retirement.

“I gave the best years of my life for this company and I regret nothing, but recently I’ve realized that it is time for me to slow down for a little bit and enjoy a life that’s not filled with work anymore, and spend more time with my beloved husband, Fabio and my family who supported me on my long way here. Therefore, I am now announcing it with an aching heart and a lot of excitement as well that I am stepping down from my role as CEO of Cometa. I might be leaving now, but my business will not. So it is a pleasure to introduce you the person who will carry my legacy on, my amazing niece, the absolutely most perfect woman to carry on the work I started, Y/N Y/L/N.”

The moment another woman comes into the picture Harry almost chokes on his own saliva, seeing the same curves he had his fingers dug into last Friday. Y/N smiles and waves around as she steps to the other mic next to her aunt, exchanging a short look with her before turning towards the people in the room and the camera that’s streaming the event.

“Dude, you alright?” Zayn asks, patting Harry’s back a few times as he is still struggling to breathe normally.

He refuses to accept that the woman he fucked in a bathroom on his birthday, the one that made him moan like never before, is the same woman who is going to take over his biggest competitor.

“This has got to be a joke,” he breathes out with teary eyes from all the coughing.

“It is an honor to be here,” Y/N starts speaking as the clapping dies down once again and the two men are staring at the screen. “Just like to be the one to step into the perfectly stylish shoes of my aunt. I hope to live up to not just her and everyone else’s expectations, but also to mine as well. I grew up watching my aunt build up this empire with basically dust so to be the person to take her place is a dream come true. I promise to keep the quality the same and work on improving Cometa to its possible best while being in charge.”

As she finishes talking, questions are thrown in her way, but Harry doesn’t pay attention any longer. Standing up he walks to the window, staring out to the city as he chews on his bottom lip anxiously.

“What the fuck is your problem, H? It wasn’t as bad as we expected, right?” Zayn questions.

“It’s fucking worse!” he snaps turning around. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“Would you just tell me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that… I told you about what… happened on my birthday.”

“The bathroom fuck, oh yeah,” Zayn chuckles with a playful shine in his eyes.

“Well, that woman… the woman I fucked was her.” Zayn stays silent for a moment before he turns towards the screen, eyeing the woman on the stage as she is still answering questions, standing confidently in her tight, black dress and red heels.

“You fucked Julia Bianchi’s niece? And she is now taking over Cometa?” he raises his eyebrows at Harry who just nods, pressing his lips together into a thin line. “And she is also the one who didn’t give you her number?”

“Don’t… bring that up. But yes, it’s her.”

Zayn starts laughing, clearly finding Harry’s misery entertaining, but Harry doesn’t feel like taking it that easy. He wonders if she knew who he was, if she did it on purpose or it was fate’s horrible joke on both of them.

“Ah man, that charity event on Saturday will be one hell of a show then!” Zayn points it out and Harry’s face falls. He totally forgot about the charity event he was invited to, one that would have the biggest names in the fashion industry together in a ball room to raise money for a chosen good cause. It happens every year and it’s a major event, the perfect place to network and also to see your biggest enemies. That means that Harry will see Y/N again in a few short days and if he is being honest… he is not ready to face her, not after the information he learned today. Sighing he steps to the minibar he insisted on having in his office and though he never drinks during the day, he now thinks that now might be an exception. He pours himself some whiskey and before he chugs it down at one go, he lets out a long, tired sigh.

“That’s just my luck…”

Leslie helps you with the zipper of your dress, the silky, red fabric hugging your body like a second skin. She smoothes the wrinkles out while you fix the straps, staring back at yourself in the mirror with judgment. You need to look perfect, this is going to be your first time appearing at an event as CEO of Cometa, your big entrance into the industry, you can’t let anything go wrong.

“You look gorgeous, babe,” Leslie smiles at you, bringing your hair behind your shoulders as her eyes meet yours in the mirror. Leslie might be your assistant, but she is a lot more than that. You’ve been friends for almost a decade and when she lost her job a few years ago you didn’t hesitate to offer her a spot next to you. You wouldn’t be here without her, she doesn’t try to use her privilege of being your friend to not do the work, she is always on top of her game and you’ll always be grateful for her to not make it awkward at all.

“I think you need some diamonds though,” she winks at you, stepping to the table where all kinds of jewelry is sprawled out. She reaches for a simple one, not too much, quite elegant and you nod as she holds it up for you. Walking behind you she brings it around your neck, the diamond brilliantly sitting on your chest now, giving that little extra shine to your outfit.

“You’ll make every man fall in love with you,” she smiles at you and breathing out you nod, hoping to believe that everything will go perfectly.

While you make a few last minute calls she gets dressed as well before the car arrives for the two of you. She is wearing a less daring but still beautiful black dress, her curly hair pinned up into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, her heavily freckled face bright from her happy smile as the two of you make your way to the event.

“I know it’s ridiculous, but I tried to memorize the faces and names from the guest list,” she grins at you, earning an eyeroll.

“Les, I told you, this is not The Devil Wears Prada,” you chuckle softly. She is obsessed with that movie and hasn’t shut up about feeling like she is literally living in it since your aunt has shared her plans with you about your future position last year.

“I know, but it might be impressive if you already knew everyone!”

You have to give that to her, it would earn you a few good points if you knew the names already, you’re just still nervous about the whole thing. So many things could go wrong and you want it to be perfect.

At first you feel intimidated by all the influential people around you. Everyone here is one of the bests in their own field and you feel like an impostor, but then you remind yourself that you earned your spot. Your aunt wouldn’t have given you the company if she didn’t trust you entirely with it. You worth no less than anyone else in this ball room and that reminds you that… you’re that bitch.

Leslie’s knowledge of names actually comes handy. You love seeing people get shocked when they try to introduce themselves to you, but you already greet them saying their names. It earns you some appreciative looks as you make your way around the room. Everything is going smooth, right until you spot one particular man in the crowd.

You’re in a little circle with a few designers when your gaze falls on Harry who is standing across the room, talking to two men. The champagne almost slips from your hand when you realize it’s him.

“Leslie,” you grab her wrist catching her attention. “Les, who’s the man in the blue Gucci suit?” you ask in a whisper and she follows your gaze, finding the man in talk.

“Oh, that’s Harry Styles, head of Twisted.”

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you quickly excuse yourself from the conversation and head out to the balcony to get some fresh air before you faint right on the spot.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Leslie follows you.

“I messed up,” you squeak as you step outside, the chilly evening air hitting your uncovered skin immediately. “I messed up big time!”

“What? Why? What happened?”

Stepping to the edge, you wrap your hands around the railing, staring out into the void for a moment. Leslie Stands beside you, quite puzzled about your sudden panic.

“Remember the guy I told you about from Friday night?” you ask, keeping your voice down even though there’s no one really around. Leslie nods. “Well… he was the guy.”

Leslie glances back inside and then at you before her eyes widen and lips part in shock.

“You fucked Harry Styles at a club’s bathroom?!” she whisper-yells at you and you feel like a teenager who is getting scolded.

“I didn’t know who he was! And I genuinely think he didn’t know me either, how could he?! But now he is here and… Oh God, this is so bad,” you whine, your head dropping backwards as you let out a frustrated growl.

“Okay, don’t panic. Maybe… maybe he doesn’t remember you.”

“You can’t make me believe he doesn’t remember me after fucking me on a counter,” you tell her giving her a look.

“Alright, alright. Then… you just have to suck it up. It’s not like you can unfuck him,” she shrugs and though you know she is right, you just wish you could leave right now.

You never planned on seeing him again. Your bullshit speech about letting fate decide it was just an excuse to not give him your number. You didn’t want to because you thought he is not the kind of man that would be good for you. From his look you thought that he was either a fuckboy, not willing to commit to anything serious, or the kind of man that seems all nice and respectful at first but then turns out to be a total asshole and you’ve had enough of those in your twenty-eight years.

Soon enough you head back as the auction is about to start. Luckily, your seat is far away from Harry and it seems like he hasn’t noticed you yet. Though you wish to keep it that way, you can feel it coming already.

The auction goes by fast, you buy a new painting that will look amazing in your living room and almost twice as much money is raised through the evening that was the goal. You leave Leslie behind at the table as you go to the bar to get yourself another drink, probably your last one of the evening if you don’t want to end up making a fool out of yourself.

Patiently waiting at the bar you’re already thinking about watching Grey’s Anatomy when you get back and out of this tight dress. You look hot, but it’s not the comfiest look, if you’re being honest. There’s only one more person in front of you when you feel a little tap on your shoulder and turning around your stomach drops when you see the man you’ve been trying to avoid all evening.

“Fancy seeing you here, Y/N,” he nods shortly, his expression is quite blank, but he is definitely not shocked to see you. You tighten your jaw before looking away from him, squinting your eyes a bit.

“You don’t seem surprised,” you point out.

“I was kind of expecting to see you here tonight.”

“So you knew who I was all along?” you snap at him, but he shakes his head.

“Not until the stream this week. I was pretty shocked when you walked on stage.”

Nodding shortly you brush your hair over your shoulder and you catch Harry glimpsing down your body, but decide not to comment on it.

“Did you know who I was?” he then asks, digging his hands into his pockets.

“No, I wouldn’t sleep with my biggest competitor willingly.”

“Just from the abrupt ending I had a feeling that you might have known me.”

“Just because a woman doesn’t throws herself into your arms after a fuck, doesn’t mean she had ulterior motives,” you scoff. “Get off your high horse,” you add before turning back towards the bar so you can order your drink. Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t want the conversation to end just yet. His hand is laid flat on the counter in front of you as he stands on your right, a little too close to your liking. You can smell the expensive cologne on him, the same that hit your nose on Friday as well and suddenly your body is betraying you.

However crazy the situation is, you can’t deny that he gave you one of the best times last Friday. Men you dealt with were more concerned about their own pleasure and most of them didn’t even get you to finish. But Harry made it happen so fast and didn’t even bitch about it when you made him rub your clit. He just obeyed like a grownup man who is willingly take care of his partner. That almost made you change your mind about leaving, but once you came down from cloud nine, you returned to your original plan.

But not as he is standing in front of you and you can smell him, your senses trick you into thinking that you’re in that bathroom again, almost aching for him to touch you the way he did then. He leans closer to your ear as he speaks up again.

“Leave the drink, dance with me,” he tells you as the bartender places your drink in front of you. You debate what to do before grabbing the drink and chugging it down in one go. You’ll need the alcohol if you are about to dance with your enemy.

Harry takes you to the dance floor in the middle of the ball room, one of his hands finds the small of your back while the other takes your hand as the two of you start swaying to the gentle music played by the band.

“Your aunt set my company back in women’s fashion every time I tried to take a step forward. Are you going to do the same?”

“She didn’t do anything to set you back but to build her own company. Not everything is about you.”

“You sound a little naïve, Love. It’s pretty clear you are new in the business.” This statement riles you up big time. How dare he degrade you like that? He knows nothing about you, yet he assumes things that are not at all real.

Smirking to yourself you lean back enough so your gazes can meet. Your hand slides up from his shoulders to the base of his neck so your fingers can gently brush against his skin and you notice the shudder than runs down his spine. He is not the only one having flashbacks from your last encounter.

“Wanna know what I know about business?” you purr, his eyes glued to your red lips as you speak. “I know that… Twisted was one of the last sites to participate in personalized ads on online platforms, failing to reach it’s targeted audience as fast as literally everyone else. I know that your company and my company use the same security system in our server rooms yet I can assure you that it cost me twenty percent less because we waited a month before installing it and got a huge last minute discount because the security company was trying to boost their numbers for their end of year closing. And I also happen to know that you are working on a new design for your website that could easily be outshone if I just did the same before you could do it.”

Harry’s lips part, probably mostly at the last information. He has no idea how you know these stuff, but you have a wide circle of connections in the city, you have an insider at every big companies in the industry without them even knowing. You’ve given countless tips to your aunt through the years, that’s how she managed to stay on top of her games.

Leaning closer your lips almost brush against him and you see how he weakens, he is expecting you to kiss him and he wants it. But you just smile at him, your eyes snapping down to his lips before up to his eyes.

“I will not do the same as my aunt, Harry,” you softly speak, your fingers grazing the back of his neck. “I will do way worse things.”

And with that, you slip out of his arms and walk back to your table, leaving him standing there alone at a complete loss of words.

“What the fuck had gotten into you?” Niall grimaces upon hearing everything he told you on the evening of the charity event. And quite frankly, Harry has no answer to that. He has absolutely no idea what had gotten into him to act like such a dick when you didn’t do anything against him.

The situation just messed with his head, seeing you in that breathtaking dress, mingling with everyone, smiling and laughing, oh how he wished you were laughing on his jokes! But then you seemed so tensed when he came up to you and something just switched in him. He wanted to take dominance, to somehow get out of it on top, but he miserably failed. When you brought up their plans to change the design he completely froze.

“No idea, okay? I just…lost it,” he growls, sinking into the couch. When Niall found out that Harry met the woman from the club again he insisted on coming over with some wine to talk it out, but he was not expecting this kind of story at all.

“Dude, you just put yourself on her radar big time, maybe she wouldn’t have even bothered to compete with you like her aunt did, but you surely changed her mind now.”

“I know, Niall!” Harry growls, not in the mood to be scolded like a little child. “Do you think she’ll change their design before we do?” he peeks at his friend, but Niall just shrugs.

“No idea, but I would try to speed it up before she actually does it.”

Harry made you into a ticking bomb and you successfully got under his skin about the whole design project so first thing the next morning he went to Zayn to discuss a possible earlier debut for the new designs. Though it would be a close stretch, they agreed that it would go live by the end of the week and that got Harry somehow a little relieved, but in the middle of that he failed to put the right amount of effort into finding designers for their female lines.

When he meets up with Lambert a few days later he is not there to deliver great news. Apparently, three out of the four designers they were negotiating with recently pulled out of their deal and signed a contract with Cometa.

“We have one last designer on the list, but then… we are out of the bigger names,” Lambert sighs as Harry chews on his bottom lip anxiously. He feels like he has fallen into a hole a while ago and instead of climbing out he is just digging it deeper underneath him.

“Okay, do we have an appointment with them?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, I’m meeting her this afternoon.”

“I’m going with you,” he nods before standing from his chair and opening the door he calls out for his assistant. “Rebecca, please clear my schedule for this afternoon, I’ll be out of the office.”

Rebecca nods behind her desk, already starting to make calls about Harry’s meetings and appointments.

It’s obvious he is anxious about the meeting, because if it falls through they are forced to look for less known designers and that won’t bring the change for the company they’ve been seeking for a long time. Arriving to the showroom where the designer is working, Harry is setting his thoughts straight, determined to convince her to sign a contract with them. The two men are let into the building by the nice assistant working at the front desk and she shows the way to the showroom where Kennedy, the designer is waiting for them.

Harry is confident, he trusts his skills to make this happen, but when they walk inside he instantly freezes upon seeing an all too familiar figure standing with Kennedy

A maroon colored pantsuit is hugging your curves, a Hermés handbag hanging from your arm, your hair falling in loose curls. As if you could sense his presence, you peek over your shoulder, a devilish smirk on your lips when you see the shocked expression on Harry’s face.

“What a great surprise!” you beam, selling how happy you are to see him and in a way, you are. You wanted to see his face drop when he realizes you snatched yet another designer from him.

“Oh, Mr. Styles!” Kennedy smiles nicely at him and he finally snaps out of his trance, shaking hands with her and then turning to you, doing the same but in a lot colder manner.

“Y/N, nice to see you again,” he fakes a smile as your hand falls from his palm.

“I could say the same. But I’m heading out now. Great talk, Kennedy. I’ll be waiting for your call,” you wink at the young designer who seems to be thrilled by your words as she walks you to the exit.

“Fucking hell,” Harry mumbles under his breath and Lambert shoots him a look before Kennedy returns.

The three of them take a seat on the couches in the corner of the room and Harry is quick to get down to business, trying his best to make his offer appear more appealing than anything you told her right before their arrival. Kennedy listens intently, even takes notes and then she shows him some examples of what she was thinking about for her next line and Harry is beyond thrilled.

Unfortunately, soon comes the painful part.

“Harry, I’m gonna be honest with you,” Kennedy starts and Harry already knows what she is about to say. “Your offer is very tempting and it would be an honor to design a line for Twisted, but in my situation it would be more beneficial if I collaborated with Cometa. It is nothing against your company, it’s more about my personal path and growth.”

Harry can feel his stomach dropping and he clenches his jaw as he listens to Kennedy’s worth. He understands, of course he understands, she has the right to selfishly look at her own benefits upon signing with a new company, but he wished she would take the risk and chose his company instead of yours.

“I’m keeping the offer open for you still,” he forces a smile on his face. “If you change your mind, Twisted would be more than happy to work with you.”

Kennedy walks the two men out and the fake smile quickly vanishes from Harry’s face upon stepping out of the building.

“What are we going to do now?” Lambert asks, clearly worried about how they’re gonna move forward with their last chance falling.

“If Y/N wants a war, that’s what she’ll get,” Harry growls, revenge burning in the greens of his eyes.

It’s a quiet Friday afternoon, only hours left from the day before you are headed home finally. You’re sitting in your office with Leslie, going over next week’s schedule to make sure everything is set and clear.

It’s been almost an entire month since you stepped into your aunt’s shoes as head of the company and though the start was a little rough, especially with finding out who Harry was, but you feel like you have everything under your control by now. After all, you didn’t learn business for years from the bests for nothing, right?

Harry’s comment on you knowing nothing about the industry made you bitter, because he knows nothing about you and the struggle you went through your life to get to this point. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbow, being Julia’s niece might have been a hugely influencing aspect of you taking over, but you worked your ass off to be the best leader you can and not just ruin everything she built up through her whole life.

Though you didn’t always want to be the one following her, but you like to think that things worked out to your favor and you are where you should be.

“Alright, everything is looking fine,” Leslie smiles at you over her laptop. “I’ll send you the notes from today’s meeting.”

“Thank you. Can you call in with the delivery company about next month’s transactions?” you ask her and she nods, already adding it to her list of tasks for the rest of the day. “Alright. I’ll do the rest of the signings and then we can head out,” you smile at her.

Leslie is grabbing her things from the table when there’s a soft knock on the door. You give your permission and one of the tech support guys walk in with a worried look on his face.

“Miss Y/L/N? I’m afraid we have a problem,” he clears his throat and you can already feel your anxiety crawl up on your spine.

“What is it?” you ask firmly. The guy steps farther inside, fumbling with his fingers as he presents the issue.

“There’s been an attempt to break our software’s security system where we keep our data about the sellings. A-And I’m afraid it wasn’t just an attempt, they succeeded.”

You take a deep breath, glancing over at Leslie for a moment before you follow the man to the tech department to investigate the issue further. You don’t know shit about these stuff, but from what he said you know the trouble is huge and if you don’t solve it as soon as possible, valuable data could leak out to the public. They try to explain you what they are working on as of right now and that there’s not much you can actually help with.

“Make sure to put your extra hours on your attendance sheets and let me know when you are able to restore the system,” you tell them and you earn quite a few thank yous on your way out for actually paying the overtime. Then you turn to the guy that first came to your office. “Do you have any information about who it could have been?”

“We weren’t able to track them back, but whoever it was, they’re surely professionals and they might know the system from the inside.”

“What do you mean from the inside? Someone did it from the company?” you ask, eyebrows knitting together as you fold your arms on your chest.

“No,” he shakes his head. “We would have been able to track that back. I mean that they know the system, maybe they worked somewhere where the same one was used and they could see into it.”

It takes you a few moments before you realize what this really is and it has your blood boiling right away. Nodding shortly you exhale sharply through your nose.

“Thank you, please call me when it’s up and running again, I’ll take care of the rest,” you tell him before turning around you walk away.

When Leslie sees you approaching your office with a head practically turning red she is quick to jump to her feet, following you into the office.

“What’s happening?”

“Harry Styles, that’s what happening,” you snap as you grab your phone, purse and coat before heading out, not wasting another minute.

“What? Where are you going now?”

“To the devil himself,” you growl back and enter the elevator, leaving her alone with her questions.

Sitting in your car on your way to the headquarters of Twisted, you imagine every scenario you want to make happen when you arrive, most of them including hitting the man across his ridiculously handsome yet annoying face. He crossed a line with breaking into your system and stealing valuable data. Though you’re sure he wouldn’t dare to sell or publish it, because he would be in a big legal trouble if he did, he still had a glimpse into your numbers and that’s already an advantage. He is playing dirty and you’re not having any of it.

Arriving you burst through the doors and demand to see him. Though the woman behind the front desk tells you that you can’t see him without an appointment, you still get her to make a call up and naturally, Harry allows you to see him. The fucker might already have been waiting for you to show up. As you stand in the all glass elevator, on your way up to meet him you take a few deep breaths to keep your cool and not snap like a maniac, however it all vanishes when you see him waiting for you with that shit-eating grin on his face when you step out of the elevator.

“You’re lucky I didn’t go straight to the police with your little stunt, you fucker!” you snap, not able to hold back your swearing any longer.

“Do you have any evidence?” he tilts his head to the side and you don’t miss how his gaze runs down your body as you march towards him. You’d find it flattering in another situation, but right now you just want to punch him in the face.

“I’ll show some evidence down your throat, Styles, if you don’t stop messing with my security system,” you growl back, standing so close to him now that you see every tiny freckle and blemish on his face and the way how he clenches his jaw, holding his gaze on yours.

Without a word or invitation, you walk into the room that you suppose is his office and he follows with a soft chuckle.

“Did you hire a hacker just to mess with me?” you throw the question at him as he closes the door so his employees don’t hear everything.

“What if I did?” he shrugs, stepping to the tray on his desk that already has a glass of whiskey on it. He grabs the glass and simply lifts it to his lips, taking a tiny sip from it. “Oh, excuse my manners. Would you like a drink?”

“I’m driving,” you answer shortly. “You crossed a line, Harry,” you warn him.

“What line?” he chuckles, rather entertained by your rage. “After what you pulled with Kennedy, I think I went easy on you.”

“I didn’t pull anything, I just gave her a better offer! It’s not my fault she has better chances with my company!” you snap back, feeling your heartbeat fastening from the anger that’s boiling in your veins.

“You knew I wanted her to design for me, why couldn’t you just let one person out of your endless list? You already have everyone else, she was my last fucking chance!” Harry barks back, clearly having some built up tension in him as well.

“If you didn’t act like an arrogant asshole at the charity gala, I would have happily let you work with her, but then you felt the need to fucking degrade me! That’s why I didn’t let you get away with it!”

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but he quickly closes his mouth, probably knowing well you’re right. He did act shitty towards you that evening and he has no excuse for his behavior. You walk closer until there are just a few feet between the two of you, your eyes glued to his burning green gaze that’s staring back at you, but before you could speak up, he cuts you off.

“Well, you know. All is fair in… war and business,” he shrugs and you honestly barely can stop yourself from laughing at how stupid that just sounded. You can’t miss the twitch in the corner of his mouth as well and you can’t believe how easily he made you break out of your rage.

“Don’t try to make money out of writing slogans,” you huff shaking your head and now he is grinning widely. “Do you have the data?”

“I don’t,” he answers and you narrow your eyes at him.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he chuckles. “I had it, but I already deleted it. I know it wasn’t ethical so as soon as it was handed to me I deleted it. I didn’t even look into it. I just wanted to scare you.”

“And how do I know your hacker doesn’t have it either?”

“Because he signed a contract that would cost him millions to break and I don’t think a junior in college who is still living in a dorm can afford that,” he points out and now you are somewhat convinced. You stare back at him for a few more seconds before nodding.

“Stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours, how does that sound?” you offer generously.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he questions with a smug smirk that makes your arch an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing tomorrow evening?” he then asks and you can’t mask your surprise in front of him.

“That does not concern you, Styles,” you scoff, though it boosts your ego that even through all the hate you’ve been targeting at each other, he still wants you the same way he did at the club that evening. You can’t deny, this rivalry has sparked a few thoughts in you as well, but you are not going to fall into the same mistake you made that evening. You pay him another smirk before turning around and heading towards the door. “Stay out of my way, Styles!” you call back without looking at him, but you just know he is grinning at you, a growing sexual tension thickening the atmosphere in the room.

“Or what?” he smugly questions and you stop at the door, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

“Or… You said it yourself. All is fair in war and business,” you smirk before walking out of the office.

Following your visit to Harry’s office things take a… playful turn in your rivalry. The attempts and competing don’t stop, both of you are on each other’s radar, ruining and messing with each other’s projects and works whenever and wherever it’s possible, but it’s not as hateful as it was at the beginning. If something, it even helps you to always be on your toes and watch out for possible threats, not just from Harry but from everyone else.

Neither of you succeeds in evolving in each other’s field, Cometa keeps thriving in women’s fashion with a quite small variety offered for the gentlemen while Twisted fails to grow out of men’s fashion and venture to the ladies, but somehow it’s not as frustrating as it used to be before.

Harry keeps up his flirty acts and tries to ask you out every time your paths cross each other, but you relentlessly turn him down every time, only fueling him to keep chasing after you more the next time. It’s a thrilling and flattering little game, knowing that even with all the rivalry between the two of you, being the biggest competitors in the business… he still wants you.

New York fashion week rolls around and it’s by far one of your favorite times in the year. You managed to snatch an exclusive deal with YSL to release a special line just for the fashion week and it sold out in the first two hours, now waiting to be restocked in a few days. Cometa is thriving and your aunt has expressed her pride towards the work you’ve been doing at the company, so things are heading the right direction.

You knew Harry would be attending the same shows as you, but it’s fate or just luck that you are seated next to each other at one of the shows, giving you the chance to talk without any of you attempting to corrupt the other this time.

Harry is already sitting in his seat when you arrive wearing a custom made Gucci dress, something that immediately catches his eyes since he is a huge fan of the brand himself.

“Your fashion sense never disappoints, Y/N,” he beams up at you as you take the seat next to him.

“Hope that’s not surprising, Styles,” You smirk at him, taking a glance at his own Gucci outfit, the checkered pants fitting him perfectly while the pussy bow adds some spice to the whole outfit, you have to admit. He looks good, he always does.

“Any plans after the show?” he asks right before the lights go out and the show starts. You leave him without an answer, just let out a soft chuckle as you glue your eyes to the first model who walks the runway.

Once the show is over you head out with Harry by your side, having an actually entertaining discussion about the designs you just saw. He might not be an expert in fashion, but he has developed a good sense through his years.

As you make your way out of the venue you are stopped by an interviewer and Harry remains on your side as the woman asks you a few questions about the show.

“I’ve always wondered, does it bother you that you couldn’t be on the runway yourself? You’ve been sitting front row the past years, but you once had aspirations of being a model yourself, is that right?”

The question makes you tense up and you can feel Harry’s puzzled look on you from the side.

“It’s not like it was my fault for not making it up there,” you sass back, forcing a smile to your face.

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” the woman chuckles and it has your blood boiling, because you know the real meaning behind her words.

It’s your fault you didn’t become a model because you were never thin enough to be one. It was your fault and not the industry’s to hold impossible standards to women who wanted to succeed as a model.

The smile falters from your face and you take a long, judgmental look at the woman in front of you. Because if she is brave enough to talk like that to you, you’re not gonna shy away from bringing her spirits down either.

“Judging from your appearance and attitude you wouldn’t make it either,” you spitefully reply and her smile quickly fades, clearly shocked at your answer. You open your mouth again, ready to continue, but then you feel a hand on the small of your back and you realize Harry is still standing next to you.

“Come on, we have somewhere to be, right?” he smiles kindly as you just simply nod and walk away from the woman before she could offend you again.

Harry senses your tension as the two of you leave the venue but doesn’t try to talk to you and that’s a wise choice from him. As you step out of the building you realize that if you went home now you’d probably get drunk on your own and let that comment get to you more than you should. So instead of doing that you turn to Harry.

“So, what are our plans?” you ask and you don’t miss the small smile on his lips as he stares back at you.

Not in the mood to stay around people at a bar you accept Harry’s invitation to his place, since it’s also close. The contrast between his extravagant penthouse and your cozy but still quite modern townhouse in Park Slope is major, but you didn’t expect anything less from the man.

You’ve managed to calm down since you left the venue, but you’re still quite bitter about the comment the woman made. Harry hasn’t tried to ask you about it, but you can tell he is dying to know more about the situation that’s behind the madness.

He fixes you a drink and you find yourself sinking into his comfortable and probably ridiculously expensive couch in his living room area.

“I used to want to be a model,” you start, breaking the silence that settled between the two of you. “When I was a teen. I was a lot thinner, I was a competitive dancer until I was seventeen, but I had a knee injury, so I had to quit.”

Harry sits on the other end of the couch, listening to you with patience as he sips on his own drink.

“I was never as thin as the other models at the agency I was trying to get into, but I definitely wasn’t overweight. Yet, they labelled me as a plus size model. I was a healthy, strong young girl with a perfectly good body, yet they told me that I was too fat to be a model.”

Glancing at Harry, you can tell that he is surprised at the information he just learned. He is probably picturing you thinner now, going to model castings and if you’re being honest you enjoyed that part. The trouble came when you got rejection after rejection, telling you to lose weight and come back after that.

“I quit my whole plan to be a model and studied fashion and business instead, consciously working my way towards this point. But I never got over how the industry made me feel less of a person because I wasn’t a size zero.”

For a few long moments Harry just stares at you and it’s actually nice that he doesn’t try to make you feel better right away, praising you how you are perfect just the way you are. Because you’re not, but that’s fine because no one is.

“I’ve honestly never seen a more cruel industry than fashion before,” he then speaks up. “I didn’t grow up in it and still don’t really have that much and deep connection with it, but I know how fucked up it is. And it’s nice to see that you know your worth even after everything that happened.”

Your gaze meets his and you’re looking for any sign that gives away that he is just messing with you, but it’s all genuine. You just shoot him a small smile before lifting your drink to your lips. It’s the most intimate moment you’ve shared with him, including the ones you had in that bathroom.

“Okay, now you tell me something about your life,” you prompt, wanting to divert the conversation on him a little bit.

“What do you want to know?” he asks with a soft chuckle.

“Why did you name your brand Twisted?” you ask. The question has been on your mind for a while.

“It’s coming from my mum’s name. Anne Twist.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, you weren’t expecting such a deep and personal reason behind the name, connected to a family member.

“Why her?”

“Why not?” he smirks shrugging his shoulders. “She raised me and my sister up, I wouldn’t be here without her. It was obvious I would make her be part of it in some kind of way.”

“That’s actually very nice. Who knew that you could be something other than an egoistic asshole!” you joke, making him laugh as well.

“Okay, what’s the meaning behind your brand?” he then turns it back around.

“Well, my aunt met her husband when they were very young, maybe eighteen. She fell in love with Fabio on her trip to Italy and being the impulsive and adventurous woman that she is, she stayed for a month there just because of Fabio. He is a very passionate man and he was always ready to bring the stars down for Julia. He always used to tell her that he would even catch a comet for her, if that’s what she wanted. And that was my aunt’s favorite saying from him. Cometa is comet in Italian. It’s her tribute to the love of her life.”

“That’s easily the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Harry hums and you just smile nodding at him. It really is like a fairytale and it’s also one of the reasons why you were so happy to take her place at Cometa. Julia is still just as in love with Fabio as she was at eighteen and she deserves to spend more time with her beloved husband. She earned the time off after all the sacrifices she made for the company and all through them Fabio stayed by her side. It’s their well-earned happy ending now.

“You know a lot about romantic things?” you cock an eyebrow at him, finishing up your drink.

“Actually, I’m a quite romantic guy.”

“Are you now?”

“Yeah, you just never gave me the chance to show it to you.”

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?” you chuckle, handing him your glass when he stands from the couch to get you a refill.

“Exactly!” he chuckles holding up your empty glass on his way. “I hope you know you absolutely broke my heart when you didn’t give me your number that night.”

“Oh, you poor little thing,” you chuckle, resting your head in your palm, your elbow on the back of the couch. “I’m not sorry though. You didn’t give out the right vibes.”

“The right vibes?” he huffs as he returns with your drink and now sits a little closer to you. “What vibe did I give you?” “The vibe that told me I shouldn’t mess with you,” you simply answer as you take a sip from your refilled drink.

“You were so keen on hating me even before you knew who I was, I can’t believe you,” he chuckles shaking his head.

“I’m just cautious!” you protest. “I’ve dealt with some problematic men in the past, I can’t let myself walk right into another one that easily.”

“What did they do?”

“Some men just can’t treat women right. Especially confident ones with a body like mine,” you simply shrug.

Men like to think that bigger girls are so terribly insecure about their body that they need the validation of a male to feel good about themselves. But when you’re confident and feel good in your own skin without needing them to praise you, they think that you’re egoistic, so full of yourself and they are quick to try to drag you down. That’s something you can’t tolerate. You don’t need a man to feel good about yourself, you don’t need anyone for that. You know your worth and that’s all that matters.

Harry’s eyes travel down your body, taking his time on your curves and you smile shaking your head as you reach out and cupping his chin you pull his head up so he is looking into your eyes.

“I honestly can’t see what problem anyone could have with your body. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since our bathroom fiasco,” he bluntly comments making you chuckle, even flattered by his words.

“You are such a flirt,” you grin at him and he doesn’t try to protest.

You stay for a couple more drinks and you drop the heavier topics, venturing over to music, fashion and any funny stories that come to your mind. Harry is actually amazing company when you’re not trying to jump at each other’s throat and for a few short hours you forget that he is supposed to be your competitor.

You’re a little tipsy, but you are definitely not drunk, so when Harry offers you to stay the night you turn it down, calling yourself a car since you are not in the right state to drive.

“I’ll come and pick my car up in the morning,” you breathe out as you put your heels back on that came off your feet sometime during the evening, making yourself home in his place.

“I’ll text you the security number to the garage,” he nods, walking you to the elevator.

“Thank you. And… I guess thank you for the evening,” you smile at him, turning to face him. He is standing close, but still takes a step closer, one of his hands finding your waist as he pulls you against his chest. Your palms lie flat on his chest as you try to get yourself to the right mindset to leave now before you regret doing something. Leaning down his nose nudges against your cheek, before he presses a soft kiss under below your ear, a sigh escaping your lips.

“I should go, the car is here,” you breathe out, but don’t move.

“Mm, okay,” he hums, his lips peppering kisses on your jaw and your cheek, as if you didn’t say a word. You want to continue it, not just because of the alcohol but because the sexual tension between the two of you has been growing since that charity gala, but the remainder of your rationality stops you before your lips could meet.

“Bye Harry,” you smile at him softly as you push him away and you walk into the elevator, leaving him hanging. Again.

“Bye Y/N. I’m still going to try to ruin your company!” he calls after you as you turn around to face him, the sliding doors slowly closing between the two of you.

“Same back at you, Styles,” you smirk before the door closes and you are taken down.

Well, that was a lie. Following your evening at his place neither of you really tries to work against the other, leaving each other be without any fuss. It might also have something to do with how you kept in touch after that day. You’ve been texting occasionally, attending some events together, even had a business dinner together with a few other peers from the industry. Things have been quiet and you’ve been feeling content with the current state you’ve managed to reach. Or so you thought.

It was a silent agreement between the two of you. You both put your projects aside that targeted the other’s profile. Harry stopped looking for designers for his women lines and you put your men department to the side as well. There were a lot to work on beside these fields so you felt like you were in peace. Right until Leslie bursts into your office on a casual Tuesday.

“Have you seen this?” she asks, placing a tablet in front of you with an Instagram account open on it.

You want to ask what you’re supposed to look at, but then you realize what it really is. A shiny new account for a new brand that promises to take online shopping to the next level; female and male as well.

“You think it could be…?” you ask, not quite convinced that Harry is behind this.

“Well, the wording is similar to theirs and creating a new brand might be a solution to their gap in women’s fashion,” she points it out, though you don’t want to believe he could have been working on this all along, basically in front of your face.

But it’s a possibility and you have to consider this option before jumping into defending him without any proof.

“Men can’t be trusted,” you grumble under your breath before jumping into work.

What you didn’t know is that an eerily similar situation goes down in Harry’s office as well when Zayn bursts in, showing him the ad he found for the new brand called Farfalla.

Harry immediately digs up everything about the company, though there’s not much other than their new Instagram account and heavy marketing that started just yesterday.

“What is Farfalla even?” he grimaces leaning back in his chair.

“It means butterfly in Italian,” Zayn explains and Harry’s eyes flicker up to him.

“Italian? You think it’s her?”

“It’s possible,” Zayn nods. “Starting a new brand to finally reach men’s fashion is a good idea.”

“She wouldn’t have done this,” Harry shakes his head in disbelief. Could you be working on this all along? Was this your plan from the start? To make him fall for you and forget about business while you built up your new empire to ruin him?

“What if she did?” Zayn prompts and in a way his suspicion is valid, but Harry is having a hard time believing it. You would never play him this dirty, not after how the two of you have grown closer in the past weeks, almost became friends.

“What are you going to do?” Zayn asks him as he pushes himself away from the desk and quite obviously starts getting ready to leave.

“She is not getting away from this,” Harry mumbles under his breath as he grabs his coat and phone before storming out of the office.

It’s past six when Harry gets to Cometa’s building and he is informed that you’ve already went home. He could have just come back in the morning, but he knew he would just stew in his own anger if he didn’t talk to you as soon as possible. So using his charm he gets the woman sitting behind the front desk to share your address with him, saying that he needs to talk to you urgently. That’s how he finds himself heading to Park Slope, slightly surprised you are not living somewhere in the heart of Manhattan.

As the scenery around his changes, skyscrapers turning into brick buildings and townhouses, Harry tries to figure out what he even wants to say to you. Should he just get straight down to business and accuse you? Snap at you? Or should he give you the chance to explain yourself? He can’t really make up his mind, mostly because he still feels like you betrayed him even though he can’t be sure Farfalla is yours.

Parking down at the address he got from the woman, he stares up at the deep red brick townhouse, a simple, black door at the top of the stairs that’s lined with a few potted plants and flowers. This is not what he would have imagined your home like, but now that he is standing on your doormat, he realizes it kind of suits you.

Ringing the bell he hopes that you’re home and not out and about somewhere in the city, but when he hears the familiar sound of heels clicking on the floor he knows you are on the other side. When the front door flings open and you come into his sight, for a split second he forgets why he is here and his anger vanishes. As always, you look amazing, a tight, black dress hugging your curves, the middle part appearing like it’s a corset, emphasizing the dip of your waist. Your hair is let down in loose curls and your feet are bare, but he knows you probably wore heels all day. You must have gotten home not long ago and as your eyes fall on the man at the door, your expression hardens on him.

“You really had the balls to come her, huh?” you cock your head to the side, keeping your eyes on his green ones for a moment before you let him inside.

“Did you think you could get away with it?” he huffs walking into the hallway and stopping as you close the door and turn to him.

“Me? I could say the same! You thought I would just ignore it or what? I proved you a few times that I’m not stupid, Harry,” you retort, folding your arms on your chest as you walk past him, into the kitchen and he follows.

“You surely are not stupid, playing me so dirty behind my back!” Harry spats standing his ground. “Playing all friendly and nice and then make a fool out of me!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you question narrowing your eyes at him as you lean against the kitchen island’s counter. “If anyone played dirty it’s you! And you have the balls to come here and talk like this to me in my own fucking home?!” you snap, walking closer to him, keeping your deathly glare on him.

“What the fuck did I do?!” he scoffs throwing his hands into the air.

“You created a whole new brand just to fuck with me! Or did you think I wouldn’t find out about it?!”

“Me? You made a new brand! And you didn’t do a great job hiding the fact that it was your work, even the name is Italian, like your current one!”

You stare back at him, tilting your head to the side as you process what he is talking about. All along, the two of you were accusing each other of something neither of you did.

“Harry,” you breathe out, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Farfalla is not my brand.”

“And I’m supposed to believe it?!”

“Well you better be because it’s the fucking truth!”

“Prove it!” he hisses at you, taking a step closer, his face only inches away from yours now.

“Until about twenty seconds ago I thought that it was your new brand, Harry. I thought that you were the one who backstabbed me!” you snap back, standing up for yourself in this giant misunderstanding you fell into, accusing each other without any proof.

Harry stares back at you, his gaze burning into yours as he stands his ground and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he processes your words.

“So… it’s not yours? You didn’t do it to fuck me up?”

“Of course not!” you breathe out, suddenly quite tired of all the anger that’s been eating you away through the afternoon. “I thought that we had a kind of silent agreement not to mess with each other so I wasn’t planning anything anytime soon. That’s why I got so mad when I thought you did it!”

“I thought the same!” he growls shaking his head. “I thought you did it all to just make me look stupid, that the friendly act was just so I wouldn’t notice a thing and I fell right into your trap.”

“There was no trap,” you simply tell him and you hope he senses the hidden meaning behind your words.

Luckily he does. But for your biggest surprise there’s no snarky comment or smug smirking, he just steps closer and before you could even protest, his hands find your waist and he pulls you against his hard chest, lips hungry attacking yours. He makes you back until you bump against the kitchen island, his hips pressing against yours as he pushes you against the hard surface, his hands wandering on your sides and back, up and down, exploring every curve of your body while his kisses never slow down, your tongues meeting in the middle.

Bringing up a leg you curl it around his hips, your heel digging into his round ass as he leans forward, making you arch your back, leaning onto the counter as his lips move from your lips to your jawline and neck, his fingers digging into your waist and the thigh that’s lifted by his side. He nibbles on the soft skin of your neck, definitely leaving a mark, but you just comb your fingers through his hair, letting yourself get lost in the sensation.

“As much as I would love to fuck you on a counter again, can we take this to a bedroom?” he mumbles as he kisses his way back up to your lips, smirking against them as he captures them again.

You don’t answer, just grab his hand and pull him upstairs with you, right into your bedroom. He is all over you, lips, hands, tongue, pressed up against you as the two of you stumble your way to your king sized bed. Harry’s fingers fidget with the corset on your dress, but he soon realizes it’s a little trickier than he expected, so leaning back he furrows his eyebrows as he glances down at the dress, still trying to figure out how to get you out of it.

“Harry,” you smile at him softly. “It’s faux. There’s a zipper at the back,” you inform him and he sighs in defeat as he kisses you again, his fingers quickly finding the zipper. The dress pools at your feet and you rid him from his jacket and shirt, revealing his inked chest, a sight you’ve been thinking about way too much lately.

By the time the two of you fall to your bed, neither of you are dressed in more than just your underwear. Because both of you like to be in charge, you roll around for a while, trying to get on top of each other but eventually Harry stays up when he starts going down on you, kissing his way through your heated skin. You don’t shy away when his hands snake under your back and easily unclasps your bra, being bare in front of him is not something that makes you feel uncomfortable or insecure. The way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel brings you so much confidence, you have absolutely no problem being nude.

When your bra flies to the floor, Harry leans back a little to admire you lying there, before his lips find their way over the curve of your breasts, down your stomach. Hooking his fingers into the elastic of your panties he tugs them down easily as you lift your hips, your thighs parting as you bare yourself in front of him.

“Don’t be shy about screaming my name,” he smugly tells you before his lips and tongue meet your clit. Your fingers lace through his hair immediately as you gasp out at the sensation, his tongue drawing the whole fucking alphabet to your bundle of nerves. His arms curl around your thighs, ring clad fingers digging into your flesh as he sucks on the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, Harry! Yes!” you moan out, tugging on his locks when he teases his tongue around your hole, your walls tightening around nothing as you are growing desperate to feel something inside of you.

You pull on his hair, signaling him that you want to get it on with, Hands reaching down to get rid of his boxer briefs before you blindly pull out the drawer of your nightstand, grabbing a condom. His lips eagerly meet yours as he wraps his erected cock and though you would love to have a taste of him like he did with you, you just want to feel him inside you.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he growls against your lips, teasing you with running just the head up and down your slit.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’m gonna rip your guts out,” you warn him, earning a soft chuckle as he kisses you again, tongue pushing into your mouth as he finally pushes inside you, his long, thick cock filling you up perfectly and it somehow feels even better than the first time.

“Go hard,” you gasp, a hand coming to grab his ass as you push him even further into you. He doesn’t need more, he starts slamming into you, his hips meeting yours roughly with each thrust, his whole length disappearing inside you every time.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, licking and sucking on the soft skin. You almost think about telling him not to mark you, but it just turns you on even more so you let him do whatever he wants.

“I want to see you on top,” he pants, lifting his head so his gaze could meet yours. You nod, before the two of you turn around and you straddle his hips, guiding him back inside you as you sink down his length. Your hands are sprawled out on his hard chest as you find your balance in the position, Harry’s eyes roaming your body up and down, not able to get enough of how blissful you look, sitting with his cock buried inside of you, enjoying yourself to the fullest. His hands run up your thighs and upper body until they find your breasts, kneading them as you start moving your hips up and down, back and forth. When you moan his name or gasp because his cock reaches that one particular spot inside you, those are the moments he wishes he could capture on camera and watch whenever he wants.

“I want it from back,” you pant as you lean down and kiss him roughly. That’s all he needs, he helps you get off of him before you get on all four, pushing your butt up in the air while Harry kneels behind you, the sight in front of him hardening his cock even more, if that’s possible. His hands grab onto your waist as he pushes inside you, making you both let out a satisfied moan before he starts moving again.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, Y/N. I love your ass,” he growls, giving it a smack that surprises you, but you absolutely love it.

“Harry, go faster!” you whimper, feeling your orgasm nearing as you grip the comforter on the bed, desperate to reach your climax. You’re just about to reach down between your legs to play with your clit when Harry not only picks his pace up but also reaches around you, two of his fingers starting the circling motions on the bundle of nerves, making your legs shake from the pleasure.

“Come on, baby. Cum for me, cum all over my cock,” he growls, railing you from behind without missing a beat.

“Harry!” you scream when he thrusts into you so harshly, your whole body rocking in the motion.

“Come on, angel. Cum for me,” he murmurs and leaning down he wraps his arms around you, bringing you up straight, your back pressing against his sweaty chest, his hands coming to cup your breasts as he keeps thrusting up into you, pushing you over the edge.

You moan and gasp and scream his name as your walls tighten around his length, riding out your bliss and it helps him reach his own high, his hot breath hitting the back of your neck and shoulder, grunting and cursing under his breath as he fills the condom.

As his thrusts come to a halt, he sinks into a sitting position, bringing you with him, you lean against him feeling like jelly as you’re still just trying to catch your breath. Harry peppers your shoulder with small kisses before you muster the energy to break the position and lie down on the bed.

“Towel is in the bathroom,” you tell him knowing that’s what he’ll look for as he stands from the bed and you point at the door that leads to the joined bathroom. Harry nods and pads his way in there, cleaning himself up before he returns with a small damp towel, doing the same for you. He drops it to the floor next to the bed before joining you, cradling you into his arms as you take a breather together.

One hand is on your shoulder, fingers dancing on the naked skin, the other one is holding your thigh that’s across his lap while your head is resting on his chest.

“You really thought I would backstab you like that?” he hums after a while, breaking the comfortable silence.

“You did the same,” you answer, lifting your head, resting your chin on his chest.

“Touché,” he chuckles, before leaning down he kisses you shortly. “So, if neither of us did it, then we have a quite major problem on our hands.”

“I know,” you hum. “That shit looks promising and they can easily ruin both of us.”

Harry stays silent for a little, but you can see the gears turning in his head. When his gaze snaps back at you, you know he has an idea.

“Unless… we join forces.” Your eyebrows arch as you stare back at him. “I know it’s a risky move, but this is the only way to stay on the top.”

“How much you want to be joined?”

“We could start with just one line, the men part designed by someone from me and the women by someone from you. And if it presents well we can just figure out where to go from there. Obviously, the men part would be sold by us and the women by you, but we could join the pages and direct users to each other’s sites in connection with the lines.”

“That could… actually work,” you nod shortly, thinking about the idea. It needs a lot of planning, but it could actually be a big hit if you do it right. “And you’re willing to partner with me?” you ask cheekily as you push yourself up into a sitting position, Harry doing the same.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m willing to do about anything with you,” he chuckles, making you smile at his playful answer. “I hope you know I’m not talking about just business,” he then adds with a meaningful look.

“You are still so keen on this?” you sigh, tugging your hair behind your ear.

“Do you not like being with me?”

“I do, surprisingly,” you roll your eyes, making him laugh.

“Do you not like having sex with me?”

“I think the answer is pretty obvious to that,” you give him a look as he smirks back at you.

“Yeah, but I want to hear it.”

“I enjoy having sex with you, Harry,” you roll your eyes again, but he just kisses you short but hard before leaning back.

“So then why shouldn’t we date?”

“Because we are competitors?”

“We just agreed that we should join forces. We are partners now.”

“You are running a little ahead, Harry,” you cock an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know, I haven’t been in a relationship in ages. I probably suck at it at this point,” you shrug, but it’s just a lame excuse and you both know that. Leaning closer Harry smirks at you smugly.

“I have something else you can suck.” You smack his chest at his nasty remark, but can’t push a smile back. His hand finds the back of your head as he pulls you in for another kiss. “I want you, Y/N. I really do. You are all I think about even when you are an annoying piece of shit, getting under my skin. I still want you.”

“Wow, so romantic,” you chuckle shaking your head. “What if we can’t get over our differences in the business? That can easily poison any relationship.”

“Then we’ll have a lot of mind-blowing angry and makeup sex. Those are the best. We can put all our frustration into sex, I think that’s just perfect.”

“What are you, a horny teenager? Sex is all you can think about?” you chuckle.

“It is when I’m lying in a bed with you naked. You can’t blame me,” he grins smugly and you want to hate him, you want to hate him so badly, but you can’t. You want him just as much as he wants you.

“So… partners?” he prompts, tilting his head to the side with a sweet smile as he waits for your answer.

“Partners in business and life?”

“Mhm, that’s the plan,” he nods, his smile growing wider with each passing second.

“Alright,” you breathe out. “So… it’s not—All is fair in war and business?” you ask teasingly, using his own words from earlier.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” he laughs, pulling you in for another kiss.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #ceo!harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut

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emerald-chaos · 4 years ago

Text

Insomnia

*gif not made by me, credit goes to the owner*

Hi Everyone! So it's been probably like...10 years since I wrote my last fic lol. Watching TFATWS has rekindled my undying love for Bucky Barnes and I just couldn't help but start writing again. I had to get my feelings out! I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've been considering writing some more parts...so tell me if that's something you'd be interested in! I appreciate any and all constructive feedback or just feedback in general! Much love.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 2533 (lowkey popped off...oops)

Warnings: Just in case...vague allusions to a dark past, struggles with mental illness, explicit language, and some suggestive conversation. Oh and some really bad jokes lol. Fluffy and angsty.

No matter how much you tossed and turned, how many sheep you counted, or how much you prayed and pleaded to any higher power that would listen – the release of sleep just wasn’t going to happen. You’re not sure why you were surprised, it’s not like this was the first time. You let out a heavy sigh and toss off the covers. This has been a nightly occurrence for as long as you can remember. When you were trying to rest, when there was no noise to block out the images in your head, it was a battle. A battle which you have always lost.

You flip on the bright florescent lights of the bathroom as you trudge in, dragging your feet in exhaustion. It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust to the harshness of the light as you place your hands onto the countertop. The cool marble feels good against your palms as you close your eyes and lean your head back, another sigh leaving your lips. You twist your neck from side to side, trying to release some tension and maybe get a satisfying pop. No such luck. As you open your eyes and gaze upon the person staring back at you a small laugh tumbles from your chest.

Jesus, she looks awful.

The dark circles that permanently reside below your eyes appear more pronounced than usual. The corners of your mouth hang low and you just look…tired. Like you were rode hard and put away wet.

The bottle of melatonin tucked away on your counter catches your eye. You pick it up and twirl it as you inspect the writing. “Sleep Support” you read, “may help promote restful sleep”. What a load of shit. You place the bottle back down and inspect the orange one next to it. The pills inside were about as useful as the melatonin. Nothing seemed to quiet the voices or stop the scenarios that plagued your mind. You splash some cold water on your face and grab for a towel to pat it dry. Your eyes drift to the mirror again, as if though the water was going to wash away the dead look in your eyes.

Yeah, fat chance.

Before you know it, your legs are carrying you through the compound. The only sounds present are the whirring of various appliances and the soft patter of your feet against the tile floors. The moonlight casts shadows over the various pieces of furniture and lights your path. Your fingers curl around the handle as you pull the sliding glass door open. The crisp outside air kisses your skin as you step out and close the door behind you. You find yourself settling down in your usual spot on the balcony and you sink into the comfort of the chair.

Many a sleepless night has been spent out here, admiring the way the moonlight gleams off of a nearby pond. Before the compound and the balcony, it was a fire escape and a bottle of bourbon. You kind of missed that coping mechanism a little bit. You were thankful, of course, to call this place your home. Thankful to feel safe for once. Thankful to be a part of a team that felt like more of a family than any sorry piece of shit who had been in your life before. Not that you were bitter about that or anything. A little baggage builds character. However, life hasn’t always been kind to you and your stupid brain had a cruel way of constantly reminding you of that fact.

In all honesty, Tony rescued you. You absolutely hated to allow him to relish in that fact, but it was true. He took a chance on a royally fucked up kid out of college who managed to skate by and earn a mechanical engineering degree. If you were to ask him, he would say it was because the first words you said to him were fuck off. Apparently, something about that translated to, “hey, I would be a great addition to your tech and development team”. Although, you were pretty sure you just really meant that he should fuck off. I mean, the guy’s reputation does have a bit of moral gray area to it. Somehow, some way, your tenacity made an impression on the billionaire. Now here you were - living at the Avenger’s compound, sitting on a balcony at 3:30 in the morning because you couldn’t turn your brain off long enough to find some peace and sleep. What a life.

Even as you were sitting here in your special spot, reminiscing about some actual good memories – your brain still tried to drift into the darkness. Glass breaking; voices, thick with hate, engaged in a screaming match, and the cold nights spent trying to find a safe space to eat and lay your head. Your fingers gripped into the arms of the chair as you felt the heaviness in your chest increase.

“God damn it,” you cursed through gritted teeth.

The panic attacks were a second nature at this point, but you still really hated when you lost control. Your eyes closed tight as you tried to rack your brain to remember the bullshit your therapist had told you earlier in the week. Something about 5 things you can see?

“We gotta stop meeting like this, Doll”

The voice ripped you from inside your mind and back to reality. Your eyes opened and were met with a beautiful pair of cerulean ones. You blamed the skip in your heartbeat on your fading panic attack - although, you knew better than that.

“Well, it seems to me that the only logical conclusion is that you’re stalking me, Barnes” you quipped as a grin spread across your face.

“Could say the same about you,” Bucky retorted as he sank into the chair beside you, “besides, been doin’ this a lot longer than you’ve been around”.

You rolled your eyes, but the super soldier had a point. Almost each and every time, aside from the ones that happened when the team was away, you two would meet like this – here on the balcony, both searching for something to replace the sleep that neither of you could find.

“Yeah, we get it, you’re old” a laugh fell from your lips as Bucky snorted at your remark, a grin remaining ever present on his lips.

The familiar silence took over as he leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. Meanwhile, yours were hungrily taking him in - tracing over the stubble on his chin, the soft pinkness of his parted lips. Recently he’d gotten his hair cut and even though you much preferred the long hair, you would rather die than actually admit that to him. Your crush on the 106 year old grumpy ass was one of your best kept secrets. At least, you thought you’d kept it from being painfully obvious.

The man sitting before you, he had a tough exterior and a horrific history, but you knew him better than that. You knew about the way his nose scrunched up when you made him laugh and the way his eyes looked as he listened intently to every story you ever told him. You knew the sweet melody of his laugh and the far off stare that meant he was also held captive by his own thoughts. This late-night rendezvous had become somewhat of a routine for the two of you and you would be lying if you said it wasn’t your favorite part of the day.

The first time it was a short nod and typical white person, thin-lipped smile as you left to find a different spot to suffer alone. Shortly after, it developed into cohabiting the balcony – staying on your own separate sides of course, only occasionally sharing words. Then, before you knew it, the two of you would be sitting beside each other, shooting the shit like you’d known each other for years. Just two, incredibly fucked up individuals, trying to make each other feel a little more human.

Bucky had always given off the quiet, brooding energy. Typically he kept to himself, other than with close friends like Steve, choosing to stand in the corner and listen to the conversation rather than be a part of it. Occasionally he would give a quip during a meeting that would catch people off guard, but mostly he just sat there and stared. The Bucky you had come to know was nothing like the person that others wanted to make him out to be. Sure, at one point he was a masterful assassin who killed like he got pleasure from it – but that wasn’t him. The Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were not synonymous.

If only the world could meet Bucky at 3am.

“What’s going on in that empty head of yours over there?” Bucky’s voice once again brought you back to reality as you laid your eyes on the familiar grin plastered across his face.

“Please,” you huffed, cheeks tinted a light shade of pink at the thought of him catching you staring, “which one of us has a college degree again?”

His laugh was a symphony to your ears. Your smile mirrored his when he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at you.

“So, what is it tonight? That nightmare again?” he asked, voice dropping an octave as his facial features softened in a way you really hoped only you got to see.

“Mm, not quite” you responded, your voice a broken whisper.

Bucky wasn’t the type to pry, but with you he wouldn’t even have to. Talking to him, sharing your deepest secrets and fears, telling him about the nightmares that kept you awake at night – it all came easily. Too easily.

“This week it’s...it’s that image of my stupid mother. Standing there with her black eyes and busted lip, telling me that it was me that was the problem. That it was me who...” you swallowed hard, the heaviness creeping back into your chest and tears fighting to wet your eyes. God you hated that you let this get the best of you.

Just as your mind started to bring you back to that dark place it was interrupted by the feeling of warmth spreading over your body. You looked down to see Bucky’s large hand resting right above your knee. When your eyes met again, he gave you a soft look that made your heart scream.

“I’m sorry,” you could tell he meant it as he gave your knee a soft squeeze.

A small smile flashed over your face and you had to resist the urge to reach out and cup his soft, stubbled cheek in your hand.

“Hey, we’re all a little fucked up, right?” you joked.

“Some more than others,” he replied, those beautiful wrinkles appearing around his nose as he scrunched it up with another laugh.

“Thanks, Buck... I’m sure you’d rather be doing anything other than listening to my sob story,” you reluctantly broke eye contact and looked down at the hem of your shirt as you fiddled with it in your fingers.

You were all too aware at the loss of contact as Bucky drew his hand back and leaned back into his chair.

“Doll,” he started as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes again - you could swear you almost saw a grin on his lips, “there are very few things I’d rather do than sit with you on the balcony at 3am”.

At that moment it felt as though time stood still. Sure, you had flirtatious banter back and forth occasionally and made a habit out of spilling your deepest regrets to each other during the wee hours of the morning, but this felt different. This felt like a confession.

You’d be lying to yourself if you tried to convince yourself, or anyone else for that matter, that you didn’t have a thing for him. I mean - who wouldn’t? The guy was a gentleman; he was soft spoken and caring, he was a dork who loved to crack jokes at the most inappropriate times, the type of person who would give you the shirt off of his own back if it meant you were taken care of.

He....well, he was Bucky.

And god damn it if you didn’t love him.

You’re unsure of how much time has passed, but one minute you’re sitting on your chair, chewing your lip and droning on about the man in front of you in your head. The next minute you found yourself on his lap, knees seated on either side of his waist as your legs straddle him and your hands connect with the skin they so desperately craved to feel. Bucky’s eyes opened slowly and met yours as you let the pad of your thumb gently run along the curve of his bottom lip. The uneven breaths leaving your chest hitched as you felt his hands grip your hips softly. Refusing to break eye contact, Bucky gently pressed a kiss to the pad of your thumb. You dragged his lower lip down briefly.

“Well,” he began. His voice was barely above a whisper but it’s thick, lustful tone made you shiver from head to...well, you know, “are you gonna kiss me, Doll? Or do I have to do all the work myself?”

He barely finished his sentence before your lips captured his. It was messy, almost all teeth and tongue. It was needy, as if it was the last time either of you would ever kiss anyone again. It was fucking incredible.

Bucky’s metal arm snaked up your back and found its way into your hair, curling his fingers gently around the strands at the back of your head, as his other arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to his form. He was intoxicating. This whole situation was something you had briefly imagined months ago, but ultimately pushed out of your mind. There was no way that he would ever be interested in someone like you. Yet, here he was, tongue fighting for entrance into your mouth.

You aren’t quite sure who pulled away first. Both of you were gasping for air, chests heaving up and down as you both stared into each other's lust-blown pupils.

“You kiss pretty well for someone who hasn’t had a girlfriend since 1940,” you teased, laughing as he rolls his eyes at the comment.

“You just don’t know when to shut that mouth of yours, do ya?” he practically growled, ever so slightly tightening his grip on your waist, and you almost lost it from just the sound of his voice alone.

“Why don’t you make me, Barnes?” you leaned in close, warm breath fanning over the shell of his ear.

A yelp escaped your throat as you were suddenly jerked up to a standing position, locking your ankles behind his back as he effortlessly held you up by your thighs.

“Oh Doll,” he chuckled darkly into your neck, almost making you pass out from the sensation, “I thought you’d never ask”.

#eeek #i hope you all like this #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky barnes x female reader #sebastian stan character #sebastian stan #James Buchanan Barnes #James Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes angst

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cheesyficwriter · 3 years ago

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Screaming HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the fabulous @adenei, a wonderful friend and beta who I hopes has the best day yet. This Muggle AU meet-cute is for her and features Romione and one of her favorite activities: baking! I sprinkled in some references to some of Adenei's brilliant fics, so let me know if you spot 'em 🎂🔍

Life is What You Bake It

Hermione Granger approaches baking as a way of meditating through life. She tends to go into her own little world, whisking and measuring the ingredients in her head like she’s creating the perfect potion.

Early mornings always bring the excitement of a new day, and the air is sticky with the scent of rising yeast, making Hermione’s stomach rumble with hunger.

Always eager to find ways to display her talent, it made sense for her to open her own bakery three years ago. After transforming a small, all white cottage into a clean and well-maintained shop, she decorated the interior with marbled tables with glistening white lights hanging from the ceiling. A long rectangular window allows in natural light and the perfect view for her to see the village shoppers strolling down the street.

She often rises earlier than the sun to prepare her pastries made fresh daily, each one crafted from scratch and inspired by desserts from her childhood. She started looking at recipes from a fairly young age, quickly deciding that she’d like to sell happiness over a counter one day.

Hermione enjoys baking almost as much as reading, and has her family cookbook tucked away on the shelf with notes upon notes scribbled in the margins. She sticks to her recipes and doesn’t often venture into the unknown, for she’s always appreciated completing tasks in an orderly fashion and learning how to craft the perfect flavor combinations.

Running through her to-do list, she’s thrilled to introduce the featured treats for the day — lemon bars with an all butter shortbread crust topped with lemon curd and dusted with sugar, as well as slices of fluffy vanilla cake soaked in champagne and filled with fresh raspberries and homemade raspberry preserves. Although these two desserts have been staples in her shop since she’s opened, Hermione still relishes the feedback from her customers so that she can continuously improve and make sure that her recipes are free from errors.

With the opening fast approaching, she’s ready to get to work with her flour and butter to finish off another three-tiered cake featuring one more flavor of the week: chocolate espresso coated in a Belgian chocolate ganache between the layers and topped with an espresso buttercream.

After acquiring all of the necessary ingredients, she ties the apron in a knot around her waist and gets to baking, taking up her position with so much joy. Mixing flour is a stress-reliever for her, and she works with precision and delicacy to assure that the cake comes out exactly as she has planned.

Hermione makes very few mistakes, and the times when she does add just a tad too much flour or accidentally uses baking soda instead of baking powder have the ability to unravel her for the rest of her day. Therefore, she sticks to her recipes so as not to mix up ingredients and always taste tests her batter before putting it in the oven.

Next, add the eggs.

Just as she’s pulling the carton out of the fridge, the bell chimes on the door, signaling a guest entering the shop.

“Welcome, how may I-”

The words fade from her mouth as she takes in the appearance of a tall man with fiery red hair and the most striking blue eyes she’s ever seen. A crooked smile envelops his face, and the stomach-flipping action almost makes her drop the eggs in her hands onto the floor.

“Hello there.”

“H-hello.” The stammering of her words matches the stammering in her heart.

"May I?" He gestures to the display case and Hermione responds with a single silent nod, too dazed by his presence to add any words.

As he crouches down to look at the sweets, she turns away in an attempt to compose herself. Okay, Hermione, relax. He’s just a customer.

“I reckon I’d like to try one of everything!”

Brushing away specs of flour from her apron, Hermione pivots around while plastering an assured smile to her face. “Really? That’s excellent! Let me box it all up for you.”

“So…I’m new to the village. Is this the best place to satisfy my sweet tooth?”

Hermione bites down on her lip to contain her grin while delicately tying a silver foil satin ribbon around a cupcake box. “I’m normally not one to boast, but yes, I believe so.”

“Hm.” He cocks his head at her, and she can feel her cheeks rising in temperature. “Well, m’glad I happened to walk into your shop, Miss…”

The man gives her an expectant look and she blurts out, “Hermione Granger. Just Hermione.”

A wide grin stretches across his face as he opens one of the boxes and pops a lemon bar into his mouth. While chewing on the sweet treat, he mumbles, “Well, just Hermione. Not only does it look great, it tastes great too!”

Happiness swirls through her veins from his compliment, even if she’s slightly off-put by his fast ability to destroy the ribbon she had just tied into a neat bow and talk through a mouthful of food. “Well, I was hoping so! Are you a baker? Mr…”

“Ron Weasley. Just Ron.” The man chuckles before lifting up one of his shoulders. “I bake a little. What do I owe you?”

“You know what? It’s on me. As long as you promise to return again soon?”

Hermione isn’t quite sure where that flirtatious invitation comes from, but as always she holds her head high, maintaining the clear confidence she’s had from a young age. Ron stares at her for an extended moment with an unreadable expression on his face then shakes his head.

“I have no doubt I’ll be seeing you around. A pleasure to meet you, Hermione Granger.”

Ron disappears out the door, letting the aroma waft out into the street as more customers flood in.

Hermione sucks in a large gulp of air while placing a hand over her heart in an attempt to steady its rapid beating before tending to the first round of curious patrons for the day. Feeling the warmth on her cheeks, she fans her face before bending down to check the oven, making the startling realization that she hadn’t even turned it on.

She’s fast becoming aware that her kitchen isn’t the only thing she’s attracted to.

The afternoon falls into an unusual slump, the typical lunchtime rush ending earlier than anticipated.

“Hm.”

“What’s wrong?” Her best friend and assistant manager of the bakery, Lavender Brown, sidles up next to her carrying a plate of scones to restock the display case.

“Well, I don’t know. I guess I was just expecting — do you hear something?”

Not only has a new shop opened up across the street, but it has a queue snaking around the block. Hermione pushes her nose up against the glass window pane to get a better view, gasping in shock as she reads the storefront sign. Weasley’s Burrow of Desserts.

Weasley. That weasel.

“You’ve got to be joking!” With an aggravated growl, Hermione snatches her coat and swings the door open, not even bothering to respond when Lavender asks where she’s going.

A loud car horn sounds as she crosses the street, paying no mind to oncoming traffic while keeping her eyes set on finding the traitorous man who had the audacity to scope out her bakery earlier that morning. And she gave him her desserts for free!

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Someone calls out when she bypasses the queue entirely and marches right into the new shop.

Hermione is met with vibrant shades of orange and red on the freshly painted walls, two colors that clash together but somehow still manage to provide a cheerful energy that makes a person feel right at home, as annoying as that sentiment is to her.

Her eyes sweep across the room, locating the display counter with piqued interest. The first bakery item she notices are orange cream cupcakes with rich fondant toppings — honestly, who uses fondant? Don’t they know that if too much is added it tastes downright awful?

Another tray piled high with turtle cheesecake bars captures her attention, and the description on the tag makes her cringe, as if she’s just been given the whole recipe without having earned it — bars made with a brownie crust, cream cheese filling, drizzled in homemade caramel and a sprinkle of chopped pecans on top.

“I see you’ve found me, Hermione Granger.”

Oh, she wants to wipe the smirk off Ron Weasley’s face more than anything.

Disregarding any formalities, Hermione launches into her diatribe. “You neglected to mention while you were perusing around my shop — which is right across the street — that you not only bake more than a little but you’ve also decided to encroach on my customers!”

“I didn’t realize you owned the village.” An amusing glint in his eyes distracts her, caught up yet again in that familiar shade of blue-

No. Stop it. Shaking away any unwanted feelings, she stumbles over her words. “I-I don’t. It’s just that I’ve been the only bakery on this street for the last few years.”

“Well, now you’re not.”

Hermione’s jaw almost drops to the floor by the brash nature of his retort.

The nerve of this man.

She points an accusatory finger in his direction. “You were spying on me.”

“Was not.”

“You were! You came into my shop all charming-like-”

“You think I’m charming?” He lends forward with his elbows resting on the glass display case with a massive grin on his face.

“I didn’t say that you were charming, just that you were trying to be.”

"Uh huh.” The tone of his voice indicates that he remains unconvinced. “Can I get you anything? On me, ‘course. I must return the favor."

Her eyes land on a set of butterscotch macarons, coated in a caramel-colored almond shell filled with ganache and cream then topped with a dusting of gold glitter — glitter! She carefully observes the decoration on the carrot cake displayed next to the macarons and she fights the urge to let him know that his cake to icing ratio is off.

“No need to answer, I’ve already boxed up a few of my favorites.” Ron slides a simple white box in her direction. Although her open mouth is poised to tell him off, he beats her to it. “Here ya go! Hope to see you around, Hermione. I’ve got to check in with my customers! Loads of ‘em this morning.”

With a final wink he saunters off, leaving Hermione shell-shocked and wondering how he managed to have the final word in this exchange.

–

“Everything alright?”

Hermione’s feet are loud against the linoleum floor as she stomps to the kitchen in the back of her bakery, Lavender following her in at a cautious distance.

"I don't know how anybody can tolerate being around him!" Hermione snarls, throwing herself onto a stool at the counter before blowing a stray curl out of her eyes.

“Who?”

“That-that man who disguised himself as a customer this morning! Did you know he owns the new bakery across the street? Yeah, I imagine he was scoping out the competition.”

"I've never seen you so passionate about a man in all of your life…" Lavender quips, plopping down with eager intention onto the seat next to her.

"Passionate? Ha! More like disgusted."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Hermione harrumphs, placing her chin in her hand. She had such high hopes for today and is disgruntled to realize that her cheerful spirit is quickly dwindling. Her eyes shift over to the little white box on the counter, and she can’t help but snatch it up and take a bite out of the macaron inside, her mouth positively watering from its crunchy outer shell that morphs into a deliciously creamy sweet from the filling.

“Bugger. They’re delicious.”

“You know, having another bakery nearby might not be such a bad thing.” Lavender rests a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be a competition, Hermione.”

Hermione narrows her eyes to slits, the wheels already turning in her head with ideas to make her bakery display bigger and better than ever. “Oh, but it does.”

Although she’s looking forward to pushing any further thoughts about Ron Weasley and his bakery from her mind, he apparently has a different plan and shows back up in her shop just before closing.

"I think we should collaborate."

Hermione’s hand on the flannel covering the counter freezes mid-cleaning. “I’m sorry?”

"Come over to my shop and bake with me tomorrow,” Ron offers, taking timid steps into the shop. “And maybe I'll share my Mum's secret for making those butterscotch macarons."

"Bake with you?” Hermione dismisses his verbal request with a scoff. “I can't possibly be seen fraternizing with the enemy!"

"The enemy?” If he’s offended at all by her response, he doesn’t show it, instead choosing to wiggle his eyebrows. “I can see that you’re warming up to my charm."

"I thought I told you that you weren't charming?"

“Well, I spoke to your assistant, Lavender, earlier and she seems to believe that you thoroughly enjoyed my macarons.”

Hermione grits her teeth, already thinking of words to spew at her friend tomorrow that aren’t exactly appropriate for polite conversation. "Who do you think you are?"

"A baker. And who are you?"

This frustrating man is challenging her, and she knows all too well that she can’t resist a challenge. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

A pleased smile lights up his face. “Brilliant!”

–

Ron’s kitchen isn’t the cleanest, Hermione surmises as she walks in the next morning, taking note of the disorganized shelves with pots and pans toppling over. He’s already waiting for her, mixing up what appears to be a rather large ball of dough in a stainless steel bowl with his hands.

His eyes brighten as she approaches. “Okay, master baker. Ready to get started?”

Hermione tries not to take offense at his comment. She doesn’t consider herself a master baker, but she does take pride in her accomplishments and it shows.

“What should we begin with?”

Taking his hands out of the doughy mixture, he waggles a finger in her direction. “I’m going to challenge you not to open your recipe book, for starters.”

A deep crease forms between Hermione’s brows. She likes recipes like she likes structure. If followed correctly, the end result will always be the same. The thought of not knowing what they will create terrifies her.

“In fact,” Ron continues, “I don’t think we should even worry about any measurements. I usually don't anyway.”

Her mouth falls open. “You never measure your ingredients?”

“Never.”

“But, baking is a science. How can you possibly guarantee that what you create will turn out?”

“I solemnly swear my baking is just that good.” He finishes his witty remark by sticking his tongue out at her.

Hermione holds back her own. In her opinion, he comes off as too lazy to perfect his practice, but she won’t say that.

Ron chuckles after viewing the displeasure on her face. “In all seriousness, I don’t usually bake the same thing twice. I find it exciting to try something new and not always know how it’s gonna turn out. I happen to think sticking to a recipe is a bit boring. We always have the creative freedom to deviate from them, you know.”

“I know that.” Hermione can’t hide the defensiveness in her tone. “I happen to like my sweets straight-forward and reliable.”

“Much like yourself, I presume?”

When she doesn’t answer, Ron lets out a loud exhale, pushing his hip against the counter as he faces her. “Listen, do you want to spend your life always baking a cake someone else created? Or do you want to experiment outside of your comfort zone and create something new but also potentially amazing?”

He has a valid point. And Hermione wouldn’t be Hermione if she didn’t rise up to the opportunity she has to explore a different approach to baking.

“So, what are you making right now?” She nods towards the ball of dough now resting on a floured surface.

Beaming, Ron joyfully remarks, “I don’t really know! That’s the fun part, innit?”

Hermione’s mouth twists into a grimace, trying hard not to be too baffled by his words. He is, after all, unlike anyone she’s ever met and she’s still working out whether or not that’s a good thing.

“Come ‘round the table.” He waves her into position before standing behind her, both arms circling around her body as he places the heel of his palms on the sticky dough. His hot breath on her neck sends a tingle down her spine. “You can start by kneading the dough...put some love in it.”

She’s captivated by his active demonstration, pressing down hard on the dough and continuously reshaping it into a ball until it’s no longer sticky. It’s oh so satisfying to see him work with a precision that she didn’t know he had, and she cranes her neck to view his mouth set in a firm line as he continues kneading with patient determination.

“Now, let’s set it aside for a bit to rise.” Ron pushes away the dough covered in parchment paper and swipes his palms together to dust off any excess flour.

“Oh, wait. You’ve got flour on your nose.”

“Where?” Ron rubs the wrong side, making her giggle.

“Just there.” Before she fully comprehends what she’s doing, her thumb reaches up to swipe the powder from his nose.

Ron catches her hand without taking his eyes off of her face, a look resembling one of sheer desire shining in his irises. She inhales a sharp breath, overwhelmed by the unexpected sensation of having him so close to her. The next few seconds happen as if in slow motion, her mouth parting in anticipation as she watches his eyes dart to her lips.

An unmistakable whimper comes out from somewhere inside of her right as he captures her lips with his own. Hermione clutches at his shirt as she presses her hips into his, on the precipice of releasing a carnal energy that she didn’t know she had.

How is it possible to be this turned on over baking?

She vaguely hears the clattering of utensils and feels herself being lifted up onto the surface where they had been working, disregarding all previous tasks. Her legs instinctively wrap around Ron’s waist, pulling him close as his mouth moves over hers with a hard intensity, yet so soft and gentle at the same time.

“So, how is today’s lesson so far?” Ron mumbles against her lips as she feels his own curving into a smile.

“Could do with more, I gather.”

Many essential lessons have been learned, but the most important lesson of all?

Well, for once, Hermione isn’t in such a rush to figure out the answer.

#romione #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #romione drabble #romione fan fiction #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron x hermione #ron weasley x hermione granger #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #meet cute #muggle au #baking #romione baking #happy birthday adenei #cheesyficwriter

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years ago

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Twilight if Bella was Death in the same way as Lily/Harry/Azrael? I feel like Bella has unique interpretation of the world that is somewhat like Lily's and a sense of denial not unlike your Harry's. Thanks I love your metas!

Anon is referring to Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus, October, and probably When Harry Met Tom. Also, hello meta people, before I vomited opinions onto the internet I used to write seriously weird fanfiction. I still do.

To recap for those that don't read my fanfiction: in these stories Harry (or Ellie in the case of "Lily") is "Death", a mysterious figure with even more mysterious and seemingly unlimited power over the universe. A god, essentially.

Anon points out that Bella has some marked similarities between "Lily's" Lily, in her strange perspective on the world and all the players in it, and Harry from "When Harry Met Tom" who is convinced she's absolutely normal and everything is fine and you can light evildoers on fire with your bare hands and "the power of friendship".

Anon's... not wrong.

So, with that, what if Bella was a god?

Bella the Goddess: The Pretty Much Canon Route

Well... potentially, nothing changes. Lily in her fic notices her abilities because she rises from the dead and, from an early age, meets those who point it out to her. Sure, reality also seems to be falling apart, but that has nothing to do with her and everything to do with reality.

Bella, in a lot of ways, is a lot more oblivious than a five-year-old Ellie Potter.

Bella meets aliens in the cafeteria that no one else seems to notice and learns they're vampires who aren't actually vampires. Bella has prophetic slayer dreams every now and then. Bella hallucinates Edward Cullen who occasionally feeds her information she might not actually have known before hand. Bella's brain is silent. Bella used her gift to protect an army from the most powerful gifts in the world in only a month.

Bella could potentially be far more powerful than she is (this is probably the case, actually, Bella's gift is terrifying) and she... just... never notices.

But that's boring. We already have canon, clearly this ask was meant to get us, well, not canon.

Bella and the Art of Being Sisyphus

Bella has some fatal accident when she's a child. She drank drain cleaner from Renee's non-childproof cupboard. However, because Bella's an immortal god, she comes back from the dead.

Bella thus grows up being very confused. Bella knows she's definitely died several times throughout her childhood thanks to just a) childhood accidents b) various misadventures fueled by a lack of sense of any caution but everyone keeps talking about this dying stuff.

Bella realizes fairly quickly that most people, most organic life... doesn't come back like she does.

By the time Bella's in early elementary school she probably realizes she's an alien.

She may look like a combination of Charlie and Renee (and this disturbs her greatly as that can't be right) but something is funky town in Bella's gene pool. Renee assures Bella that she did not take part in any government experiments while pregnant.

And after too many Saturday morning cartoons involving alien invaders, dissections, etc., Bella becomes terrified of doctors and DNA tests. She is convinced her life will turn into ET at any moment now and she's going to have to escape from people dressed in space suits on a flying bike.

(And yes, she checked, she can make the bike fly.)

Bella probably tries to phone home a number of times and... it probably works. Because this is Twilight, a beautiful, strange, universe with all sorts of things in it.

Bella spends a year in space, it goes poorly, and returns to Earth with none the wiser and very traumatized/learned from her experience.

I imagine her life is filled with very strange misadventures that Bella just thinks are normal. Or, at least, normal for her. That time Bella travelled in time, stepped on a butterfly, and then there were Frog People for half a day until Bella fixed it? Yeah, that was a thing.

That time some poor boy asked Bella on a date in middle school and joined her for an underwater quest where they tried to see if James Cameron's Abyss was real or not? Yeah, he hasn't spoken to her since. He's also terrified of fish now. And megaladons.

Beautiful marble people in the Forks cafeteria? Bella assumes that one's her fault. She doesn't know how, she doesn't know what she did, but she is 100% certain that the Cullens (and the fact that everyone thinks they're human) is her fault somehow.

She must have stepped on another butterfly when she wasn't looking.

Bella's very candid about all of this with Edward (which of course horrifies him because THE SECRET) but Bella has absolutely no sense of self preservation. Dying's obnoxious, and sometimes painful, but she's been there and done that.

Edward somehow still convinces himself that Bella's a beautiful maiden in need of his protection. This is even after Bella shows off her own totally awesome gift(s). "You see, Edward, I just made a dimension of shrimp. Not sure when anyone's ever going to need that. But wouldn't it be awesome?"

Edward thinks that's nice, hamburger thinks its special.

Bella can't believe she has friends. Even if they're blood drinking aliens. This. Is. Amazing.

She takes the Cullens to space and pointedly doesn't visit her alien friends. They don't talk about that adventure. It did not go well. By the way, did you know that Bella is worshipped in the Andromeda star system? Yeah, that's a thing. But we're not talking about it.

Carlisle starts becoming very concerned that Bella might, in fact, be a clueless second coming. Because there's gifted humans then there's, well, this.

Edward is still convinced he's a danger to Bella and that Bella is an ordinary human with an over active imaginaton.

Whenever Bella does come across the Volturi, Aro's very tempted, but also for once recognizes that this might be too spicy. Bella's this powerful now, what the hell will happen when she becomes a vampire? Caius' vote is an adamant no for the same reason. They decide to classify her as a supernatural creature/give her a pass on the law because. Well. The immortality thing.

And yeah, things like that.

This is one of those ideas that's really better written as a fic than it is as a rambling tumblr post. But know I just picture zany misadventures, Edward being Edward, and all of that good stuff.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #lily and the art of being sisyphus #october #when harry met tom #bella swan #meta #headcanon #opinion

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obae-me · 4 years ago

Text

Upside Down CH-1

Author’s Note: Hi, yes, hello, welcome to the fic series that no one asked for! Do I have other things I need to finish? Yes! But has this been the only thing on my mind for the past four days? Also yes! For some reason I was incapable of writing anything else! Thanks, brain, for this out of the blue obsession!

Tags: Reverse AU

Word Count: 4587

Next Chapter

Hell Away From Hell

Wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was a mistake. It had to be. Although, with every clink of your restraints, your reality was becoming ever clearer. The chains rattled, echoing down the hall like a set of twisted wind chimes. Ones that sung of your dismal fortune. The demon ahead of you yanked the lead attached to your cuffs, sending you stumbling forward. You bit your lip to keep from cursing. Steading your body, you took their less-than-subtle message and picked up the pace. Keeping your eyes glued towards your destination, your stomach sank to your knees. Why? Why had you been brought to the castle? You hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, not anything to warrant being escorted by the palace guards in chains. And as they led you silently inside, past the polished halls and gaudy antiques, your fate pounded just fervently in your mind as your heart was in your chest.

They were going to present you in front of the prince.

It was torture in and of itself just making it to the throne room. The worst part about it all was your rampant imagination. You could only imagine what type of horrific techniques the prince was aware of. Halting in front of the large double doors, the demon behind you moved to open the entrance. Holding it open, the guard tugging you along guided you in. You managed to take only a few steps inside the room before you were practically thrown inside, your body tumbling over the ground. Both the guards smirked at you, flashing their pointed fangs in their conceited gestures before shutting the door, leaving you alone inside.

“MC.” All the air inside your lungs had conveniently escaped. Lifting your chest off the ground, you tightened your lips as you met his gaze. Those glistening emerald eyes pierced right through you. Quickly, you lowered your eyes, attempting to show as much respect as you could to gain his favor.

“M-my lord.”

The melodic note that left his throat was a mix between a laugh and a coo. “Now, now, none of that groveling. I had you brought here to ask you a favor!” You could hear him stand to his feet, and you watched his shoes approach, clicking against the marbled tile. Then, you felt the smooth skin of his hand caress your right horn. The sudden sensitive feeling had your tail rapidly twitch and tuck under your leg. He pushed your horns back, raising your chin so you could look up at him. His dark hair drifted down across his forehead, curling around his horns that curved above his head like a broken halo, his face soft and inviting, and yet your gut wouldn’t let you believe it. “Please, from now on, just call me Simeon.”

Simeon hummed as he lifted his tea cup to his lips. He had been hospitable enough, but you still couldn’t shake this feeling of unease. Plus...what he had brought you in to ask you was...well, something short of insanity. You continued to rub your wrists where your constraints had been. And as much as the prince of hell apologized for his guard’s brutish behavior, you had a feeling it was purposeful. A message of sorts. Even now, as he had his little servant bring in sweets and tea as sickly sweet as it could get, it all tasted bitter to your tongue. “So let me get this straight,” you started. “You want me to be a member of this…”

The prince tilted his head, eyes practically shining. “Restoration program.”

You cleared your throat after the little scone this blonde demon had given you made your throat run dry. “R-right. And I’m assuming I don’t have a choice in the matter?”

His voice was soft, but the light reflecting off his horns and his fangs suggested another answer. “We all have choices, MC.”

Swallowing your nervousness, you lowered your head again. “But, with all due respect, sir...why? Why a restoration program?”

Another voice chuckled behind your figure. “Because, why not?” You strained your neck, getting a view at the newcomer behind you. White hair, a mischievous smile, and something unknown swimming at the back of those dark eyes. Not only that, but the figure was wearing clothes as pure as clouds, with a certain glow to him.

Simeon stood, hand out to greet this person as if they were an old friend-and for all you knew, they might’ve been. “Solomon, how good to see you.”

The new guest-now known to you as Solomon-beamed. “Likewise. You’re looking well.” He turned, giving you a once-over to take you in before nodding. “And you are MC, yes?”

Glaring, already feeling your skin about to burn, you leaned away from him. “And you’re an angel.” Your distrustful attitude let him frown for just a moment, but whether it was just his angelic nature or his personality, that smile was right back on his face.

“Yes, well, the plan requires an angel, so Simeon personally asked me for my hand in this matter.”

The both of them could tell that you were unbelievably confused, so Simeon gestured for the angel to take a seat at the table. “Luke.” The prince gestured to his small servant, the one who had not only brought you sweets but had taken the liberty to be staring you down the entire time. Finally, he turned his attention away from you. “Please do me a favor and get our new guest some refreshments.” The lesser demon squinted at you, nearly growled at the angel, and then took his leave with rapid little steps. Simeon laughed quietly to himself. “Don’t worry about him, he’s not used to others quite yet. But, MC.” With your name mentioned, you straightened your posture. “I’ve been planning this for quite some time. It’s been a desire of mine to bring the three realms closer together.” You couldn’t help but wonder why, what purpose it served, but you kept your mouth shut. “And while I’ve started to make decent progress fixing the old wounds between the Devildom and Celestial Realm, most of my kingdom and Solomon’s people refuse to make connections with the humans.”

Mortals...even just the mention managed to leave a heavy pit in your stomach. “If I may speak.” You waited for the prince’s go-ahead before speaking your mind. “What would be the point of connecting with the humans? They serve little purpose. They’re either so corrupt they destroy their own kind or they think they’re so pure they isolate themselves or get themselves killed in the name of their twisted justice.” Speaking so passionately against the idea, you didn’t realize your nails had grown into talons, leaving marks in the wooden table. You took a breath, reclaiming your typical form. “They can’t even do themselves any good, what makes you think they’d be good for our realms?”

Solomon, an expression of understanding mixed with pity, bounced a little in his seat. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” He turned his head to Simeon, who was nodding at you with a bit of approval.

“That’s what this plan is all about. Testing them, observing them. We’ll be watching these humans, and at the end of this project, we’ll be able to determine if they’re ready and worthy of being brought together with us.” The ruler crossed one leg over the other, his tone making it sound as it was as simple as eating pie.

Setting down the fork to your pastry, you felt a sense of dread wash over you. “And by we you mean?”

“Why, you and Solomon of course! A demon and an angel, both working together to restore the bond between the human world and ours! The Demonic and Angelic Restoration program! Or D.A.R. -dare- for short.” If it weren’t for the horns, you’d almost think this demon was an angel with the way he eagerly talked about restoring bonds and bettering the nature of the realms. But, then you felt nauseous.

“What...what exactly do you need me to do to help with this...program? And why me?”

It was actually the angel that spoke up. “I’m sure you’re aware of the Morningstars?”

It was such a silly question, you ended up scoffing. “Who doesn’t down here? Those brothers are filled with so much corruption and chaos they end up fueling about half the lesser demons down here...why?”

They both straight up ignored your question and instead asked you some of their own. Simeon leaned forward, looking at you intently. “It took me quite a bit of time to find you MC. Most people don’t know you exist, and those that do hardly know your name. You simply are known to most as Isolation. Is it true that you’ve never made a pact with a human? Rumor is that you even refuse to subsist off their sins. And you’ve never taken a soul? That’s typically unheard of nowadays.”

Shifting in your seat, you gave it to them straight. “It’s true. I do whatever I can to avoid contact. Haven’t even seen a human in the past millennia. Haven’t talked to one in about twice that time.”

Clapping his hands together, Simeon let out an amazed sigh. “Perfect. You will be able to have a fresh eye! A clean slate. An unbiased--well, mostly unbiased opinion. You won’t be tempted to corrupt them, you’ll give me honest answers.”

“Plus,” the angel agreed, “if you have the strength and willpower to live without human sustenance and influence for this long, you probably will have the patience to keep from killing them. If anyone could manage to live with the Morningstars, it would be you, from what I’ve heard.”

You were grateful you had put down your drink a while ago. Your breath caught in your throat. “Wait, excuse me, what did you say? Live...with the…”

“Mr. Morningstar!” A laugh, a handshake, even a pat on the shoulder, it nearly made you ill watching the upcoming king of the Devildom greet a human like this so casually. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at this mortal...one of the Morningstars, the eldest. The one who fueled the most demons without even knowing about it. People down in the Devildom called him by Pride. A human world CEO-whatever that meant. He was powerful, influential, not to mention ridiculously rich. And he’d do whatever it took to keep his status, even at the misfortune of plenty of other people. His suit and posture told you pretty much all you needed to know about him. A fancy well tailored pitch black suit, a striking red tie with a subtle but regal diamond design, diamond cufflinks, the works. It was as if dust and winkles knew to avoid him entirely. His hair was as dark as his suit, save for the ends which were greying. He didn’t seem that old, so you wondered if it was intentional or simply stress. You thought you heard someone say that once, that humans could get grey hair from stress. Did they all possess capabilities to change their hair based on their emotions? That human lady you saw outside the building with the blue hair must’ve been feeling something intense.

“Mr-” The human you had come to see was cut off.

“Please, you know to call me Simeon by now!”

The mortal cleared his throat. “Simeon…” The human glanced at you, and raised his chin as he took Simeon by the shoulders and brought him away from you. If you had been a human, it would’ve been a decent tactic to keep you out of earshot. Unfortunately, you could still hear everything they were saying. “I know you have good standing with the company, and I’m pleased to know you respect and trust me with such a task, but...this is far from business.” You could feel his eyes on you. “I have to respectfully decline your request. I don’t think I can allow them to live with us for a year. You know my family.”

“It would only be for a year, and I know you have plenty of room in that house of yours!” Simeon laughed a bit and then lowered his voice. You could feel the alluring pull of his influence flood the space. The human stiffened, his intuition picking up on a shift in the room. “Besides, Lucifer. You know I wouldn’t ask for a favor like this without some proper and well deserved remuneration. Listen...I happen to have something on the head of that business owner that’s been butting heads with your company. Wouldn’t it be nice to have them completely out of the picture? Not only is that increasing your profit, but if they happen to...I don’t know, completely go bankrupt, that little building of theirs on the corner of Main is some prime real estate.” Reaching into his pocket, Simeon pulled out a small...plastic...rectangle of sorts, with metal on one end. “I got everything right here.” Smiling, one hand firmly against Lucifer’s upper back, he looked him right in the eyes and whispered something you knew would have this human caught. “You can’t let them bother you like this. You need to show them and everyone else who you are, and that you’re not to be messed with.”

It took the mortal a moment of internal struggle. Decline the offer and figure things out himself without assistance? Or swallow the smallest bit of ego for self satisfaction? Either way, this mortal was past helping. Already drowning in pride. Eventually, he gripped the object, tucking it into a pocket beneath his suit jacket. Despite being handed assistance, he still found a way to be demanding. “Alright, but no more than a year, and if I feel like anything is going awry, I’m sending them away. Is it really too unreasonable to just set them up on their own? Surely for you it’s no problem.”

Backing up slightly after his incentive worked, Simeon shook his head. “I would feel endlessly guilty leaving alone, desolate, isolated, after what happened. Poor thing...they haven’t even said a word to me in days.” That last part wasn’t a lie. You’d nearly refused to say anything to him since being dragged to the human world. Prince or no prince. “My poor cousin, suddenly losing all their family like that. It’s tragic, isn’t it? Losing people you love?”

Lucifer, with his arms folded, let his hand tightly grip the fabric of one of his sleeves. His eyes lowered the slightest touch, his jaw tightening. “It...is...I know it all too well.” You caught a hint of some emotion from the mortal.

“Then you know that what would be best for them right now is company. Trust me, I wouldn’t have brought them to you if I didn’t think it would help. Besides, this is a win for all parties involved, right?” Simeon gestured to the gift Lucifer had tucked away, and the last string of resistance had been snipped.

Sighing, the human looked at the luxurious watch on his wrist. “I’ll take them home. Let my brothers know what’s happening. Is it too much to assume they’ll be better behaved with a guest in the house?”

Laughing once more, the prince shrugged. If only Lucifer knew who he was in the presence of. “You’ll all just have to find out!” Patting the other man on the shoulder, Simeon then came over to you with his arms outstretched. “It’s all settled, MC!” He pulled you into a hug, taking the time to speak quietly to you. “Remember to keep your identity a secret. I’ll be checking up on you and Solomon once a month for a report. Keep them safe. Play nice.” He pulled apart, coming around behind you and settling his hands on your shoulders. “And remember, what Mr. Morningstar is doing is unbelievably nice, so make sure to thank him and keep yourself out of trouble.”

You broke your vow of silence out of irritation. “I’m not a child you’re sending away to school. I know how to keep my own head on my shoulders.” You attempted to brush his hands off but the grip was tightened. Swallowing your frustration, you kept yourself from grimacing, looking at the fabled Lucifer Morningstar. “Thank you...for letting me live with you.”

For a human, he had a tenacity for picking up on things. He noticed your lie, giving you a stare down of his own before grabbing his phone. You only recently figured out what those devices were. Simeon had made sure he gifted you one of your own, since apparently it was the main source of communication in this realm. Too strange, but you picked it up fairly quickly. Lucifer just raised his head and pressed his cell against his ear. “Just make sure you refrain from being as irksome as my brothers.” The line he was dialing picked up. “Yes, have a driver prepare to come pick me up. And someone please contact my brothers for me so they know I’m bringing home a...guest.”

It was going to be a long year…

The...metal contraption rumbled, making your head feel light. Without magic to get around, they had to use...these things. The movement slowed till it came to a stop. Looking out the pane of glass, you peered forward to see what the issue was. A big red circular light shone a bright crimson in front of the lane. Was it a threat? If so, why was the world seemingly filled with them? Then the eye turned green and the long carriage rumbled back to life. It was completely different than the last time you had been here.

“Before you even step foot in my home, we need to set some ground rules.” Even just the sound of his voice almost physically rubbed you the wrong way. You bit the inside of your cheek. Play nice, the prince had said. How long could you keep your patience around these mortals? You looked up at him, feeling him stare you down to the corrupt depths of your soul. “Since you’re going to be living with us for so long, you’re going to have to follow the same rules I give my brothers? Understand?”

Was this all worth it? Would having your soul be torn to shreds be that bad? “Yes.”

He nodded, then decided his attention would be better focused towards whatever he had on that electronic device of his. He gave you orders without even looking at you. No wonder all the lesser demons who fawned after him were so pretentious. “No parties. No pets. You can stay up however long you want, but you must be back at the house no later than midnight. You can have your own room but you must keep it clean, don’t expect me to hire a maid for you. You’re responsible for looking after yourself. I might be providing a roof over your head, but anything you need is up to you. You break anything, you’re responsible for replacing it. Just use the basic level of common sense and we should have no trouble. Hopefully the year will be over before we—oh excuse me.” Without another word he picked another call, his third one since you’d been blackmailed into this ride. You just gave a gentle sigh and stared out the window. Just a few days ago you’d still existed in your botherless existence. A personal utopia of your own making. Now you were in this...hell away from hell, the scent of smog and exhaust still burning the inside of your nose.

The rest of the ride was spent with you trying to think of ways to escape this fate, but finding none in sight. You didn’t need to fully see the building to get this overwhelming wave of impurity. The tempting allure of sin. Practically a demon buffet. These morons were just screaming to be killed or worse, eaten. Even just approaching the gate to the driveway, you could see remnants of spirits, demons without full forms clawing at the fence. Wisps of black sinking into their sidewalk. But not even those, you could smell the presence of other lesser demons...but more dangerous ones. Outside the gate were small crowds, not too many, but enough to safely conceal their presence. Photographers, journalists, fans, wherever they were, they were eager to get in. And amongst the rabble stood demons pretending to be mortals in an attempt to sink their fangs into one of the Morningstars. You slunk down in your seat, trying to conceal your presence, but you were sure they’d be able to feel you. The car slipped past all of them, approaching the first set of gates. Whoever was patrolling the vehicle pressed their fingers against a small pad attached to a pillar by the gate. It waited for a moment, then made an affirming noise before the gate swung open. The cries of mortal and hidden demons alike pleading for the smallest sliver of attention from this human made you feel sick.

Despite having nearly ignored you the whole time, Lucifer scoffed. “You’ll get used to it.” The curved metal fence shut behind you, and the sound of the crowd slowly faded as you pulled up in front of the massive house. If anything, it reminded you a little of home. It was an old fashioned looking house, but fanciful nonetheless. With dark stone, piercing towers, arched windows, and an overall gothic aesthetic. You managed to take a moment to breathe. At least there was one silver lining. Lucifer stepped out of the idle vehicle first, paying you no mind as he approached the steps to the door. Slightly panicking, you tried simply pushing the door before noticing the small handle. Pulling it unlocked it, and you rapidly exited, feeling the motion sickness fade with your feet on the ground. You followed the mortal to the door, and was slightly pleased when he put his phone away to open the door, leaving it open for you. Lucifer shut the door, a small high pitched noise ringing through your ears. You turned and watched him mess with a little panel near the door. “Our security is top of the market. I make sure the code is changed every day, so if you’re not inside by midnight, I hope you enjoy camping.”

You were about to speak up about that, but both of you were bombarded with noise. A noise you would later learn to get used to. “Oi! Lucifer!” A bundle of energy came racing down the stairs. Wild hair, dark skin, rings on nearly every finger, you recognized this individual without having to ask his name. You could feel the influence. Greed. Demons almost loved this brother more than Pride, because from what you’d heard, he’d make deals impulsively with demons without knowing their true intentions. As long as money or something expensive was in front of him, he’d jump for anything. It had gotten him in more than enough trouble, and it made him too much of a prime target. At least Lucifer knew how to look over his shoulder. The second brother confronted the eldest. He didn’t even glance at you. “Hey, I need some cash! For some reason my card keeps declining...you can spot me right?”

Lucifer didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

“Eh? Why not?! I did that thing the other day for you, remember?”

“Hm?” Lucifer tilted his head, taking the time to recall-or pretending to. “Which thing would that be? Would it have been before or after you stole and immediately maxed out my card?” Lowering his eyes, the older one gave off a menacing smile.

Mammon took a step back, muttering. “O-oh you found about that, huh?”

The smile turned into a full on yell. “Of course I found out! I got a call from the bank as soon as they saw the purchase! What exactly do you need a golden tiger statue for, Mammon? Seriously, you’re absolutely ridiculous! I returned it by the way, and in the meantime I cancelled all your cards.” Mammon went to open his mouth in anger but didn’t have the chance to say anything. “You can try to find some extra work to pay off all the bills you’ve left me with. And if I think you’re ready, I’ll reopen your accounts in two months.” The effort of shouting sent Pride’s eye twitching. He lifted a hand to press against his forehead, the blood draining from his face. You shifted ever so slightly in your spot and he groaned. “Right, you’re here. Mammon, this is MC.”

Eyebrows raised, he jumped a little when he finally spotted you were in the room. “Wait, wait, wait, that whole thing with someone staying with us for a year wasn’t a joke?”

“No.” Although the slight warble to his voice seemed that that fact was just now settling in. “It wasn’t. And since you’ve so kindly volunteered yourself, you can take their bags and show them to their room.” He simply turned. No welcome, no tour, no warmth in those cold eyes of his.

“Hey! Come back here!” Yet the younger sibling showed no signs of chasing after him. “Lucifer!” His older brother just quickly headed up the stairs and disappeared into the house. Was it really going to require a full year of observation? Just from what you were seeing right now, you wanted nothing to do with humans. Nothing. Mammon ran a hand through his hair, one of his strands getting stuck in one of his rings, but he tugged it out without noticing, like it was a daily occurrence. “I can’t believe this.” You could watch as the anger started to swell within him. “Screw this, I’m out of here!” You were ready for him to leave, to give into his emotions. He had wrapped his hand around the door handle before he stopped. Pausing, he just tutted to himself before shoving his hands in his jacket-pockets, looking in your direction but not fully at you. “You want the guest room we have upstairs or down?” Loud, brash, rude in some ways, but there was a weird sort of innocence about him. You simply shrugged. He nodded, grasping one of your bags suddenly, gesturing you to follow. “I’ll give you the downstairs one. Most of our rooms are on the second floor, so it’s a bit quieter down here, plus it stays cooler.” He led you past the entrance hall and back into the rest of the house. “Plus, it’s easier to sneak out from here, but you didn’t hear that from me. I’m guessing Lucifer gave you the whole rule spiel?”

You restrained the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah.”

He hissed in air through his teeth. “Sucks, man, are you sure you want to stay here?”

The pain around your wrists was still too prominent. Etched into your skin was a mark, a line of runes and symbols around your wrists. Who knew demons could give temporary pacts to other demons? Simeon ensured you a small fraction of his power, just in case you ran into trouble. But in exchange he had a hold on you, able to summon you to him whenever he needed you. It was your chain keeping you imprisoned here. There was no running. There was no hiding. “I didn’t have a choice.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke

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boytouya · 4 years ago

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𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 / 𝙇𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙎𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

warning: short mention of t-shots/needles, slight angst

words: 1.1k

request: “Hi Cloud! I hope you’re having a great day :) Could i request Dabi with a black, transman boyfriend who is attempting to subtly ask Dabi to marry him and Dabi catches the hints but just… doesn’t want to be the one proposed to first (if that makes any sense) so he keeps acting oblivious for like months and eventually reader has had enough and just pins him down, slides to his knees and is like, “Dabi, I’m gonna die if you don’t marry me” and Dabi’s just a blushing mess because… why is reader on the floor crying with desperation for him? He didn’t think people could want him, let alone so badly. -🌨”

a/n: this has been sitting in my inbox for so long but i finally got to it! i’m so sorry for the long wait. still experimenting with my writing style... so i’m sorry if it’s wonky. i don’t proofread or have anyone to beta read my fics, so some words may be out of place. i��m sorry!

Dabi never considered himself unlovable, he was just unsure whether he had the potential to be loved. To cherish another being, nurture their soul and protect them from the raw, frostbitten anger of the world till his every last breath; he wondered if he had the ability to do that. So he continuously plays dumb, pretends to never fully understand what you’re asking because, quite frankly, he’s afraid. He’s afraid his love for you will overflow. Afraid the flames separating your bond from the cruelty of the universe will set the bond itself aflame and burn it into ashes and stardust. Then all he’d have left are the pieces of you, the ashes he can’t seem to wash off his skin.

Yet he holds your hand anyway. Admiring the contrast in your skin, pressing his hand into yours for as long as he can-to get as much contact as he can- feeling your thumb run over his knuckles and the tips of your ring finger tracing along his jagged skin. You hold his hand like it’s nothing. You know he could burn you whenever he pleases, if ever. But here you are. The sweat on his palm feels like thick layers upon layers of gasoline. But here you are.

You ask him again and again, with so much subtly it’s almost painfully obvious. Like clockwork, his mouth already on autopilot, Dabi’s lips part and his voice (which suddenly sounds so foreign to his own ears) escapes before he can actually consider it. He’s afraid he’d accept a million times over if he gave himself time to think. Truly, he does love you. His love for you has his heart full until it pops. And you see it every day, you hear it everyday. It explodes in the middle of the night, when even the stars expose their vulnerability, when he holds onto you and expresses his gratitude through whispers, dreams, and sleepless nights.

And maybe he wants to be in control of the situation. He wants to hear you say yes, watch you nod with stars in your eyes when finally feel how the universe revolves around you. How the Sun makes it its mission to land on you. And it does it so beautifully, the way highlights your skin just right, and browns your skin further.

“Dabi,” You begin, slotting your right hand above your boyfriend's shoulder and the other on its opposite. He has nowhere else to look but at you. He leans his head back against the wall, staring through the curtains of loose strands of jet black hair. Straight into your eyes and naturally curled eyelashes, nowhere for the eye to travel besides the expanse of skin, hair, and full lips. Those of which he’d kissed a million times before, and if it weren't for the thigh you had slotted between his own, he’d lean in to kiss you. An exasperated sigh sounds from that very area, making the villain snap his gaze back upward. “I’m begging you. If you don’t marry me right now, I’ll die.”

There’s so much desperation laced in your voice, and although Dabi is doing his best to mask the trembling deep within his bone marrow with a sly grin and lidded eyes, he can’t help but flush over the small amount of healthy skin on his cheeks. Cherry red and pairing with his purple scars beautifully, blending up and outward into small freckles and silver staples. He’s always been so beautiful.

He whistles, relaxing his shoulders so they melt into the wall and his body slumps against the thigh keeping him upright. In all honesty he doesn't know how to respond, opting for the safest sound he can make. Of all people, you want to be with him? He was never anything special. There would always be someone better than him. But you didn’t want someone better, you wanted Dabi.

You wanted to place a ring on his finger, you wanted to wipe the windows of his soul clean and use nothing but your blood sweat and tears to do so. You wanted to love him until separated by death, but you knew, even after that, you’d still be smitten. You wanted his everything. His heart, which had never belonged to anyone else. His lips, which you’d kissed a thousand times. His eyes, the same ones you often found yourself lost in, and mind. You never understood what was going on in that head of his, but it didn’t matter. Even if he was spiraling out of control, he’d always find a way to come back around to you.

His heart pounds against his chest, as if the adrenaline coursing through his veins sent his heart plummeting from a dangerous height into a field of flowers. Flowers bloomed because of you, flowers you planted and loved until they grew strong and stable. Stable enough to keep his heart from breaking on impact. Okay, shit. He really, truly does love you. And clearly you feel the same way toward him. He wanted to wake up and see you by his side, with a sleepy grin and disheveled head covering halfway off your head. He wanted to burn down cities with your hand in his, light up the sky with blue flames that burned ten times brighter around you. Of course, it would be an unconventional marriage with unconventional people and even weirder traditions. But that’s exactly what he wants, he wants to be with you.

He wanted to be with you when you’re sitting hunched over on the toilet, a needle in your hand as he helps you take your first T-shot. He wanted to be with you when you had bad days. He wanted to be with you when you had good ones. He wants to help you wash your hair, he wants to spend hours staring at you while you go about your daily life. You were his boyfriend, the light of his life, the one person he saw himself devoted to. You, you, you….

“Alright, you win,” Dabi says finally, shimmying through the confines of your arms and pulling something out of his back pocket. His lips stay pursed up into it’s finally out and on display. A ring, definitely stolen, with a custom band and large diamonds around its perimeter. The band was clear, but the ashes molded into it looked almost like marble. His lips twist into a sly grin, the dimples of his cheeks deepening as he slowly shifts the ring between three fingers. It’s beautiful, definitely worth more than your yearly salary, and you can tell Dabi asked for it to be made especially for you before stealing it. “I’ll marry you. But only if you marry me first.”

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wandaluvstacos · 2 years ago

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CHAPTER SIX IS NOW UP

In the city of Yukiktrum, the hierarchy is clear even when the laws are not: Alphrim rule, betsra serve, and ometki bear young. Claiming a part of the city is easy, but keeping your territory is not, so Alprhim like Chramkut govern with talon and tooth. Maintaining power means control access to ometki, and by selling access to both them and their eggs, Chramkut has turned Themself into a ruthless and wealthy warlord.

Untkra once served as Chramkut’s prime ometki, but that time has passed, and Untkra has been replaced by someone younger. After one failed escape, it was only Untkra’s history with Chramkut that saved them from execution. Untkra knows that getting caught trying again will get them executed, but Unktra is willing to sacrifice everything if it means leaving the conflict-ridden city of Yukiktrum behind. This time, Chramkut’s prime laden ometki wants out, and they’ve begged for Untkra’s help. Untkra is done bearing offspring Untkra will never meet. It’s this way or death.

However, the desert landscape beyond the walls of Yukiktrum is hostile and unknown, and there’s no guarantee that there’s anything out there worth escaping to. What Untkra may not be ready for is what hope lays beyond the dunes, and the redemption that a new home can offer. Yet when another ometki needs saving, Yukiktrum calls Untkra back in what could be Untkra’s most daring rescue yet.

Genre: Sci-Fi

Rating: 18+

T/W: This story is dark in nature, and while nothing explicit is ever shown, there are repeated references to rape (including underage), sexual slavery, and I suppose what equates to child trafficking (is selling eggs considered child trafficking?). There is also violence, murder, drug use, and prejudice/bigotry. This story also contains the trappings of a/b/o. It’s not so closely married to the trope as most a/b/o fics, but it is quite obviously based on it.

Anyway, don’t read if you think egg-laying a/b/o aliens is weird, lol. Otherwise, welcome to the show!

Excerpt:

Suddenly Hatham’s face twisted and the room fell away into darkness. Now Untkra was sweating in a hot, dark, windowless room, their arms locked at their sides. They’d been tied there for hours, trembling, terrified. And through the door Untkra could see Their shadow now, the size of Them, the chipped and cracked crown. Then They were in the room with Untkra, slithering through the door and growing more giant by the second until They were everywhere, looming over Untkra and pinning them there with those vicious purple eyes. Chramkut’s skin was a deep red, their stripes a bold gold, but the harsh lighting turned them into black and white— sharp cheekbones highlighted, eyes doused in shadow.

“Please,” Untkra gasped. “Please no.” They hadn’t been allowed a bathroom all day, and in their sheer terror they could feel the crotch of their bodysuit grow warm with urine. It was humiliating, so humiliating, but that’s how Untkra felt in Their presence—like a little insect to be crushed under Their palm.

“You’ve disappointed me, Untkra,” Chramkut said, their voice so low it could have been an anklipast[4] chirp. “I expected this of others, but you? You were my favorite.”

All Untkra could whimper was “please”. It was the only word that filled their mind, like a prayer to the Twins. Like prayer, they knew it’d be useless.

Chramkut reached out and took Untkra’s jaw in Their massive hand, jerking their chin toward Them. Untkra let out a cry of protest, expecting pain. But Chramkut’s touch was light, Their taloned pinky resting lightly in the soft spot underneath Untkra’s jawbone.

“You had it better than most. You lived at my home for five years. No other ometki has had that honor. So why do you betray me now? Would you prefer another brothel? Shall we sell you to another?”

Untkra knew none of Their questions demanded answers. They’d seen Them toy with others this way, often before They took another Alphrim’s head in Their hand and smashed it against Their marble countertop until the skull broke and whatever was inside sprayed out. That scene was all Untkra could think about in this moment—the strength, the ruthlessness, the pettiness of the slight against Them. What Untkra had done was far worse than whatever error that Alphrim had made.

“Hmm.” Chramkut’s purple eyes studied Untkra a terrifying moment longer before releasing them and stepping back, talons scraping on the concrete floor. “I’m still fond of you, even after all of this. You’re valuable to this brothel, and I have a tendency to lose my temper. So let’s do this another way.”

Chramkut strode over to the door and knocked. The door opened, and in walked another Alphrim, this one smaller and slighter, someone just past puberty but already bigger than some adult Alphrim. The original beige color of Their childhood had mostly faded to patches along their hands, giving way to the reddish orange color of blood. Their light gold freckles had almost all been replaced by stripes of a similar color along Their crown, and half of Their red-tipped adult feathers had grown in. It was the purple eyes that struck Untkra the most, as they generated in Untkra the same terror that Chramkut’s did.

“I know you’ve never formally met,” Chramkut said, resting a hand on the Alphrim’s shoulder. “But Untkra, this is one of your oldest.”

Untkra’s gut turned into a gaping maw, sucking down Untkra’s insides and spitting them out at the base of Untkra’s spine. They’d imagined their punishment would come with a world of pain, but this they had never expected, and now they almost wished to be that Alphrim whose head had been pulverized against a kitchen countertop. Since Untkra had birthed their first eggs, they had yearned for just a glimpse of them—as an egg, as a child, Untkra would have taken anything.

Now they wanted to retract all those prayers, wished they’d never uttered them or given them a thought. This was worse than never seeing one of their own children. This was worse than anything Untkra could have imagined.

“My favorite, of course,” Chramkut said with a twist of Their lips. Their hand squeezed Their child’s shoulder. “And my protégé. You gave Them to me, and for that, I am sparing your life today. However, your mistake will serve as an important lesson, and I’m leaving the teaching of it up to Nakwalt here.”

#c/w: violence #my writing #patreon #update #excerpt #Bright Day Blue Day #omegaverse aliens #a/b/o alien story

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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

Text

permanent.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: just in case you missed it, i published a family tree for the hotchners! at this point, jack is married to bella and living in d.c. she’s a journalist for the washington division at the new york times and is generally pretty awesome. as always, lemme know what you think!

words: 3.1k warnings: language, hospital setting, canon-typical injury

summary: “write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble” - benjamin franklin. au!december 2035

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

“Come on, Soph! Go, baby, go!”

Your daughter is a vision. She streaks across the field, her green and yellow uniform almost melding with the grass as she keeps control of the ball. You can’t see her face too clearly, but you know she’s scanning the field with the same intensity you see in Aaron’s face beside you.

Isaac plops down on the bench behind you, home from Los Angeles for winter break. “How’s she doing?”

Aaron half-turns his head, keeping his eyes on the field. “Going for a hat trick - if she makes it, it’ll be her third this season.”

“Excellent.”

Caroline, down the field with her choir group, lounges happily between the legs of one of her friends, eating popcorn. When she sees you looking, she waves at you.

You wave back for a moment before your attention’s caught by a collective gasp and Aaron’s hand shoots to your forearm. You turn back to the field, but you missed it.

Everyone’s moving and you don’t know why.

With shocking agility for his age, Aaron all but leaps down the bleachers and onto the field. Your eyes search for Soph, but there are too many people on the field, all of a sudden.

Caroline’s standing on the seat of the bleachers, her friends steadying her with their hands on her arms and ankles.

There’s a hand, soft and scared on your shoulder. “Mom?”

You open your arms, and your nearly-grown son ducks under it, curling into you as you stand. “Do you want your earbuds?”

You feel him nod and you pull them out of your bag. His trembling quiets a little after he fits them in his ears.

There’s a clamber, and Caroline appears at your side. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching.”

She exhales, shaky and worried. “Where’s Dad?”

“On the field.”

But where?

You find Aaron, his salt-and-pepper hair stark in the autumn light. He’s talking to the referee, his brows low.

You hear sirens.

+++

“Oh, hey! What’s up, Mom?”

You almost hate to ruin his mood.

“Jack, honey, can you get down to the house at any point tonight?”

You try not to grip the handle above the car door too tightly as Aaron races through the suburban streets, following the ambulance. Soph was definitely lucid when they loaded her up, but definitely in a lot of pain.

“Ye - Yeah...Why?”

“Soph’s headed to the ER - something happened on the soccer pitch today and her knee…” You shake your head. “I dunno. Her knee looks really bad.”

“Fuck. Okay.” You hear him shuffle around and click his mouse - checking his schedule. “I can get down there after my last meeting at four - I’m headed there in a few minutes, but won’t be able to swing any earlier. I’d cancel it, but it’s literally SecDef and the Joint Chiefs and -”

“That’s fine - I just need someone at the house with the kids until one of us can get back. Elliot’s at baseball practice until six and I’m not sure if -”

“I’ll be there. I’ll get El and then I’ll swing by for Isaac and Caro if they’re still with y’all down there.”

You glance over at Aaron and nod. He heaves a sigh of relief and mouths Thank you.

“Thanks, Jack.”

“Yeah. See you soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

+++

When you’re finally allowed in to see Sophia, her eyes are red and puffy with tears. Her right leg is braced and elevated at the knee.

Her doctor explains the situation - dislocated knee and splintered patella with a torn meniscus and ACL. “This kind of traumatic knee injury poses a couple of issues…”

He explains that the rehabilitation and surgery needs for both the ACL and meniscus are exceedingly different, and “It’s entirely possible Miss Sophia will experience permanent joint damage. However, we won’t know that until we have an orthopaedic surgeon look at it tomorrow.”

“What about sports? Can I still play?” Soph tries to sit up farther, but Aaron’s arm shoots out, locking her against the bed across her shoulders.

The doctor looks hesitant, and it’s all she needs to burst into tears again. Aaron moves, sitting on the side of the bed and wrapping her up in his arms. He looks over her head at you and your lower lip disappears into your mouth as you meet his gaze.

You shift your attention to your other children sitting patiently behind you.

Caroline’s practically bit her nails to the quick - her hands looking more and more like her Aunt Emily’s as the moments pass.

Isaac’s been sitting in the wide windowsill for the entire afternoon, his headphones on, staring out the window, his mouth tight and fingers tearing into the foam stress ball you keep in your purse.

We’ll need another one of those. Or five.

You get a phone call, and you step out. “Hey, Jack.”

“Hey. Just got Elliot. We’re headed over to the hospital now. How’s she doing?”

You sigh and press a hand to your forehead.

“Oh, shit. That bad?” He asks.

You don’t comment on his tell pickup. It’s in his blood, at this point. “Yeah. She’s definitely out for the rest of the season, and we’re looking at some long-term stuff, too.”

“Fuck.”

“Hey! I’m still here and she’s gonna kick your ass if you keep swearing in front of me, dude.” Elliot shouts from the back and it almost makes you smile.

“I’m actually inclined to agree with you, Jack. We’ve got a dislocated and splintered patella in addition to a torn meniscus and ACL. It’s going to be a long rehab.”

You hear a deep sigh into the bluetooth system in Jack’s car. “Well, I’ll stay here for the duration.”

“No, no honey it’s alright. Your dad is home full-time and you’ve got a huge project reaching critical stages. Your room is all ready for you, but you really don’t have to hang around if you can’t manage the drive every day. And Bella -”

“Bells is looped in. She’s fine. She’s more than happy to tag out if we need to. Her deadlines are really loose right now what with the whole ‘nothing going on in Arlington’ thing this week. She’s heartbroken for Soph and wants to help where she can.”

“Alright.”

“Hey,” He huffs, sounding a lot like his dad. “I’ll let you go. I’ll text when I’m outside.”

“Okay. Thanks, bud.”

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Anytime.”

+++

Sophia’s sleeping when Alice and Hank come to visit later in the evening. Aaron went home a couple hours after Jack, planning to tag out with you later so you could get some sleep in your own bed before work tomorrow.

Alice immediately embraces you, all but falling into your lap as you hold her. She’s shaking.

“Is she okay?”

You push her back, smoothing some wayward edges at her hairline. “She will be.”

Alice’s dark eyes fill with tears, and you brush them off her cheeks as they fall.

“She’ll need your help, though. It’s gonna be a long time before we figure out what’s permanent and what’s not.”

Alice nods and retreats, sitting in the plastic chair by Soph’s side, folding her arms on the mattress and laying her head on them. “Hey, Sofa,” she whispers, though Soph can’t hear her.

“I haven’t heard that one in a while,” you tell her. Sofa is a nickname Derek gave Sophia when she was little. No big meaning to it, but it stuck.

You wouldn’t be surprised if she stayed there all night.

Hank lingers by the door. In the shadow of the room, you could easily mistake him for Derek, but that concerned pull at the corners of his eyes screams Savannah.

Eventually, he crosses the room and sits on the little lounger beside you.

He takes your hand and you kiss his knuckles. “I bet this isn’t how you wanted to spend your winter break, huh?”

A little laugh leaves him. “Maybe not, but little Miss Thing over here dragged me out the door before I could get two words in edgewise.” He gestures vaguely toward Alice and you actually smile.

“Yeah. In my experience, Morgan women don’t fuck around.”

“You got that right,” comes a voice from the doorway. It’s Savannah, fresh off her shift and still in her white coat and scrubs. She scours over Sophia’s charts and checks on her before sitting on your other side.

“Do you want the bad news or the good-but-also-kind-of-bad news?” She asks, almost inaudible. You glance up at Soph but Savannah shakes her head. “She’s out - those pain meds will leave this entire visit a blur.”

You sigh. “Fine. Hit me with the bad shit.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Savannah rests her elbows on her knees. “I’ve seen a knee injury like this exactly once before. No matter what you do, they can’t and don’t always heal right. She could need a mobility device permanently, even after she’s healed, and I can tell you now she won’t play again.”

That’s okay. She’s okay.

Better soccer goes than her life.

Soccer is her life.

You only know that Alice can hear everything when her shoulders start to shake. She doesn’t make any noise as she cries. She’s like her dad that way. Hank stands and places a hand between her shoulder blades, but says nothing.

“Is that the worst of it?”

Savannah nods. “Yeah.” She takes a breath. “The kinda good news is that she’ll be totally fine no matter what obstacles she may run into. She’s tough. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Hotchner.”

She snorts. “Hell, I watched you bounce back from crazy life-threatening shit with a quip and a grin.”

You raise your eyebrows and shrug. “I do what I can.”

+++

Caroline curls into her father’s side, her double bed big enough to manage the both of them. It feels a lot like when she was little - she’d have nightmares or couldn’t fall asleep and Aaron would come and sit with her until her breath was even and slow.

“Dad?”

“Mhmm?”

“What’s Soph gonna do about college?” Caroline’s voice is small, nearly smothered in Aaron’s shirt. “She already has scouting offers and stuff.”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not sure. We’ll all have to figure it out together, won’t we?”

+++

Aaron steps into the room, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Alice, just as you predicted, snoozes next to Sophia, her head pillowed on her arms. Sophia’s upper body almost arcs around her and she managed to snag one of Alice’s hands in her adjustment.

Those two…

Maybe he won’t escape the inevitable after all.

Morgan-Hotchner? Hotchner-Morgan?

He really only ever prepared to lose his name with Caroline. Soph always seemed far too… herself to take on a new one.

We’ll see.

You’re asleep in the pull-out chair, your brow drawn and arms crossed over your chest. He approaches you as quietly as he can, putting his go bag down and sitting beside you.

Much to his chagrin, you startle awake.

“Sorry,” he says in a whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t.” Talking through your yawn, you add, “Just had a weird dream is all.”

Aaron pulls you close and you relent, tucking into his side with a hand pressed to his chest.

“Did Savannah come by?” He asks.

You nod.

“What did she say?”

You sniff a little, more from the antiseptic smell than any emotional response - that will come later. “Soph won’t be able to play again unless fuckin’ divine intervention or some shit comes along and fixes her knee from scratch, but she’ll be able to move around just fine with a cane or brace or something after a while.”

Aaron can only imagine it now - fits and righteous anger about getting around the house, watching games from the bench - the list could go on forever. “She’ll hate that.”

You hum in agreement. “Just another parenting challenge. Already have the rest of the gamut covered neurodevelopmentally, so we were bound to get a physical challenge at some point.”

“Never more than we can handle.”

Shaking your head, you note, “This one just might do us in.”

+++

“I swear to God, if I see you in the office at all this week I’m gonna smash your kneecaps in.” Emily pauses. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You laugh a little and Soph sits up, her brow asking a question.

You answer, pulling the phone away from your mouth. “Your Aunt Emily told me she’d smash my kneecaps if she saw me at the federal building this week.”

Soph snorts. “Nice. We could match.”

You reach over and tweak her nose. “We already match.”

“Hey.” Emily grabs your attention again and you put your cell back to your ear. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to be here. Stay home for Soph right now and I’ll sign off on it and turn everything in for you.”

You roll your eyes. “I can’t believe you turned into Rossi, Miss I’m Past Retirement Age But Twisted the Bureaus Arm to Let Me Work Myself to Death.”

She laughs and hangs up, leaving you and Sophia alone again in the hospital room. She tucks back into her Jello, taking bites that are way too big.

“How are you feeling, bug?” You brush her cheekbone with your thumb and she shrugs.

“Can you hand me my headband?”

You reach over and dig around in her back until you find the wide swatch of colorful fabric. She takes it from you and shoves it over her head, pushing her hair back with practiced ease.

She’s just like her dad.

What? Loyal?

Yeah. But also chronically avoidant.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She huffs, playing with her fingers. “I’m fine. I think.” Her breath is shaky. “I can’t really tell with all the meds I’m on, but it feels… really bad.”

When she looks over at you again, her eyes are glassy, tearful. “I know I can’t play again, maybe not even run.”

You reach out for her hand, but don’t say anything.

“Momma…” She pauses, looking down at her blanket. “Momma, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I feel like I only know how to play soccer. I don’t know how - I don’t know if I want to do anything else. I’ve never thought about it before.”

You run your thumb over her knuckles. “Soph, you can do so much. You have a great strategic mind - you think in these big, creative webs. It’s such an asset.”

“Don’t profile me.”

“I’m not profiling you, baby,” you tell her with a smile. “I just know that about you because you’re my daughter.”

Her mouth twists. “Right.” She looks down when her phone buzzes.

“Who is it?”

The corners of her lips tip up. “It’s Alice. She’s asking me if I want anything from the drive thru.”

You mirror her little smile. “That’s nice of her.”

“Yeah.”

+++

“Alright so you have twenty nuggets, large fries,” Alice digs around in the bag, taking things out as she speaks. “And… a vanilla milkshake.”

“God, I love you.” Sophia wraps her hand around Alice's head and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Alice laughs, deep from her chest. “Shit, Soph, if all I have to do to secure your love is get you crap chicken, sign me up.”

“You could get damn close.”

Aaron watches the girls sit beside each other in the bed, taking turns dipping their nuggets in the sauce. They’ve always been this way, exchanging barbs and affection in equal measure. Symbiotic in the extreme, one is never far from the other.

You’re home, getting everyone else in bed and settled for the evening. Isabella drove in a night early - Jack’s headed back to D.C. apartment for a series of days-long meetings at the Pentagon regarding his latest project.

Aaron’s excited to see her. It’s been a helluva thing to see his son married, even more surreal to know and love his son’s wife like his own daughters.

His phone rings.

Speak of the devil.

“Hey, Bella.”

Sophia looks over at the mention of her sister-in-law, and Alice looks beside herself with delight. As well as being a hit among the parents, Bella’s a winner with the kids, too.

Some days, Caroline likes her more than she likes Jack.

“Hey, Pops. Want to tag out?”

“Sure. I’ll switch with you. How long do you want to be here?”

He can almost hear her shrug. “Eh. I’ll spend the night. My column isn’t due until the end of the week and I’ve got it covered. Don’t need to work, don’t really need to sleep. Win-win.”

“If you say so.”

��I do. I’ll be there in twenty.”

She hangs up before Aaron can respond, so he just pockets his phone and takes the loss. Sophia, after taking a sip of her milkshake, asks. “Is Bella here all night?”

“Yeah, bug. She’ll be here.”

Soph and Alice share a look.

+++

“Well, Bella has more patience than I do,” Aaron says, dropping his go bag at the bedroom door. “She’s stuck with H&M for the rest of the night at the hospital.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. “I’m glad the girls have company, and fun company, at that.”

“Fair enough.”

The two of you quiet for a moment, and you tuck further under his arm, placing your hand over his heart.

“Aaron?”

His hand traces up and down your back, slow and steady. “Yeah?”

“What can we do for her? She sounded so… defeated today.”

And it’s true. You’ve never seen Soph like that, even at her lowest. If you were honest, it scared you a little.

“We can be her parents. That’s all. And she’ll figure something out. If she needs to take a gap year, she’ll manage. She and Alice can search for programs together.” He sighs before he continues, leaning back to look at you.

“All we can do is ask her what she needs and support her as best we can.”

+++

tagging: @avengersbau @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygranger @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me @itsalwaysb33nyou @finnologys @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @hothothotchner @happyvol7 @ssa-holmes @mac99martin @ssahotchner99 @triangularroses @vagabond-ing @itsmytimetoodream @magic_in_the_eyes_of_the_beholder

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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harryspet · 5 years ago

Text

plaything | sebastian stan

[Warnings] dark sebastian stan x reader, dark chris evans x reader, lots of dub con bordering on non con, spanking (aftercare?), dub con sex/oral sex, humiliation, seb wants you to call him daddy, impregnation, over/stimulation, abusive relationship, seb domesticating reader, manipulation, seb being a jerk and chris being creepy

A/N: This is for @sherrybaby14 ‘s Prompt Challenge! If you’re not already following her, please do! The original prompt was “ Bucky fic where the relationship is already well known to be dark. Maybe he views her as a plaything and likes to do things that set her up for failure so that he can punish her. Maybe some gas/lighting too”. I’ve been watching a lot of Sebastian interviews lately so this fic was inspired by that. I know both Sebastian and Chris a super nice guys in real life but I had a lot of fun imagining them as bad guys!

In which you can’t seem to escape Sebastian’s punishments.

Please like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 3.1k

You watched Sebastian on the TV in your kitchen, licking a spoon covered in fudge batter. He was being interviewed by Jimmy Kimmel and he was as captivating as ever. You chuckled a bit as he made a joke and the crowd erupted in laughter.

“Y/N, it’s not lady-like to lick the spoon,” Delilah, Sebastian’s chef, said to you. You were in the middle of yet another cooking lesson. You just could never get your food tasting the way Seb liked, “At this rate, I don’t think I’ll be getting fired anytime soon.”

The dessert was in the oven and now the older woman was placing the finishing garnishes on their steak, “He likes his steak medium-well, remember that,” Delilah went on but you couldn’t concentrate.

You know you should’ve paid attention but you knew deep down you’d never be a good cook. At least, not in the way Seb wanted you to be, “You don’t think he’ll notice it’s microwaved?” You asked Delilah who had previously agreed to your scamming. You’d pretend that you made what she had.

“He shouldn’t notice because my food is delicious either way. But, it may taste a little different and you can blame that on the fact that you made it,” You nodded nervously.

“Thank you, Delilah,” The older woman only smiled as she began to gather her things. Everything was laid out and now you could put everything in Tupperware and microwave it tomorrow before Seb arrived.

You put your oven mitts on and walked over to the oven. You lifted the pan of brownies out of the oven and set it on the stove. The interview on the TV was ending now and you watched as Jimmy told the audience the opening date for Seb’s new movie.

Seb hadn’t been back to your million dollar apartment in two weeks because he was doing press all day and night.

You almost didn’t hear Delilah say from the foyer, “Mr. Stan, you’re home early,” Your heart dropped.

“Delilah,” You were sure they were hugging now, “I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you for a while. You look as beautiful as ever.”

You quickly put away all the spices and cutting boards, just throwing them in a random cabinet. And then the plates of food … you stacked them and threw them into the garbage can. You panicked, he couldn’t know that Delilah had made the food after you promised you’d do better.

“Well … I- oh look, my husband is calling me,” Delilah rushed out, “Have a good evening, Mr. Stan!”

When Sebastian entered the kitchen, you were smiling wide, a dash of flour on your cheek and apron that you had just put there, “I thought you were going to be in L.A. for the rest of the night,” You said to him, kissing his cheek as he approached you. He didn’t return the affection, his eyes tired from his flight. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, “I just watched you on TV … you did great.”

“I finished up earlier than I thought. I wanted to see you,” He looked down at you, his eyes burning holes into you. He knew something was up.

“You look exhausted but I know what will wake you up. Your favorite midnight brownies! Because, you know, we usually eat them at midnight-” He took one look at the brownies and turned back to you.

“Why was Delilah here?” He interrupted, reaching a hand to wipe away the flour on your cheek.

Your smile fell, “S-She came to give me the recipe for the brownies,” He didn’t believe it and you bit down nervously on your bottom lip nervously, “I asked Delilah to make dinner and I was gonna pretend that I had made it myself.”

Seb sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips, “And where’s dinner now?”

You pointed towards the trash can, “And you wasted the food too?”

“I panicked,” You tried to explain yourself, “But I’m gonna make dinner for real tomorrow. I watched Delilah do everything so-”

You yelped as he suddenly grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him. His breath fanned over your face and then he leaned down to your ear, “You haven’t cleaned either, there’s dust on the painting in the foyer.”

“I-I was going to do it tomorrow before you got home,” You whispered, your heart pounding.

“Do I ask for too much, Y/N? I’m not sure why you like frustrating me.”

“I-I don’t like frustrating you, Seb.”

“You do,” He insisted, “Why else would you throw schemes like this together?”

“I-” He shushed you and you swallowed your words. The look in his eyes was crazy and you weren’t sure what kind of beast you had awoken this time. You tried to remember a time when things weren’t like this. When he chased you and you thought you might be more than his plaything.

You met Sebastian at one of his interviews. Of course, you didn’t expect him to spare you a second glance because he was the celebrity and you were the girl running to get everyone's coffee. You were practically an assistant to the assistants. You only did the job because it paid slightly more than minimum wage and you were late on your rent.

You carried three different trays of coffee into the dressing room. It was a smaller production company then he was probably used to. There were at least three other Avengers in the room getting their makeup touched up. You handed the coffees to each of their assistants and then to your boss.

You would’ve walked away but you saw him take a sip, his eyes still narrowed on you, “This is four sugars …”

“Yes,” You said quickly, looking over the receipt. Your face visibly fell as you read it, “Well, it’s three but I can find you some sugar, sir. It’ll only take a moment.”

“You can’t seem to get anything right on the first try, can you? I order this drink a million times a week. The other coffee girls can get it right. Why can’t you?”

You took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right because you’re-” You closed your eyes and waited for him to say you were fired. A tall figure emerged behind you and you slowly opened your eyes.

“I’m sure one sugar isn’t the end of the world, sir,” Seb had said, a hand pressed to your lower back, “If you’re going to treat your staff so poorly, in front of everyone I have to had, then maybe Marvel shouldn’t be giving you their business.”

Your boss was practically jumping out of his skin, “I-I apologize, Mr. Stan,”

As your boss scurried off like a mouse, he stepped in front of you, “I’m Sebastian.”

“I work such long hours, I have to fly around the world, but I take care of you, don’t I?” You nodded vigorously, “I just … don’t like to be lied to. You know what this means, don’t you, pet?”

Pet.

He loved to call you that when his temper got the best of him. Yes, of course, you knew, “Sebastian, not tonight, please-”

He forced you to look into his eyes, “But I know you like it, Y/N,” With his other hand he gripped your waist, pulling up your skirt. You never seemed to avoid it. There was always something you did wrong that led to this.

He pressed his lips to yours and you were surprised how gentle he was. Your lips moved in sync with each other as he pressed you against the kitchen island. He was untying your apron and it fell to the ground. Then he was reaching into your panties, easily finding how wet you were, “That’s my girl,” He smirked against your lips, starting to rub circles over your sensitive bulb.

You ground against his fingers, wanting more friction between you. He kissed the side of your mouth, then your chin and down to your neck, “Ah,” you moaned as he played you like a piano, a song that he had spent the last year memorizing, “Seb, Seb …”

“Call me Daddy,” He demanded and you moaned as you neared your climax.

“Oh my god, Daddy,” You were about to tilt your head back when he suddenly removed his fingers. Not in a teasing way and your eyes widened you realized he wasn’t in a playing mood. He grabbed your hips roughly and turned you around. He pressed on your back until your chest was against the marble, “Only good girls get to cum, Y/N,” You felt him walk away and you didn’t dare look back at him, You heard a drawer open and slam shut.

He lifted your skirt and as he pulled down your underwear, you closed your eyes shut. The impact didn’t come as you expected. You thought it stung much more than when he used his hand. You whimpered, your hands balled into a fist, “You remember what to say, don’t you, pet? I’m giving you twenty and I’m sure you don’t want any extra.”

“Thank you, Daddy!”

He’d rub a circle and then hit your bottom with the wooden spoon again. You thanked him for each one. As the spanks increased, you squirmed around and Sebastian decided to pin your arms behind your back to hold you in place.

When he was done, tears were streaming down your face, “Good girl, Y/N. Very good,” Sebastian let go of your wrist, gently helping you up before lifting you into his arms. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you out of the kitchen.

You cried as he set you on the bed you shared and as he rubbed aloe vera over your bruises. Sebastian held you, placing a kiss on your forehead, as you cried yourself to sleep.

You thought your punishment was over but as you exited the shower the next morning, you found a surprise waiting for you on the bed. A “surprise” was probably the wrong word to use. You picked up the pair of black stilettos and set them by your feet before picking up the note.

Wear this. No panties. Finish cleaning the house and then come meet me in my office. My bookshelves need dusting. - Your one and only love, Sebastian

You balled up the note, tossing it to the side, as you took a deep breath. You decided that he wasn’t going to break you down this time. You dressed in the black, satin, mini dress and your mouth dropped open as you realized it ended an inch after your bottom. The top was basically a corset that pushes your chest up and the clear straps that held them up were flimsy. A matching white apron accompanied everything but even that seemed to be mini-sized. You could barely get on the heels without your whole bottom showing.

You gritted your teeth, pacing the room, as you tried to get used to the heels. You reminded yourself again that you’d do this with a smile on your face. You pulled your hair back with a tie and left the master bedroom.

You cleaned almost the entire house with those heels on. Your feet ached and every random draft of wind sent you shivering. If you moved in a certain way, you could feel the satin rubbing against the bruises on your bottom, a reminder of the punishment you suffered the day before.

You wiped a drop of sweat from your forehead as you finished wiping down the kitchen counters. After you carried the duster to Seb’s office and as you knocked you heard, “Come in, pet,” And you spotted Seb leaning against the front of his desk.

His eyes were dark and as you met Captain America’s blue-green eyes, your heart dropped to your stomach, “Seb-”

“You know Chris, right, Y/N? You met at that wedding a few months ago?” Sebastian asked, gesturing over the muscular man perched on Seb’s leather couch.

You remained silent, not wanting to meet the other man’s eyes. You shifted uncomfortably in your dress, pulling at the sides, “Y/N looked very different then … but I have to say that I prefer this look much more,” You could feel his eyes taking in your body.

You had promised yourself you’d get through this unscathed but you hadn’t planned for this. You wanted to die of embarrassment and it was only as Seb said, “Don’t mind us, pet. We’re just talking business. You have a job to do.”

Your mouth was dry and you felt frozen, “Sebastian, please-”

You cut yourself off because the glare he gave you was deadly. It took you a moment to get the courage to take a step. Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you paced over the tall bookshelves that were placed opposite the couch Chris Evans was sitting on.

You began to dust his collection of books and you cursed the fact that man loved reading about space so much.

Both of their eyes were raked in your body. They muttered a few sentences talking about some director but you knew they were just trying to fill the air. Their focus was you and only you.

You reached the lower levels but as you had to reach the top one, your dress rode up. You quickly pulled it down but it happened a few more times, “I don’t think you’ll do a very good job if you’re pulling at your dress the whole time, pet,” You almost shot an accusing glance towards him.

Instead, you stopped holding onto your dress before politely saying, “I don’t think I’m tall enough to reach the top shelves,” You spoke through gritted teeth.

Seb glared at you sharply but Chris only smirked, “You might’ve hit the lottery with this one, Stan.”

In any other context, you might’ve appreciated the compliment.

“The coffee table is a little dusty too,” Sebastian lied and you tried to scowl. You walked over to the coffee table, bending down to dust the table. You were close to Chris now and you saw him lean forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Look at me, Y/N,” Chris had told you and you did, keeping eye contact as you dusted all the knick-knacks that Seb kept on the coffee table. Yours were on him but he was trailing down to your chest. You guessed he had seen enough of your bottom while you were dusting.

You stood up straight then looked at Seb, “Did he tell you to stop looking at him?” And you winced as you turned your head back to Chris.

Seb moved behind you but you couldn’t take your eyes off of Chris. Seb pressed himself against your back, lifted up the skirt of your mini dress. He roughly stuck his fingers between your fold and his fingers were wet as he pulled them away. How? How could that happen when you felt sick with embarrassment.

Your face was probably bright red by that point, “And I thought you couldn’t upset me further. Now you’re getting turned on by another man. Right in front of me, I should add.”

“S-Seb I-I-” He grabbed you by the front of your neck, pulling you further into him, “I-I’m not, I promise!”

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You love the attention. Does Daddy not give you enough?” He spoke huskily into your ear, “Now you have to show Daddy’s friend who you belong to. Bend over, hands on the table.”

As you bent over, you couldn’t help but wonder how things had become so drastically different. You placed your hands flat on the table and it wasn’t long before you heard Sebastian’s belt come off. You thought he might spank you at first but you felt the hard tip of his length press against your entrance.

He grabbed your hair, forcing you to tilt your head up and look at Chris. He was leaning back now, his hand over his crotch. You could see the hard on beginning to form underneath his jeans, “Only Daddy gets this hole, understand?” And before you could answer, he entered you all the way.

You gasped, unable to find the words as you screamed out. “Right, pet?” He slammed into you deeply.

You nodded, “Y-Yes, Daddy. Only you.” Seb pounded into you, animalistic growls in his throat as you squeezed around him.

Soon, you had both fallen to your knees but he only went harder, “Seb, Seb!” You moaned his name, already nearing your climax. The angle you were at let him hit your most sensitive area with every thrust. And as he bent over your body, his fingers rubbing your sensitive bulb, it wasn’t long before that wave of pleasure ripped through you.

Your body shook and you tried to run away from the full force of it, Sebastian pulled you back onto him. He wasn’t done yet. Chris had pulled his hard member from his jeans and was stroking it as he watched you react to the over/stimulation. Seb had even pulled down your dress so your breasts were fully out.

Seb didn’t let up on stroking you and, as your second climax came, you thought you might fall apart. “You like it when he watches, don’t you?” Seb groaned in your ear, “You want him to see me put a baby in you.” Seb’s stroke slowed but they were still deep as his song neared its crescendo.

Seb knew that you were in the middle of switching your birth control methods.

“Beg me to put a baby into you,” He said, pulling your hair tighter.

“Ah,” you moaned, “Please give me a baby, Daddy! Please!”

With that, Seb’s hips tightened as he released into you. You felt the warmth deep inside you and you were still shaking as he pulled out, “Good girl,” He said, out of breath.

You looked at Chris who was thrusting into his own hand. Seb smacked your bottom loudly, “Finish him off, Y/N,” You turned to Seb with wide eyes. As if he hadn’t humiliated you enough. He hit your bottom again, “Now.”

You hesitated before crawling around the table. You felt your own fluids and Seb’s running down your leg. You perched yourself between the older man’s legs and he responded by grabbing your face, pulling you up to his member.

You closed your eyes as you took him into your mouth. Chris groaned, leaning back as you took him in deeper. You remembered how Seb liked it. Whatever your mouth couldn’t cover, you used hand, twisting around his length, “That’s it, such a good girl,” You gagged as you took him in further. Sebastian loved when you gagged and now you knew Chris did too. As Chris finished, he forced your head down, and you thought you might run out of air as he released into your throat.

You fell back, gasping after you were forced to swallow it all, “I think I’m going to come to New York more often,” Chris gave you a tired smile.

You looked to Sebastian who was already up, buttoning his slacks, “Straighten yourself up, Y/N, don’t be rude to our guest.”

Hope you enjoyed! Check out my dark peter parker fics and my new Bucky fic called Obedience!

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #marvel #mcu #mcu fanfiction #dark marvel #dark!bucky #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x y/n #dark fic #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #dark sebastian stan x reader #mcu smut #marvel smut

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honoredbastard · 3 years ago

Text

ෆ self indulgent and entilted

characters — bonten!rindou haitani + *yakuro nanami (oc) .

content and warnings — mentions of drugs ( yo sanzu ), clubbing, stalker mention, mention(s) of drugging, yelling, angst(?), swearing, and so on.

note — sorry for the dark content hhhhh, it came with the idea of ackerman being a yakuza that hated bonten and wanted yakuro gone. it may actually be apart of the fic i’m outlining..... these men hold my heart and WILL NOT LET GO OF IT. also they just like dive into my brain 24/7. help i had a fit over what looked best for three hours- at this point i’mma probably make a lil sum’ for sanzu. i love this man and i can’t stop having him appear in my stories that involve bonten. like this guy is 24/7 in the back of my mind.

*Yakuro Nanami. he/they/bun!

Now playing ayanami — by satin

rindou woke up first to yakuro wearing his bunny ears and a bunny pajama set that he seemed to just slip on before marching into bed. it was cute, but there was still smudges of makeup on his face and the dark circles of terrible inconsistent sleep. rindou sighed, brushing away blonde parts of hair that yakuro was chewing on.

“yakuro.” rindou lightly pushed yakuro’s shoulder, trying to wake the boy in his semi bunny work attire. “rindou? rindou....” yakuro groaned, his head searched for rindou’s lap or hand that he could lean into. just exist near, to feel his skin and be aware of his warmth, that he was alive and not dead. that he stayed the whole night. “morning doll.” rindou smiled quietly, brushing his fingers over the boy’s hair.

there was a knock on the door, “come in” as if that was a full offer to entangle himself with the couple he busted through the door and made a running start to jump onto the couple. “HI!” “i don’t do the touching, i’ll sit and pour you your drink and be your personal bunny. please treat the bunny well and we will have no problems. if they bunny feels uncomfortable the bunny has full rights to leave and find a new client. if you understand these rules please enjoy your bunny.”

yakuro stated as if he was at work. it was grilled into his brain and always had to repeat it infront of new clients. working at a bunny suit club was not it, almost rolling over onto sanzu. “bad work day?” “bad work day.” rindou confirmed sanzu’s suspicions with three simple words. “yaku..” “no.” “yakuuu.” sanzu scooted in between the two, poking yakuro’s cheeks aggressively. he seemed sober, thank god.

rindou shrugged the mans presence off and trudged to the bathroom to wash and whatnot. “you have another shift, ran told me to wake you up. “that’s not my problem. tell my boss to go fuck himself with a dildo filled with nails.” sanzu’s eyes widened, that was aggressive. although at the same time sorta funny?

“he said he’d cut off your shift times and cut back on how much money you make plus tips.” sanzu repeated what ran had informed him of, with a quite frustrated appearance. “THAT FUCKER WILL NOT!” raising up from his laying position, yakuro ran into the hallway stumbling here and there from improper pace.

“i’d love to see him try i swear if he even tries reducing my pay i’ll quit the whole fucking job how about that? i never liked this bullshit bunny shit anyways, it’s annoying when the customers try to touch and then you get stalkers.” yaku was mumbling to hell and back from his bosses call, waving to ran who nodded. making himself a bento before heading off on a small mission.

yaku threw open the washroom door and started searching for his bunny suit attire. the club’s theme was rainbow today so he washed a deep red suit with a black add-on tail and clip on black ears (which were foldable too. yakuro always folds one ear.) when yakuro made it back to his room, sanzu was gone and rindou was crouching near the bottom drawer.

“whatcha lookin for?” yakuro asked curiously, sitting beside the man who made a mess beside him “looking for a red suit now, i’m trying to match with you subtly.” cute- that was the only thinking yaku could think of this man who is a part of a criminal organization/gang. who woulda thought?

“i think you might be better with either a red with black tie or a deeper red of a suit.” yakuro suggested, getting up from his sitting position, joints cracking. “or black would go well, after all i’m only wearing red heel, a red body suit, and red makeup. the rest is black!” yakuro called out to rindou who was still crouched as he exited the room. taking into account his suggestions, he went with a more black with red accents attire.

ާlocation, bunny palace! ෆ late night, 11pm.

“here in bunny palace we have many bunnies to suit your taste! male, female, and even those who do not define themselves! run and created by the ackermans.” bunny palace is under the hands of those with the ackerman name. mikasa, the current owner, is softer on us than many. although the music blaring is not something you can get used to.

“hello! i’m moonie! it’s so good to meet you, are you new here?” yakuro was tired, it was about 4 more hours until he shift ended and he was already hungry again. salad’s really don’t fill you up especially when you wolf them down. his feet ached and cried out each time he took another step, he wanted to lay down and use rindou as his personal body pillow.... rindou! ‘i hope he’s okay.’ he thought, placing himself beside the very important client his boss claimed. “oh i am! it’s nice too meet you moonie.”

“it’s so good to meet you too! we have a few rules here that our bunnies tell each new client: i’ll sit and pour you your drink and be your personal bunny. please treat the bunny well and we will have no problems. if they bunny feels uncomfortable the bunny has full rights to leave and find a new client. if you understand these rules please enjoy your bunny. please keep touching to a minimal. do not force your bunny drinks or food. respect your bunny. is that doable?” yakuro asked with big puppy eyes, a big smile, and high pitched voice. “of course!” the customer happily said, hand already on his thigh.

i am SO uncomfortable was all that yaku could think about, his eyes flicking between the customer and each place his gross hands laid upon. squeezing every-so often like it was a pleasuring act for yaku. before he removed the man’s hand, he restrained himself. drawing a large breath before responding to the customer. “i’m so sorry sir! shall i get you something to drink?” yaku pouted, “if you’d like, moonie!” i’m saved.

yakuro smiled and stood up, “why of course! i’ll be right back!” like a breath of relief, he rushed to the staff room. he waved to some girls, “not on stage today moonie?” one asked, a baby stripper new to the bunny palace club. “yeah! boss was all: ‘act cutesy, be close, allow touching this once. there are really important customers here today.’ like thanks for threatening my paycheck and then saying that!”

“oh my, that’s rough babe. ackerman is always like that, it’s like she has a stick up her ass.” one of the older strippers that had been with yakuro since he started chimed in, “you’re right!” yaku chuckled, leaning closer into his vanity mirror to adjust his lipstick and have a chance to message rindou.

40 missed messages. “i’m so fucked.” “why’s that babe?” “i may have forgot to message rindou telling him ackerman added hours onto my shift.” the room grew tense, “that’s awful? read his messages.” sei suggested, “might cool him off if he’s angry.

“alright!” yaku sighed with a smile, opening the messages. to his surprise, rindou wasn’t angry but instead worried that a client had gotten too touchy and triggered yakuro. after all, ran did inform rindou about the bits and pieces that sanzu did not tell yaku. “whew, i’m good! i’m safe. he’s just worried....” sei and bab took a loud sigh and began laughing. “BUT I’M FUCKED.” “really? that’s great! now go out! your client must be waiting.”

yup the girls took it that way. “i will! don’t worry don’t worry. i just hope sanzu doesn’t buy the whole club.” “he won’t now go!” sei pushed out yaku who glanced over at the client who finished the previous bottle. his nose was red and was slightly swaying back and forth.

walking up to the bar, yakuro ran into polaris. “polar!” “moonie.” “can you get something for my client? he seems to be a lightweight.” “sure, i’m sure he wouldn’t mind beer.” polar sat down the cup he was wiping back and forth to keep busy.

“the bar isn’t very busy huh?” “oh no, it’s just we got our best girls today dancing and the waitresses and working ten times harder. it works out for both of them and neither of them have to fight each other about unfair pay. tomorrow you’ll be our best so good luck.” polar smiled earnestly to add to the words of encouragement, sliding over the foaming beer over the black marbled counter.

“thanks! i’ll need it.” turning with the drink in hand, yaku noticed the man’s disgruntled face. he looked as if the whole world was going to blow up and he was watching the countdown. ‘act cutesy, act cutesy, act cutesy.’ it was a constant mantra in his head before he sat down and opened his mouth.

“what could be wrong sir?” yaku felt like rolling his eyes into oblivion, he could care less. “oh it’s just something wrong with the gang.” “oh my, a yakuza?” boring, yaku fake gasped handing over the bear to the angered man. “yeah!” he said pridefully with a chuckle, gulping the drink down and slamming it down. “something about bonten this and that and one of our men died.”

now that’s interesting. yaku felt like walking out to just go see sanzu, it felt like everything was reminding yakuro of him. hell even the purple lights were. but alas he was stuck eyeing the entrance while the man babbled on and on about this whole yakuza shin-dig he was in. he decided to slip off his shoes because the waitresses’ assured the man that they would handle getting drinks.

it felt like hours, drink after drink the world became more hazy. yakuro grew a high tolerance because of his job but he seemed to be losing himself while the client seemed more than sober. “you.. slipped somethin, huh?” the client beside him flinched, clenching onto his bag. “w-what? are you sure you don’t have a low tolerance m-mr. moonie?” the man stammered, through gritted teeth yaku managed to huff out a ‘whatever’.

“miss. ackerman set you up? thought so, the bitch never liked me because i have a bonten member for a partner. guess i’m finally leaving this hellhole. send her my best regards, yeah?” he asked with a agitated tone. his words were laced with threats, raising slowly. “mr. moonie?” “i’m leaving, i want to leave. i have to go see rindou.” he dug the acrylic nails that were done just recently into his thigh. fuck the shoes.

whatever was in the drink didn’t seem strong but it had yakuro in and out of conscience. the man who was once his client seemed nowhere to be found, leaving a stumbling yaku to himself. sei noticed this and dropped her waiters plate, running over to the bunny who was just about to fall. “MOONIE!”

ާlocation, the bonten loft. early morning, 3am.

blue eyes fluttered open, fighting the urge to close once more. “they’re awake! rindou, they’re all good!” a familiar voice echoed throughout yakuro’s head. his body felt numb, in an attempt to speak he noticed his voice was gone. every one of his senses felt like they were being drowned under water. his eyesight was the only thing that was significantly normal.

though his contacts seemed to be taken off, leaving the blue and purple hues of yaku’s true eye colour roaming free. rindou’s footsteps were heavy and had a quick pace, the vibrations went through the bed. “yaku?” his usual docile purple eyes were filled with worry and anger mixed together, forever burning until yakuro got better.

all the man managed to do was a weak smile, his eyes blinked slowly while he stared at rindou. the two conversed, rindou’s agitation growing as his jaw clenched harder with every muffled word sanzu spoke. “i am very upset sanzu, yakuro was drugged. AGAIN!” “we can’t do anything but sit it out! we don’t even know who it was. rindou you need to calm down.” sanzu too was frustrated beyong belief.

the whole loft was filled with tension that was denser than a brick wall. everyone considered yakuro a part of bonten after two years. he even got a bonten tattoo per mikey’s request. it lays on his right shoulder which he covers up during his job with makeup despite his hatred, it was the only condition ackerman gave him before he could work at bunny palace. ackerman and bonten hated each other, seeing a bonten tattoo at the ackermans would start a war.

“he’s quitting that job and working at our club. this is the last time i’ll EVER see him like this again.” this wasn’t the first time rindou raised his voice when he was angered by the way yakuro looked in this condition. unable to move, speak, only look plainly at the wall with a weak smile here and there.

it tore him apart from the inside out each time, it did every member living in the loft. finally after whatever happened between those two. sanzu left, rindou left as well but returned with water and began to cuddle the numb and quiet yakuro.

#toyko revengers #tokyorev #tokyorev imagine #tokyo revengers rindou #rindou haitani #rindo haitani #x oc #fanfiction #tokyorev fanfiction #tokyo revengers fanfiction #bonten #tokyorev bonten #ran haitani #sanzu haruchiyo #angst #soft ending #angst with a hopeful ending #𝄖entiwrites

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fabulouspotatosister · 4 years ago

Text

occupational hazard

summary: The best place to be when danger arises is by the Doctor’s side, but sometimes danger comes just by being at his side.

word count: 11, 934 (oof)

warnings: swearing, illness/poisoning, one character is kind of a creep

a/n: here it is.... finally.... the inaugural Long Fic for 11... i have “connections” (on ao3) for 13 and now i have this!! this took way too long to write because i kept getting distracted watching critical role, but now it’s finally done and i can... move on... anyway i hope you all enjoy!!

gif by: @dobrien

---

“…and this - should be Lobar Three!”

The Doctor spreads his arms with a flourish as the TARDIS lands, its wheezing noise reverberating throughout the console room. The Doctor pirouettes around the console with the grace of a giraffe and slams down a lever – the TARDIS stills.

A small laugh makes its way out of your mouth. “Should be?”

“Yeah, should be. Moderate climate, beautiful mountain ranges, and gorgeous views thanks to its unique atmosphere,” the Doctor continues, dancing towards the doors. “Get ready for the sunrise of a lifetime!”

He says it like a cheesy tour guide, flashing you one of his manic grins before he peeks his head out of the door.

A beat of silence. You hear him groan, then he sticks his head back in.

"Not Lobar Three," he says sheepishly, "Lobar Four. I missed."

"You missed?" You dash away from the console to stand next to him and gently elbow his side. He mutters a soft "ow". "Oh, one day I'll learn how to drive the TARDIS, and you're going to be sorry."

"Oi, don't diss the driver," the Doctor says indignantly, his mouth curling into a frown - though one that's probably more embarrassed than upset. It's fun to see the Doctor flustered, all frowns and furrowed brows, arms crossed over his chest. You decide to try again.

You grin widely, moving closer into the Doctor's side. His mouth hangs open a little bit before he frowns again. "Maybe I should get try and get River to teach me, you've got her on speed dial right -"

"No, no, no, you are not getting River involved in this," he grumbles. "And I do not have her on speed dial. At least it's inhabited. Come on!"

The Doctor swings the doors open, and a bright white light spills through. Carefully, he steps out of the TARDIS, and you follow suit.

You look around, your gaze travelling along smooth marble walls interrupted by framed portraits of wintry landscapes. Several green potted plants stand next to a stone desk. Right next to the empty desk is a shelf full of brochures - the Doctor shuts the doors behind him and runs to the self, plucking a brochure and flipping through it.

"Doctor, where are we?" you whisper.

The Doctor doesn't look up from his brochure. "Like I said, Lobar Four. Fourth planet in the Lobar system, very touristy, and also very cold, on account of it being farther from its system's sun -"

You sigh, interrupting him. "No, I meant where exactly are we?"

"That is a question I can answer."

You turn your head towards a low, rumbling voice - your gaze focuses on a bear-like creature, standing on two feet, walking slowly towards you. Something about its presence is quite commanding, and you stand a little straighter. "Welcome, strangers, to the P'kone Mountain Resort. What is your business here?"

"Hello!" the Doctor says cheerfully, stuffing his brochure into his jacket. "I'm the Doctor and this -" He pats your shoulders and you smile politely - "is my companion. We're just having a look around. Lovely resort. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. ...?"

"The Doctor!" The creature's eyes widen, and he steps forward, bowing his head. The many chains on his suit strike each other and make jangling sounds. “I did not expect such an esteemed visitor to arrive. I am Merban, and the pleasure is all mine."

"Oh, esteemed visitor?" The Doctor bows back, then glances at you - you fumble and bow awkwardly. If your bowing is offensive at all Merban doesn't say anything. "What's the occasion, Merban?"

Merban straightens, folding his hands - paws? You'd have to count how many fingers he had - behind his back. His white fur almost makes him disappear into the white marble walls, but the many golden accents on his maroon suit shine under the lights. "We are having a political summit regarding our planet's trade. You may join us, if you like - dinner is just beginning."

"Dinner?" you ask, then cringe at the way your voice echoes in the space. Merban nods slowly.

"Yes, child," he says, a gentle smile spreading across his features. "We would be very humbled to be in your company."

"Oh, his company, not mine," you laugh, gesturing to the Doctor.

Merban frowns, tilting his head to the side. "No, your company is appreciated as well. We Lobarians have heard many stories about the Doctor and his companions. How they travel together, spreading kindness amongst the stars. You play a very integral role in those stories. We will honor you just as much as him."

You feel your face grow warm. You glance at the Doctor and he smiles at you, a proud gleam in his eyes. "Oh. Well, uh - thank you," you manage, your voice small. "Yes, we'll join you. Please, lead the way."

"Very well." With another polite nod, Merban turns on his heel and starts walking into the hallway behind him.

"Honored? Me?" you gush, walking not too far behind Merban. You're only human, and although the Doctor's always said that humanity's brilliant, there's still a tiny part of you that jumps in joy at the praise. "They tell stories about you and I'm a part of them?"

"We're a package deal, you and I." The Doctor shrugs, but there's still a smile playing on his lips. A package deal. Never one without the other. You soften at the thought. "Word gets around quickly. You get used to it."

"Oh, I think I never will." You try to swallow a laugh, but it bubbles out of you anyway. "Spreading kindness amongst the stars is such high praise. I didn't think we were doing that."

The hallway widens into a large room, and your breath catches in your throat. Intricately carved pillars curve upwards into a domed ceiling, leading to a shimmering centerpiece hanging in the middle of the room that seems to shift in the wind. Scattered around the room are circular tables, decorated with a silken cloth that reflect the lights beautifully. There are a few Lobarians at every table, all dressed in formal wear lined in gold, all of them prim and proper in their seats.

"Friends and allies," Merban announces, "I proclaim the arrival of two very esteemed guests, the Doctor and his companion!"

A bout of polite clapping spreads across the room before it quickly falls silent again. Merban leads you to a longer table set on a stage - a Lobarian with fluffy brown fur dressed in an azure suit quickly leaps up from his chair to greet you and the Doctor.

"Hello!" he says brightly, taking your hand in his - five fingers, so not paws - and shaking it vigorously. "I'm Koramaz, it's so nice to finally meet you." He jerks his thumb behind him at another Lobarian with similarly colored fur, who rises from his seat to join Koramaz. "That's my assistant, Orvin. Why don't you say hello?"

"Greetings." Orvin reaches out to take your hand, the faint gleam of a ring shining on one of his fingers. He presses his mouth against the back of your palm - you raise your eyebrows at him and he laughs, a low sound. "I'm sorry. Traditions travel far and wide across the cosmos. I was told about this human one. Did that offend you?"

"N-no," you stutter out. The Doctor moves to stand behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

"Lovely to meet you both," he says. You nearly miss him grumbling something under his breath.

Merban settles into his seat. "If you are finished with your introductions, shall we begin?

Koramaz smiles, his teeth bared. And they're sharp. "Of course, Merban. Shall we?"

Merban offers that you sit beside him - Koramaz insists the same thing. In the end, you and the Doctor end up at the center of the table, with Koramaz on one side and Merban on the other. You watch as elegantly dressed Lobarians float into the room and begin handing dishes on silver platters to the guests, spinning around every table like the service is one big choreography.

"So - about this political summit," the Doctor begins, leaning back into his chair and clasping his hands together, "what's going on? Why don't you fill me in on the details, Merban?"

"Our planet is currently divided into two factions," Merban explains. He nods up at one of the servers politely as they set down a plate in front of him. "I am with the Protectionists. We wish to keep our planet's economy independent. That involves increasing restrictions and taxes on foreign exports."

"And I," Koramaz starts, waving away a server, "am with the Expansionists. We want Lobar Four to be seen on the galactic stage! Opening our doors to foreign trade has to be the best way. Don't you agree with me, Orvin?"

Orvin just hums in reply, the blue cloak resting on his shoulder swaying with the motion.

It's only now that you notice how the room is divided in two - the ones wearing blue sitting on one side, and the ones wearing red sitting on the other. It's also only now that formality of the event hits you. The Doctor in his suit and bowtie fits right in, but you - you're in a shirt and pants. You reach up the grab the hem of your shirt, anxiously running your fingers over the fabric.

"Preposterous," Merban mutters. "Lobar Four is not yet ready for that kind of progress."

"If we're not ready now, then when will we be ready, Merban?" Koramaz counters. "Hmm? What do you say to that?"

"Well, progress is subjective, when you really think about it," the Doctor says. "It all depends on what your goals are, and if your goals differ, then so does your idea of progress. I suppose that's what makes this so difficult."

"Spoken like a true public speaker," you whisper, leaning in.

The Doctor chuckles. "I was on Aristotle's debate team."

Koramaz turns to face the Doctor, his eyes glinting. "Say, Doctor, why don't you put in a good word for us? Everyone here trusts you a lot, and I'm sure you agree with me. Opportunity for all, and all that."

The Doctor smiles and shakes his head. "Sorry, I'm not really one for politics. The gossip can get a bit -" He grimaces slightly - "much. More of a negotiator. I don't really interfere."

You snicker at that. Really?

The Doctor narrows his eyes at you. Hush.

"I'm sure you lot can come to a compromise," the Doctor says. Merban scoffs.

"Compromise has no place in Koramaz's vocabulary," Merban says. Koramaz shrugs at that, raising his palms in the air. "The boy has a one-track mind, as the young ones say. I can only hope that these talks go peacefully."

"Yes, we only want the best for our planet." Koramaz nods slowly. He glances at Orvin, his gaze hidden by his fur. "It's a shame you won't put your two cents in, Doctor. But rest assured, we'll come to a conclusion by the end of the night."

A small tap on your shoulder makes you look up at one of the finely dressed servers. They carry a small tray filled with glasses of a rose-colored liquid. The server nods at you, then the drinks. "Would you like one?"

"Sure, thanks." You reach up and take one of the glasses - the rose-colored liquid sparkles, and when you smell it, it does smell faintly of roses. "Is it alcoholic?"

"It is a wine from our territory," Merban says, "a gift from my faction to Koramaz's for all of us to enjoy."

Koramaz swirls his own glass of wine. "It's a wonderful gesture. What about you, Doctor? Will you drink?"

The Doctor waves off a server, shaking his head, but he's got his own glass too. "Nah, I don't drink. But I do love to hold the glass in my hand, it makes me look cool."

Your laughter is what sets the whole table off - Koramaz chortles, and even Merban gives a low chuckle. The Doctor smiles, proud, raising the glass like Gatsby at one of his parties. It's enough to make you laugh again, steadying your hand so you don't spill your drinks.

You raise the glass to your lips and sip the wine - it tastes fizzy, and burns your throat when you swallow, but it isn't bad. The Doctor frowns like a disapproving parent, pointing his sonic at the glass. You raise your eyebrows at him as he skims over the readings.

"What?" you say, lowering your glass.

"I don't want you getting drunk, this is a diplomatic affair," the Doctor says quietly.

"Okay, Mr. Grumpy Face. You're no fun." You take a big gulp of wine and then immediately regret it as it burns even harder in your throat, blazing a trail of fire all the way down to your stomach. You cough, your face twisting into a grimace. "Don't laugh."

"'Course not," the Doctor says, laughing. "Are you okay?"

"Fine!" you splutter. It still burns, and you pound your fist against your chest. "Ack. I shouldn't have done that. Don't go all 'I told you so' on me and tell me that the wine isn't safe for human consumption."

"Oh, it isn't," the Doctor says nonchalantly. When you stare at him, your eyes going wide, he laughs. "Kidding! I'm kidding. Look at you, all panicked with your big eyes."

You groan and the Doctor laughs again, louder this time. Your annoyance drops at the joyful sound and you smile, biting your lower lip. You're out of place in a super fancy alien dinner party, and yet the Doctor is still squarely by your side, his laugh like an anchor amongst all of the extraordinary things happening. You file that nice thought away for later, to admit to him in a more vulnerable moment.

"And now, a dance," Merban announces, raising his glass, "to cement peace between our two factions. Koramaz, if you will?"

"Of course." Koramaz rises and makes his way to the very center of the room - the guests dressed in blue all form a circle, and the guests dressed in red partner up with them.

Orvin extends a hand to you. "Wait. Before you join the dance, I have a gift for you."

He unclasps the pin that holds his shoulder cloak in place - it slides off his shoulder, the fabric shimmering in his hands - and throws it over your shoulder. He leans in close to pin it, his fur just tickling the skin of your neck. It looks a little strange, the beautiful piece hanging off of your casual clothes, but Orvin looks proud. "Perfect for a beauty like you."

You smile shyly at him. "Thank -"

"Yes, thank you very much," the Doctor says quickly. He shoots a polite smile in Orvin's direction before he practically drags you away. "You didn't have to say yes," he says, his grip tight around your wrist.

"I didn't?" You pry your hand out of his grasp. The cloak sways as you move, cold like metal as it brushes against your arm. "It's a really nice cloak, though."

The Doctor huffs. "It's finely-woven chainmail - the metal links are as tiny as thread. Makes it look just like normal cloth. Lobarian craftsmen do not mess about. Symbolic Lobarian attire, the one-shoulder cloak, common throughout the whole system."

"Symbolic of what?" you ask. The Doctor sighs, his brows pinching together.

"It's an old symbol, it doesn't matter." You shoot him a look, trying to give him your best puppy-dog eyes - the Doctor holds your gaze before he sighs again, deeper this time. "Oh, you - alright, it means you're unbound."

"Unbound?"

"Unmarried, without a partner, whatever you want to call it!" the Doctor says, his voice climbing higher. "Single. I don't know."

You watch the Doctor, shoulders slumped as if in defeat, his hands thrown up in the air in frustration - if you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked a little -

"Raise the music!" Koramaz bellows, and the music grows even louder. Everyone starts to sway, some joining hands, some pulling each other close.

At Koramaz's announcement, the Doctor relaxes slightly. He extends his hand to you, bowing slightly like a proper gentleman - "Shall we dance?"

"Aren't you a terrible dancer?" you ask, placing your hand in his.

The Doctor smirks up at you, and your heart stutters in your chest. "You've never seen me waltz."

You breathe out a laugh as the Doctor steps closer to you, your hand still clasped in his. You bring your free hand to his shoulder - the Doctor, not taking his eyes off you, lets his hand come to a rest on your waist.

And oh, his eyes. Have you ever really looked at the Doctor before today? Like, really looked at him? Has his face always looked like that?

He said you were unbound but you certainly don't feel that way - swaying with him, the Doctor feels like the only thing keeping your feet on the ground. You blink up at him, at his hair that just looks perfect for running your hands through and his eyes that seem to hold everything.

You haven't been looking. Now you're looking and you really like what you see.

You exhale through your mouth at the realization, and hope that the Doctor doesn't hear. He's humming along to the music, happy enough. "Doctor?" you ask, jumping a little at the way your voice comes out strained.

The Doctor hums in response, a note of the song. You swallow. What's brought this on? Is it the alien wine you've just drunk? It probably is. Liquid courage. "Have I ever told you that I think you're really -"

"Excuse me," a Lobarian next to you coughs, "you'll have to pass her along."

You feel the Doctor's hand tense against your waist. "What?"

"We're meant to dance with everyone," they explain. "The dance can't continue until you pass her along. Sorry."

Something flickers across the Doctor's face, too quickly for you to figure out what it is. He lets go of you, pushing you gently away from him, and you think you catch him frowning as you're passed along.

It's easy enough to engage in light conversation with the Lobarians who dance with you. Most of them are overwhelmed at your presence, others are adorably curious about human customs. They ask questions about climate and plants, some of them tilting their heads in confusion at the idea of a "summer". A few remind you too much of old economics teachers.

You've just finished talking with a tall Lobarian woman when she spins you and passes you along to the one beside her - strong arms catch you, and you look up at Orvin's face.

"My cloak suits you well," he rumbles, smiling.

"It does," you say brightly. "Thank you, it's beautiful."

Orvin hums, intertwining his fingers with yours. You jump at the intimacy of the action, but his hold is too tight for you to pull away from it. "Do you know what it means?"

"Y-yeah, the Doctor explained it to me."

"Then you must know what I think of you," Orvin says. His hand, once settled on your waist, starts drifting towards the small of your back - you shudder at the touch. "Do you know what it means when it is given to someone?"

"No," you squeak out.

Orvin's pulling you closer, your bodies nearly flush with one another. "From one unbound to another… I think you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I follow," you say, leaning away from Orvin's face, which was now very close to yours. His teeth are just as sharp as Koramaz's. "But I'm - I'm not unbound."

"Well, you might not be - but maybe your partner isn't here." He leans in closer to you and you stiffen. To anyone watching, Orvin might as well be dipping you, but all you want to do is kick him and run away. "Why don't we have a little fun?" he whispers, his breath tickling your ear.

There's something almost predatorial in Orvin's gaze that sends your poor heart into a frenzy. Sharp teeth and something sharp digging into your back. You squirm in his grasp, trying to find safety - the Doctor. You meet his gaze from across the room, and you have to blink at the intensity of his glare.

Orvin can't see it, but the Doctor is burning holes into his back.

"I'm not unbound," you repeat, trying to put a little fire in your voice. The Doctor's gaze flickers from Orvin to you and he shoots you a polite smile, but the look in his eyes hasn't gone. My anchor, you think. "The one I'm bound to is right behind you."

Not entirely the truth, not entirely a lie either. Maybe it's a wish.

A few seconds pass, the silence between you and Orvin heavy with tension. He turns his head to face the Doctor, and then he laughs. The sound sends shivers down your spine.

"Alright," he finally says, "I assumed. I apologize."

You'd better be sorry is the first thought that crosses your mind. Orvin shifts his hand away from the small of your back - a sharp pain pierces through your skin. You suck in a breath through your teeth.

"You alright?" Orvin moves his hand back to your waist. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," you say. The pain is gone as fast as it came. "Probably just static."

Orvin looks down at you curiously, but nods. He pulls back from you, getting ready to pass you to your next partner, and you spin, and spin, and, spin, and hang on, should you be spinning for this long or -

"Woah, woah!"

You're spinning. You're still spinning. Or is the room spinning? You blink slowly, your eyelids heavy. Maybe it's the wine, the one glass of Lobarian wine you had that's messing with your system. Maybe the Doctor was right, maybe it really wasn't good for humans. The room lurches forward - or maybe you do.

"Hang on, I've got you."

The Doctor. You're back in his arms, still swaying slowly to the music, which sounds so far away now. Has someone stuffed your ears with cotton? You lean forward and rest your head on his shoulder, pressing your forehead against his tweed jacket.

"I saw you stumbling," the Doctor says, his voice quiet near your ear. "What's going on? Have you had too much to drink? I told you -"

You groan, cutting him off, your stomach roiling. "I don't… feel good. I feel like..."

You grip against the Doctor slackens, and you fall - the cold marble floor doesn't greet you. Instead, the Doctor's arms wrap around you before you can collide with the floor.

You can faintly hear a gasp spread throughout the entire room. The music's stopped, too. You want to apologize for ruining everyone's fun, but all that comes out of your mouth is another weak groan. You squeeze your eyes shut, but the room's still tumbling. So dizzy...

Koramaz's voice drifts in. "Oh, no. What's wrong? What's happened?"

"I don't know, I need to find out first," the Doctor says. You feel him pull you closer, letting your head rest against his chest. The double beats of his heart join the pounding in your head. "She said she wasn't feeling well, why would she be not feeling well..."

"There is an infirmary, in the hotel," Merban suggests. A furry hand pushes the hair away from your face. "She can be taken there until she is well again."

"Right, since you all have great service." The Doctor's voice waver's ever so slightly. You reach out, your hand wrapping around one of his braces. "I'll go with her. I'll stay until she's better."

Please, you try to say. It comes out like a strangled noise in the back of your throat instead, but the Doctor seems to understand. You feel his lips press against your hair. Don't leave.

"No, Doctor," Koramaz says gently. "This could be really serious. There might be a criminal in our midst. We need you here, to answer some questions."

Merban speaks up. "Koramaz, are you insinuating that -"

"No, I'm just being thorough."

"And if I won't?" Something dangerous plays at the edge of the Doctor's voice. His hold on you tightens.

"Do not worry." Merban's voice is calm and steady. "Rest assured, your companion will be provided the best care that we have."

Koramaz speaks again, and you feel yourself being moved, away from the Doctor - a whine bubbles out of your mouth, your hands still searching for where the Doctor is. No! "Orvin'll help take her to the infirmary. Won't you, Orvin?"

Not this bastard again… "As you wish," Orvin says. He scoops you up and lifts you. Everything lurches at the motion, and you groan again, dizzy, confused, and maybe just a little bit scared.

Their voices get farther and farther away, but even though all the nausea there's a thought, clear as day, nagging at you in the very back of your mind.

"H-hang on," you mumble. "Guys, I don't think I'm drunk..."

The Doctor tries to swallow his jealousy as he watches Orvin walk away with your limp form in his arms. That's not what he's supposed to be feeling right now, but he can't help the ugly feeling that's snaked its way into his hearts.

You'd looked radiant tonight. The sight of you in Orvin's cloak - although a little bit annoying - is something that he's sure is etched in his brain. You'd looked like royalty in the blue piece. He’s seen a lot of royalty, and they’re absolutely nothing compared to you. And you looking up at him, almost dreamily, face flushed with alcohol, is not something he'll forget.

But he can't get the way you reached out for him out of his brain, either. The way you gripped one of his braces for dear life, the way your hands reached out blindly through your confusion, looking to him for comfort.

Not jealous, he tries to convince himself, worried. He's better at that anyway.

"What's going on?"

"Let me see, let me see!"

"They've just carted her off..."

The Lobarians start muttering amongst themselves. After you'd fallen into his arms, they'd scattered, grouping back into their respective factions. The beautiful palette of reds and blues divided again. It's funny what fear does to a people.

"Now, now, everyone, calm down," Merban says. "There is no need for panic. Fear and suspicion will only make our investigation harder."

"Fear and suspicion?"

"Merban's right, we need to stay as calm as we can -"

"No, we need to start asking questions!"

Murmuring spreads through both factions. The Doctor watches Merban, hands held out, trying to placate everyone - and Koramaz, shifting on his feet, mouth bared in what almost looks like a snarl, his sharp teeth reflecting the light and making him look even more vicious. He can sense it, Koramaz's anger, and he takes a careful step backward. The whole thing is a puddle of gasoline, and if Koramaz says anything, there will only be ashes left behind.

"Now, have any of you here seen anything suspicious during tonight's proceedings? Anything at all?"

Most of the Lobarians shake their heads, looking at each other with wide eyes. The Doctor's seen this before - classic political intrigue. Two factions with a rivalry. It's something he'd love to solve, if he wasn't dealing with the nagging worry slowly climbing up his throat.

Suddenly, Koramaz snarls, pointing a finger at Merban. "If anything, you're the suspicious one!"

A collective gasp. There it was. Now there was a fire.

Merban raises his hands, shaking his head. "Koramaz - you must be mistaken. As I have said, we all need to stay calm, and -"

"No, we aren't going to stay calm," Koramaz grumbles. "Who invited the Doctor and his companion to the dinner? Whose territory was that wine from? Hmm?"

There's another gasp, and another wave of panicked muttering. Merban sighs. "Koramaz, please. Let us talk about this."

"They're the ambassadors of the universe, well known through time and space!" Koramaz voice shakes with emotion, his entire body trembling. "You did this! You tried to poison a visitor - a potential ally in trade, an opportunity - to keep our planet independent! Your cruelty knows no bounds."

"Koramaz - no -" Merban begins, but soon enough his voice is drowned out by the sound of yelling and fighting. "Koramaz!"

"Doctor, look at him!" Koramaz shouts, glancing at the Doctor with wild eyes. "Don't you see how guilty he is?"

The Doctor stays silent.

"Everyone, are you feeling well? Have you had any of the wine?"

"You bastards!"

"We're just trying to help Lobar Four!"

Koramaz goes still in the middle of the chaos. The Doctor narrows his eyes at him - narrows his eyes at the way he takes a deep breath in, adjusts his suit, and relaxes as soon as the first stone has been thrown. He storms off, disappearing into the throes of panicked and angry Lobarians.

The Doctor moves to stand next to Merban. The Protectionist leader looks absolutely frazzled, his once pristine fur now sticking out at unnatural angles.

"Merban," he says, and Merban jumps at the sound of his voice. "I'm sorry, you lot are really being quite noisy. I think I'll head back to my ship now, if that's alright with you."

"No, Doctor, we -" Merban sighs, ragged. "I may need your help. You must be concerned for your companion. If you cooperate with us, I'm sure we can find a solution."

Concerned is an understatement. "I'll be here," he says, placing a reassuring hand on Merban's shoulder. "But I won't be of any help while you're all squabbling. I'll stay out of your way until this all dies down."

Merban relaxes ever so slightly, and the Doctor gives him a small smile. Slowly, he nods, placing his own hand on the Doctor's shoulder. Merban's touch is firm, but his gaze wavers. "Of course. Feel free to leave, Doctor - but do come back. We will let you know when we need you."

"You're a good man, Merban," the Doctor replies. "Thank you."

The Doctor waits until Merban lowers his hands, and watches him as he plunges into the crowd of arguing Lobarians, his deep voice rising above everyone else's.

Good show, Doctor. Time to make your escape.

He slips into another corridor as quietly as he can, the sounds of petty words being thrown at one another getting softer and softer. He walks towards the lobby, where the TARDIS is parked, anxious hands fidgeting to keep his mind off the first thing it drifts to - a worst case scenario.

But of course, it does. The Doctor just doesn't want to bring those thoughts to the front of his mind.

His worry is practically clawing out of his throat now. The Doctor fights it first. Merban had promised you'd be safe, but Koramaz - Koramaz hadn't made any promises. Only threats. He stops fighting his fear, his hands curling into fists.

The Doctor turns on his heel and walks the other way.

He thrusts his hand into his jacket, and with a soft cry of "a-ha!", pulls out a brochure. It's the same brochure he'd picked up when he landed - it's shiny, reflecting the light into his eyes, and also very informative, as all good brochures should be.

He turns it over in his hands. Printed on the paper is a map of the hotel, a tiny glowing blip on the paper marking where he's standing.

The Doctor opens his mouth to explain it to you, paper-thin optics with a built-in directional tracker, waiting for your excited response - then he falters. It's quiet. You're not going to respond because you aren't there, right by his side, where you should be.

Problem number one. The rest, he can deal with later. Finding the area on the map labeled "Infirmary", he sets off in that direction first.

The Doctor walks silently though the hallways, sonic screwdriver held up like a weapon. He won't boast about it, but Time Lords have better hearing than humans - not the best, but still quite good. He can still hear the distant sound of raised voices, but he tries to focus on something else. He tries to see if he can hear you, your voice, your breathing, your heartbeat, anything of yours that he can recognize.

Nothing.

He looks through the glass doors of the infirmary - and they're empty. He peers in further, and there's still no sign of you. None of the beds have a pillow out of place, and the staff inside are too busy tending to other people.

Not jealous, not jealous, worried, starts to sound quite bad in the Doctor's head. Jealousy would have been better than this.

The Doctor lifts the map to his face again, squinting at the tiny text printed onto it - Infirmary, Function Halls, Private Rooms. The private rooms don't look too far away from the infirmary. A guess won't hurt, the Doctor thinks.

Then, close by - the sound of a clattering doorknob. And voices. Faint groaning.

"Doctor..."

Then a faraway thud, the sound of something soft falling to the floor. Like a body.

Maybe this guess would hurt. The Doctor runs towards the source of the sound, one of the private rooms, and presses his ear against the door. What he hears next makes his heart twist painfully in his chest.

It's you, it's your voice. It's too faint for him to make out any words. The Doctor grits his teeth as he presses his whole body against the door.

It doesn't budge. He tries the doorknob - locked. Anger joins his repertoire of already jumbled emotions, setting his hearts alight with a white-hot anger that he hasn't felt in a very, very long time. He points his sonic at the doorknob, gripping it so tightly he can see his knuckles turn white - the door swings open and he very nearly drops the device.

"Help," you mutter weakly, sprawled on the floor. "Help me."

"No, no no no -" The Doctor drops to his knees beside you, sweeping the sonic over your body - the whirring noise makes you furrow your brows, and he apologizes under his breath. He has a feeling he's going to be doing a lot of that. He skims through the readings, his hearts pounding out of his chest at every point of data.

He tucks his sonic back into his jacket and gently turns you over. You roll onto your back and groan, your arms hanging limp at your sides.

"Hey," he murmurs, his vision going hazy. He blinks quickly. Not now.

Slowly, he wraps his arms around your shivering form. You're shaking like a leaf in a storm, and you feel impossibly frail in his arms. A sob makes its way through your trembling lips, and the sound rips the Doctor's hearts in two.

You had just been smiling, laughing, dancing with him minutes ago. Now you're sobbing in his arms. The Doctor swallows.

"Doctor?" you mumble. You're looking into nowhere, your eyes glassy. "I need to - need to find the Doctor..."

Now you were just being cruel. "It's me," the Doctor chokes out. He blinks the tears out of his eyes, again, but he can't stop the few that slip out. "I'm here, I'm right here. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" Your cheeks are shiny. "Wha… what for?"

This. Everything. The Doctor reaches out to wipe your tears - and he jerks his hand away. You're burning up, sweat beading on your forehead, your hair sticking to the damp skin. Even Orvin's chainmail cloak has absorbed some of the warmth.

"Nothing," the Doctor whispers. He takes your face in his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead, even though heat is coming off you in waves. "I'm going to take you home, okay? You're going to be alright. I promise."

"Home," you slur, your head lolling, "yeah, home sounds good."

The Doctor doesn't like making promises. He's too afraid of what happens when he can't keep them, but he swears he'll fulfill this one. You lean into his touch and sigh, that one puff of breath scalding the skin of his hands.

Your eyelids flutter as you head comes to rest on the Doctor's chest. Another round of shivers wracks your body, and the Doctor tightens his grasp on you.

As gently as he can, he rises to his feet. The motion makes you whimper, and you curl up in his grasp. He sets his jaw and steps out of the room.

You mumble things under your breath as the Doctor weaves through the hallways, making his way back to the TARDIS. Back home. He doesn't want to listen, because your delirious mumblings make his hearts hurt terribly, but he does catch a few. A few "sorry"s, a handful of "hurts", the occasional "ow", and "I tried to warn him".

"Tried to warn me about what, sweetheart?" he coaxes when you mumble it for the third time. You blink up at him blearily, recognition flickering in your tired eyes.

"M'not drunk," is your breathy response. "Didn't feel drunk. Felt sick. My back… hurts."

"Your back?" the Doctor asks. You groan in reply, and when the Doctor jostles you experimentally that groan tapers off into a weak cry of pain. It's too much for his hearts. "Was it the wine? Do you think it was the wine?" he tries, following another lead.

"My back," you insist weakly. "Dance… he was too close..."

The TARDIS comes into view, and the Doctor quickens his pace. Just a few more steps and you'll be home, safe -

Merban nearly runs into him. His jaw drops open at the sight of you hanging limply in the Doctor's arms. "Oh, goodness," he gasps, "what's happened to her?"

"I don't know," the Doctor growls, the anger in his hearts a roaring fire. "How about you tell me why she wasn't in the infirmary? Or why she was all alone in a locked room with a raging fever?"

"Doctor, I -" Merban stutters. "I was under the impression she was being cared for."

"Well, your impression was wrong."

Koramaz appears behind Merban, and his eyes widen in shock. He reaches out for you, and something in the Doctor snaps - he isn't allowed to get close to you like that, no one is! He steps back quickly, shielding you in his arms.

"No, don't you touch her!" he snarls, suddenly much older and ancient and dangerous.

Koramaz stops in his tracks. The Doctor glares at him, breathing heavily, watching as he stumbles backwards. There's a sick satisfaction building in him at the fear in their eyes - and the Doctor realizes that maybe, just this once, he doesn't mind being ancient. He doesn't mind being dangerous.

But then you mutter something disjointedly, shift your frail body in his arms, and it's all wiped away like writing on the sand. The anger gone in just a moment, replaced by a fear that keeps him rooted to the floor.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" Merban asks softly.

The Doctor looks down at you. He's always scared, but not like this. Never like this.

"I'm being selfish," he says, and he disappears into the TARDIS.

“Have you done it?”

“I have.”

“Good job.”

Voices drift into your hearing. All you feel are sensations – incoherent and choppy, like someone had deleted entire minutes of your memory, scenes jumping from one to the other. Being scooped into someone’s arms, carried into the dark. Silken sheets brushing against freezing skin. Something thick and heavy being laid over you, suffocating you –

“Make sure she isn’t found until later. You know the plan. You know what he needs to think.”

The voices are familiar. Should you be alarmed? You feel like you should – but you can’t be. It’s too cold to feel anything else at all. There’s a soft click, and then laughter. Low laughter, laughter that’s too threatening to be kind. The sound sends shivers up your spine.

A small part of your mind’s still awake, and its screaming at you to get the hell up. You roll, and twist - then you fall, and the bed disappears from underneath you. You’re weightless for a second before your elbow collides with the floor. You’re too tired to even cry out in pain.

A thought pushes through your mind as you reach up at what looks like a doorknob – find the Doctor. He’s home, he’s safety, he’s everything. The doorknob rattles once, twice, nothing.

“Doctor,” you manage, and then –

Another voice drifts in. Warm and comforting. Soft against the sharp pain.

“Hush, I’m here,” the voice says. Something cold presses onto your forehead. A bead of liquid trickles down your temple and disappears into your hair.

“Where…?” You draw in a slow breath, your head lolling against a surprisingly warm pillow. You want to open your eyes – look upon your savior, as dramatic as that sounds. But your eyelids are so heavy, and you give up before you can even try.

“It’s alright, you’re safe, you’re on the TARDIS.” This time it’s hands, a palm pressing against your forehead, gentle fingers pressing onto your neck, both of them blessedly cool. You sigh and lean into the touch.

“Try to rest – you’re still burning up.” The hands retreat – then they come back, brushing against your cheek. The touch says a thousand words that you’re too tired to understand. “I need to figure out what they’ve put in you before…”

Silence for a moment.

“…I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

Darkness swallows you before you can say anything back.

You come to consciousness like a computer waking up – every system flickering to life one by one. Touch comes first – you’re in a soft thing, a comfy thing, a bed. The faint hum of the TARDIS reaches your ears, low enough to be calming background noise. Sight is the last thing that comes to you as your eyes flutter open.

This isn’t the medical bay. It’s missing the sterile white walls and clean lines you’re used to waking up to when your adventures go inevitably south – and this isn’t your room either. It’s big and barely decorated, and while most of the rooms on the TARDIS feel old, this one feels older than most.

“You’re awake!”

The Doctor comes into your vision. You notice three things – one, his jacket’s gone, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. Two, this bed you’re lying in? Huge. Three – the Doctor’s eyes are very, very red.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Not – sure,” you reply, your voice hoarse. “Confused. How long have I been out?”

The Doctor doesn’t answer that. He sits down on the bed instead, pulling your arm gently from under the blanket with a practiced ease. He rolls up your sleeve and peers at your forearm, his gaze steady and laser-focused on one spot on your arm.

The Doctor’s mysterious, but sometimes he can be easy to read. It isn’t hard with his face – he doesn’t shy away from emotions, and even when he tries to, they slip out of the mask he tries so hard to maintain. There have been quiet nights on the TARDIS after those botched adventures, that have started with anger and ended in tears from the both of you.

You flick your gaze from your arm to the Doctor’s face, and really look. Even through the thick haze that lays like fog on your mind, you can see his eyes, red-rimmed and sunken, and the way his jaw is tight and his shoulder are squared with a tension you’ve seen before.

He must be angry, you think, angry that I’ve gotten hurt, somehow.

“Good,” the Doctor finally says, looking up at you with a tired smile. “The antidote seems to be working – I made it with your blood, by the way, so if you feel a little lightheaded that’s on me.”

But there isn’t any anger in his eyes. There’s no storm, no fire. Just… exhaustion, and maybe a hint of relief as he looks at your face.

You must have missed it.

“What happened?” Your mouth doesn’t form the words quite right, and you catch the way the Doctor’s lips curve up fondly.

“You were poisoned,” he says, running a hand through his hair. It’s messier than it usually is, and his bowtie’s askew too. He turns away from you before you can reach up and fix it.

“Poison?” you ask. You struggle to connect the dots in your head, your mind still running too slow for your liking. “Someone poisoned me?”

“Not organic, not one you can buy either. Unprofessionally made, cobbled together in a back alley.” The Doctor’s gesticulating wildly now, moving his hands around in the air – without his jacket, he looks much smaller, and a little ridiculous. Then you wonder where his jacket is. “Something like this, you’re not looking for an easy kill – you’re just looking for results.”

“Yeah, they got results,” you groan. Every part of your body aches, and trying to reach any thought is like swimming in an ocean of molasses. “They definitely got results.”

You press your palms against the bed beneath you and push – and the world tilts at the movement, a sharp and sudden pain piercing through your lower back. You fall back against the mattress, the air leaving your lungs.

The Doctor whirls around, and before you can blink his hands are frantically hovering over you. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“My – back,” you grit out, your head still spinning. “Ow.”

The Doctor’s already wide eyes widen even more. His hands, once reaching out, pull back to rest against his chest, tightened into fists. “When I found you, you – you kept warning me about your back, telling me your back hurt, and I couldn’t look because I was too –”

His voice breaks, and he trails off. He stares, eyes full of unshed tears, and swallows his words instead.

“Never mind,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “Let me have a look.”

Steady hands help you into a sitting position, even though the pain bares its sharp teeth every time you shift. You cling to the Doctor, fabric bunched up in your hands. He has to gently pry your grip open so he can move, and crouches behind you.

Still lost in a haze of pain, you can only blink blearily into the distance. You barely feel the Doctor’s fingers slowly curling around the hem of your shirt, or the way hits your bare skin as he pulls it up slightly. But you do hear a sudden exhalation of breath, and the whir of the sonic as he passes it over your skin.

After that – silence. Uncharacteristic silence, a silence that’s almost deafening as the Doctor skims through the readings.

“What is it?” you venture.

Another moment of silence. Then – “A puncture wound. So small you can barely see it.” The Doctor’s fingers brush over it, and you shudder. “It’s… an entryway. The source of the poison.”

The Doctor moves, and then he’s right by your side again, gently pushing you back onto the bed. He’s sad, you can tell that much, but his eyes have a familiar storm brewing behind them. Just lying in wait to rip and tear into everything in its path. The smile on his lips does nothing to hide that.

“Right. You –” He points at you, standing up – “should be getting some rest. I need to take care of things with the Lobarians – y’know, stuff. Diplomatic stuff. Important… stuff. I’ll be back.”

Something in you stirs – not anger, because he doesn’t need it right now, worry – and your hand shoots out, weak fingers wrapping around the Doctor’s wrist. “Let me come with you.”

“You’re supposed to be healing, not running off with me,” the Doctor says, his voice soft but admonishing, “It’ll be really boring, I promise -”

“Isn’t that how this whole thing started?” Your grip tightens around his wrist. “Me running off with you.”

The Doctor looks down. “I invited you.”

“And I said yes,” you whisper. You tug gently, and he sits onto the bed with a soft thump. You know this Doctor – and right now he’s volatile. Letting him leave would be like a match to gasoline. “Listen, I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”

Please stay goes unspoken. I care about you goes unspoken, and about a million other things too.

The Doctor sighs, but there isn’t any edge there. “I can never say no to you, can I?”

“Nope,” you say tiredly, popping the “p”. The Doctor laughs. Anything to make you stay.

The Doctor settles into the bed beside you, and as if on cue, the lights dim. The TARDIS’s humming grows even softer, fading until all you can hear is the sound of the Doctor breathing beside you.

“She’s being awfully nice,” the Doctor whispers beside you. “She’s spoiling you.”

“She likes me,” you reply. “Jealous?”

“Only a little bit.”

You hum in response. The darkness is already lulling you back to sleep, but you shift and nuzzle into the Doctor’s side. You feel him go still against you, against the sudden affection, but you don’t let up – you cuddle closer to him, you ear close to his chest.

You should be embarrassed. You’re probably embarrassed. But the relief you feel at getting the Doctor to stay by your side is clouding your judgement, and then there’s also the whole getting-poisoned-thing. You can imagine the look on the Doctor’s face – eyes wide, cheeks red, mouth parted like he can’t think of anything to say.

But he loves surprising people. “A few days,” he says quietly.

“What?” you mumble into his chest.

“You were out for a few days.” The Doctor shifts, wraps an arm around you. “I’m answering your question.”

“Oh.”

Snuggled into his chest, you can hear the sound of his heartbeats. Their rhythm pulls you closer to sleep, and your eyes slip shut.

Then you hear the Doctor sniff, feel his breathing hitch, and suddenly it’s your turn to go completely still against him.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he continues, sounding so impossibly small. “You were in and out of consciousness while I worked on the antidote. You -” A ragged sigh, then a soft whisper of your name - “you nearly died.”

Fear grips your heart tightly, squeezing dangerously – partly because of the fear of dying without being aware of it at all, and mostly because of the fear that coats the Doctor’s every word. You would have left him all alone, and if the distant storm brewing in his eyes is any indication, he would have done something much worse than stupid.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say.

“No, don’t be, don’t be,” the Doctor murmurs. His lips brush against the top your head, and he pulls you even closer to him. “Please don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong. This is my fault.”

“It’s not…” you begin, but the Doctor shushes you, and runs his fingers through your hair. Every motion pulls you deeper into sleep, and although you have a thousand things you want to say, you’re fading.

The last thing you remember is a whispered apology.

It's cold when you wake up again. You shift in the bed, trying to snuggle against something that should be behind you, but there isn't anything there. You blink the sleep out of your eyes and sluggishly reach out, letting your arm flop against the empty sheets, searching for warmth.

Your eyes shoot open. Empty sheets.

You turn your head to the side to find the spot beside you empty, the sheets smoothed out like a certain Time Lord had never even been there. Even your blanket's smoothed out, pulled over your shoulders and up to your chin like a parent would do.

It shouldn't hurt, waking up alone. It always happened. The Doctor isn't yours - he's always moving, always running, and someone like that can't ever be tethered, especially not to you.

But it does, and you find tears pricking at your eyes at the thought. If he can't be yours, then you can't be his either, and that means -

"No, you listen to me!"

You push yourself up. The pain in your back is still there, but it's a dull pain now, and certainly nothing compared to way your heart's started hammering in your chest.

That's the Doctor's voice in the distance, loud and ringing and angry.

You throw the blanket off your legs and climb off the bed. Your bare feet press against the cold wooden floor, and the chill sends another burst of clarity to your mind. He's out there, alone, and furious. Never a good combination for the Doctor, historically, you think, reaching up to rub your arms.

Your gaze falls onto a crumpled pile of tweed fabric slung over one of the chairs. Picking it up, you run your hands over the fabric. It feels sentimental, doing that, like interacting with a memory. The things this must have seen...

It's too big for you when you throw it over your shoulders, but it feels like him and smells like him, so it's enough. You wrap the Doctor's jacket tighter around yourself and stumble out of the room.

The sound of arguing drifts down the TARDIS hallways, and it's hard to make the Doctor's voice out from all the overlapping voices. The Doctor was right, though - the TARDIS is kinder today, and the hallways don't wind as much as the usually do. It's a straight shot to the console room. The voices get louder as you get closer to the door.

"Y'know, the funny thing about politicians is that they lie."

"Doctor -" That's Koramaz - "you have to believe me; I would never lie to you!"

"It's in your business to lie, part of the job description really. Why wasn't she in the medical bay? Why was the door to her room locked?" The Doctor's voice gets louder as he speaks. "If I didn't think so highly of you, I'd think you were trying to leave her for dead!"

There's a sigh, and Merban speaks - "Your opinion of us shouldn't have to change, Doctor. Let's keep this amicable."

"Amicable?" the Doctor asks, incredulous. "Ha! We'll see about amicable when I find out what you've really done - no one hurts the people I love and gets away with it!"

Fuck. You run up to the doors and try the doorknobs - they're locked. Fuck!

The Doctor's voice is dark, darker than you've ever heard it before, his words laced with an anger usually reserved for only the cruelest of beings. He knew he would leave, and he knew I'd follow him - the nerve of the man! Your sweaty hands slip against the metal doorknobs and you swear under your breath again. You press against the door, but it doesn't give.

"Please," you beg, looking up at the TARDIS's engine. It hums lowly. "I know you're listening. Please, old girl, before he does anything he's going to -"

The TARDIS doors swing open, a gust of wind pushes you out the doors and you stumble out of the ship and back into the P'kone Mountain Resort.

"...regret."

A wave of silence crashes over the room. Everyone stands frozen in time, still dressed in all their finery - Koramaz and Orvin standing side-by-side, hands raised in the air; Merban with an arm outstretched, held up protectively over the other Protectionists; and the Doctor, because he is the Doctor, standing proud in the middle of the room. Jacketless.

The Doctor's head whips towards you and his gaze softens, his eyes raking over your form. "Are you okay? What are you doing up?"

"I'm fine," you say, waving away his fussing hands. "What are you doing?"

"I thought I told you to rest," he says. Something cold cuts through his voice, and you narrow your eyes at him.

"I thought I told you to stay," you shoot back. The Doctor closes his mouth. You peer into his eyes, finding the fire that's infamous for, and counter it with your own. He shrinks against your glare.

The room's still divided, glittering red against shining blue. The Lobarians whisper to one another, and while you can't catch what they're talking about, you can make a guess. Time to put on a show.

Orvin steps forward from the crowd, wringing his hands together. "Are you well, now? We were so worried about you."

The words drip out of his mouth, sickeningly sweet like honey. You remember the glint of his teeth when he smiled at you on the dancefloor, and the sharpness of his hand against your back. He was too close, much too close.

Two can play at that game. You bare your teeth in a smile.

"Thank you for your concern," you say sweetly, walking up to him. The Doctor reaches out, tries to stop you, but you shoot him another look. "Might I say, you're a wonderful dancer."

"Oh, well, thank you," Orvin mutters. He swallows and clasps his hands together tightly in front of him. "So were you."

"Yeah?" Your smile grows wider, and Orvin shudders. "You know, you're a great dancer, but a terrible fucking liar."

You grab Orvin's clasped hands and pull, prying his hands apart. Your fingers dig into his wrists, nails carving crescents into his skin, and he yelps.

"Didn't we get close, Orvin?" you ask, leaning closer to him. Orvin's breaths come in short puffs, and behind him Koramaz's eyes are wider than dinnerplates.

Glinting on Orvin's left hand is a ring, golden and intricately carved, a shiny red jewel set into the top. The Doctor comes close, leaning down to look at his hands.

"Ooh, nice ring," the Doctor says, peering at the ring, understanding dawning on his face. "College ring, class of 4320 at the University of Neloba - good school, I was a professor there for a cycle. But -"

The Doctor turns towards you, gives you a quick smile, then shoves his hand down the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out his sonic screwdriver, and with a flourish, points it at Orvin's ring. He holds it upright to read the results - and something dark crosses over his face.

"It's a match," he says quietly, "to the poison in your system - by the way, mind if I take a look?"

Orvin opens his mouth to protest, and you twist his wrists upward, his palms facing the ceiling. He makes another pained noise.

The Doctor pulls the ring off his finger and holds it up to the light. Gently, he presses against the red jewel - and on the bottom of the ring, a small needle pops out for just a second before it disappears again.

"Ah," the Doctor says simply, gesturing to Orvin with the ring still held between his fingers. "What do we have here?"

"Orvin, how could you!" Koramaz gasps, his voice shaking with every word. "My own assistant, doing something so dastardly -"

"Oh, THAT'S ENOUGH!" the Doctor roars, throwing the ring to the floor. You jolt, and the whole room seems to shake at the sound of his voice, loud as a crack of thunder. "Stop lying, stop acting - just stop! Why did you do this?"

Koramaz shakes slightly, exhales, then goes completely still. If the Doctor's fire, Koramaz is ice, reflected in the pristine blue of his clothing. The Expansionists, standing near him, look like an ocean ready to swallow the Doctor whole. Slowly, he smiles, and spreads his arms.

"You're a warrior, Doctor," he says, shaking his head. "You've destroyed. Razed down everything in your path. Sometimes..." He glances at Merban - "that can help people."

"Koramaz..." Merban's jaw is hanging open. He shakes his head slightly, his eyes wide and unbelieving. "I did not think you were capable of such things."

"You didn't think at all, Merban."

"Help you," the Doctor spits, glaring at Koramaz. His hands are balled into fists at his sides. "What, so you wanted to turn me against the Protectionists? Was that it?"

"Your anger is a weapon, and one I intended to use." Koramaz smiles again, but it's thin. "I had no choice. Like Merban said, I don't believe in compromise."

The Doctor stares, fire burning in his eyes. Shoulders tense, he starts walking slowly, stalking Koramaz until there's barely any space between them, until he's cornered, nose-to-nose with the Oncoming Storm. The Doctor almost dwarfs Koramaz, his glare boring holes into him.

"Funny, because I'm starting to think that too," the Doctor growls, his jaw set. He looks down at Koramaz like a predator to prey, and for the first time, you see genuine fear in Koramaz's eyes.

"Doctor," you call out. He doesn't seem to hear. He's the Oncoming Storm now, surrounded by a hurricane of his own making. "Doctor!"

"My anger? A weapon?" The Doctor's voice is cold and sharp, like knives trailing against skin. "Do you want to find out why, Koramaz?"

You know why - you know exactly why, from stories weaved across time and space - Koramaz trembles under the weight of all the Doctor's sins, and the Doctor doesn't need to add another name to his list.

You have to fight it. You have to fight against the blustering winds of his fury, but you push through - and your hand wraps around his. The Doctor faces you, his eyes shining with an anger that isn't entirely human, and you do the only thing you can really do -

Pull him from the edge. Smile, and squeeze his hand tight.

"Don't" you whisper, and although what you really want to say is still left unspoken, in that split second, there's no one else in the room. Just you and the Doctor.

You're his anchor now.

"You had a choice," you tell Koramaz, still clutching the Doctor's hand. "You thought that if you hurt me, you could make the Doctor do something terrible. But he's better than that. He's a good man."

You look up at the Doctor. He's staring at you, gazing, a mixture of pride and sadness in his big green eyes. His lower lip trembles.

Deep breath. Only the truth, now. "I know him."

You can hear the faint murmuring of the Lobarians, and before your eyes the colors shift - the red mixes into the blue, Protectionists and Expansionists talking with one another, hands on shoulders, offering comfort.

"What do we do now?" one of them asks, their hands tightly gripping the front of their dress.

"You sit down," you say, and stand a little straighter. They're all looking at you now. "Reconvene. Actually discuss things instead of plotting and scheming behind each other's backs. Be better, for the future of your people. That's what this was all about, wasn't it?"

One Lobarian bows. Then another. Soon enough, all of the Lobarians in the room are bowing to you, a show of respect and reverence. Even Koramaz is bowing, his face cast to the floor.

You glance at the Doctor, smiling. I learned that from you.

He smiles back, gentle. I know.

Merban lifts his head, still poised despite his ruffled appearance. His eyes are damp, sorrow swimming in them. "Koramaz will be dealt with as best as we can. I am truly sorry for what we have done."

"Occupational hazard," you reply, bowing back to him. "Learn from this, won't you?"

"We will try." Merban nods slowly, and a tear slips from his eye. "I'm sure you understand now."

"Understand what?"

"Why you are a part of the stories," Merban says, bowing once more. As you stare at the Lobarians, all bowing in a show of respect and reverence, you do now.

You turn away from everyone and tug at the Doctor's hand, as gently as you can. The storm in his eyes ebbs, leaving behind a slight drizzle. "Let's go home, yeah?"

"Home," the Doctor echoes. "Home sounds good."

The Doctor doesn't say a word for the whole trip home.

He's quiet as he walks up to the console, pushing buttons and pressing levers without the manic energy that he usually has. It's disconcerting, but not surprising, and you settle for leaning against one of the railings as he works. The TARDIS stays kind, and takes off without even a shiver.

You keep your eyes on him as he pilots - watching him push in coordinates, swinging screens around - but the tension hasn't left his body. He's still wound up, ready to snap at a moment's notice, so you stay quiet. There's no sound but the hum of the TARDIS's engines.

Your mind drifts just as the TARDIS does, the room swaying slightly underneath your feet. This is what it's like, travelling with the Doctor in his magical blue box, and you know not every adventure ends well. Not every story has a happy ending.

What was another near-death experience? You practically lived off of them, thriving off of the rush that filled you when you escaped danger by just a hair. Running and laughing together. But this feels different, you think, still watching the Doctor walk slowly around the console, because something's changed.

But what was it?

You pull the sleeves of the Doctor's jacket. He hasn't asked for it back yet, and a small part of you hopes that he never does. It's incredibly comfortable, and the only warm thing in the cold space between the two of you.

The Doctor's eyes are dark, and the dim TARDIS lights cast shadows over his youthful face. The ship's lights and sounds were a tell if you couldn't figure out how the Doctor was feeling, and now they were completely in sync, darkness against darkness.

He brushes past you and slumps into one of the chairs, crossing his legs. He shuts his eyes, presses a hand against his forehead, and heaves out a shaky sigh.

"Are you mad?" you ask, your voice just above a whisper. The Doctor snaps his head up to look at you and he looks so weary, so old and so tired.

"Mad? Of course I'm mad," he says, the edge in his voice still there, but fading away. "I'm cross. Extremely. That doesn't usually happen."

You swallow, still gazing at him. His stare is intense, and he hasn't really looked you in the eyes since you stepped back onto the TARDIS. "I mean, are you mad at me," you add softly.

The Doctor's eyes widen a fraction, and he sits straighter in the chair. "No," he says, "no, not at you. Never at you. Why would you think that?"

You're quiet. You're never this quiet. You shrug, and the Doctor's jacket nearly slips off your shoulders. You catch it before it can fall - you also catch the Doctor's eyes tracing your form, his gaze stuttering to a stop at the sight of you in his jacket.

You shift against the railing, pulling his jacker tighter around your body. "You okay?"

"'Course I am," the Doctor replies, obviously not. He looks deflated sitting in the chair, his form almost swallowed by the seat. "I'm the king of okay. I said I was never gonna use that title again. Ignore me."

You give him a small smile, and he lights up a little bit. "No, you're not."

The Doctor frowns at you. "I am."

"You always lie," you tell him, raising your eyebrows.

The Doctor sighs again, but it isn't exasperated or angry - just defeated. He stands up in one quick motion, his hair flopping with the movement, and moves to stand in front of you. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and gazes down at you.

"I'm sorry," he says slowly, and the words echo in the room. He's standing close enough for him to reach out, but he doesn't - instead, he keeps his distance, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. "It's my fault you got hurt."

"It isn't," you protest, but the Doctor shakes his head.

"It is," he insists, and something like desperation colors his words. "They hurt you because of me. They knew how much I cared and they weren't afraid to use that."

"It's not your fault." You reach out and take his hands, shaking your head. "Caring isn't a weakness, you know that better than anyone."

The Doctor stays silent for a moment. He's still staring, unnaturally still despite the tears that threaten to spill out of his eyes.

"I should take you home," he whispers hoarsely, trying to pull his hands away from yours.

"No!" you blurt, and the Doctor goes still again. "No," you say again, softer, and intertwine his fingers with yours.

"I can't promise to keep you safe," the Doctor mutters.

"You don't have to." One by one, you lace your fingers together. His hands are bigger than yours, and he practically covers your entire hands with his. He watches you do this, his lips slightly parted, eyes sparkling with what looks like… wonder? "I want to stay with you. I don't care how dangerous it is, or how many times I get hurt - it's worth it."

And you mean it, every word. Every bruise, every scar – just something that comes with the life that you’ve chosen with him.

You stand on your tiptoes - the Doctor laughs quietly and leans down his head. You press a kiss onto his forehead, pouring everything you want to say into it, and hope he understands.

The Doctor straightens, standing taller. You frown up at him and fall back onto your feet. "You're so tall."

"Regeneration's a lottery," he says, and a smile - a real one - spreads across his face, like a sunrise warming the cold evening air. And just like a sunrise, the TARDIS's lights grow brighter, her humming and trilling like a triumphant symphony. "You're wearing my jacket."

"I am," you say. You're still very comfy in it, and the Doctor notices, because his lips curve up in a fond smile. "Does a Time Lord giving someone their jacket mean anything?"

"Why do you ask?" the Doctor asks, pulling his hands away from yours to smooth down the front of the jacket.

"Well, Orvin's cloak meant something. Does this mean something too?"

The Doctor's face goes red, and you have to push down a childish giggle as he flounders.

"The Lobarian courting cloak means a lot of things," he says, waving his hands around, "It's a symbol for the heart, the soul, the being of a Lobarian. Giving all of you to another."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "But I took your jacket."

The Doctor's eyes glitter. "...Well?"

Now it's your turn for your face to burn - you pull at the sleeves again, biting your lower lip. Your heart does flips in your chest, and you don't try to stop it from going haywire.

The Doctor, with another laugh, scoops you into his arms - he wraps his arms tightly around you, pressing his face into the crook of your shoulder, his whole body shuddering as he breathes a sigh of relief. You place your hands in his hair as he finally unwinds, relaxes, and lets go.

"Keep it for now," the Doctor murmurs against your ear, "I've got spares."

You stay there for a moment, just holding each other as the TARDIS sings around you.

"I’m not leaving you," you breathe out. "Package deal, remember?"

The Doctor doesn't say anything, just nuzzles closer, and it's enough of a reply for you.

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #eleventh doctor fanfiction #doctor who fanfiction #finally this is done.... i hope you guys like this lmao!!

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