#so now i suffer in silence because even though looking at a mirror is enough to cause me anxiety im not “trans enough” to be obvious to her

[lillythepyromancer]

went to my gender therapist. walked out thinking that i made it clear im transgender (its not really in questioning, im sure i am and this blog is evidence enough, I've been sure for years now), just not ready to come out of the closet before I do any kind of HRT because im afraid i'll be harassed or targeted for "faking It" or "being a man pretending to be a woman" (really popular arguments in my area) or all that bullshit and I prefer to go under the radar.

the gal said to my parents, who I told her need a "profesional opinion" to accept me as transgender (as again, I myself already have that clear that im a woman) decided to tell them "I'm not sure your kid is transgender, so take it in smalls steps because they could regret it later."

the fucking audacity makes my blood boil and what makes It worse is the fact that she didn't tell me any of this before telling my parents

what a way to ruin all the trust she had gained in the prior session

[ohbo-ohno]

I REALLY wanna see Johnny get mad! Like white hot angry at reader. Don’t know what/how it happened but Johnny’s gonna make all of reader’s poor holes suffer🥺

Maybe Simon gets surprised and turned on by his pup’s newfound aggressiveness

3.6k pwp soap drabble 4 u (cw for referenced burning building, angry sex, some light mutual degradation/objectification, and voyeurism since ghost watches)

You fume silently, face hot with rage while you and Soap walk side by side behind Ghost down the base hallways. There's a tension at the base of your neck that you just know is going to become a migraine if you don't get some medicine soon, and your bones ache from going too long without sleep.

Soap's somehow even stiffer beside you, the distance between you two small but intentional. Usually he's impossible to pry off of you, always brushing against you and looking for more physical contact, but since you landed he's kept at least half a foot between you two at all times.

Fine by you. You don't want him touching you right now anyway.

The silence is thick as Ghost leads you two to his room, his shoulders loose and relaxed.

He's got no reason to be tense, you suppose. He's not the one who had a massive disagreement on the field, who had to drag his squadmate back from a blazing fire and deal with his bitching instead of his thanks.

Just the memory of it makes you scowl.

Ghost leads the two of you into his room in rare silence, though it's only rare because usually you and Johnny would already be teasing or flirting at this point. But you don't bother now, not with your anger so fresh in your mind.

Ghost is the only one to get settled once Johnny closes the door behind you. You two stand on opposite sides of the doorframe, both too tense to do much but stew in your own righteous anger, and Ghost starts to get dressed down into something more comfortable.

He lets the two of you stay quiet until he's fully changed into a tank top and sweats, no boxers then sits on the bed with an overly loud sigh.

"You two even gonna look at each other?"

Your lip curls as you glance at Johnny from the corner of your eyes. "I have nothing to say to him."

"'S not what I asked."

Your cheek twitches and you bite your tongue, rolling a sharp canine over it. "Honestly, Simon, I don't even want to see him right now."

Johnny scoffs, loud in the otherwise quiet room, and nearly stomps to your side, leaning in front of you to try and force eye contact. "Oh, really? Ye can't even look at me, huh? Had no problem lookin' earlier, when you were draggin' me away from my goddamn mission."

You want to growl, you want to rake your nails down his face and scream about what a fool he is, what a jackass, and you want to make him remember.

Some of your ire must shine through in your expression, and Johnny mirrors it, eyes sparking as he straightens and stands diagonally from you, chest nearly brushing your shoulder.

"Dragging you away from your death, more like," you sneer.

"Wasn't your place," he bites back, moving forward enough that you can feel the heat of him even through all your layers. "You aren't my fuckin' CO and I'm not yours - wasn't any of your business how I chose to execute my orders."

"It is when you chose to do it in the most lethal way possible! Fuck, MacTavish, had you taken half a second and listened to me-"

"Oh, that's all it woulda taken? Just had to shut my pretty lips and listen to you, jump before you even say how high? Newsflash, lass, you don't get to make those decisions."

"And you do?"

"In this case? Yeah, you're fuckin' right I do. Price said drag the man out, alive, and that's what I was doing."

"You ran into a burning building!"

"Under orders from our CO!"

"You know damn well that's not what he meant, Sergeant, cut the shit. The orders were to bring him back alive, not kill yourself in the process!"

"That's the job, Sergeant. You do whatever it takes to fulfill your orders."

You're both panting as he snarls the words, nose to nose and eye to eye, teeth bared in rage that feels almost primal. His close brush with death, the way you'd had to tackle him to keep him from running after the damn target, leaves you raw and unsteady. Had you been any weaker, any less filled by adrenaline and panic and something deeply possessive, you know Soap would've thrown you off and gotten himself killed. You were hardly able to hold him down until the screaming stopped as it was.

You take as deep a breath as you can with your heart racing, and reach up to wrap the collar of Johnny's shirt tight in your fist, dragging him so close that your noses brush, hot breaths shared.

"You don't get to fucking leave me." You shoot a glance over Johnny's shoulder, to where Ghost sits comfortably against the headboard of your shared bed. "Leave us. I won't let you."

It's the last sentence that has him bristling, that ruins your chance of a settled argument.

The only person who lets Soap do anything is Ghost. The two of you listen to your Lieutenant with no questions, no doubt, no hesitations, but the same doesn't go for your fellow Sergeant. Since the 141 had formed, you and Soap have been fighting for dominance over one another, both of you determined to establish your control of the other like Ghost has for both of you.

The insinuation that you would let Soap do anything isn't something he'll let slide.

Hours later, fucked raw and sated, you can admit to yourself that the wording was slightly intentional. But now, with the fresh wound of Soap's close call with death still stinging in your subconscious, you only mean it as a way to push his anger to the level yours has been at for hours now.

"Let me?" He rumbles, muscles relaxing as he steps forward enough to press his chest to yours, head ducked low so all you can see is Johnny. "You don't let me do shit, lass. Couldn't stop me if you tried."

You can't help the way your lips quirk up into a humorless smile, your fist tightening in the fabric of his shirt. "Had a pretty easy time of it earlier, MacTavish. Had you pinned and writhing under me, like a bitch-"

Before you can finish your taunt, you find yourself pinned to the door, a mouth covering yours.

Johnny's teeth are sharp against your lips as he nips at you, leaving behind a sting and a throb. You dig your nails into his shoulders, raking them down his arms and rumbling in dissatisfaction when his clothes keep him from feeling anything.

You bite back as you push at the hem of his shirt, desperate to get your hands on him and make him hurt. You trace your fingers over his abs as you get his bottom lip between your teeth, pulling him down to your height and smirking at his glare.

You don't kiss so much as fight with lips instead of fists, there's no affection or softness between the two of you right now. You're nothing but your anger, but your desperation, and deep down your fear. You cling to Johnny with something verging on desperation, bite and scratch to make him feel even a bit of the pain you had at such a close call with death.

He leans almost his entire weight into yours to keep you pinned against the door, but you only have to shove at his shoulders a few times for him to get the hint and move backwards.

His lips never leave yours as you walk him back to the bed, his hands coming up to grip your thighs as he falls back and keeps you on top of him. You taste the slightest tang of iron as you shift your knees up next to his hips, squeezing his sides between your thighs and his tongue between your teeth.

"You gonna ride me?" He pants when you pull away for a breath of air, your hips working over the tent in his pants. "Think you're in charge, bonnie?"

You bare your teeth at him, grinding your core against the tent in his pants. “I’m not the one on my back, MacTavish.”

His smile is all teeth as he bucks his hips into yours, knocking you off balance so you’re forced to brace your hands on either side of his head. “I don’t need to be on top to keep you on a leash.”

It’s all too easy to hook your fingers in his throat mic - his collar. His pupils blow wide when you tug harshly enough to pull his head off the mattress, his hips following as he moans and grinds you down onto him with a bruising grip on your thighs.

“Down,” you smirk, leaning your weight back and forcing his hips to the bed, grinding your hips. “‘S my turn, Johnny. Gonna use you ‘til you’re wrung dry.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, then rests on his bottom lip instead of settling behind his teeth. You can’t resist the urge to lean down and lick over his lips, covering them in your own spit and groaning when he pulls you back into a proper kiss.

Despite your hand around his throat and your weight on top of his, you’re both equally in control as you strip the other. You can’t be bothered to wrestle his wrists to the bed, far preferring to let him paw your shirt and pants off while you tear the seams in his indecently tight shirt.

You only have the patience to get his pants to his knees, unwilling to help him kick them off for full mobility. Instead you grind yourself against his hard length, the soaked gusset of your underwear dragging wonderfully over both his cock and your clit.

You shift your hand on his neck so your palm is resting on his Adam’s apple, giving him just enough pressure to stay flattened to the bed.

He nearly growls when you push, the head of his cock getting caught in your panties and brushing the crease of your thigh. “Fuck, bonnie, get it on with.”

You blink down at him, cocking an unimpressed brow and shifting your hips so he slips between your folds, tucking your underwear to the side with your free hand. “You’re not in charge right now, MacTavish. I’m on top.”

“Only cause I’m lettin’ ya,” he pants, hips twitching as he tries to find your hole, tries to find a hole to sink into.

You lean down just far enough to bite the air in front of his nose, all feral rage and sexual frustration as you let yourself sit on his cock, holding him still beneath you. “You don’t let me do shit, I do whatever the fuck I want to. And right now, I want to ride you ‘til you stop fucking talking.”

You press your lips to his before he can bite back the response you see waiting on his tongue, letting your hips move in the way that feels best for you as you lick over his teeth.

Johnny’s always loved making out. When Ghost keeps him locked up, or he’s just not allowed to fuck you, he’ll happily spend hours with your lips glued together, dry humping each other and swapping spit. You can’t even count the number of times he’s come in his pants while thrusting against your hip or your side, driven over the edge by just a kiss.

You take advantage of that now, keeping one hand on his throat and the other circling the base of his throbbing cock so you can line yourself up above him. He’s far too distracted with your lips and tongue to remember he could tug you down on him at any moment, could flip the two of you with hardly any effort at all.

Despite the complete lack of prep, your body takes Johnny easily, the familiar stretch making you moan as you sink down onto him with one smooth movement. You blink open wet eyes just in time to see Johnny’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when your ass rests against him, his cock buried inside of you.

You don’t let yourself rest for long, though most days you love to just feel the weight of either of your boys inside of you. But that current of anger is still pulsing beneath your skin, and all the hot, sweat slick contact between you and Johnny only makes you feel more desperate.

Your pace is merciless, for both him and yourself. Your knees and thighs scream as you slam yourself to the base of Johnny’s cock, making sure you pull off nearly to the tip on every thrust. Without a hand around his throat, you’d have lost your balance on the first thrust.

Johnny’s pulse thunders against your fingers, so fast and so harsh that you swear you can ever see your fingertips twitching against his throat. His breaths are quick and erratic, and you can’t help but subconsciously match his breathing with your faces as close together as they are.

“So fucking good,” you moan, rolling your hips as you lift yourself off of him, dragging the head of his cock along your walls. Your voice cracks when he bucks his hips up, and you’re relieved that he’s already too blissed out to notice, lost in the tight vice of your cunt. 

“Yeah?” Johnny pants, tongue nearly lolling out of his mouth when you pull away fully. “Stuff you just right, yeah, lass?”

You bite your tongue against an agreement, some deep part of you that’s not quite drunk on pleasure yet unwilling to give Johnny that kindness. Instead you shift your weight, so that your hand is more cupping Johnny’s jaw and putting pressure on his head instead of his neck, letting you really push him down and get the proper leverage to fuck yourself on his cock. 

“Perfect fucking-” you shudder against the words, moan when he rubs just over your g-spot and repeating the same motion with your hips again and again. “Perfect fucking toy, so nice to ride.”

The sound Johnny makes is purely animalistic, torn between anger and desperation, something rough and low in his throat. You can feel the rumble of it through your hand and can’t help but moan in return, finally nearing your peak even as your legs continue to burn.

Neither of you speaks as you ride him, your head hanging low so you’re eye-level with his nipples and focused entirely on your own pleasure. The way your muscles scream at you only fills you with more need, more desperation, and the pain pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Your clit grinds just right over the rough patch of Soap’s pubic hair, soaking it in your juices and covering him in slick.

You reach your peak with gasping breaths, nearly going cross-eyed as you use Johnny entirely for your own pleasure, using him as nothing more than something to hold yourself up on and a toy to ride. Your muscles go completely lax as your pleasure overwhelms you, leaving you slumped against his muscular chest as you ride out the orgasm with small rolls of your hips.

Johnny’s still rock hard inside of you as you come down, his grip on your thighs tight enough to bruise. Your hand has slipped from underneath his collar to the mattress next to his face, and you don’t have the energy to push yourself up and away, to deny him like you’d intended.

Your lungs feel too small as you try to take deep gasping breaths, only managing a few before your lungs start hitching. Johnny’s chest rises and falls quickly beneath your head, his heart pounding beneath your ear.

You don’t have time to brace yourself before you’re flipped onto your stomach, face down on the mattress.

One moment you’re floating in post-orgasmic bliss, letting your body clench down on Johnny and milk him, the next moment you’re on your knees with your back forced into a deep arch, that same cock pounding into you like a machine.

Your groan is bone deep when you finally lift your head enough to breathe, eyes rolled heavenward as your body tries its best to adjust to the harsh treatment.

“Show you a fucking toy,” Johnny snarls from over your shoulder, his voice sounding distant beneath the blood rushing through your ears. “Think ye can just treat me like fucking nothing, get yerself off then take a fucking nap? Nah, yer gonna take what ye fucking deserve.”

The thickening of Johnny’s accent has you gushing around him, your sensitive channel clenching down so hard that you’re surprised he can pull out at all. 

Johnny’s hand wraps in your hair when you try to let your head fall forward again, yanking you back with enough strength to leave you yowling at the strain on your neck.

“Don’t fucking hide,” he hisses, landing a sharp slap on the meat of your ass. “Think ye can just shove yer head in the sand? Let me fuckin’ hear you, lass, sing f’r me.”

“Fu-uck you,” you manage to groan, syllables interrupted on every thrust, your voice cracking. “You’re not- fuck, Johnny, don’t have to listen to you.”

You can practically hear the way he gnashes his teeth over your shoulder, can perfectly envision the angry snarl on his face at your lack of submission.

“Ye will. Gonna teach ye a fuckin’ lesson about yer place.”

You try your best to rear up, whipping your head over your shoulder to glare as best you can despite the grip on your hair. “My place? Who the hell  do you think- oh fuck, fuck, Johnny, you can’t- goddamnit-”

“Can’t even get a goddamn word out.” Even from your terrible angle you can see that his smile is mean. “Think ye can be in charge when ye can’t even finish a sentence? Fuckin’ fool.”

You nearly shriek when he shoves your head down to the mattress, clawing fruitlessly at anything in front of you. You only freeze when you feel flesh give way underneath your nails, the hard muscles of a thick thigh under your palm.

You can just barely angle your head enough to glance up and see Simon looking down at you, but you can’t manage to see anything past his general shape with the way Soap is trying to shove you inside the mattress.

Ghost’s hand comes to rest on your head, and when you lean into him he pushes Johnny’s fingers off.

“Watch it, pup,” he rumbles, and Johnny’s hips stutter behind you. “You’re already in trouble. Do you really wanna make it worse?”

Your self-righteous smirk is hidden in the sheets, but you can’t fully muffle your laugh when Johnny’s whines over your shoulder. The sound quickly morphs into a snarl, and he buries his teeth into your shoulder as his hips start to work again, the sound of his balls slapping against your soaked cunt obscene.

Johnny wraps his arms beneath your torso, hooking his hands on your shoulders so he can tug you into every thrust, moving his face up to nose at your throat. You feel covered by him, consumed by him, as he chases his own pleasure.

You don’t quite manage to get off before he empties himself inside you, but there’s a deep satisfaction in your bones that still lets you melt into him.

Johnny’s all heat and power at your back as he goes weak against you, and a small shove to his shoulder from Ghost has both of you resting on your sides, spooning with his cock still buried inside of you.

Your breaths sync with his quickly, matching the inhales and exhales you can feel against your neck and the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Your eyes flutter shut, relaxing into the bed and Johnny’s arms. You know that you’ll have to Talk later, about what he’d done and how you’d responded. But you know it’ll be an easier conversation after Ghost’s punishment, when all of your consciousness has eased a bit.

“There ya go,” you hear Ghost say, followed by a soft stroke over your head. “Exhausted yourselves, huh? Silly pups.”

You hum and Johnny rumbles behind you, burying his face more fully in your throat. You feel Ghost’s other hand pet over his mohawk, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“I guess you can nap.” Ghost sighs, like he’s doing you both a great favor. “You’ll both need all your energy for your punishment, anyway. Breakin’ damn near every rule in the book just cause you got a little worked up. What am I gonna do with the two of you?”

You don’t have the energy to respond, and the best Johnny manages is a small and plaintive whine. Ghost chuckles from above you, and you feel him lay in front of you, his arms wrapping around Johnny’s back and tugging you both to him.

“Yeah, yeah,  I know. Just relax now, you’re alright.”

It’s easy to drift off, even if the heat is near suffocating and the stretch of Johnny’s cock verges on the edge of too much. You’re loose-limbed and sated, and Johnny’s safe beside you. There’s little else you could ever want, ever need, and you can’t be much more than grateful as you fall asleep between your men.

[spiteless-xo]

╰┈➤ aurora borealis — longing — part 2/5 ⋙ A snapshot over five years of how your relationship with Satoru Gojo develops.

ft. satoru gojo / fem!reader (minor hiromi higuruma / reader) wc. 7.4k cw. sfw but explicit content in future chapters - minors do not interact, explicit language, friends to lovers, slow burn, pining, sexual tension, sexual jokes, miscommunication, emotional cheating (not on Gojo), major character death, potential manga spoilers, second person POV

Previous ⋆ Masterlist ⋆ Next

2014.

Satoru Gojo.

The little flip your stomach does every time you see his name on your phone always makes you feel stupid, so you try to quell the feeling by turning your phone face-down and setting it on the table. You take slow, measured breaths to calm your heart rate before returning your attention to the crossword puzzle in front of you.

“Who was that?” Hiromi asks. He doesn’t look up from his book.

“Just a friend from school,” you explain with a handwave, but you return your hand firmly to the table when you notice it shaking. “Not even a friend, really. He’s one of Utahime’s friends.”

Hiromi hums but says nothing.

“It’s his birthday, and he and his friends always throw a big party around this time of year, but since Utahime is spending the holidays with Nanami, she’s been ignoring his messages,” you explain, even though you’re fairly certain he’s not listening. “She never liked going to his parties, anyway—she only ever went because of Shoko—but he doesn’t understand that. I don’t know why he’s messaging me, now… we’re hardly friends. He’s not even in the country right now, so I’m not sure why—”

“Which one is this?” he asks, surprising you with his attention. “The one that’s always barking at Nanami?”

You laugh. “Yes, that’s the one—Gojo.”

Hiromi nods, pressing his lips into a tight, thin line as he peers at you from his seat beside you. You clear your throat under his gaze and shift your chair away from him slightly.

“Anyway, it’s nothing,” you say, and look back down at your crossword. 

What’s a nine-letter word for easily upset? You write SENSITIVE.

Hiromi places his bookmark into the pages of his book before shutting it and setting it aside. He reaches over for your hands and takes them in his.

“Are you alright? You’ve been acting strange all day.”

You pull your hands out of his grip and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms over your chest and away from his touch. “I’m ok, it’s just the holidays, you know? It’s a pretty stressful time of year.”

He nods and then leans back, mirroring your pose. He stares at you for a moment and, for once, you don’t let your nervous chatter fill the silence, so he returns to his book.

Hiromi never pries. The two of you have been dating for a few months, after meeting at a networking event, but you feel like he’s constantly holding you at arm’s length.

Hiromi loves silence. He’d let it stretch on for hours if he could. But you are easily upset—sensitive—and so you often fill it with nonsensical chatter. 

You know this is a tactic he utilizes at work with his clients—most people are uncomfortable with silence. You don’t like that he uses it on you, too. You wish he’d initiate conversation with you more.

What’s a seven-letter word for severe suffering? ANGUISH seems to fit perfectly.

Hiromi is older than you—more mature and established in his career—so you’ve always told yourself that his standoffishness is a result of that. That’s the reason you were drawn to him when you first met—he had his shit together. He was somebody you could rely on. Someone you could see a future with.

You know he never listens to you when you chatter about your life. He just smiles and nods, listens just enough to seem engaged, but he’s never really paying attention. He doesn’t have time to hear childish thoughts about your immature friends.

Not even friends—a friend of a friend.

“Do you work tomorrow?” you ask.

“No, not tomorrow,” Hiromi responds. “You?”

“No, but I’m busy,” you say. You tap the end of your pen against the table, glancing up at Hiromi. 

You know there shouldn’t be this kind of awkward tension between a couple. This is supposed to be the honeymoon stage of your relationship, and yet there’s a palpable distance between you.

Reaching out for Hiromi’s hand feels awkward and forced. You pull back before your kisses can deepen. You’ve been intimate, but ironically, the act has always lacked intimacy.

You know something is off, but you don’t understand why. The two of you are perfect for each other on paper: you have the same goals and aspirations, you’re financially compatible, and you agree on everything regarding kids, religion, and politics. 

Six letters across, a feeling of craving something, and it shares an S in the fifth block from a previous clue. After some thought, you settle on THIRST.

Hiromi continues reading, so the silence drags on.

You set your pen down on the table and reach out for your phone, flipping it up to read the message on your screen. You’re still trembling slightly as you hold the device in your hand, your entire body feels chilly as you tilt your phone away from Hiromi at your side.

Satoru Gojo: you see the northern lights?

You feel like you’re doing something bad—like the message is a secret that can’t be shared—and although mundane, it has your heart thumping loudly in your chest.

You peer around Hiromi to look outside the kitchen window, but you see nothing.

You: no

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, wanting to say more. Should you ask about the trip? Maybe you could say something witty about the most recent album of photos he posted on Facebook. But when Hiromi shifts beside you, you slam your phone back onto the table—face down.

“It’s getting late,” he says, closing the book and pushing it into the centre of the table.

The phone buzzes against the table, a loud grating sound in the silence of your kitchen. 

Your cheeks feel hot—even more so as his eyes scan your face—but his expression reveals nothing. You tense up when Hiromi lifts his hand from the table, your grip tightening around your phone as if he might take it from you, but instead, he rests his palm on the back of your neck.

Your phone buzzes again.

His warm hand gives the nape of your neck a gentle squeeze, but it does nothing to alleviate your tension. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks.

“This crossword is hard,” you explain quickly, moving your phone to your opposite side, away from Hiromi. “Do you think you could help me?”

He nods.

“Unquestionably the best," you read while Hiromi kneads at your shoulders. “Four letters.”

The edge of his lip turns up slightly.“ONLY,” he says. “That wasn’t too hard.”

“You might be right. I’m feeling a little off, tonight. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Hiromi nods in understanding and leans forward for a kiss, but you turn away so his lips press into your cheek, instead.

“I don’t want to get you sick.”

The chair scrapes loudly against the floor when he pushes it out, getting to his feet and gathering his things into his bag. You stay seated as he packs, filling his answer into the crossword and delighting in how it matches perfectly. You busy yourself with the next clue while Hiromi moves beside you.

Regret deeply, three letters. RUE.

You stand when he pulls on his jacket, patting each pocket with his palms until he retrieves his keys. “The weather’s been bad, recently. It’s good that you’re leaving early,” you say.

He hums in response, throwing the strap of his bag onto his shoulder and pushing the chair under the table. The legs against the floor make another loud dragging noise and you wince.

“Text me when you get home?” you ask, stepping after him as he heads for the door. You watch him slip on his shoes before opening the door behind him. A rush of cool air flows into your house and you tug your sweater tighter around your body for warmth.

Hiromi leans forward and you start to lean back, but his hand comes up behind your head to hold you in place. You scrunch your eyes shut as he comes close and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. He smells faintly of cigarettes.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, and then he leaves.

When you open your eyes, the door is shut and you can see him through the glass as he walks down to his car. You step forward and lock the deadbolt, but stay by the door until you see him step inside his vehicle.

You walk back to the kitchen table, reaching immediately for your phone to read your messages.

Satoru Gojo: no? Satoru Gojo: theyre supposed to be out tonight. go outside.

You’re smiling down at your phone as you read the messages. This time, you step over to the kitchen window and try to peer outside, but you don’t see anything.

You: how do you know they’re out tonight?

Satoru Gojo: been checkin the forecast for you Satoru Gojo: i promised you lights didnt i?

You: i don’t remember that

Satoru Gojo: :(

You laugh and flex your thumbs over the keyboard. You type out a message, delete it, and then type out a similar variation with different words. You’re trying to thread the line between funny and casual, and when you think you’ve finally nailed it, you hit Send.

You: happy birthday old man

Satoru Gojo: lol Satoru Gojo: youre really late

You: better late than never

You deliberately waited to wish him a Happy Birthday today. You didn’t want to seem too eager—too desperate.

But then Gojo doesn’t respond. The longer you look down at your phone, the more you fill with embarrassment. You scroll up in your conversation history, trying to determine his tone and if you’ve upset him by being late, but you scroll too far back and end up reading bits and pieces from old conversations you’ve had with Gojo over text. Stupid messages and little jokes over the past year that you’ve been in each other’s orbits. 

Gojo started texting you more frequently after he left for his trip with Geto.

It started with silly selfies of him at the airport, Geto drooling on his shoulder on the plane, the strange in-flight meal he was given… small things like that. But over the past few weeks, he’s been messaging you more and more.

You’ve started sending him pictures, too, when you come across something that reminds you of him. A fluffy white cat with blue eyes, cute pastries that look sweet enough for Gojo’s tastes, and sometimes even a picture of yourself if you’re feeling presentable enough.

It’s fun talking with Gojo. Every time you see his name pop up on your phone, you feel that same excitement you had when you first met him—that same giddy uncertainty that had you willing to follow him out of a window and onto the roof.

And you know exactly why you feel so guilty messaging Gojo when Hiromi is around—no matter how much you try to feign ignorance, you can’t hide your feelings from yourself.

You have a stupid, schoolgirl crush on Satoru Gojo.

It’s stupid because you know he doesn’t share your feelings for you. You’ve seen how he acts around the others—around Shoko, Utahime… hell, even Geto—and he treats them all the same. 

You’re not special because he texts you while he’s in Europe. He’s probably sending the same messages to all of his other friends, too. 

But you feel special every time you see another picture message from him. You feel special every time you see the words, this made me think of you, on your screen. And you feel special every time you see his name on your phone and you think about how he took the time out of his day to shoot you a message.

And then there are moments like this when you’ve sent a risky message—trying to thread the line between flirty and teasing and failing miserably—where you’re sitting with your phone in your hand, willing it to buzz with another response.

It’s moments like this that remind you that, to Satoru Gojo, you’re just a nobody.

You feel yourself start to spiral so you set your phone back onto the table. You take a heavy breath, suddenly feeling stupid and awkward as you settle back into your seat in front of the half-finished crossword. You move on to a new clue to try to distract yourself.

Come together, five letters, shares a Y in the last box and an N in the second box with previous clues.

You mull over it for a long while, doing your best not to pick up your phone again after your embarrassing fumble with Gojo, but after some time, your phone buzzes against the table again.

This time, it’s much more persistent, and when you flip it over, you see an unfamiliar message across your screen.

Satoru Gojo Facetime Call

You panic immediately—staring down at your phone in shock as you look back at your distressed expression in the screen’s reflection. It’s a mistake—it has to be a mistake—Gojo has never called you before. You’re not even really friends with him! Why would he be calling?

The phone stops ringing before you’re able to shake away your surprise and you’re left staring at the brick in your palm.

You jolt when your phone starts ringing a second time and this time, you press Answer, and the screen immediately fills with Gojo’s messy, white hair and big, blue eyes blinking at you through the screen.

“Why didn’t you pick up?” he whines, and even though you can’t see his mouth, you know he’s pouting.

“Why are you calling me?”

“Because I don’t believe you,” he says with a huff. “Take me outside, right now. Show me the sky.”

You try to feign grumpiness, but you’re so giddy at the sight of Gojo on your phone that you’re only able to muster a half-hearted scowl before your lips turn up into an embarrassingly excited grin. Your eyes dart down to the corner of the screen, where you can see your face, and you subtly move the camera to a more flattering angle as you head to the front landing.

“Fine, but I’m only going outside for a minute. It’s cold out.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Gojo dismisses with a scoff.

You slide your shoes on and step outside. Hiromi’s footprints in the snow trail from the door to the driveway, and you step alongside them, making your own trail until you can see the sky over the top of your house.

“See? There’s nothing.” You point your phone straight up at the sky, holding it still for a beat before returning it to your face.

Gojo adjusts the camera until his full face is in view and—yup, he’s pouting.

“Wait, really? I checked the forecast today and there’s supposed to be a high chance of seeing the lights tonight in your area.” He rests his chin into the crook of his elbow—it looks like he’s slumped over a table from what little you can see through his camera. “What a bummer. You still haven’t seen them yet, right?”

“Not yet.”

He groans, visibly disappointed as he pouts at the screen.

The two of you stare at each other in silence and, like before, you desperately want to keep the conversation going, but you don’t know what to say. You’re excited to see Gojo—really see him—not just a selfie, but you can’t think of a single thing to say to keep him on the line. 

Thankfully, Gojo makes up for your silence by asking, “Aren’t you going to ask how my trip is?”

“How’s the trip so far?” you ask, smiling goofily at your phone.

“Really good!” His face completely lights up, eyes bright with a big grin plastered across his face. “Suguru and I are in Lisbon right now and it’s a blast. They have these little custard pastries called pastel de… pastel de… de - de - de… ok, I can’t remember. But they’re really good.”

Gojo’s excitement is infectious and you find yourself laughing down at the phone. “You really like sweet things, don’t you?”

“Well, you are what you eat,” he says, smiling smugly when you groan. “Besides, that’s not entirely true. I like you, don’t I? You’re not sweet.”

“Ouch,” you say feigning injury.

“How’s things back home? Lotsa snow?”

“It’s not too bad.” You look down as you shuffle your feet, making little snow angels where you stand. There’s less than an inch of snow on the ground right now. “It’s been really mild this year—barely feels like Christmas.”

“It’s not Christmas without one of my special holiday parties,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You’re probably so lonely there without me, huh? Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of time, we can talk until Christmas.”

You snort. “Don’t you have pastels to eat with Geto?”

“Sure, but he’s still in bed,” he says with a nod. “He doesn’t sleep much—insomnia or somethin’, I dunno—so I don’t wanna disturb him.”

“What time is it there?”

“Uh… like, five? I think?”

“In the morning?”

“Yeah.”

Gojo responds like it isn’t a big deal. Like you aren’t reeling from the fact that he’s up so early to make sure that you see the northern lights from the opposite side of the world. You try to simmer your excitement but the warmth that spreads across your chest has you feeling giddy.

“Oh, wow. I guess I did miss your birthday.”

“Yeah, by a lot—not like I care,” he says, sounding like someone who cares a lot, actually. He pouts at you through the phone and rolls his eyes and you quickly feel guilty about prolonging your birthday wish.

“What are you and Geto doing today?” you ask, hoping to change the subject.

He shrugs lazily, resting his cheek on his forearm. “Dunno. I doubt any stores will be open or anything, so we’ll probably just hang out here at the Airbnb. Suguru found this really cool apartment—once he wakes up, I’ll give you a tour. You’re gonna love it.”

It’s difficult to keep up with Gojo when he’s so energetic like this—but his eyes light up when he talks and you don’t mind listening to his nonsensical chatter.

If anything, it’s kind of comforting.

“Oh! And I got him the best gift this year for Christmas. Hmm, actually, maybe I shouldn’t tell you—hey, wait. Can you fix your camera? I can’t see you.”

You can see Gojo quite clearly, but when you peer down at the viewfinder, you see that only the top of your head is visible in the camera. As you look down, you see a notification pop up at the top of your phone, but you swipe it away quickly so it doesn’t block your view.

“I thought you wanted to see the northern lights.”

“Not when I’m talking to you.”

You adjust the camera until your full face is in view, again. Using the viewfinder, you fix your appearance slightly—brushing snow off the top of your head, opening your eyes a little wider so you look less sleepy, and changing the angle of your face until it’s more flattering.

“There she is,” Gojo coos, and the attention makes you want to duck out of view. “Wait, are you still outside?”

“Obviously. How else would you see the sky?”

“Aren’t you cold without me there to keep you warm?”

You scrunch your nose at him and he grins in response. His comment has another bloom of warmth spreading from your chest to the tips of your toes. “Don’t worry, I’ll head in, now,” you say, and you make your way back into your house.

Your cheeks sting from the warmth of your home when you step inside. You kick your shoes off and make your way back to your kitchen table, taking a seat in front of your crossword and using some miscellaneous junk on your table to prop your phone up. It takes some time to get it to sit properly, with you in the fame, but when you have it perfectly in place, you lean back into your seat.

“Is this your place?” Gojo chirps, ducking from one side of the camera to the other, as if he’s trying to look behind you. “Gimmie a tour.”

“No tour,” you say firmly, and you move the phone closer so Gojo can’t see the mess in your kitchen. “I haven’t cleaned up.”

“Aw, come on,” Gojo says. “You’ve never invited me over and now I’m way on the other side of the planet. You have to give me a tour.”

“Another time,” you insist, and he groans.

“Fine. But when I’m back, I fully expect a tour—no, I want you to invite me over for dinner.”

“I don’t know if my cooking can compare to the restaurants in Europe.”

“S’ok, I’ll eat whatever you give me.”

You laugh and shake your head in dismissal, feeling your cheeks burn from his words. “Sure, Gojo. I’ll invite the whole gang over for dinner so you and Geto can tell us about your trip—I’ll order some pizza, how about that?”

He purses his lips, pressing them into the corner of his mouth as his brows furrow. “Uh… ok, sure,” he says with less enthusiasm. Before you can say anything, he carries on. “So, whatcha got planned for today—err… tomorrow, I guess. Today’s over for you now, huh?”

“Yeah, I had dinner a few hours ago and now I’ve just been working on a crossword.”

“A crossword?” Gojo adjusts his phone until it’s propped up like yours and then leans down on the table with his arms crossed, resting his cheek against his forearm. “Tell me one of the clues. I bet I can help you.”

You laugh at his insistence and peer down at the page in front of you to read out loud. “The clue is: come together.”

Gojo’s brows shoot up into his hairline and you can see the subtle movement of his shoulders flexing beneath his white tee. “I can think of a few things that could be.” He grins wolfishly, running his tongue across his teeth before he says, “Give me an ORGASM.”

Your face gets hot and you duck your head to hide from his gaze. “No, that doesn’t work. There’s only five letters.”

“How many letters are in orgasm?” he wonders out loud. He lifts his hand from where it’s tucked under his arm and counts the letters out on his fingers, when he runs out, he sighs. “Ah, yeah, you’re right. What if we try CLIMAX?”

He counts that one out on his hand, too, just as you say, “That’s still too many letters.”

“FINISH? CUM? There’s two ways to spell that one, so make sure you try both.”

“There’s five letters, Gojo,” you remind him, too flustered to look up. “The second letter is an N and the last letter is a Y.”

“Huh? What word is that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” you snort. “This isn’t an adult crossword, so I don’t think it’s going to be something inappropriate. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

When you finally look up at the screen, you’re shocked to see that Gojo’s face is flushed with red—across his cheekbones, down his throat, and even the tips of his ears that are poking out from underneath his hair. You bring your hand up to cover your mouth to hide your laughter.

“Gojo, are you getting embarrassed?”

He frowns, lifting a hand to pinch at the lobe of his ear as he looks away from the camera. “It’s just… it’s weird talking about this kind of thing,” he says, speaking slowly.

“You’re the one that brought it up.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, and it looks like his cheeks turn a darker shade of red. “But I didn’t think I’d… I didn’t know you’d get so cute all of a sudden like that.”

“Don’t say that kind of stuff,” you say with a huff, looking away.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, and when you look back he has his palm over his eyes. “You’re still dating whats-his-face, right?”

“Yeah, I am,” you say, feeling guilty because he’s not the reason why you scolded Gojo. 

You like it when Gojo flirts with you, but when he goes too far, it’s hard to remind yourself that he’s just being friendly.

After the reminder about Hiromi—your boyfriend—you look at the clock with a sense of worry. You had asked him to text him when he arrived back at his house, but you never got a message. He should be home by now.

You reach forward for your phone, swiping away from the conversation with Gojo to try to find your messages, and that’s when you see the unopened text from about twenty minutes ago.

Hiromi Higuruma: made it home safe

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you quickly type a message back to him, wishing him a good evening, before returning to your conversation with Gojo. He’s still got his palm over his face, but his blush seems to be fading away.

“He’s good,” you say, even though Gojo never asked. “We were hanging out together earlier today, actually.”

“Oh, I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” he asks, peeking through his fingers.

“No, he had already left when you called.”

“Ok, good,” Gojo says, feigning a sigh of relief as he drops his hand back down to the table. “I don’t think that guy likes me very much.”

“No, he’s just like that.”

There’s a small thud from Gojo’s end of the line and you watch him perk up, sitting tall, and turning to look at something off-screen. He’s quiet for a moment, just watching, before his face splits into a wide grin. “Oh, hey, Mr. Sleepy is finally awake.”

“Satoru? What are you doing up right now?” You can just faintly hear Geto’s scratchy, morning voice and the soft padding of him approaching.

Gojo scooches his chair to the side, dragging another chair into the screen beside him as Geto settles into the empty seat. You watch Geto rub at his eyes—his hair is in disarray and he’s in the middle of yawning as he looks into the camera.

“Say, good morning, Suguru,” Gojo prompts.

“Good morning, Suguru,” Geto says, and Gojo rolls his eyes. “What are the two of you talking about so early this morning?”

“Gojo wanted to show me the northern lights,” you explain, and Gojo nods proudly in affirmation, “but I couldn’t see them when I went outside.”

Geto hums, crossing his arms on the table and resting his weight on his elbows as he leans forward. “Right. Satoru mentioned that he had been watching the forecast for you these past few weeks.”

“It wasn’t that long,” Gojo says with a chuckle, but you can see the tendons in his jaw flexing as he clenches his teeth around a smile. “Don’t say it like that, Suguru.”

“Right,” he says, lifting a hand to muffle a yawn. “Did Shoko drop off our gift yet?”

“She did,” you say, eyes flicking over to the closet where you’ve kept it hidden. “I was waiting until Christmas to open it.”

“Open it now!” Gojo says, nudging Geto’s shoulder aside as he leans forward into the screen. “I want to see your face when you see it.”

You leave the phone behind as you head over to retrieve the gift. Shoko had dropped off the box earlier this week, wrapped in white wrapping paper with a baby blue ribbon. You felt guilty about not having anything to give her in return, but she dismissed you with a wave of her hand.

“I didn’t get you anything either,” Shoko explained. “This is just from the boys.”

You bring the box over to the table, setting it down in view of the camera before returning to your seat. You rap your fingernails against the box in anticipation as you look down at it with wide eyes. It almost looks too pretty to ruin.

“Open it!” Gojo screams from the phone, and you concede immediately.

You tug the ribbon free and it unravels around the table before you start to claw at the seams of the wrapping paper. When your nail catches on the edge, it rips into the paper, allowing you to fully pull it off and onto the floor until you’re left with just a plain box in your hands. This box is folded shut, so you work carefully to pry it free as you hear Geto hissing from across the line.

“Be a little careful with it, please!”

You manage to pry the box open without upsetting Geto further and when you blink down into the box, you see a familiar-looking mug lying on the bottom, padded on either side by little, pink packing peanuts.

You pull it out curiously as you try to place where you’ve seen it before, while Gojo grins at you through the phone screen.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s really nice,” you say, cradling the mug in both hands. “Thanks, guys!”

“I told you she’d like it,” Gojo says, nudging Geto in the side as he sighs. 

“Where have I seen this before?” you ask.

“It’s one of my favourite mugs,” Geto says, “but Satoru thought it would be better in your hands.”

“It was both of our ideas,” Gojo says quickly, pursing his lips.

That’s right—you recognize it now. This is the mug you reach for whenever you’re at Geto’s house, one of his random assortment of mismatched mugs in his cupboard. Your smile grows at the realization.

“That’s really sweet, thank you,” you repeat, and you set the mug down in front of you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get anything for you guys.”

“S’ok, because you’re having us over for dinner when we’re back, remember?” Gojo says, grinning and you nod.

“Sure, that can be your gift.”

“Oh! That reminds me!” Gojo perks up, standing suddenly. “I gotta go grab Suguru’s gift, hold on one second,” he says before dashing off.

Geto laughs before propping his chin on his hand, smiling at you through the camera. “I was happy to see the two of you talking this morning. Satoru’s been wanting to call you for a while.”

“Oh?” you prompt, feeling your heart thudding a little louder in your chest.

The corners of his lips twitch up into a smile. “He’s been talking about you quite a bit since we’ve been here. He gets excited every time you send him a picture—like a little puppy.”

You smile, sitting up a little taller, and leaning forward toward the screen. “He sends me pictures, too,” you say, and your voice dips down into a whisper, like it’s a secret. “So, I send him stuff back if I see something that makes me think of him.”

Geto nods. “Keep it up, he likes it… he likes you, you know.”

Your cheeks burn with heat and you have to shift your gaze away from Geto’s knowing smile. “Oh, I like him, too,” you say, and the words struggle to escape from the tightness in your chest. “He’s a really good friend.”

“Friend?” Geto says, chuckling softly. “I don’t think Satoru sees you as his friend. You should’ve seen how devastated he was when you missed his birthday.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach from Geto’s words and you wring your hands together. “I didn’t forget, I just wanted to wait until this evening to text him! But I completely forgot about the timezone difference, so I ended up missing it.”

Geto blinks at the screen, pausing for a moment, before breaking out into laughter. “Do you think Satoru’s birthday is today?”

“Isn’t it?” you ask, feeling your cheeks burning. “Today’s the day he had the party last year.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s his birthday,” Geto says around his laughter. “Ah, that explains it! You were confused.”

“When’s his birthday?”

“December seventh.”

You panic—eyes widening as you stare through the screen at Geto’s laughing face. “That was weeks ago!”

“Don’t worry, he’ll understand,” Geto assures you, but you’re not entirely convinced.

“Why does he have his party so late in the month?”

When Geto’s laughter subsides he crosses his arms over his chest, smiling at you before speaking. “It’s something he started doing his first birthday at university. Some of the students would leave after exams for the holidays, but there were many who stayed behind and spent Christmas alone in the dorms.”

“So, he threw a party?”

Geto nods just as you see Gojo running behind him, sliding back into his seat with a large box in his hands. He grins over at Geto before looking at you through the screen, noticing your panicked expression. Gojo’s gaze bounces between you and Geto for a moment before he speaks.

“Were you guys talking about cumming?”

“Excuse me?” Geto chokes as you cry out in panic.

“Did Suguru help you with the crossword?” Gojo asks, breezing past your shared shock. “Did he figure out what the word was?”

“No, I didn’t even ask him,” you say, fanning your face with your palm. “Um, the clue is come together, and it’s five letters.”

Geto’s brows pinch together in thought. “Do you have any letters for it yet?”

“Y in the last position and N in the second position.”

He taps his fingers together, looking at you with pursed lips as he searches his mind for the word. “Have you tried UNIFY?”

You look down at the page—it’s the correct number of letters and it matches what you’ve already written down for the shared boxes. You nod in approval as you write down Geto’s word, “Yeah, I think that’s it!”

When you look back up, Geto is leaning back in his seat with a smile on his face.

“I would’ve never guessed that,” Gojo says with a huff, and then he places the box on the table and slides it toward Geto. “Here’s your gift, Suguru! Open it, now!”

You and Geto share a look of amusement before he starts to work open the gift. He’s much more meticulous about removing the paper than you were—careful not to rip or tear it at all as he works it open at the points where it’s taped together. When he finally peels the paper off the box, it’s in such good condition, it almost looks like it could be used again.

Gojo is practically bouncing in his seat beside him as Geto lifts the lid from the box. He peers into it with curiosity before his face splits into a grin—he falls back into his chair, laughing as he looks over at Gojo.

“You didn’t.”

“I did!”

You watch Geto pull from the box an identical mug to the one you have sitting in front of you.

“Where did you find this?” Geto asks, turning to look at you as you raise your mug to the camera to cheer him.

“Got it online,” Gojo says with a smug grin. “I know you were sad about losing the mug, so I got it replaced.”

“Why wouldn’t you give me the new mug?” you ask, and Gojo waves his hand in dismissal.

“Then I’d have to find something different to get for Suguru, duh!”

Geto laughs, cradling the mug in his hand and looking down at it for a beat before glancing back at Gojo. “Thank you, Satoru.”

“No problem!” he grins. “Now, my two favourite people have matching mugs.”

Geto wraps an arm around Gojo’s shoulder, pulling him close for a brief hug before pulling away with a smile. “I’ll go grab your gift, since we’re exchanging now,” he says as he gets up.

“I should let you guys go if you’re busy,” you say, drawing Gojo's attention away from Geto’s retreating form and back to you.

He frowns. “No, you don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Gojo, it’s getting late…”

“What time is it there?”

“Close to midnight—”

“Close? Or past?”

“Close.”

His brows twitch upwards into a peak on his forehead while his lower lip juts out into his patented puppy-dog pout. “Stay until after midnight, ‘kay? I wanna be the first person to wish you Merry Christmas.”

“You can do it now,” you offer, but he immediately shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s not the same. Besides, I still need to take you on a tour, remember?”

When you smile at the screen, his face glows to match yours. You cross your arms on the table and rest on your forearms, trying to make yourself comfortable. “Ok, fine. But after the tour, I’m going to bed.”

He grins and nods, not able to say anything more as Geto returns to the screen, settling into his seat and placing his gift in front of Gojo. It looks to be a small, white cake box with just a single purple ribbon tied around it to keep it shut. Gojo doesn’t hesitate to rip at the ribbon, breaking it open before flipping open the lid to the box.

“Pastels!” he cheers, eyes growing wide with joy as he looks over at Suguru’s smiling face. “I was just telling her about these—what are they called again?”

“Pastel de nata.”

“Ah, I was close, right?” Gojo says, turning to look at you and you give him a small nod in confirmation. He lifts one of the small custard tarts from the box and holds it up for you to see. “Look—it’s made of egg yolks, that’s why it’s so yellow.”

You smile watching Gojo bring the treat to his mouth, opening wide and taking a bite of the tart with a lecherous moan. His eyes roll back into his head and he slumps to the side, his cheek pressing into Geto’s shoulder as he chews the treat.

“Thanks, Suguru,” he says with food in his mouth.

Geto chuckles and shoves Gojo off of him before standing up from his seat. “Enjoy your treats, Satoru, but I’m going to make myself a proper breakfast. I’ll leave the two of you alone.” He leans over until his face appears back on the screen and waves at you. “I’ll see you again,” he says, smiling one last time before dipping out of view completely.

Gojo stuffs what's left of the tart into his mouth before reaching forward with sticky hands to grab his phone. He lifts you from the table, holding you face-level as he starts marching through the house. You watch him strain to swallow the mound of food in his mouth before speaking, “Ok, quick tour time and maybe by the time I’m done, it’ll be midnight.”

You take a glance at the clock in the corner of the screen, “You have thirty minutes.”

“I can work with that,” he grins, and you can see a light dusting of icing sugar on his lips from the tart before he licks it off with his tongue. “Let’s start with Suguru’s bedroom.”

From what you could see in the background during your call, it looked relatively modern in decor, and as Gojo walks you through the Airbnb, you see more of what you expected. He keeps the camera facing him as he marches up the floating stairs to Suguru’s loft bedroom. It’s huge with an attached bathroom with completely glass walls.

“These aren’t the fancy kind of walls that turn opaque when the door closes,” Gojo says, before demonstrating by slamming the door shut. You can hear Geto’s muffled yell from downstairs, but Gojo doesn’t react. “So, he warns me whenever he’s up here in the bathroom,” Gojo continues, before making his way back downstairs.

He walks you through a small office, a second bathroom, and the enclosed kitchen when Geto is frying up some eggs. “Say, hello!” Gojo grins, panning around until both boys are in view of the camera. 

Geto just glances over at Gojo with a quirked brow and a smirk that makes you feel warm all over. Gojo ignores him and continues walking through the apartment.

“It’s bigger than you thought, huh?” he says, grinning.

“Yeah, I’m surprised. I thought the apartments in Europe would be tiny.”

“Right? I don’t know how Suguru found this place—costs an arm and a leg—but it’s totally worth it,” he says, before flopping backwards into an unmade bed. “And this is my bedroom!”

He quickly pans the camera around the room and you catch glimpses of his clothes thrown haphazardly across the furniture and the floor. You can’t help but giggle when you see a pair of his boxers across the corner of the TV.

“I see you cleaned up for me,” you tease, and when he pans the camera back to his face he’s pinching at his earlobe with his free hand.

“Well, ok… if you were here for real I’d definitely clean up,” he says. His eyes wander around the room, avoiding the camera, before settling on something off to the side. “So, how’d I do? How much time do we have left?”

“Maybe like, five minutes?”

His gaze snaps back to you and you see a devious glint in his eyes. “Oh, that’s perfect. You gotta see this.”

Gojo sits up in a hurry, taking you with him across the room and holding you up until the shadow from his phone casts across his face. The video turns black for a second and when your screen comes back to life, you see the clay tile roofs of the other homes in the area and a mass of blue water.

Across the horizon you can see the sun start to peek out over the water, spreading orange warmth across the river and into the sky as the sun begins to rise. Your eyes widen in amazement as you watch the lights sparkle across the water.

“Wow, Gojo, that’s beautiful!” you say, leaning closer and pulling the phone close to your face. As the blues and yellows colour the screen, you can’t help but wonder how astonishing it must look in person.

“Yeah,” Gojo says, his voice soft. “Really, really beautiful.”

The two of you sit in silence, watching the sun rise over the river. The whole sky seems to burn orange as the sun moves higher into the sky, reflected perfectly into the water below. You find yourself mystified as you watch it on the small screen in your hands, holding your breath as the sun peeks higher and higher from the horizon.

“Merry Christmas,” Gojo says, still out of frame. “It might not be as nice as the northern lights, but damn—it’s gotta be pretty close.”

You nod dumbly, still in awe. The sun won’t rise for another eight full hours where you are, and you’ll probably still be curled up in bed on your own when it does, but seeing it now with Gojo brings warmth to your heart.

“When I come back, we’re gonna have that pizza date, right?” he asks, and the screen goes black for a moment before returning to Gojo’s face. His skin is tinted with soft oranges and reds from the sunrise, his gaze soft as he looks at you through the screen.

“Of course, and I’ll make sure I clean up the place before you get here.”

He smiles. “It’s ok if you don’t. I don’t mind.”

Gojo glances away, back at the sunrise behind his phone, and you see his hand raise to fiddle with the hair on the nape of his neck before sliding toward his jaw to pinch at the lobe of his ear. “You know, I kinda… I like talking with you.”

You feel your cheeks burn and your heart jump into your throat. “I like talking with you, too, Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he says softly, his eyes flicking back to the camera. “I want you… I want you to call me, Satoru.”

“Ok… Satoru,” you say, but your voice is low like a whisper. You’re just trying out the word on your lips—it’s just his name, and yet, it feels so intimate to say out loud like this.

His face softens, his lips twitching upwards while his shoulders relax. “Yeah, like that.”

The pounding of your heartbeat in your ears has your fingers tightening your hold around the phone as you bring it closer to your face so you can see the sparkling blues of Satoru’s eyes, the darkening flush across Satoru’s cheeks, and the soft pink of Satoru’s lips.

“I wish you were here,” Satoru says.

“Yeah,” you say, “me too.”

[inkspiredwriting]

One step at a time

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: This was a request. It deals with a serious topic and I really hope that I managed to deal with it respectfully. As always, tell me what you think

Warnings: eating disorder, self conscious

It was a quiet evening at home, the kind of night Five Hargreeves had come to cherish. The chaos of his past—the timelines, the apocalypses, the relentless battles—felt like distant memories in moments like this. His life had slowed down, settled into a rhythm of normalcy that he never thought he’d appreciate. And a large part of that peace came from his wife, Y/n.

She was in the kitchen now, moving around with quiet efficiency as she prepared dinner. But something was off. Five had always been observant, and over the past few months, he had noticed subtle changes in her behavior. The way she pushed her food around her plate, or how she’d excuse herself from meals with a quick "I’m not really hungry." It hadn’t bothered him at first—everyone had off days—but as time went on, it became more frequent.

Tonight, though, he decided it was time to say something. He watched her as she set the table, her movements slower than usual, almost as if she were trying to be invisible. Her face was pale, and there was a sadness in her eyes that she tried so hard to hide. Five's stomach clenched as he realized that Y/n had been quietly battling something she hadn’t told him about.

As she placed the last dish on the table, she turned to him with a small, forced smile. "Dinner’s ready."

"Thanks," Five said, his voice steady but gentle. He sat down and waited for her to join him. She took her seat across from him, but her fork barely touched the food on her plate.

Five studied her for a moment before speaking. "Y/n, are you okay?"

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. "Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?"

"You haven’t really been eating," Five said carefully. "I’ve noticed it for a while now."

Her eyes flicked down to her plate, and she let out a shaky breath. "I’m just... I don’t know. I’ve been stressed, I guess."

Five leaned forward, his voice soft and full of concern. "Y/n, it’s more than that. I can tell something’s been bothering you, and I want to help. You don’t have to go through this alone."

She looked away, her hands trembling slightly. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she whispered, "I don’t like how I look, Five."

Five’s heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice. He reached across the table and gently took her hand. "What do you mean?"

Y/n swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. "I’ve always struggled with... with how I see myself. It’s been worse lately. I just—I look in the mirror, and I don’t like what I see. And when I eat, it feels like I’m losing control. So I stop. I stop eating because it’s the only thing I can control."

Five squeezed her hand, his chest tightening with a mix of sadness and frustration. He hated that she felt this way, that she had been suffering in silence. "Y/n, you’re beautiful. Inside and out. I’ve never seen you as anything less."

Her eyes glistened with tears as she shook her head. "You don’t understand. I feel... I don’t know. Like I’m not enough. Like if I could just look better, I’d be happier."

Five stood up and walked around the table, pulling her into his arms. She leaned against him, her body trembling as she fought back tears.

"Y/n," he murmured into her hair, "I love you exactly the way you are. You don’t have to change anything for me or for anyone else. You’re enough. More than enough."

She buried her face in his chest, her voice choked. "But I don’t feel like it."

Five gently tilted her chin up so that she was looking at him. His eyes were full of love and concern, his voice steady and calm. "I know this is hard for you, and I can’t pretend to understand everything you’re feeling. But you don’t have to go through this alone. We can work through it together. Let me help you."

Y/n hesitated, her tear-filled eyes searching his face. "I don’t know how."

"One step at a time," Five said softly. "We don’t need to fix everything at once. But we can start by being honest with each other. When you’re feeling this way, I need you to tell me. I want to be there for you, even if it’s just to listen."

Y/n nodded slowly, her voice small. "I’m scared."

"I know," Five whispered, holding her closer. "But you’re not alone. We’re in this together."

They stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of her struggles shared between them. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a start. And for Five, that was enough.

Over the next few weeks, Five made a conscious effort to be there for Y/n in every way he could. He didn’t push her to talk if she wasn’t ready, but he made sure she knew that he was always there to listen. He started taking over the cooking, making meals that they could share together. Slowly, they found a balance.

One evening, they sat on the couch together, their hands intertwined as they watched a movie.

"How are you feeling?" Five asked gently, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Y/n smiled softly, resting her head on his shoulder. "Better. I’m not where I want to be yet, but I’m getting there. Thanks to you."

Five kissed the top of her head, his heart swelling with pride. "You’re strong, Y/n. I always knew that."

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You’ll never have to find out," Five said with a smile, pulling her closer. "I’m not going anywhere."

As the night wore on, they sat together in comfortable silence, their hands still linked. For the first time in a long time, Y/n felt a sense of peace. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

[collapsedglasshouses]

An Angel for Noah || Noah Sebastian x OC [Part 3]

DIVIDER ART WORK BY @cafekitsune

PART ONE; PART TWO

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Jules [she/her]

SUMMARY: Following Noah through his daily life, let Jules no other option but to help.

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions/hints of sexual interactions/acts, mentions of death

A/N: HELLOOO! Finally the third part of the series, it took me a bit because my life is stressing me out right now. University is starting again soon and I'm changing jobs… but enough of my private problems, this chapter excited me, because it takes a closer look on the dynamic between Noah and Jules. I really like it. I hope you enjoy it too and if so I would appreciate it if you reblog this part! Thank you so much for the great resonance on this work and now enjoy!

TAGLIST: @trvshdxddy @blackveilomens @crimson-calligraphyx @measuredingold @cncohshit

If you wanna be added to the taglist of this story, please DM me or let me know in the comments!

Keep in mind, this takes place in an alternative universe. Even though I write about real people, the way I write them has nothing to do with how they are in real life.

Four weeks. Four weeks since she first met Noah. Four weeks since Jules had died.

The past four weeks had been filled with her watching Noah live and breathe. She saw him produce music, she saw him eat, and she saw him talking to his friends about the tour that would start in a couple of days. Hell, she even saw him getting horny and doing not-so-PG things, even though she respectfully left him alone during that.

She had learned that Noah was a chronically stressed person. Just like she was. He was literally trapped in his own head. A picture-perfect perfectionist.

She had watched him record a segment over and over again, because he somehow wasn't happy with his results, even though he had a godlike voice.

Watching him struggle like that made her mad. Not because he annoyed her, but because he reminded her so much of herself that she started to hate herself a bit for how hard she was on herself when she was still alive.

She noticed, he had this crippling anxiety about letting down the people he loved. Just like she had. It was cruel to watch him suffer so much.

The more she got to know about him, the more she felt like looking into a mirror. Something she didn't like. Nobody liked to be reminded of how broken they really were. Jules was no exception. The more she watched Noah, the more she was forced to reflect on herself.

She had this cruel need of wanting to tell him how good he did and how loved he was, but she couldn't. He had no idea she even existed. That fact was something that made her even more bitter.

Her living self was slowly fading away.

She had noticed that she didn't need to breathe. She could just sit there and watch. But the silence that came with it was even more painful, so she decided to just go on using her useless lungs. She also noticed that she couldn't look at herself anymore. She had no idea how she looked. Likewise, she would never have the opportunity again to see herself.

Was it possible to suffer from post-death-depression? Because if something like that existed, she definitely had it.

She also 'met' the others.

There was Jolly, the guitarist. She had often found him playing some melodies, when he had free time. He was rather quiet but always knew the right words, when needed. She lovingly decided to call him Dad Omens.

Than there was one Nick, they called him Ruffilo. He was the bassist of the band. Sometimes when Noah got on her nerves, she searched for him in the house. He calmed her down without even knowing, radiating unbelievable calmness and composure.

The other Nick, Folio, on the other hand, was a total goofball. He was the drummer of the band and closest in age to Jules, even though that didn't matter anymore since she was going to be 22 forever. He definitely was the funniest out of the group and made her forget about her misery for a couple of seconds a day.

Than there were their other friends: Matt, the tour manager, Davis, amazing artist with an adorable dog (Max) that might have already barked at Jules about five times, Steven, who was responsible for their merch and Bryan, their photographer. Each of them had absolutely unique talents, that amazed Jules individually.

Right now she found herself in the living room. The boys were eating dinner and discussed some important tour things. The room was heated with tension. All of them hadn't got enough sleep the last couple of days. That lead to them arguing over almost every bit they said.

Every word they said to each other felt like a bullet, there to hit someone personally. For Jules, it was like a car crash, she wanted to look away but seemingly couldn't. With that thought, she slightly chuckled to herself. She just knew people were staring at her accident.

God, she really began to hate people...

She slightly dissociated when the discussion became even more heated. The last couple of days made her reflect on herself more than she ever had. Every little thing she did just seemed so useless at the moment. When she heard the boys argue like that, she could just think about how irrelevant it all was. What if one of them died tonight? Each of them would regret every bad word they said to each other.

Jules snapped back to reality when Noah jumped out of his seat. "You know what? Fuck this. I'm going." He exclaimed directly at Ruffilo's face, causing Jules to raise her eyebrows. What the hell had happened?

She quickly got up from her spot on the couch and followed him upstairs, where he just grabbed a jacket and his car keys before making his way out of the house, not even once flinching when Ruffilo called after him.

That was definitely something what made her different from him. He was stubborn as hell, while she nearly almost gave in every time.

She ran after him and somehow managed to land on the passenger seat of his car while he cursed out Nick under his breath. Jules was almost sure where Noah was going. There had been this girl - Jules didn't catch her name - who was occasionally visited by him. They weren't in a relationship, but Noah seemed to let off some steam when he met up with her. It bugged Jules when she was honest with herself, but she didn't really know why.

On one hand, she really thought the girl's vibe was off, but on the other hand, she blamed it on her awkwardness when it came to intimacy. It wasn't like she never kissed anybody, she actually managed to have her first time, too, but never really had the urge to seek a sexual relationship with anyone. When she was honest with herself, she only had sex with that guy because she wanted to know how it felt. She quickly realized that she wasn't sexually attracted to someone when she didn't feel an emotional connection. And since she hadn't had the opportunity to fall in love in her short span of life, she never felt the need to have sex again after her (more than bad) first time.

In the first five minutes of the drive, he still muttered to himself how annoyed he was with everyone, but then the atmosphere slowly changed. Suddenly Jules experienced the most gruesome goose bumps she ever felt, and her gaze shot to Noah, who, to her horror, had closed his eyes.

FUCK. WHAT DO I DO?

Jules' heart started to race. She didn't know what to do. She ran a hand through her hair, while she saw how the car slowly got closer to the side of the road.

"Fuck" She exclaimed, frantically looking around the car to see her options. At first she tried to grab the steering wheel and even though she could get a grasp of it, she couldn’t force it to turn.

She let out a panicked scream before looking at the sleeping Noah. She snapped her fingers in front of his face and screamed. "WAKE THE FUCK UP, YOU DICKHEAD."

When he didn’t move, Jules groaned in frustration, and before she knew it, she lashed out and slapped Noah on the cheek, who almost let out a scream before stepping on the brakes, almost smashing Jules against the windshield.

Noah held his cheek while looking around him in horrors and Jules knew she had fucked up bad. Was she even allowed to do this? Was there something like angel jail? Would she be fired? Was that even possible?

To her surprise, her slap must have redirected something in his brain, because he turned the car and drove back. He even put on loud music to make sure, he wouldn't doze off again.

Jules couldn't even look away anymore. Her gaze was fixated on his face. She wouldn't dare let that happen again. She kind of felt like it stirred up her death trauma. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she would make sure he wouldn't get killed by a car. That was her package to carry.

Noah didn't seem to have caught his breath again when he parked his car in front of the house again. Jules still felt guilty while she followed him back into the house, but she was more than pleasantly surprised when she saw him go up to Ruffilo's room and knock against the door.

"Yeah?" - "Can I come in?" - "Sure."

With that both of them stepped into Nick's room. Jules felt herself get kind of excited when she entered Nick's room, since it was the first time for her. She quickly made her way to the corner of the room like she was trying to be even more invisible.

"I'm sorry for screaming at you. I shouldn't have done that." Noah told his best friend, who was leaning against the headboard of his bed. He eyed Noah for a couple of seconds before nodding. "It's okay. We are all exhausted as hell, and the tour hasn't even begun."

Noah nodded and sighed at the same time.

Suddenly, Nick narrowed his eyes a bit and stared at Noah's face, causing Jules to become equally aware of something she hadn't noticed before. Noah's cheek was colored in a slight red tone.

"Were you at her place again?" Nick wanted to know causing Noah to eye him confused. "What do you mean?"

Nick waved his hands to indicate to Noah what he meant. Jules could see how Noah's cheeks turned a slight pink, and she would have lied if she said hers didn’t change colors, either. Becoming Noah's guardian angel also gave her information about Noah’s likes and dislikes when it came to a certain topic. Whether she wanted that or not.

"No… No… I wasn’t at her place… I wanted to go, but…" Noah answered but stopped for a second to think. When he was being honest with himself, he didn’t even know what to think.

"What?" - "I… I just…" Noah ran a hand threw his hair. "I almost slept in while driving."

"Are you okay?" Nick asked him with widened eyes.

"Yes… don’t worry… It was just kind of weird." Noah explained to his best friend. "It almost felt like someone slapped me in the face."

"Maybe it was your adrenaline and you hit your cheek or something." Nick tried to explain, while Jules looked apologetic, even though nobody could see her. It felt like neither Nick nor Noah believed his words.

Noah just shrugged his shoulders, before he took a deep breath. "Maybe I should get some sleep."

Nick nodded at him and with that Noah left Nick's room after wishing him a good night. Jules quickly followed after him.

She was still tense from what she had done earlier. She didn’t know what consequences her slap would have and what her intervention would do to Noah. She just knew it terrified her to her core.

So when Noah laid down on her bed, she set on the edge for a while. Noah on the other hand stared at the ceiling and was deep in his thoughts. Jules hoped he would just blame it all on his adrenaline rush. She wished she could just take his thoughts away from him.

She sighed before looking at Noah. He had closed his eyes but Jules felt that his mind was definitely still racing. When she looked at him like that she saw his beauty in all display again.

She couldn’t deny how beautiful he actually was. With his dark hair and even darker eyes. His small freckles on his face. His long lashes. These tattoos. Just everything about him spoke to her, even though she was pretty sure she would have never approached a man looking like him while she was still alive. Not that she was intimidated, but her parents would have died on the spot seeing her.

Her, a soft girl, always being dressed in light colours, playing the violin and having little to zero experience when it came to social interactions closer than hand shaking.

And on the other hand, him, almost always being dressed dark, except a couple of shirts she saw, being the vocalist of a metal core band and being the exact opposite when it came to romantic or at least sexual experience.

To her surprise it didn’t take long before she heard him breathe deeper and she knew he must have dozed off. Her gaze fixated on his face again.

She exhaled in frustration before turning to Noah. "Never do that again, Noah."

Without even thinking she reached out and stroked his cheek in a swift motion. When she saw him frown lightly, she quickly withdrew her hand and panicked she might have woken him. He just sighed and turned to his side.

Jules took a deep breath before standing up and leaving his room. She needed to establish some rules for herself, beginning with the most important…

Never touch him again…

READ PART FOUR HERE.

[wilderness-of-thoughts]

Before:

Ignoring.

Silence.

Not paying attention.

This is the best way to show Satoru that what he did was the last straw. After an unfortunate night, your faucet was .... Knotted, and the curtains steamed up. You understand insomnia, but impulsiveness is something completely different. Explaining it is useless, you know that very well. So you just ignored little Gojo who is now standing on the kitchen counter while you was making breakfast. Of course, for him too, you won't starve him. But he has to know that what he did was... Wrong? Stupid?

"It's just a faucet! It dripped at night! Every drop was so loud! Too loud! Hey! Don't ignore me!" Gojo looked angry, like he was mad that you had the nerve to be mad at him. He knew you not since yesterday and it wasn't the first time you simply kept quiet. In normal circumstances it would be enough... to piss you off more so that you would start talking. For some reason he took it as a huge insult when you pretended Gojo didn't exist.

When he was normal size, all he had to do was throw an ice cube down your collar, grab your nose, tickle you, poke you in the side, pinch the fat on your hip, or slap you on the buttocks. You would immediately turn red, look at him with rage and scream. Then all he had to do was pat you on the head and possibly buy back what he had destroyed. This script, perfectly designed by him, has always worked. But now?

"I'll buy you a faucet! Fuck! I'll buy you a phone! Now it's just things! They break down!" He shouted while writing the tail. You looked at him with pity and sat down at the table with your plate in hands. He noticed that there was a doll table and a pink Barbie chair on the counter. On it, on the smallest saucer, breakfast was waiting for him. He immediately teleported and grabbed the food.

The advantage of being small was that all the dishes were huge. The slice of bread with lettuce, ham and cheese was huge even though you cut it into several pieces to fit. And he was hungry. You ate your breakfast in silence, staring at a vaguely defined point with an impassive expression on your face. And he stared at you, chewing his food in his mouth. He loved how you ate. But not this time. You didn't have that twinkle in your eye. You were really angry.

"You have to do something" you said after finishing your meal, holding a cup of coffee in your hand.

"I told you I'd buy you-"

"That's not what I'm talking about. I'm still angry and I'm only speaking out because there are things to do." Your voice was cold, devoid of emotion. He hated that tone. "I'll take your phone and you call Shoko. Tell her you've got chickenpox and need to get off work."

"What about RTC? Your plan forgot about that." he replied just as coldly, wanting you to feel the same way he did. It didn't work.

"you are a good actor. Be panicked and scared. You can't concentrate on RTC"

"Me? Should I feign fear? Panic? That one gray brain cell in your head really doesn't know what it's thinking. I'm Satoru Gojo, remember? I'm supposed to be afraid of some childhood disease that..."

"Imagine, Mr. Alpha and Omega, that this particular disease is something that a narcissist like you doesn't want to have." You interrupted him, leaning over slightly. Gojo frowned and looked at you questioningly. You tapped your mug with your finger so that his face was reflected in the surface of your coffee. Gojo looked at himself in surprise. With all his determination and impartiality, his beauty did not suffer. Gojo would fuck a mirror if he could. "Now imagine that your pretty face is covered in white spots. Some larger, some smaller. Some burst and a white sticky goo similar to pus flows out of them. They itch, they hurt, but you know you can't touch them because if you touch them, you will spread the disease further throughout your skin and body, and when the pimple heals, your flawless face will have small scars." you spoke calmly, like a narrator, you saw how with each of your words the eyes of the strongest sorcerer opened wider with terror. "Pimples spread anyway because you're wearing clothes, you have to be careful because all it takes is for your foot to rub against something and you'll scratch one of them. Scars, all over body. Pimples all over body that you can't touch. They itch more and more. The ones you don't touch turn into white nasty scabs. But you can't touch them either because there's white goo underneath them. And that's not all, the smell is awful, you stink, you sweat, you have a fever, your whole body burns, and you have snot running from your nose. Should I continue?"

"...no... No, don't say anything. Such a disease doesn't really exist? Right? Are you winding me up now?"

"if you don't believe me just google it." You replied taking the cup to take a sip of coffee. You smiled slyly as you saw Gojo unlock his phone and check the graphics. You knew that Google would only give him extreme cases, so you waited patiently, watching Gojo carefully. His ears were tucked under, his cat tail quivering as he looked at the pictures, his pale skin turning even paler. Satoru Gojo could already see in his mind's eye how his perfect face and divine body were covered with nasty pimples. When he looked at you, breathing rapidly through his nose, you knew your idea wasn't so stupid after all. "Enough?"

Gojo didn't answer. With trembling hands, he searched for Ieri in his contacts and pressed the receiver. The sight of a terrified Satoru was something that was only reserved for you. You would take a picture of him if you had a camera.

"Ieri! I AM UGLY!" He shouted with despair in his voice.

"Uh Gojo? What are you talking about?" The woman was clearly confused and surprised. You would be too if Gojo greeted you like that first thing in the morning.

"I'VE BEEN CURSED! THE UNIVERSE HATES ME! I'M UGLY!"

"Relax Mrs. Shoko, Gojo only caught the chickenpox," you said with a cordial tone of voice.

"Y/n? Are you with him now? What do you mean, chickenpox?"

"WHO WILL LOVE ME NOW?!" In the background you could hear Gojo's wails of despair.

You answered Shoko what you had planned. After the mission at the temple, Gojo went to the store to buy some ice cream, and there was a trip of children. Anyone who knows Gojo also knows how crazy the man is about sweets. It probably took just a moment for him to get infected, and since he never got sick...

"Unbelievable." The woman was both surprised and amused by the situation. "Maybe I'll come and check-"

"NO! YOU CAN'T COME! I FORBID IT! I WILL NOT OPEN THE DOOR FOR YOU" the poor guy forgot that he is with you.

"But Satoru...-"

"NO! No one can see me like this. My holy face has been tainted. I look worse than a curse's ass. DON'T COME!" He was shouting into the receiver, constantly putting his hands to his face and then taking them away. He really got into the role.

"Okay. I'll write you a sick note and a prescription for some ointment. Y/n, can you handle him? Are you going to babysit him while he's sick?" Shoko asked, you hear the lighter.

"I've been doing this most of my life." You replied immodestly with amusement. "I'll be at your place in an hour for the papers. Thank you Shoko for your help. In this state Gojo would never be excused from the house. You know he's so panicked that all his cursed energy can't focus? There's no barrier or anything. He can't even focus on the RTC." You received it in passing, as if by accident.

"Tempt me even more to make me come." She replied, laughing quietly.

"I'M UGLY!" Gojo squealed in the background.

∆∆∆

Everything went according to your plan. The story seemed so stupidly funny that it was plausible. Especially considering Gojo's narcissism and God complex, no one who knew him had no doubt that he had had a panic attack after catching chickenpox. Even higher-ups, despite their obvious dissatisfaction, sent their wishes for Gojo's recovery. Not very sincerely, but apparently it's the intention that counts, right?

It took you a whole day again. You went to Gojo's apartment to get his things and, to disguise yourself, bought some ointment that Shoko prescribed. Then you went home. Gojo looked closely at his body on mirror, inch by inch. He knew it was a lie, but the thought of something like that happening to him filled him with terror.

You made the bed on the couch again for him and went to your room to go to sleep. This time Gojo didn't wait long before he came to you with the material that was his duvet. He tucked his tail under himself as he lay down next to your pillow. If he really got sick... You would take care of him. He was sure of it. If he looked that awful, you would take care of him. Regardless of the smell and disgust. Because it's your job. Gojo stared at your sleeping face, tomorrow you start the investigation, now you have the ability to move freely. After all, it was good that he called you.

Despite this, you still haven't spoken. He has to figure out a way to get you to talk to him, to start paying attention to him, and not just doing... what you're supposed to do.

But just to be sure, before he focuses on your breathing to get back to sleep, he'll look in the mirror one more time.

Next:

[fullsunised]

LOVE, THE SERIES : CHAPTER TWO

the stars smile at us

╰─▸ ❝ @ overworked!idol! mark lee x gn!overworked!idol! reader

→ requests open

→ trigger warnings: angsty? sad? I tried to make it sad idk if it worked, happy ending though :)

→ a/n: I thought jaemin would be part two but guess not, also thank you for 50 followers 🔫

last piece

you always thought you were lonely, empty even- the only time you felt alive was when you were surrounded by your fans, or your closest of friends, which was technically almost half of the industry. being around people energised you. it was a good thing really, until you were left alone because everyone else was busy running in their own lives.

being alone was something you dreaded. as someone who has been in this profession for more than three years, you liked to believe you've seen it all. smiles, tears, screams, pain, health, hate, love- every thing there ever was. in fact, you experienced it all first hand. all the memories, you've only ever wanted to hide came flooding back to you every time you were given a headspace.

which is why you kept yourself busy. almost- definitely overworked yourself over the years. exhaustion was bound to come chase up to you at some point, so you promised yourself to work hard until then and along the journey, you've met him.

it was like seeing a mirror, but also finding yourself in an alternate universe. you were alike but not so in a lot of aspects. a smile traced your face as soon as you heard the door ruffle open. as you stared at the stars, he slipped next to you, into the comfy abode you created for just the two of you, for moments like this.

"has it been five months?"

he whispered his eyes turning to the stars. you hummed playing with the hem of the comforter that covered you both from the cold. it really has been that long since you saw each other, in true comfort. every time you made eye contact at shows, just a nod and a smile was exchanged- because both of you were busy running.

running to sing, dance, perform, write- what not. you've been so caught up with everything that filled your schedules that you had no time to see each other. calls were exchanged but a question still lingered in your head.......were you even dating anymore?

it seemed like his head was filled too. with the same, and many other questions. none of you broke the silence though, it's been too long since you've had some peace to yourself. leaning back onto the wall, you rested your head on his shoulder's, your fingers finding his warmth.

all this felt surreal. both of you had to run back to your work tomorrow but right now, you just wished time paused, even just for a minute to let you breathe. mark sighed into your hair, leaving a kiss on the top of your head. when he pulled away, you looked up into his eyes, before kissing his cheek. 

"namjoon would've hit me, if I didn't see you", you joked hoping to ease the heavy atmosphere. mark chuckled appreciating your attempt to make it less awkward. silence again. you have too much to say, to much to talk about but it was a crime to break the delicate atmosphere.

you knew you had to ask him. where do you really stand? your heart hurt- you loved him with everything you have, and if that wasn't enough to keep you together, maybe the idea of love wasn't for you. 

he cleared his throat, and you knew it was coming. wrapping yourself tighter around his arms you waited. it's better to end it than suffer right? a long sigh left his lips. but instead of an hour long paragraph on how it is not working anymore- three simple words left his lips.

the three words, that bought you to tears.

"I love you"

you looked up at him, your eyes glossy, "you do?". it was question- or maybe a reassurance you wanted for yourself because why? after how little time you two could give each other? after how many days you couldn't contact him? 

mark nodded, as if that was the only thing he was sure of in his messy little life. he loved his profession, but he loved you too, more than he imagined- his heart making a promise to find a balance, between what he loved the most. you let the tears slip, a soft smile gracing your face.

he carefully wiped your tears, and took you onto his lap. you gave him the widest smile you had given anyone in the past few months, all the drained energy coming back to you as you cupped his cheeks. without wasting a minute, he pulled you into a long kiss- a kiss that was full of love, adoration and reassurance.

he was going to be with you- you wouldn't have to be alone anymore.

while he was staring at the stars, through your moonlit eyes, he realised they were smiling at you.

fullsunised.

[respondedinkind]

@ssolessurvivor asked: " how did you get this scar? " [Memes I recently reblogged | always accepting]

Khan's body doesn't really scar, not at all; His impeccable self-healing abilities allow for injured tissue to grow back together without ever leaving a trace, causing cuts, slices, holes, tears and everything else to fade away as if nothing has ever happened to begin with.

That means his body also doesn't tell a story when it comes to his past - does not tell of moments filled with agony he's been forced to suffer through, of moments where he'd almost died but not quite, of moments where he'd roughly sewn himself back together on the battlefield while fighting a war meant to bring honor to the rulers of his rome planet.

... However, the very same body which never scars, which heals almost every kind of injury, which pumps blood through his veins that humans would probably call a miracle by itself, actually broke its own rules just once.

Because here Logan is, having found that single scar that decorates Khan's skin, with his thumb tracing it as he speaks; A little thing it is, almost appearing like a dent, sitting next to the right corner of his mouth, along the lower edge of his bottom lip. It's not impressive by any means, could very well just be a thing he was born with, a simple flaw...

But it's not. It is a real scar. One that was caused by an actual injury that has long since healed ...and only remains as a memory, edged into the crooks of Khan's brain.

Now his lover, his beloved, his human, asks about it - his voice quiet and soft within the comfortable silence of the evening, causing a set of blue eyes that have previously fallen closed to flick back open.

Logan asks, and he shall receive an answer - because Khan would tell him anything he wants to know, no matter how personal, how sensitive, how mundane or important.

"By force.", are the first words that leave a set of full lips; The sun has long set, the cabin's only lit by a small lamp that offers just enough light to see but keeps their surroundings feeling warm, calm and cozy at the same time. A fire crackles inside the hearth, making the air smell like wood; Khan loves the scent, his eyes focusing on the dancing flames which reflect in the bright of his irises.

"---I disobeyed.", he continues after a while, lips parting briefly before they close again. A second passes, another, a set of nostrils flare as he inhales, then exhales. "And I was punished for that. For hours, I assume. When they were finished with me, with the task that had been given to them, I couldn't feel my face anymore. ---I didn't dare to look into the mirror once I was able to get up from the floor."

He was too afraid to see what they'd done to him, afraid of what he would see instead of his own, well-known features.

A set of eyes falls closed again, unable to keep open as the previously mentioned memories flare back up; He can still taste the copper sticking to the roof of his mouth, can still remember how much it had hurt to breathe, can still experience how raw his skin had felt as he'd tentatively ran his fingertips across his face---

"... I couldn't eat for a full week, because I wasn't able to move my jaw or swallow anything else than liquids. Most of my teeth were gone, too. It took an additional week for me to be able to breathe though my nose. I think I wasn't able to see for... three or four days. I couldn't hear on my left ear for just as long. Something like that. Sensation only returned to my features after all of that... little by little, over the course of weeks."

His body managed to reconstruct his face, to bring back what had been lost due to the punishment he'd received: New teeth appeared, his lips grew back together, so did his jaw, his cheekbones, his nose; His eyes recovered, his senses returned, so did his ability to smell, to taste, to feel anything touching his skin.

Khan knows what he'd looked like, despite not peeking into a mirror. He's seen it on others, he's seen what has been done to them. Pictures of cruelty that are hard to digest, even for him, a man who was meant to become a heartless, stone-cold elite soldier.

Once again, a set of nostrils flares, inhales the scent of burned wood, of Logan sitting close to him; Khan turns his face so that he can rub the tip of his nose along the side of the blonde's neck, displaying the affection he feels, keeping himself calm this way by searching for closeness in the most subtle way possible. One more inhale, more of his partner's scent. It sets his mind at ease.

"---When I eventually had to look at myself again, somewhere during the healing process, I, thankfully so, was not met with the sight of raw flesh anymore. But I wasn't healed either; My skin had only partially reattached itself, created lines and crevices that still bled, that still ripped apart when I moved too much. My mouth was..."

... Khan doesn't add to that. He doesn't want to go too deep into the gruesome details of what his reflection has looked like back then. So he swallows, allows a second to pass, then continues.

"However, in the end, all the injuries healed well, as we can see. ---But... the scar on my bottom lip remained. For some reason my body wasn't able to heal the tissue without leaving an imperfection behind. And that's how I got the scar."

An imperfection that should not exist, yet does. Perhaps that fact alone is telling enough.

[shesey]

Excerpts from the End of Loneliness by Benedect Wells, Pt. II

We live, make art, love, observe, suffer, laugh and are happy. We all exist in a million different ways so that there is no void, and the price we pay for that is death. I would have liked to have taken her in my arms and protected her, from herself above all, and from all the things she never told me; and yet after that everything had happened quite differently, and now eleven years had passed. I’d called out to the past, but it had returned no echo. At home, silence awaited me, a sound I’d been familiar with for years. Look at you, I thought: why do you so often long for solitude in company when you can scarcely bear to be alone any more? For a moment I felt as if our real selves were far away, and we’d sent two negotiators to the bar who weren’t authorised to talk about the really important things. This constantly being alone is killing me. Alva: Yes, but the antidote to loneliness isn’t just being around random people indiscriminately, the antidote to loneliness is emotional security. Why is eating pizza a way for you to overcome trauma? I was convinced that you could force yourself to be creative, that you could work on your imagination, but not on your will. The real talent was will. What is your fault is what these things are doing to you. You alone are responsible for yourself and your life. And if you just do what you’ve always done, you’ll just get what you’ve always got. And I hit the little black mark again and again, but all I’d got wasn’t enough, it just wasn’t enough, and the ball never struck the top. At the same time, I sensed that I needed to finally put this story behind me if I wasn’t to spend my whole life chasing after a ghost. I realized once more that I liked her, that I’d missed her these past few months, that she was real. A person to whom I meant something. But at least now I’ve been honest for once. I mean, if you spend all your life running in the wrong direction, could it be the right one after all?

You’re a rememberer and preserver. You just can’t help it. My imagination was an abandoned mine, and as I headed down into it in the wagon I was amazed at all that was down there, waiting to be brought to light. Actually, the reason I was always reading was simply to escape, to let myself be comforted by a few sentences or a story. He manufactured two of her favorite drugs: confidence and beautiful words. A son always has an instinctive, good relationship with his mother. His father, on the other hand... He watches him, he mistrusts and reveres him, he measures himself against him. I’ve thought about him all my life. Time isn’t linear; nor is memory. You always remember more clearly things you’re emotionally close to at any given moment. At Christmas, you always think last Christmas has only just been and gone, even though it’s twelve months ago. On the other hand, the summer just gone, which is actually six months closer, feels much further away. Memories of things that are emotionally similar to the present take a kind of short cut. But it wasn’t the stories that were important; it was the insight to my inner self. There were things I couldn’t say; I could only write them. Because when I spoke, I thought; and when I wrote, I felt. You’re sleeping with a woman you love. Everything you write now is either terrible or very good. Romanov had once said he had never dramatized life, never added anything. It was just that he had never looked away. And perhaps this was the moment when I no longer wanted to exchange my life for another, not even the one in which my parents were still alive. I’d had to learn early on that there were two Alvas, and I couldn’t have one without the other. But sometimes it’s as if it’s not enough, as if nothing will ever be enough. I can’t choose what I feel. Sorry, but fuck contentment. There was a familiarity between us that seemed infinite, like two mirrors reflecting one another. At moments like these, I felt more secure than at any time since my childhood. Would there ever be an event in my life that would catapult me back into that ecstatic, silly light-heartedness, even if only for a moment? There’ve been so many other paths in my life, so many possibilities of being someone else. The question is, what wouldn’t be different? What would be the immutable part of you? The bit that would stay the same in every life, no matter what course it took. Are there elements in us that survive everything? Well, we come into the world and we’re influence by our environment, our parents, strokes of fate, education and random experience. Then at some point we say, I am such-and-such, as if it’s something that can be taken for granted, but we just mean the surface, the primary self. To find our true self you need to question everything you encountered at birth. And lose some of it, too, because often it’s only in pain that we discover what really belongs to us... It’s in the breaches that we recognize ourselves. And why was I the right person? Because you understand everything. Old age used to scare me, but now there was something reassuring in the thought of still living with her in forty years’ time. We’d sit together, read, talk or play chess; sometimes we’d tease each other, then we’d look back again on the treasury of memories we’d amassed together. I wondered what her face would look like with wrinkles, and how she would dress in her late seventies. In that moment I realized that none of this would matter to me, and the thought of growing old no longer held any fear. Even as a baby he’d been this quiet; but why? When had that been decided? I miss university. I think it’s a shame I was never able to share that with you. That feeling of taking your mind seriously, of learning, it’s so... I like it. I’ve always enjoyed engaging with other people’s ideas. And I can only believe what I feel. I can’t control anything anymore, what’s happening will happen. I wondered to what extent the events of my childhood and adolescence had defined me, and it was only very late that I understood that I myself am the sole architect of my existence. This is what I am when I allow my past to influence me, and, conversely, just as much when I resist it. Everything comes full circle. I’m always surprised by how the light of memory makes particular moments shine brightly. An ordinary evening at boarding school is transformed, in retrospect, into a beautiful experience. Yet, I can feel that, back then, I must have been content. Memory is a patient gardener, and over the years the tiny seed I planted in my head that evening at school has grown into a marvellous memory. I love these sounds. The only way we can overcome the loneliness within us is together. Things come and go. For a very long time I couldn’t accept this. Now, suddenly, I find it easy.

[xsadcorebenji]

but also, looking back to past loves crushes and relationships i’ll agree that i wasn’t the best all the time and i did really shitty fucky emotionally abusive things

but also, goddamn, do none of y’all ever look in a mirror because you sure as shit never shit gold,

honestly! HONESTLY, the only person who i was ENTIRELY at the fault of was my first major ex. like holy shit, she just out of all of these assholes seemed to have her shit together like holy shit.

i mean she broke up with me because she realized she only was in love with the idea of me, and was honest about it. loved me enough to stay friends with me even after.

and when it got too much for her she just broke a silence and just let me know “i think you’re kind and intelligent but i’m uncomfortable with being friends with you, sorry”

something along those lines but holy shit. i wish i could thank you for being the only one who was ever just STRAIGHT with me, not all of this constant bombardment of projections on me, just all the blame shifting on me. or just trying desperately to finding an out while demonizing me.

thank you for being brave enough to be honest with me.

thank you for being patient enough to want to stay friends even though i definitely became somewhat resentful.

thank you for your kind words, actually.

it’s been too long, and i wish i could talk to the you who knew me. because i don’t think you’d know me anymore, but also, i don’t know, i actually just have a huge personality and stick out of the crowd constantly. don’t exactly “blend in.” and not sure how many other people you talk to that can go from talking about Halloween season cereal to like fucking “do you believe in convergent time lines? how would that operate?” to fucking “ah this is like 57372th wave tumblrcore, reminds me of early SOPHIE but if SOPHIE was trying to be Japanther”

but either way thank you. if our paths ever cross again i’ll thank you in person,

i’ll say, “sorry i was the way i was to you; and i want to thank you for being the only one who handled me well”

that’s it; nothing else, wouldn’t even matter if you resented me all the while

i am so happy to have met you and experienced you.

and i hope if i ever do partner again, i’d be with someone just as kind as you were.

(if not kinder, i mean ideally kinder, you got hella disappointed when i bragged about how much i stole in front of this asshole who was condescending me in this uptight part of town in this shitty cafe, i fucking took SO MUCH while staring directly into his eyes, that revenge theft was so fucking satisfying, it was incredible, the sheer pettiness of it is making me laugh)

(you got SOOOOOOO disappointed with me, i felt so bad. but also, i kinda didn’t understand why you would get annoyed with the fact that i usually do a lot of shit alone, i guess you were looking out for me,

but i swear to god, i don’t want to be in a relationship with anyone if they don’t let me have my independence for a bit like goddamn)

but still, despite that, thank you.

also i’m sorry i ripped up your letters. they would’ve probably given me a lot of comfort lately.

you believed in me so much. you genuinely thought i was going to become this great artist.

and you know what, who knows?

maybe i still will. only time can tell.

all that matters is that i enjoy it. the struggle. the suffering. the highs and lows. all of it.

i am content now. i think somehow you helped by sticking out like a sore thumb and not being a mean person to me.

anyway. that’s all i got.

hope all my emotions get probably dispersed equally amongst who they should all go to.

i really detoured with my intention with reading this book,

and also, shit,

if you still have an interest in philosophy, (though i wonder how much of an influence i has for you as you started college)

i cannot recommend Bertrand Russell enough, also i mean hope you became a leftist.

but also this is a dumb book to recommend. the language is dense. you’d have to have so many involved concepts to even enter into this literal history book. but it’s definitely like “okay final semester philosophy class, here we are, fuck we probably study this in our masters it’s so much”

but yeah. hope you’re doing well wherever you are.

anyway to you and to everyone i have ever loved, ever will love,

GOOD NIGHT AND I LOVE YOU

take it as personally as you can and carry it to your graves

thank you and adieu! ❤️

[ladyartemesia]

All I Want For Christmas is You

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

Summary: When Park Jimin is unable to escort his precious sister through the gauntlet of corporate holiday galas, he blackmails his best friend Taehyung into being her chaperone. After all, who better to safeguard his headstrong sibling than a man who would never want her for himself? (She and Tae have spent the better part of a decade mutually disliking each other, and that’s putting it mildly.) Yet, even the best laid plans may go awry at Christmas and Kim Taehyung is about to discover that the girl he never wanted has become a temptation he cannot resist...

Genre: Comedy • Fluff  • Smut

Tropes: Brother’s Best Friend (Reader is Jimin’s Sister) • Enemies-to-Lovers

Collab: This work is part of the Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tropes Collab featuring original holiday themed works by @ppersonna • @xjoonchildx  • @underthejoon • @yeojaa​ • @untaemedqueen • and @snackhobi

Word Count: 17K (I know—I am shocked too honestly)

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: suggestive photographs • mention of accidentally being hit with a baseball • hints of jealousy and possessiveness • light tit slapping • explicit sexual content • m/f oral sex • consensual unprotected sex (shield it before you yield it y’all) • Viola’s mirror kink makes yet another appearance •

Acknowledgements:

To @ppersonna​ (Lindy) @underthejoon​ (Fal) and @xjoonchildx​ (Ana) you guys are my heart. Your support, willingness to read (and re-read) and give honest feedback made this fic special. Your friendship is my daily dose of awesome. Truly, I love you.

To @untaemedqueen​ (D) all of the above applies to you, but I owe you a little something extra for the LITERAL HOURS you spent in the doc with me. This fic would not be here without you. You kept me moving. You inspired me. You were amazing. Thank you so very much. This story is lovingly dedicated to you. 

To @hobi-gif​ for being the most thorough and incredible beta reader and for having all the important girl chats with me. I think you learned more about my past than you wanted... Either way you made this story better and I am profoundly grateful for the hours of time you spent. I have removed all the Hope-No-No words in your honor. 

To @lemonjoonah​ as always, you knew EXACTLY what I needed to tweak to make this story work. (Gotta pass that Lemon Litmus Test or no dice lol.) My lovely soul twin. You’re a bloomin’ rockstar. 

Please Picture This Taehyung:

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Because you absolutely owe me.”

“Then send me a bill, not your unmanageable harpy of a sister.”

Jimin raised a single unimpressed brow. 

“Kim Taehyung. It was exactly five years ago today that I carried your drunken naked ass two miles in the rain after you set your clothes on fire and sprained your ankle at that Beta Phi party.” He paused dramatically. “Do you remember what you said to me that night? After I deleted several pictures off phones and paid off half the party to keep it out of the papers?”

The man in question shifted uncomfortably.

“That incident is a bit hazy in my memory. I’m not sure I recall—”

“Jiminie—you’re the best and I—I owe… you. I owe you the most, Jiminie. I do—I owe you a favor—one BIG favor—anything you ask… Even though... I actually like being naked. I don’t think we need clothes. We should all be naked. Everyone. Then there would be world peace.”

Taehyung’s jaw dropped. 

“You RECORDED IT?!”

Jimin grinned, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Naturally. And I had it all ready to go—just in case you needed extra convincing.” He crossed his arms and fixed his best friend of nearly fifteen years with a triumphant smirk. “I’m calling in that favor today, Taehyung. Now are you a man of your word or not?”

“He did WHAT?!”

Your mother winced. 

“Jimin was... uncomfortable leaving you alone for the holiday season. He normally accompanies you to the galas but this year—”

“This year I was going to go alone and finally build my reputation as an asset to this family!”

Park Soomin sighed as she watched her daughter pace fiercely around the living room of their luxury suite. 

“No one doubts that you’re an asset, but… in light of recent events...”

Rage and embarrassment flared up in your chest before you could stop them. 

“This is about Milo… isn’t it?”

The silence that greeted your statement was confirmation enough. 

“Are you ever going to trust me again?” you whispered. 

“Oh sweetheart... it isn’t you we don’t trust...”

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes, but you ruthlessly blinked them back. 

You would play along with their humiliating schemes. 

For now.

“So which one of Jimin’s Ivy League brat pack did he blackmail into babysitting me? 

For the first time in the entirety of the conversation, your mother looked truly nervous. 

“Kim Taehyung.”

You tripped over your own feet and face-planted into the sofa. 

“Jungkook, I need to look into faking my own death. Nothing too over the top. Just a tasteful disappearance—”

The man in question could barely restrain his grin. 

“You don’t pay me nearly enough to deal with your mother in the event of your tragic demise and miraculous resurrection.”

“I could pay you more.”

“Or,” Jungkook replied with a heavy dose of judgment coloring his tone, “you could put on this ridiculous tie and stop trying to weasel out of it.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I pay you at all,” Taehyung growled, yanking the tie from the younger man’s grasp. “Clearly I’m not the one in charge.”

“Your words, sir, not mine. Now shall we go over the details and itinerary?”

If Jeon Jungkook wasn’t the best executive aide in the city (and one of his closest friends) Tae would have drop-kicked him right then and there.

“Could you at least try to look like you’re not enjoying this?”

“I’m sorry, sir. It was insensitive of me to ignore your suffering in this delicate time. The trauma of escorting a beautiful woman to a series of glorified buffets weighs heavily upon you.”

Taehyung tightened the tie so aggressively, he almost strangled himself.

“Beautiful woman?!” he wheezed. “We’re talking about the girl who showed up to our formal graduation party looking like she just escaped from Azkaban.”

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. 

“Tae… how long has it been since you’ve actually seen Ms. Park?” 

“Seen? Maybe three—four years.”

The heir-apparent of Kim Holdings avoided the public end of corporate culture like the plague, preferring to leave the requisite schmoozing to his personable cousin, Kim Seokjin. 

However, he had crossed paths with his adolescent nemesis in... other ways. 

Taehyung was romancing a lovely young socialite who suddenly ghosted him after someone told her that he wanted at least eight naturally-birthed children. 

Soon after, your favorite charity received an anonymous 30,000 dollar donation requesting that you be featured in the dunk tank for an upcoming benefit carnival and then the same anonymous patron paid for at least fifteen little league teams to attend. 

In retaliation, someone petitioned the National Aviary Society (chaired by a very influential senator’s wife that no one ever refused if they wanted their permits to go through) to make Taehyung the MC at their annual awards ceremony—knowing full well he was allergic to birds (not dangerously allergic—just enough to be miserable).  

Taehyung had sniffled and sneezed through approximately one hundred parrots, parakeets, and other assorted fowl until he was ready to commit murder. 

The last several years had been littered with similar incidents of the two of you taking thinly veiled potshots at one another. 

“I can’t imagine she’s changed very much,” Taehyung bit off absently. His mind was abruptly consumed by how he could get revenge for those demonic birds. 

He didn’t notice the smile creeping over Jungkook’s face. 

“No, sir. I’m sure she hasn’t changed at all.”

Taehyung had only ever had the wind knocked out of him once before. 

He was Dionysia High School’s star pitcher for three seasons and during one particularly tense game against JY Prep, Lim Jaebeom whacked a line drive right into his solar plexus. 

That’s how it felt to look up and see you at the top of the stairs. 

In his head, you were still the mischievous imp from his childhood. Every prank he played was directed at the fierce little fiend with braids and braces who’d knocked him and his date into the university fountain while experimenting with her friend’s skateboard. 

But she was gone… and in her place was something far more dangerous. 

A woman. 

Silken fabric wrapped tightly over curves you definitely didn’t have four years ago. That wild hair had been tamed into shining waves and pinned elegantly at the nape of your neck. The wicked slit that traveled all the way up your thigh teased a smooth shapely leg that all but demanded the viewer fantasize about running their hand up the length of it. 

Suddenly it was very clear why Park Jimin wouldn’t let his sister venture into the corporate cesspool alone. 

Because the sight of you could make a man desperate. 

Betrayal—of all things—slowly crept over Taehyung as you descended toward him like some sort of angel floating down from the heavens. 

His mind went blank. Just watching the seductive shift of your hips as you swayed ever closer felt like a violation of his friendship with Jimin. He could feel the judgmental stares of an imaginary Bro-Code Council boring into him from on high. 

“I see you’ve recovered from your memorable tenure as the Aviary Society’s Master of Ceremonies.”

And just like that the brat was back. 

Taehyung breathed a hefty sigh of relief, secretly thrilled to be in familiar territory with you. 

“Naturally I was delighted to help Senator Mitchell’s wife. In fact, Mitchell’s office just fast tracked all my pending permit requests for the new year.” He tilted forward, coming into your space a bit. “I should really send you a thank you card.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scowled, breezing past him like an indignant queen. 

Tae could practically see the steam pouring out of your ears. 

“Of course not,” he chuckled.

The first gala of the holiday season was an extravagant annual affair hosted by Min Corp., a Seoul based investment firm that commanded billions in assets. This year, the theme of the event was the Joseon Dynasty and the entire ballroom had been gloriously transformed into a stunning celebration of the Min family’s royal heritage. 

Attendees were gifted their own traditional fan, each uniquely crafted by artisans from Damyang. Taehyung’s was all black with bold silver calligraphy while yours was a beautiful bamboo and silk piece decorated with pomegranate trees. 

You had already whacked three people with it by the time dinner was served. 

“It really is a pity these fell out of fashion,” you lamented. “They’re quite useful.”

“You are deranged,” Taehyung mumbled, massaging his temples in exasperation. 

“Nonsense. I only fanned those who deserved it.”

“Harkins?”

“He was staring at my rack for a solid minute.”

Taehyung could hardly blame the man, it was a battle he himself was losing after all, but Harkins was twice your age and married—therefore his ogling was in especially poor taste. 

“Okay... What about Kang?” 

“He was verbally abusing one of the waitstaff.” 

“Alright, fair enough, but why on earth would you go after sweet old Mrs. O’Malley?”

“She was about to grab your ass.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open.

“She’s eighty-five!”

“And still kickin’ apparently.” You shook your head in disgust. “As if I’d whack an eighty-five year-old woman for anything less than non-consensual touching.”

“I- I- mean—surely you must be mistaken,” he coughed. 

“Oh, there’s no mistake. That nasty old crone is a serial offender. She likes to play it off as dementia, but she’s as sharp as a tack. Last year she got a whole handful of Jimin. Honestly, I’d call the police on her, but the commissioner is her grandson so I doubt I’d get very far.”

Taehyung turned to the woman in question just in time to see her totter lecherously toward Jung Hoseok, fingers already twitching in anticipation. 

“Is nothing sacred?” he mused hollowly. 

You shrugged. 

“Many people who accumulate as much as our families have start believing that they are entitled to whatever strikes their fancy.” Your eyes met his with a hint of bemusement. “Surely you should be used to this sort of thing by now?”

“Yes, but I was hardly expecting it from little old ladies!”

The remainder of dinner was a terse affair where you pretended he didn’t exist for the entire meal and he in turn pretended that the spunky young heiress seated to his right was the most darling creature to ever walk the earth. By dessert she was ready to get married and you were ready to vomit. 

Afterward, Taehyung found himself quickly converted to your views on fan usefulness as you began strolling through the crowd intent on strengthening your family’s corporate ties. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you ground out through clenched teeth, “how am I supposed to do business if you keep stabbing everyone I speak to!”

“I don’t know what you’re implying. I’m simply not used to carrying one of these. I may have accidentally grazed a few overzealous individuals—”

“My last three conversations have been rudely disrupted by the blunt end of that accused fan.”

Taehyung crossed his arms smugly. 

“And what of it? Jimin sent me along to keep an eye on you and the gentlemen in question were hardly behaving themselves. No one has to put their hand in my back or lean that close to me when they’re talking business.” 

“That’s because no one wants to get that close to you,” you replied sweetly. “You’re gross.” 

A devastating grin slid slowly over his features as he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. 

“I can think of several women who might disagree.”

He just barely caught the hitch in your breath before- 

“Like who? Miss Blushes-and-Giggles from dinner?”

“Jealous?” Taehyung drawled cockily. 

“Only in your dreams, Kim.” Then, with a deliberate flick of your fan, you turned your back to him. “I’m headed for the ladies room. Do yourself a favor and don’t follow me in.”

It was twenty minutes before Taehyung realized that you slipped out the back entrance of the restroom. 

It took another ten for him to locate you on the balcony flirting outrageously with Min Yoongi. 

The young heir of Min Corp. was just leaning closer to whisper sweet nothings in your ear when a black fan slid right in between the two of you. 

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Taehyung observed cheerfully. His eyes bounced between you and Yoongi with barely concealed fury and you let out a miserable groan. 

“Mr. Kim,” Yoongi cleared his throat significantly. “What an… unexpected surprise.”

Frustration clawed at your chest as your overbearing guardian nodded smugly in response. 

It was time to teach him—and Jimin—a lesson. 

“Yoongi,” you sighed, sliding your hand pointedly through the crook of his arm, “I’m not feeling at all well. Would you perhaps… escort me home?”

Taehyung suddenly looked as if he’d swallowed a live octopus. 

Yoongi grinned, clearly thrilled with the prospect of simultaneously spending more time with you and irritating Taehyung. 

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Jimin is gonna kill me,” Taehyung grumbled as he watched Min Yoongi help you into the passenger seat of his Aston Martin. 

An ugly green feeling he refused to identify twisted sharply in his gut when you smiled coyly at the other man. 

“This is ridiculous,” he snarled to no one in particular before yanking his phone out of his pocket. 

Jungkook picked up on the second ring. 

“Sir?”

“I need you to drive to Ms. Park’s apartment and tell me if she goes in alone or if Min Yoongi goes in with her.”

“You want me to what?!” 

“Just do it!” he snapped, downing an entire glass of champagne before signaling his own driver. 

Fifteen minutes later his phone vibrated from the car seat next to him. 

1 New Message from: Jungkook

Her building has four separate entrances. Which one do I watch? 

Taehyung could practically feel the vein pulsing in his forehead as he scrolled through his contacts. 

You picked up on the fourth ring. 

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Oh it’s you… Wait—how did you get this number?”

“Jimin. Obviously. Now please answer the question.”

“Oh a ‘please.’ Who knew you had manners?”

“Answer the question, Park. I’m tired.”

The distinct sound of a zipper unzipping carried through the speaker. 

“I’m at home, of course. Where else would I be? I just got here like a minute ago.”

He had a sudden vision of Min Yoongi helping you out of your dress. His grip on the phone tightened. 

“Are you alone?”

You snorted. 

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

Taehyung saw red. 

“I’m coming over.”

There was a loud crash and several colorful words in at least three different languages. 

“Wha- No! I’m trying to go to bed!”

“With who?!”

“With myself, you idiot!”

“Prove it!”

“Fine! I will!”

The line disconnected and Taehyung swore loudly. He was just about to direct the driver to your building when his phone went off again. 

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

He almost choked on his tongue. 

You were clearly in the middle of undressing and—in your irritation—probably hadn’t looked too carefully at the picture you sent.  

At first glance it was simply a shot of your empty room (presumably “proof” that you were alone) but you neglected to consider the floor-length mirror hanging in the far corner…

A mirror that showed you angrily holding up your phone with your gown pooled deliciously around your waist and the soft round swells of your breasts strapped into lacy red lingerie. 

You were exquisite. 

A fierce, hot sensation gripped him ruthlessly, and this time there was no mistaking it. 

Desire. 

Your phone lit up on the bed where you tossed it after snapping a photo for your tightly-wound man nanny. 

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch 

I didn’t know you liked Van Gogh. 

Your head tilted in confusion. 

There was a Van Gogh print in your room, but he couldn’t have seen it because it was behind you when-

Oh NO.

You gasped, scrolling back up to confirm what deep down you already knew to be true. 

… You just sent Kim Taehyung a topless mirror selfie. 

Several miles away, smiling smugly in the backseat of his town car, Taehyung was sure he could almost hear you screaming. 

“Good morning, sir. Which would you like first; the bad news or the worse news?”

Taehyung groaned from underneath his covers. 

“Don’t you ever knock? I could have a woman up here.”

“You’ve never brought a woman up here.”

“Is that the bad news?” Taehyung yawned. 

“No,” Jungkook tossed a small stack of newspapers and printed digital articles into his lap, “this is the bad news.”

Pictures of you, Min Yoongi, and even himself were splashed over the front pages of all of them. 

PARK ANGEL TRADES ONE CORPORATE HEIR FOR ANOTHER AT MIN GALA

WHO WILL WIN THE PARK ANGEL’S HEART? KIM TAEHYUNG OR MIN YOONGI? LET US KNOW IN THE COMMENTS

NEW ROMANCE ALERT? PARK ANGEL LEAVES JOSEON BALL WITH MIN SCION 

“The Park Angel?” 

“That’s what the media calls her... The public is rather fascinated with her actually.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Taehyung mumbled. 

“Of course not, sir. It’s a great mystery.”

As usual, Taehyung chose to ignore his aide’s lethal snark and pressed on to the matter at hand. 

“This is a flaming disaster.”

“Oh I don’t know. I really appreciated the picture of you staring on forlornly while she and Yoongi climbed into the Aston Martin. Takes a real gift to capture all that drama in a single frame.”

“Which one was that?!” 

“It’s right under the MAN DOWN: PARK ANGEL LEAVES KIM TAEHYUNG HEARTBROKEN headline.”

Tae ran his hand down over his face in exasperation. 

“I’m surprised my mother hasn’t called.”

“She has. Twice.”

“I don’t suppose that’s the ‘worse news’ is it?”

“No.”

“Of course it isn’t. I’m never that lucky.” He collapsed backwards into his pillows with a beleaguered huff. “Go ahead then. Tell me.”

“Park Jimin is on the line for you right now.”

After a small eternity on the phone with Jimin (assuring him that NO Min Yoongi had not despoiled his precious sister and YES he would definitely do better next time), Taehyung was forced to attend an impromptu brunch with his mother. It took considerable effort, but he was eventually able to convince her that you were neither breaking his heart nor expecting his child. 

By the time he arrived to collect you for this evening’s event, Taehyung was already sick of hearing your name (he’d spoken it no less than three hundred times since Jungkook woke him this morning).

You were in much the same boat as Taehyung, having spent most of the afternoon pacifying Jimin and clearing up your own mother’s romantic delusions regarding the Min and Kim heirs respectively. 

Tonight’s gala was a Victorian Christmas Ball thrown by the National Literary Fund and the entire venue had been transformed into a Charles Dickens fever dream. 

Unlike the Min Gala (whose theme was guarded like a state secret every year) the Literary Fund’s tribute to A Christmas Carol was tradition and you were dressed accordingly in a custom corset gown with gorgeous detailing. 

Every second of effort it took to lace yourself into the monstrosity was worth the look on Taehyung’s face the moment you slipped off your cape. 

“Something wrong, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung was desperately trying to look literally anywhere but your chest, where said corset was serving up your breasts like a debauched buffet. 

Jimin. Think of Jimin. Think of what Jimin will do to you. Think of how much trouble she’s caused-

He peeked again.

I would pay a million dollars to suck those tits. 

“Nothing at all,” his voice cracked. 

The itinerary for the evening included performances by a local children’s choir, a traditional waltz, and—of course—dinner.

You both managed to get along without snapping at each other during the choral performance, but as two of the largest donors to the Children’s Literacy Initiative, neither of you could escape being drawn into the waltz. 

The energetic socialite who Taehyung flirted with over dinner the previous night eventually lured him onto the floor while you graciously accepted an invitation from a lovely older gentleman who chaired the Fund’s event committee. 

For the first few movements, you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. Mr. Lee was charming, respectful, and still an excellent dancer despite his advanced age. It wasn’t until a familiar sound caught your attention that the lightness in your chest suddenly felt heavy...

Taehyung was laughing. 

You heard him do so many times over the years, and in each instance, the carefree magic of it never failed to make your heart flutter. 

But now he was smiling down at the pretty little heiress and laughing for her… and the flutter in your chest was accompanied by something else. 

Something that felt an awful lot like longing. 

“Does he know you look at him like that?” Mr. Lee asked quietly. 

Your eyes flew guiltily to his, but it was too late. The old man had caught a glimpse of the secret you buried deeply for more than a decade; so deeply, in fact, there were times you almost forgot it yourself...

Almost. 

“No,” you whispered, “he has no idea.” 

Disaster struck at dinner. 

Taehyung quite liked dancing with the lovely Miss Something-or-Other. She was sweet and funny and (unlike with you) he wasn’t constantly torn between agitation and raging inappropriate lust in her presence. 

The cold shoulder you offered him when he took his seat seemed even more frigid than usual and he spent half the meal wondering what he’d done to earn your amplified disdain when suddenly—

Your hand smacked down on his wrist, seizing it in a vise-like grip. 

Taehyung nearly choked on his steak and was about to give you a searing set-down over your spontaneous grabby-ness when he noticed your expression. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, leaning forward in concern. 

“I-I need—” 

It looked as if you were in some sort of physical pain and Taehyung was rapidly becoming worried. 

“I need your help,” you finally managed to whimper and the next thing he knew, you were dragging him away from the table and into one of the secluded alcoves near the main entrance hall. 

“Is there anyone around? Can anyone see us?” The look on your face bordered on unhinged. 

“No. There’s no one. Park, are you okay? What’s going on I—”

“I need you to unlace my dress,” you hissed frantically. 

At that moment, a bomb could have gone off and Taehyung wouldn’t have blinked. 

You, however, were completely preoccupied with your own distress and therefore oblivious to his. 

“My earring broke during dinner and fell down there and now it’s stabbing me—”

Your eyes were beginning to tear. Taehyung remained frozen, still trying to figure out whether or not this was a lucid dream. 

“—it’s definitely pierced the skin and there’s a possibility I’m gonna start bleeding through the fabric—”

The mention of blood snapped him out of his daze somewhat. 

“A-Alright. Just turn around—brace yourself on that wall.”

You quickly did as you were told and Taehyung began to tug fruitlessly at the ties cross-crossing your back.

“Why won’t this—”

His fingers fumbled over the knots, desperately trying to loosen them, but they simply wouldn’t budge. 

“I can’t—I can’t get it. Whoever helped you into this thing made sure you weren’t getting out of it.” 

You whined in frustration and the earring shifted a bit in response. 

There was only one other way to fix this (and you would almost rather be in pain). 

“Taehyung I—” you turned to face him again, forcing your eyes shut before reluctantly doing what had to be done “... I need you to reach down the front of my dress and get it.”

He blinked. Twice. 

“I’m sorry—What did you just—”

“Please, Tae,” you whispered desperately, letting your lip tremble in a way he had never been able to resist, “it hurts…”

He gulped. 

His eyes dropped to the matter at hand.

This is fine. Everything’s fine. She’s in pain, right? You’re basically a doctor right now. You’re just going slide your hand in between the most mouthwatering pair of breasts you’ve ever seen and then—

Taehyung’s manic inner monologue was interrupted by the sound of his own moan. He immediately faked a coughing fit to cover it and prayed you hadn’t noticed. 

(You hadn’t. You were actively being stabbed.) 

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he muttered, curling his fingers over the scalloped edge of the bodice. 

You bit your lip, desperately trying to hold back any reaction, but when his knuckle brushed the pebbled tip of your nipple, you gasped. 

Oh.

His hand stuttered, lingering a moment too long over the tight little peak as his gaze suddenly shot up to meet yours. Both of you had been studiously avoiding eye contact, yet now it was as if neither of you could look away. 

Taehyung wet his lips reflexively. 

“It’s too tight,” he whispered, “I need more leverage.” 

Then his arm wrapped over the curve of your lower back and he drew you tightly against him, anchoring your hips just enough to fully slip his hand between your body and the corset. 

You were so warm.

So soft...

“I can feel it,” he grunted, “but I can’t get a good grip on it.” 

His mouth pressed into a tight line as he leaned forward, bringing your back up against the wall. You let out a little squeak and his eyes darted briefly down to your mouth before he spoke again. 

“Hold on to me.”  

You nodded and wordlessly slid your arms around his waist.

If you concentrated hard enough, you could almost pretend that this wasn’t one of the most erotic moments of your life. 

You could almost pretend that it meant nothing. 

Your mind was spinning wildly, wondering what he was thinking, wondering if he noticed how strangely you were breathing or how hard your heart was beating...

“I’ve got it,” he murmured. Shivers shot down your spine at the dark timbre of his voice. 

He was so close. You could feel every word he spoke brushing softly against your skin. 

“On ‘three’ I’m going to pull it out… Are you ready?”

You drew in a final steadying breath. 

“Do it.”

He nodded. 

“One… Two… Three—”

Taehyung yanked his hand back and several things happened at once. 

Your breasts bounced almost entirely out of the corset. 

The decorative clasps on the front of your gown tangled with the buttons on his shirt and when he pulled back, three of them went flying off like stray bullets. 

And finally, the corset didn’t relinquish Taehyung’s hand quite quickly enough and, as a result, you toppled forward and crashed down on top of him, smashing your newly bare breasts to his newly bare chest. 

It could have been ten seconds or ten hours that passed by while the two of you lay there, breathing heavily in a pile of confused arousal when—

“... Is… everything alright here?”

You both looked up to find a thoroughly scandalized member of the waitstaff standing over you. 

Taehyung saw his life flash before his eyes—ending (of course) with Jimin murdering him for this. 

He gulped again. 

“I can explain.” 

It was decided—for the sake of appearances—that you would both leave the venue (immediately) in separate vehicles. 

Taehyung dropped a cool three hundred in crisp bills on the unfortunate waiter in order to help him ‘forget’ whatever he may or may not have seen. 

Neither of you spoke another word to each other in the ten minutes it took to bribe all the appropriate parties, gather your coats, and call for two separate town cars. 

Something had happened when he touched you; a subtle shift in the precarious balance of your relationship that you both felt keenly, but could not possibly begin to define. 

Taehyung barely even remembered climbing into the back of a vehicle. His body was firing on auto-pilot after the sensory overload of the last half hour. It wasn’t until he was nearly home that he realized he was still holding onto your earring. 

His mind began to wander as he examined the troublesome bauble in his palm. It was a striking piece; deceptively complex and unexpectedly beautiful. 

Just like you.

He told himself that the heat pooling low in his belly was anger—that the strange anxiousness to be near you was simply a desire for retribution—that it was merely platonic curiosity that left his hands aching to explore the rest of your curves. 

Lies.

… and pitifully transparent ones at that. 

Still, he clung to them desperately out of self-preservation. 

The gentle hum of his phone suddenly disturbed Taehyung’s silent contemplation. 

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

I made it home safely. 

Taehyung’s fingers were typing a reply before he could properly consider the consequence of his actions. 

To: Park Gremlin

I require proof… like last time. 

He nearly threw the phone the moment he sent it, running his hands down over his face in disbelief. 

You’re playing with fire, Kim Taehyung. 

And he was burning up already. He had no business sending you texts like that. Maybe you wouldn’t catch it. Maybe he could just-

The phone went off again and it was embarrassing how quickly he scrambled to open your response. 

His heart stuttered in his chest. His breathing ceased entirely-

And he knew—he knew—there was no coming back from this.

At first glance the photo was nearly identical to the shot you sent him last night. Same room, same angle… 

same mirror.

Yet this time, the reflection was quite different. 

The temptress in the glass wore nothing but that sinfully delicious corset and a pair of silky lace thigh highs, each accented with a green satin bow. 

He wanted to rip them off with his teeth. 

 “Oh Taehyung,” he whispered, as a dark wave primitive longing tore through him, “you are in so much trouble.”

Across town (buried beneath a pile of blankets) you were still struggling to process the boldness of your own actions when his response lit up your screen. 

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch

Green is my favorite color. 

“WHERE IS HE—”

Taehyung awoke to a series of crashes and shouts echoing from the floor below him. 

Jungkook was already seated in the corner of the room reading a newspaper. 

“Good morning, sir,” he said without looking up. “Would you like the bad news or the worse news?”

Suddenly the french doors of his bedroom slammed open and one very irate Park Jimin stormed through. 

“I swear I should have seen this coming. The two of you have always been obsessed with each other, but I never imagined—”

Taehyung’s eyes widened guiltily. He quickly schooled his features into a confused glare. 

“Jimin, I’ve only been awake for fifteen seconds. What the hell are you talking about?!”

Another stack of newspapers hit his lap and this time the pictures were mostly of him with his shirt ripped halfway down his chest. 

KIM HEIR AND PARK ANGEL CAUSE AN OLD-FASHIONED SCANDAL AT VICTORIAN BALL

FORGET MISTLETOE: KIM TAEHYUNG DISCOVERED UNDER THE PARK ANGEL AT CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION

NAUGHTY NOEL? PARK ANGEL’S STEAMY AFFAIR WITH CORPORATE PRINCE 

PARK ANGEL TOPS KIM TAEHYUNG’S CHRISTMAS TREE

He winced a bit at that last one. 

“You have ten seconds to explain before I start throwing things.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to do just that, but he was interrupted when his mother marched into the room waving the same articles that Jimin had just thrown at him. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG I raised you better than this! How could you!? That poor girl!”

“Mother!” he squeaked, yanking his blanket up over his chest like a frightened debutante. 

Jungkook began surreptitiously filming the whole debacle from the corner. 

“Indeed,” Jimin added darkly, crossing his arms over his chest, “how could you?”

Taehyung sighed heavily. 

“Is anyone else going to come charging into my bedroom?”

“Just answer me once and for all, is she pregnant?” 

“WHAT?!” 

“NO! Mother! Oh my—”

“Why does your mom think my little sister is pregnant?!”

Taehyung waved his arms wildly in exasperation. 

“My mom thinks everyone is pregnant! You know this!”

Jungkook could no longer contain his hysterical cackling. He very nearly fell off the chair trying to hold it all in. 

“Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung ground out irritably, “if it’s not too much trouble, could you please escort everyone out of my bedroom so I can get dressed!” 

“So you see—I was basically like a doctor,” Taehyung finished emphatically. 

He spent the past twenty minutes explaining to the entire table (which now included both you and your mother) why it was necessary to shove his hand down the front of your dress. 

Park Soomin had shown up at his door looking for answers (and dragging you behind her like a sacrificial lamb) about three minutes after Jimin. 

You had taken one look at Jimin’s murderous expression and insisted that the situation be evaluated over breakfast at the cafe down the street (where there were lots of witnesses). 

Which was how you, Taehyung, Jimin, and both your mothers ended up discussing your cleavage over coffee in a public restaurant. 

Jimin was the first to break. It was a few snorts at first, but he was basically in tears by the end of it, wheezing about how he never doubted Taehyung for a second and holding on to his sides from laughing too hard. 

Taehyung’s gaze met yours for a brief, heated exchange. He conveniently forgot to mention your slightly-less-than-explainable ‘check-in’ texts, but their existence was palpable in the air between you. 

“I think I’ll take a walk,” you muttered, excusing yourself from the complicated atmosphere at the table. 

Taehyung’s eyes lingered on you a tad too long as you wandered away, a fact that wasn’t missed by either of your mothers.

“Just a few more events and you can go back to not seeing her at all,” Jimin chuckled, patting him on the back. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung answered with a tight smile. “That’s… great.”

The cafe had a lovely little balcony area decorated with all sorts of comforting Christmas foliage. It was far more inviting than the awkward conversation and confusing stares you and Taehyung had been trading all morning. 

For the first time in the nearly fifteen years of your relationship (such as it was) you didn’t know where you stood with him… and it bothered you more than you cared to admit. 

Taehyung had always been important to you, whether you wanted him to be or not. He mattered—effortlessly—from the first moment you met him and continued to do so without regard for your sanity. 

Whatever was building between you now would almost certainly bring change… though what kind of change was anyone’s guess. 

It was hard to imagine the years ahead without the strange excitement he always brought to your life, but some things were simply out of your control…

“I never thought I’d see you here.”

A profoundly unpleasant feeling (something similar to falling through the ice on a frozen pond) overtook you. 

“Milo.” Even saying his name felt gross. You sighed. “What is so strange about seeing me here?”

The man in question blushed in a way you once found irresistible. 

“I looked for you everywhere. All your usual places—”

“I avoided them.”

I avoided you. 

Milo nodded. 

“I—I figured.” 

He took a step closer and you instinctively moved back. The hurt in his eyes was unmistakable, but you had long since become immune. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed angrily. “I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke.”

“Yes, but—” his hand reached out to curl over your forearm and you recoiled, “you didn’t give me a chance to explain—”

“Excuse me.” 

You both turned to see Kim Taehyung with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Milo like he was a roach that crawled across his dinner plate. 

“Your mother sent me to come find you. She wants to leave.” 

You nodded and moved to pull away, but Milo’s grip tightened on your arm. 

“No—please if you just give me a minute—”

“That is enough,” Taehyung snarled, seizing the other man’s hand and forcibly removing it from your person. He angled his body between the two of you protectively. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

Milo’s eyes narrowed. 

“You’re Kim Taehyung. I read all about you in the papers this morning.” His lips twisted into an ugly sneer as he addressed you. “You really think you’re better off with him if that’s the way he treats you?”

Taehyung tensed menacingly beside you, but you laid a gentle hand on his arm to calm him. 

“None of that is any of your concern.” Your gaze rose to meet his defiantly. “Nothing about me is your concern anymore.”

Milo’s eyes fell to where your palm rested on the other man’s sleeve, noticing the way you both unconsciously leaned toward one another. 

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, storming off. 

After he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. 

“Thank you,” you whispered (though you couldn’t resist adding), “I could have handled it myself of course…”

Taehyung laughed. 

“Oh I know. I was at that party where you knocked out Tyler Jung for grabbing your ass.” 

You grinned. 

“I’d forgotten about that.”

“Well I’m sure Tyler hasn’t.” 

(He neglected to mention that he split Tyler’s lip behind the library the next day, just to make sure it was extra memorable for him.) 

“I wish I could forget about Milo.”

“... Are you still in love with him?” 

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. 

“No.” You smiled softly. “I’m not sure I was ever in love with him actually. It’s more—” you sighed, “—embarrassment… wounded pride.”

Taehyung tilted his head curiously and you found yourself continuing. 

“In the beginning, he was very playful and charming—and obviously handsome. He reminded me so much of—”

you. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Anyway… I was quite taken with him at first. I didn’t suspect any ulterior motives.” You shrugged, trying to hold back the unpleasant emotions that always threatened to overrun you in moments like this. “I just thought he liked me.”

Taehyung’s eyes filled with sympathy and understanding as you spoke. It felt oddly natural to open up to him this way. 

“Jimin is very protective of me—with good reason it turns out. He was suspicious of Milo and hired people to do some discreet digging.”

Your hands wrapped around your body for both warmth and comfort. 

“Milo’s family owns several companies, just like ours, but they’re all struggling. His father sent him to me hoping that he would eventually get compromising information… a sex tape or photographs—something of that nature. They intended to blackmail Jimin into doing business with them.”

Taehyung felt his jaw clench painfully. Fury, hot and profound, rolled through him. 

“I should kill him.”

You shook your head, amused in spite of yourself. 

“That’s exactly what Jimin said.”

“He has good instincts.”

“Scum like Milo aren’t worth it,” you chuckled. “He never got what he wanted… but I was still mortified. I felt like such a fool for believing him.”

“No,” Taehyung’s hands slid up to cup your shoulders, “it’s not foolish to believe that someone cared for you.”

It would be so easy to care for you. 

“Besides…” his eyes fell briefly to your lips as he searched for the right words, “I saw the way he looked at you and—even though he’s clearly a terrible person—I believe his feelings may have been genuine.”

You nodded. 

“That’s what he keeps trying to tell me—that he did have bad intentions, but ended up falling for me anyway.” You shook your head. “As If I could believe a word he says.”

The silence between you stretched comfortably. Taehyung sensed you had more to say, so he waited until you were ready to voice it. 

“I think that’s why I’m so sensitive about handling things on my own lately… and just now even. I want to prove to everyone—to myself—that I’m not a liability.”

“Hey,” he whispered, tipping your chin up till your gazes met, “no one thinks you’re a liability. And even if you are capable, no one should have to fight their own battles all the time—especially when they’re emotionally compromised…” His thumb gently brushed away the small tear that escaped down the curve of your cheek. “That’s the benefit of having people who care about you.”

“... Like you?” 

The words left you so softly, you could almost imagine they were still in your head where they likely should have stayed. 

Taehyung’s eyes widened in surprise. His gaze became even more intent and you ceased breathing altogether. After a moment his lips parted as if he was about to speak- 

“What’s going on, guys?”

You both jerked back at the sound of your brother’s voice. He was standing in the entrance to the balcony, gaze darting suspiciously between the two of you. 

Taehyung was a bit dazed, but you were always quicker on your feet. 

“I ran into Milo… Tae was calming me down.”

Jimin’s eyes hardened immediately. 

“Where is he?”

“Long gone,” you mumbled, ambling over to the familiar warmth of his arms. “I just want to go home.” 

The Black and White Ball was one of the most coveted invitations of the holiday season. 

The dress code was quite strict (all black or all white—no exceptions) and it was one of the few events where people actually arrived in limousines. 

Taehyung loathed limousines. He felt absurdly pretentious pulling up to your building in such a gauche ride, but traditions and appearances meant too much in his world to simply disregard them. 

His ensemble for the evening was a beautifully tailored black suit with hand-stitched baroque detailing. Oddly, he found himself wondering what you would think of it... 

“You look like a vampire.”

Taehyung turned at the sound of your voice and was struck, yet again, by how incredibly beautiful you were. 

You had chosen to wear white, donning an exquisite gown with delicate pearl beading and a daring sweetheart neckline that molded perfectly to your frame. 

If he looked like a vampire, you were surely an angel. 

Still…

Angel or not, he couldn’t let that comment pass. 

“I think I’m offended.”

“I can’t imagine why. After all, loads of women are attracted to Nosferatu.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. 

“There are so many sexy vampires in popular culture, but you just had to lump me in with the creepy bald one...”

You shrugged playfully. 

“I wouldn’t want you to think I was going soft.”

A wicked grin danced over your lips as you strolled past him regally—just as you had many times before... 

This time, however, he let his eyes linger a little longer on the view. 

Lord have mercy. 

“Of course not,” he coughed. 

“You’re what?!”

You rolled your eyes.

Tonight had been going rather well. 

The two of you formed a mutual unspoken agreement to pretend that your last encounter on the balcony (and on the phone) had never happened and (despite the heated glances you occasionally traded) the bickering and playful banter characteristic of your relationship had all but returned to normal...

Until Taehyung learned of your participation in the evening’s main event. 

“I told you, I’m part of the date auction this year.”

“Does your brother know about this?!”

“I didn’t see any reason to bother him with it.” You were suddenly preoccupied with your nails. 

“Woman,” Taehyung sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “are you trying to make my life difficult?”

“No, I’m just naturally gifted in that respect.”

You turned and began making your way to the front, but Taehyung was hot on your heels and clearly not ready to let the matter rest. 

“I cannot believe you’re actually going through with this! It’s not 1810, you know. We shouldn’t just auction off women for dates—”

“You’re absolutely right, Tae Tae.” You brushed a condescending pat over his cheek. “Nowadays we auction off the men too.”

Then you sauntered off to join the rest of the participating women—and men—backstage, leaving Taehyung to stew about the entire situation from the crowd. 

“As you know, all proceeds from tonight’s auction go to fight childhood hunger right here in our city. For legal purposes, I must advise all bidders that you are only bidding on the company of the individual in question.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Jimin is probably going to kill me for this.”

“If you place the winning bid, then you and your date will receive two VIP tickets to the Governor's Winter Wonderland Gala which comes with a variety of amenities including; a luxury limousine service, one of the private and famously romantic Winter Wonderland dinner experiences—”

His eyes fluttered shut. “Jimin is definitely gonna kill me for this.” 

“—unlimited free drinks, ten complimentary tickets for each of the grand prize raffles, photos with the Governor and his family, along with many more surprises!”

Taehyung grabbed a champagne flute from a nearby waiter and downed it in one go. 

“And now for our first date of the evening! Mr. Jackson Wang!” 

Jackson went for a cool six grand because no one was brave enough to outbid his girlfriend. 

After him, the beautiful Manoban heiress and her handsome cousin Kim Namjoon went for twelve grand each.

Jung Hoseok started a frenzied bidding war between two young socialites and Mrs. O’Malley. He ended up going to the lovely Ms. Ana Fallon for a staggering twenty thousand dollars. 

Taehyung’s own cousin, Kim Seokjin, paid a jaw-dropping twenty-one thousand dollars for Lin Yuna, the young CEO of Lin Cosmetics. (Taehyung made a mental note to ask him about that later.) 

Then it was your turn. 

“The next lady on our list needs no introduction. The lovely Park Angel has graciously agreed to a date with one lucky bidder tonight! Who will it be? Do I hear ten thousand?”

“Ten thousand.”

Taehyung swung his head toward the first bidder and breathed a sigh of relief. 

Tam Martin, one of your best friends and very gay. 

“Eleven thousand.”

“Twelve thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sixteen thousand dollars.”

“Seventeen thousand.”

“Eighteen.”

Taehyung was having trouble keeping up with all the bidders. His ears were starting to ring again and a strange unpleasant nausea was building in his stomach. 

“Twenty thousand.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“Thirty thousand!”

At the sound of the last bidder’s voice, you noticeably paled. Your eyes flew to Taehyung’s and immediately he knew exactly who it was. 

Milo.

Before he could even react to the new information, another voice joined the fray. 

“Forty thousand.”

Min Yoongi smiled smugly from the other side of the room and even had the audacity to throw you a wink. 

You smiled shyly at the young heir’s boldness and Taehyung felt something downright unholy rise up in his chest. 

No. 

Milo was still bidding. 

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Not her. 

“Sixty,” Yoongi countered.

She’s mine. 

Suddenly Taehyung was on his feet. 

“One hundred thousand dollars!” 

The silence in the backseat of your limousine was deafening. 

Tension charged the air like an electric current as the significance of the last hour weighed heavily between you. 

The spacious luxury vehicle allowed you to sit facing one another. Taehyung’s eyes were focused on his hands, but you were looking at him—letting your mind run wild with speculation. 

And hope. 

Part of you was still there, on the stage, watching him stand up and bid a fortune for the pleasure of your company. 

His gaze was so fierce when he spoke, like an ancient emperor calling out his decree for the people to obey. 

You dreamed about him bidding on you when you signed up for the auction (even before Jimin bullied him into accompanying you). You let yourself imagine him speaking out again and again till the others stepped back—

Yet you never dared hope for it. 

However, the last several days marked an unexpected turning point in your relationship. 

For years, you and he were like magnets with a too-similar charge, but something had shifted irrevocably between you, and somehow your stubborn similarities became opposites that could not resist their attraction. 

Kim Taehyung was one of the wealthiest men in the city…

But he didn’t need to buy your heart. 

It had always been his, even if you didn’t want to admit it. 

He had claimed you tonight—and every single soul in that ballroom knew it. 

The next move was yours and you intended to make it. 

“Mmm,” you hissed a bit, bringing your hand to rest just below your breasts. 

Taehyung’s gaze flew up in concern. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s just that scratch from the earring,” your fingers rubbed gingerly at the spot, drawing his focus to it, “it still stings.”

“Oh… I—” he shook his head, “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Do you want to see?” 

Taehyung’s eyes rose slowly to yours. 

You watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he considered your words. Anticipation vibrated through your blood like notes struck on a piano—

Then he nodded...

And you both were lost. 

Trembling fingers slid the zipper down the side of your gown. The dress itself was a marvel of physics designed to support you without the need for a bra. 

Taehyung drew in an impossibly deep breath as the fabric drifted to your waist, baring the perfect mounds of your breasts to him entirely. 

“Here,” you whispered, pointing to a small red mark just under the curve of your left one. 

He bit back a moan. 

“I—I see. That looks… painful.” His fingers dug into the seat beside him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You nodded. 

“Kiss it better.”

Taehyung felt the air knock out of his lungs like a sucker punch. 

This must have been how Adam felt when Eve offered him the forbidden fruit all those millennia ago. 

He knew he shouldn’t—

but he could never deny you. 

“Of course.”

You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He looked like a man possessed and you reveled in the power of it. 

It was for you. 

He wanted you. 

Your back arched up the slightest bit, beckoning to him—offering him a taste of what he was so desperately craving. 

Touch me… please. 

Large palms landed on either side of your thighs, bracing him on the seat beneath you. The tip of his nose teased the delicate line of your collar bone and he swore violently under his breath. 

Then his lips were on your skin and your mind went blank. 

“Taehyung—“ you moaned. 

Hot open-mouthed kisses spread over the soft swell of your breast and you gasped— shuddering helplessly as a fierce wave of pleasure tore through you.

Sweet merciful heavens. 

Over the years you imagined a moment like this thousands of times in your head—only to discover now that you had pitifully underestimated both his passion and his skill. 

You had dreamed of a quiet fire—but he had unleashed an inferno. 

The lewd sounds of his mouth nipping and sucking at your tender flesh filled the small space around you as he poured himself into each obscene contact—stopping briefly to flick his tongue over the taunt peak of your nipple. You trembled breathlessly at the sharp snap of sensation, letting your head fall back against the seat as you buried your fingers in his soft curls. 

“T-Tae—”

Finally his mouth fastened over the tiny scratch, and the kiss deepened. You knew what he was doing, what the result of his efforts would be—

He was marking you. 

And you wanted it. 

Oh how you wanted it. 

Suddenly the car took a sharp turn, causing Taehyung to lose his grip on the seat. His arms wrapped around your torso for balance, dragging you fully against him.

“Does it feel better, Angel?” he growled. 

You nodded frantically and he nipped at the underside of your breast. 

“Speak up.”  

“Yes, Taehyung,” you whimpered, “it feels so much better.” 

“Mmmm,” he hummed, brushing his mouth along the sensitive column of your neck. “Who knew you could be such a good girl?”

Then his hand came up to grip your chin, turning it so your lips were almost against his—

“Madame. We’ve arrived.”

The driver’s voice cut over your senses like a shard of ice. 

Taehyung jerked backward and immediately buried his face in his hands. 

Your fingers hastily yanked your dress up and you stumbled out of the car in a daze, letting your feet carry you forward until you collapsed on top of your bed. 

Did we just...

You hadn’t even begun to collect your thoughts when your phone buzzed from inside your purse. 

1 New Message from: Taehyung 🙄🥴🙈

I need to know you made it safely to your room. 

You grinned. 

Greedy boy. 

Back in the limousine, the boy in question was nervously tapping the corner of his phone against his chin as he waited for your reply. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Oh? But you saw me walk in… and I’m already in bed.

Taehyung growled in frustration. 

She would be a tease. 

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

I tend to worry. Put my mind at ease. 

He shook his head. 

I have officially gone insane. 

The phone buzzed again. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Well… We can’t have that can we… 

Taehyung literally felt the whine tear out of him as he opened the picture. 

Your gorgeous body (the body he’d had his hands and mouth on for one glorious minute) was nestled decadently atop a pile of fluffy blue blankets and wrapped in nothing but a tiny silk robe. 

The neck gaped open just enough to show off the pretty red marks he left on the delectable curve of your breast. 

He groaned, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

That's all I get after I made the pain go away? Good girls send real proof, Angel

The screen lit up again almost immediately. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Guess I’m not such a good girl after all...

Jimin came tearing through the Kim Manor front gate at precisely 7 AM—only to find Jungkook camped out at the entrance with several outdoor space heaters and a giant mug of hot chocolate.

“He told you not to let me in, didn’t he?”

Jungkook took a long satisfying sip of his cocoa. 

“I hope you don’t feel singled out, sir. I’m not allowed to let his mother in either.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Of course, Mr. Park, let me just pull up his schedule—”

“I need to talk to him now.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Kim is booked solid for the morning.”

Jimin stomped his foot like a petulant child. 

“I know he’s up there.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“You’re welcome to climb the trellis and check. I promise not to stop you if you make it all the way up.”

“COME DOWN HERE AND FACE ME YOU COWARD!” Jimin shouted at the top of his lungs. 

Jungkook took another long pull of his drink. 

“Might I inquire as to the reason for your visit today, sir?”

“The reason for my visit,” Jimin yanked out his phone and angrily began typing into the search bar, “is that your boss paid ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS for my sister at a date auction last night and I want to know what the hell is going on between them!”

The article Jimin pulled up (DEVILISH KIM TAEHYUNG BUYS HIMSELF A $100,000 ANGEL) featured an image of the two of you entering the Black and White Ball. Your head was thrown back in laughter and Taehyung was grinning down at you as if you’d personally hung all the stars in the sky for him. 

A genuine smile crept over Jungkook’s face as he studied the photograph. 

“That’s quite a headline.” He handed Jimin’s phone back. “Have you asked your sister about it?”

“No, I swung by earlier, but she wasn’t home so—” His eyes widened. “Oh my—is she—”

Jimin suddenly took off running for the trellis, and Jungkook scrambled out of his chair to chase him. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG IF MY SISTER IS IN THAT ROOM—”

He was already three feet off the ground when Jungkook yanked him back. 

“I thought you said I could climb the trellis!”

“Yes,” Jungkook wheezed, “but I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” That trellis is a hundred years old! A few more feet and I’d be scraping you off the antique brickwork!”

Jimin scowled and crossed his arms. 

“Are you by any chance open to bribes?”

“Normally yes, but Tae promised to double my Christmas bonus if I didn’t accept them today.”

Jimin continued to eye the trellis speculatively, clearly willing to take his chances. Jungkook sighed and rubbed his forehead. 

“Mr. Park, I promise you… He came home alone last night. In fact, they both returned earlier than usual because your sister had a 7 AM finance meeting.” He paused significantly to glance at his watch. “Which is probably where she is right now.”

“Oh… Well.”

Jungkook bit his lip to hold back a snort and Jimin’s eyes narrowed. 

“He has to come down eventually.”

“One would think.”

The young Park heir glanced toward Taehyung’s window again just in time to see the man in question dart back behind the curtains. 

"I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE, KIM TAEHYUNG, YOU PHILANDERING SLEAZE BAG!" 

Jimin made another jump for the trellis and this time Jungkook caught him in mid-air. 

“Sir, I’m sure it was just the maid!”

“It’s not the maid! I’d know that raggedy mop of his anywhere!”

Jungkook was out of breath at this point. Park Jimin might be small, but he was fierce. 

“Perhaps it’s best if you took a moment to collect yourself,” he grunted. “There’s a lovely new spa down the street and they sent Taehyung two free deluxe packages.”

Jimin stopped struggling. 

“Oh?”

Five minutes later, Jungkook sighed deeply and fished his phone out of his back pocket. 

“He’s gone, sir.”

“Excellent work, Jungkook. I never doubted you for a second.”

“However…”

“... However?”

“I had to give him your spa passes.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“Are you headed for a gala or the guillotine?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t pay extra for commentary.”

“It’s complimentary, sir.”

The Kim heir tugged absently at the material of his absurdly expensive evening wear. 

Why do these events always have to be so uncomfortable? 

“Seriously, Tae… you seem,” the young aide searched for the right words, “unusually tense.”

Taehyung’s mind flashed back to three nights ago when he had his mouth wrapped around your breast. 

“Not at all,” he coughed, loosening the collar of his shirt. 

Jungkook bit his lip.

“Is this about Ms. Park, sir?”

The cufflinks Taehyung was attempting to fasten suddenly went flying across the room and hit a lamp. 

Both men winced. 

“I think that was your grandmother’s.”

Taehyung sighed. 

“I admit there have been… some developments.”

Jungkook nodded nonchalantly, trying to disguise the fact that he was internally frothing at the mouth for details. 

“... Such as?”

Taehyung gulped. 

“It started out rather innocently I suppose…” he cleared his throat, “but there may have been some suggestive photographs.”

“There may have been? Are you not sure?”

Taehyung colored guiltily. 

“Well—”

“Do you need me to check for you, sir? I have an art history degree.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“That’s what I thought.”

Taehyung yanked his tie out of the younger man’s hand. 

“Things have… escalated a bit.”

“Escalated how?”

I licked her tit in the back of a limo.

“Physically.”

It was everything Jungkook could do to maintain a straight face. 

“That’s… shocking.”

“Then why don’t you seem shocked?” Taehyung grumbled. 

A small smile played across Jungkook’s lips as he pointedly ignored the elder man’s observation.

“So what are you going to do, sir?”

Taehyung was silent for a long moment. 

“I honestly have no idea.”

Watching you walk toward him was an experience.  

Taehyung wondered absently if this was how it would be from now on; if for the rest of his life just the sight of you would be enough to scatter his mind and his pulse and even the way he breathed. 

Your dress tonight was deadly. 

It was a decadent red satin halter that clung to every curve. The truly wicked detail, however, was a daring slit that ran the entire length of your leg. 

Taehyung was certain he was going to trip over his own tongue at some point if he looked directly at you for too long. 

Oh help. 

Memories of your previous encounter flooded his senses. Every second you were getting closer and he didn’t know what to do—what to say. 

So he didn’t say anything at all. 

Not a word when you reached the bottom of the stairs. Nothing but silence as he opened the door of the limo for you. More silence and no eye contact as he settled into the seat across from yours—

And you tolerated that for about three minutes. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when Kim Taehyung didn’t have a comment about something. Perhaps I should mark this down on my calendar.”

The words were lightly spoken, but you were shaking on the inside. The last time the two of you were alone together he had your dress around your waist and you were moaning his name. Now he wasn’t talking and you were torn between panic and irritation. 

Taehyung, however, latched onto your passive barb like a lifeline. 

“Is that a hint of sarcasm I hear from the benevolent Park Angel?” He grinned. “Surely not.”

“Red is not a particularly angelic color. Perhaps I’m feeling feisty today.”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat and indulged himself in a thorough examination of your outfit. The urge to run his hands over the satin-covered lines of your body was nearly unbearable. He curled his fingers into fists to keep them from doing just that. 

She is definitely trying to kill me. 

“Should I be worried?”

Now it was your turn to grin. 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

The Governor’s Winter Wonderland Gala was by far the most extravagant event of the holiday season. Tickets cost a small fortune and sold out almost immediately. 

But it was well worth the price of admission.

Thousands of lights sparkled overhead as you made your way through the great hall of Governor Kim’s mansion. 

It was like stepping into a fairytale. 

Taehyung couldn’t take his eyes off you. The sheer wonder in your expression was breathtaking. 

You were breathtaking.  

“Governor Kim, it is such an honor to finally meet you.”

The Governor was a handsome man in his early fifties with a smile that was every bit as lethal as it had been twenty-five years ago. 

“The honor is all mine, Ms. Park. I trust my nephew is treating you well.”

Your eyes widened. 

“N-nephew?”

Taehyung shrugged. 

“I don’t really talk about it much.” 

The Governor chuckled and you cleared your throat to cover your nervousness. 

“Yes, he’s been a very capable escort.”

“Is that so?” Governor Kim smiled charmingly. “Well if it doesn’t work out, my son Seokjin is still single—”

“Thank you, Uncle. It was lovely to see you as always.”

You squeaked as Taehyung placed his hand firmly on the curve of your back and practically dragged you away. 

The Governor just shook his head and laughed. 

“Oh kid, you’ve got it bad.”

Everywhere you looked there was beauty. 

Whoever planned the gala this year had truly gone above and beyond. Surrounded on all sides by glittering trees and snowy vignettes, it was easy to be swept away in the festive magic of the evening. 

All in all (despite some initial awkwardness), you were having a fantastic time...

Until she showed up. 

“Kim Taehyung! Is that you?”

Every single hair on your body stood on end, but before you could determine the source of the shrill squealing, you found yourself being nudged aside by a blinding golden gown and some very high heels. 

“Aubrey,” Taehyung grunted as five-and-half feet of gorgeous wrapped herself around him like a clinging vine. “Long time no see.”

“Not since that vacation in Aspen,” she giggled. “We had quite a time, didn’t we Tae Tae!”

Suddenly you had the most unholy urge to slap the spray tan right off this woman. 

Instead, you plastered on a vibrant smile and placed your hand on Taehyung’s sleeve.

“Um. Excuse me, Tae Tae, perhaps you could introduce us?”

Taehyung looked as if he’d just been served raw fire ants for dinner. 

“Yes. Of course. This is—”

“Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine,” she interrupted with a smug little smirk. “Taehyung and I go way back.” Her expression grew just the slightest bit tighter. “And you are?”

“His date,” you deadpanned. 

“Aubrey,” Taehyung cleared his throat, “I’d like you to meet Ms. Park she’s—”

“Oh my goodness! You’re Jimin’s little sister aren't you!” Aubrey slapped her hand over his chest and he winced. “That is so precious of you to take her around like this!”

Your eyebrows raised right up into your hairline and Taehyung groaned. 

“Yes, he was kind enough to sign me out of the nursery for the evening.” You offered them both a painfully vacant nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I see one of my play-dates near the buffet.”

Then you turned on your heel and sauntered off without another word. 

Taehyung moved to follow you, but Aubrey curled her fingers into the crook of his arm and pulled him back. 

“Oh let her go, Tae. You and I have so much catching up to do.”

Taehyung pointedly removed her hand from his elbow. 

“Some other time perhaps.” 

Aubrey pouted prettily. 

“You’re not running off after her are you? She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”

Taehyung crossed his arms and fixed her with a knowing look. 

“Funny... that’s not what you were implying a moment ago.”

“A moment ago I didn’t have you all to myself. Now I do.” She had the decency to blush. “Perhaps I got a bit jealous.”

“You don’t say.” His eyes continued to search the crowd for any sign of you. 

“It seems I had good reason to be,” she murmured quietly. 

“Aubrey... Listen I—”

She cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“Don’t bother Tae Tae. I’m petty, but I’ve never been pathetic.”

He grinned. 

“Never.”

The lady sighed and gave him a heated once over.

“What a shame.”

Then she strolled off with a rueful smile. 

“You know what I don’t understand?”

You turn to find Min Yoongi leaning casually against a nearby column. He looked absurdly handsome as always, but his grin was just the slightest bit mischievous. 

“What don’t you understand, Mr. Min?”

The question was clearly a bait, but you were still fuming from your earlier encounter with Ms. St. Valentine and therefore desperately in need of a distraction. 

Yoongi pushed off the column and lazily made his way toward you.

“I don’t understand how a man pays a hundred thousand dollars for an evening with the most beautiful woman in the city, and then leaves her all by herself.” He leaned forward with a playful grin. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

Oh he’s good. 

You made a show of tapping your chin thoughtfully. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that one.”

Yoongi sighed and shook his head. 

“Couldn’t be me.”

You laughed then. He really was a delightful man. In fact, if you still had your heart, you might have considered letting him take a shot at it. 

Alas. 

You tilted your head speculatively. 

Surely there was no need to brush away good company...

After all, no one else is interested in spending time with me. 

“Since my escort is otherwise occupied, perhaps you could join me for dinner?”

Yoongi held out his hand. 

“I’d be delighted.”

Taehyung wandered around the mansion for nearly forty-five minutes looking for his date.  

Panic was just starting to build in his chest when he finally spotted you

—at his private dining table with Min Yoongi. 

It was everything he could do not to storm over and yank the other man out of his seat by the lapels. 

Alright, Angel. If this is the game you want to play… then let’s play. 

Taehyung felt his anger rise with every step, but he ruthlessly suppressed any sign of it and instead adopted a charming smile. 

“Min, I didn’t expect to find you here. What a… delightful surprise.”

Yoongi’s expression was just a shade too satisfied. Taehyung could already feel his blood pressure beginning to skyrocket. 

“Yes, Ms. Park believed that you were otherwise occupied and invited me to share the meal with her.”

“I see,” Taehyung practically snarled. “However,” his gaze landed heavily on you, “since I paid for this table, I hope you won’t mind if I join you as well?”

You avoided looking at him up to this point, but now you were choking on your wine

“Easy there, Angel,” Taehyung murmured as he pulled up a seat extremely close to yours—so close that your thighs were nearly touching. 

Oh boy. 

Over the next several minutes Yoongi continued to flirt openly and you continued to smile prettily and pretend Taehyung wasn’t there (which naturally infuriated him). 

You should have known he wouldn’t let you get away with such behavior so easily. 

This was Kim Taehyung, after all, and if there was anything that could be counted on when it came to your shared history, it was that one (or both) of you was always ready to escalate. 

You had just offered the young Min heir yet another flowery compliment when you felt Taehyung make his move. 

Two warm fingers slid under the silken slit of your dress, coming to rest possessively over the soft flesh of your inner thigh. 

You squeaked and nearly spat up your drink. 

Taehyung leaned forward in fake concern, wrapping his arm around you as if to offer aid. 

“Are you alright?”

His hand continued to move significantly beneath your gown, but his face was the picture of innocence. 

You glared. 

“Just fine, thank you.”

A slow grin crept across his features as he began to trace soft intimate patterns over your skin.  

On the other side of the table, Yoongi tilted his head in genuine solicitude. “Are you sure?”

You nodded sharply. 

Satisfied, he resumed speaking about whatever it was he’d been saying—though you couldn’t understand a word of it at this point because the torturous strokes Taehyung was leisurely drawing over your thighs were moving closer to your center with each passing second. 

Yet you made no move to stop him. 

You should have. 

You should have slapped his touch away—rebuked him for his boldness—

But you didn’t. 

So he just kept nodding and smiling while Yoongi spoke, even as his fingers teased you with the maddening persistence of a man who knew very well what he was doing. 

You gasped aloud when he finally brushed the pad of his thumb over the thin cotton of your panties. 

“T-Taehyung—” 

“Hmm?” he turned to you, seemingly surprised by your attention (it was—after all—the first time you’d addressed him since the beginning of the meal).

“Could you pass me the salt,” you sputtered (hoping to cover the fact that you moaned his name involuntarily). Unfortunately, Taehyung seemed wholly aware of your ruse, offering you the salt shaker with a superior smirk.

You seriously considered stabbing him with a fork. 

However, before you could carry out any bloodthirsty plans, he pressed his fingers directly over your clit and your eyes rolled back in your head

“Oh my g—” you bit your lip stubbornly, “this lamb is just so good.” 

Sweet mother of macaroons, he is too skilled at this. 

You shoveled another bite into your mouth to cover your whine as Taehyung began to rub tight little circles over your sweet spot. 

Across the table, Yoongi nodded in blissful unawareness. 

“Yes, I agree, the lamb is excellent—very tender.”

Taehyung took advantage of the momentary distraction to slip beneath the fabric of your undergarment. 

Your fork clattered to your plate and your hand came up to cover your mouth as he began running his fingers up and down your soaked slit.

It was everything you could do to hold back your depraved whimpering. 

“I can’t wait to taste it,” Taehyung replied, flicking your clit in a way that guaranteed he wasn’t referring to the lamb. 

At this point Yoongi seemed to notice you were in some sort of distress. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned forward. 

“Ms. Park, are you well?”

Taehyung chose that moment to sink his finger into the welcoming heat of your pussy. 

“Yes,” you almost sobbed, “I’m-I’m very well—thank you.”

“Excellent,” Yoongi smiled as he rose to his feet. “If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps you could favor me with a dance?”

Several attendees were already making their way to the center of the floor and the orchestra was beginning to play.

Your entire body, however, was vibrating like a plucked harp string and Taehyung was still brushing back and forth against your clit, driving you toward a release that promised to be explosive. 

There was no way—simply no way—that you would be capable of hiding it. 

“Yes! I would love to dance with you,” you squeaked, grabbing hold of Taehyung’s wrist frantically. The feel of him pulling out of your sopping core was nearly enough to have you coming right there. 

Thankfully, Yoongi remained utterly oblivious to the debauchery unfolding beneath the table. He took your hand and helped you to your feet with an eager smile (and it was a good thing too because your legs were still shaking). 

When the two of you reached the dance floor, you turned back for the briefest instant—

just long enough to meet Taehyung’s heated gaze as his lips closed over the finger he buried in your cunt. 

Emotions were a funny thing. 

They impacted your judgement, affected your body, altered your behavior… 

And occasionally eroded your common sense. 

Sitting alone in the corner of the Governor’s ballroom, Kim Taehyung found himself experiencing a full spectrum of emotional side-effects. 

His hands clenched as he watched Min Yoongi spin you around the floor. 

His heart pounded every time he caught a flash of your shapely leg peeking through the slit in your gown. 

His blood boiled when you threw your head back and laughed at something the other man said. 

It was difficult to pinpoint which emotion was to blame for each of these reactions. There were certainly a number of them boiling over in his subconscious. 

Frustration—

I didn’t even want to talk to Aubrey! How are you acting like anything she said was my fault?!

Rage—  

Why is challenging people to duels illegal? I would fight Min Yoongi at dawn. I would fight Min Yoongi now. 

Jealousy—

You asked her to dance while my fingers were in her pussy. We are not the same. 

But perhaps the most persistent—the most overwhelming— emotion twisting through him was longing. 

You and Taehyung spent nearly four years apart, and he was so desperate to be near you—even then—that he resorted to childish pranks in order to remain a part of your life. 

He hadn’t recognized his actions or desires for what they were. He hadn’t realized what you meant to him...

But now, after spending the last several days with your hand on his arm and your laughter in his ear, he could no longer imagine spending another moment without you. 

Everything seemed to crystallize as he watched you laughing and dancing in the arms of another man. 

Uncertainty became clear. Complications became simple. 

And when he saw Min Yoongi’s hand slide dangerously close to the perfect swell of your backside—

Emotion became action.

“Mind if I cut in?”

It wasn’t a question really. Taehyung was already shouldering his rival out of the way and pulling you into his arms. 

“Taehyung,” you hissed, shooting the bewildered Yoongi an apologetic look over his shoulder, “what are you doing? This is so rude—”

“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, sweeping you through the couples on the floor with practiced ease. “It is unpardonably rude to steal someone else’s date. He’s lucky all I did was steal you back.”

Your mouth dropped open. 

“Oh? So you finally remembered that I was your date?”

Taehyung’s grip on the curve of your waist became a shade rougher as he pulled you through the next turn. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” you stepped forward vigorously, nearly smashing your body into his, “—that you spent forty-five minutes with Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine when you were supposed to be having dinner with me!”

Taehyung growled and yanked you flush against him. 

“I spent forty-five minutes looking for you while you were giving away my table to Min Yoongi!”

The two of you sailed through the next several movements glaring at one another before you snapped again. 

“None of this would have happened if you had just told Aubrey St. Spray Tan that you were with me—”

“I did!”

“Instead, you let her call me a baby!”

“What let? Aubrey is a grown woman!”

“But—”

“And—you stormed off before I could say anything, so how would you know what I let?”

“You didn’t come after me!”

“Yes actually I did—but she grabbed my arm!”

“Really? Well what else did she grab?”

Taehyung abruptly realized how silent everything around you had become. 

People were staring—and not even discreetly— just full on staring with their mouths hanging open. 

Well that’s great. 

Taehyung’s hand closed around yours and you suddenly found yourself being marched across the dance floor at a breakneck pace.

“What are you doing?”

“Continuing this discussion in private.”

“We can’t just go somewhere private in the Governor’s mansion!” you sputtered, struggling to keep up with his larger strides. 

“You mean in my uncle’s house? Yes—actually we can—and we will.”

Taehyung proved to be a man of his word, dragging you past two security guards and into the roped off section of the manor with nothing more than a nod. 

The residential wing of the Governor’s home was beautifully decorated with traditional Korean artistic touches—all of which you were unable to appreciate while Taehyung was speed walking you through the halls. 

After a surprising amount of turns and archways, he yanked open an ornate wooden door with the words Reflection Suite written on a plaque above it in beautiful calligraphy. 

You almost giggled when you got a look inside. 

On the surface it was a tastefully furnished guest room with a simple cherry wood desk and a cozy double bed set in an elegant matching frame.

However—

The ceiling and one full wall were nothing but massive mirrors. 

Reflection suite indeed. 

The door slammed shut and Taehyung rounded on you with a stormy expression—though you weren’t waiting on him to fire the first volley.

“This is definitely going to get us in trouble.”

“I told you, I can go wherever I want in this house. It’s fine.”

“Then why did you take us here?”

“Because you were shouting—”

“I was shouting?! You were shouting I just—”

Suddenly your back was against the wall and Taehyung’s mouth was on yours. 

He hadn’t brought you here for this. When he grabbed your hand, he was only trying to get away from the crowds. He told himself that he needed privacy so you could talk—so he could clarify things. 

But the minute the door closed and you flared up again in all your magnificent rage, he was lost. 

He had to kiss you then. 

You were so lovely. So fierce. So wildly irresistible and he was too utterly smitten to fight the need to be near you—to be with you in every way that he could—for a single second more. 

The shock of Kim Taehyung pressing his lips to yours lasted about two full seconds—and then there was nothing but ravenous insatiable need. 

Finally. 

Everything was him. 

Everything was this—this sweet indescribable ignition of a desire that spanned years. You moaned eagerly against his mouth in wanton delight. After a decade of sparks, you were more than ready to burn. 

“Taehyung—”

His name poured out of you like a prayer. You needed him everywhere and miraculously he seemed to understand—

Not that he was prepared to be polite about it. 

“Where’s that smart mouth now, Angel?” he growled, tangling his hands in your hair to expose the tender column of your throat. “Nothing to say?”

Your only answer was a desperate whine as he spread hot-open mouthed kisses down the soft skin of your neck all the way to your collarbone.

Now was not the time for patience. He would be tender with you later. You absolutely deserved soft sweet caresses and slow leisurely love making and he was absolutely going to give them to you—every day if you’d let him. 

But not today. 

The minute his mouth encountered the barrier of your dress, he gripped onto the sides and yanked it down to your waist.

“You knew just what you were doing in the back of that limo, you little brat,” he hissed, taking one swollen nipple into his mouth and tormenting it with his tongue.

“Tae-ahhh!” Your back arched involuntarily in ruthless pleasure. 

“I spent hours—days even—wanting to get my hands on these perfect tits.” He licked the other nipple obscenely, squeezing the soft mound till it bulged through his fingers. “And you offered me the barest taste with that coy little grin, knowing it wouldn’t be enough—” 

He reared back and landed a firm slap on both breasts and you screamed.

It was so so good. 

“Look at them now,” he murmured, “so swollen and needy and mine.”

If any other man had said those words, you would have cut his heart out with a butter knife. 

But you had always belonged to this man body and soul, and to hear him acknowledge it so primitively felt like the sweetest vindication. 

“Yes!” you sobbed.

The affirmation only inflamed him further. He teased and fondled the tender flesh till you were shaking.

Your fingers curled into the soft waves of his hair as he indulged himself. He looked so ridiculously good sucking your nipple, moaning lewdly with his eyes pressed shut in cathartic bliss. 

“This is all your fault, Angel,” he groaned. “You just don’t know how to behave.”

His hands gripped the curve of your backside, lifting you right off the floor and into his arms. Your mouths fused together heatedly as he carried you to the bed, and you giggled against him when his words finally processed. 

“You’ve been saying that for years.” 

“It’s been true for years,” he muttered, pulling one of your legs up around him so he could grind against your cunt while you kissed. 

Your fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt, tearing them off when they didn’t unhook fast enough. You waited too long to be with him like this to care about anything other than the feel of his skin against your own.

“Impatient, are we?” he chuckled, bringing his lips around to nip at your ear. 

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, yanking the ruined garment right off his shoulder just so you could sink your teeth into it. 

Taehyung moaned loudly, snapping his hips against yours with an involuntary jerk.

“You really are such a brat,” he hissed, fisting his hands in the satin length of your skirt. “Let’s see how fierce you are with my tongue in your pussy—”

His words were so filthy and raw, yet they stoked a frenzied need in your belly like nothing you had ever encountered. 

“This dress is evil,” he snarled, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before switching to a more destructive tactic. “It has tormented me all night and now it’s in my way.”

The stitching proved no match for his resolve, and—after a few vigorous tugs—he ripped it apart from the slit on up, leaving you covered in nothing but the thin cotton underwear he had breached earlier that evening. 

After disposing of your shredded gown, Taehyung paused for a moment just to take in the sight of you. 

“What a perfect little angel,” he taunted playfully, snapping the band of your lingerie against your hips with a cocky grin. 

Then he brushed his nose right up against the sopping fabric and inhaled deeply. “You smell just like heaven,” he growled before licking you right through the cloth, “and you taste even better.”

The sensations twisting through your body were merciless. You needed more or you were going to shake apart. 

“Taehyung please,” you whined, pressing against him shamelessly.

“Oh a please?” he chuckled, throwing your own words from the first night back at you. “Who knew you had manners?”

You would have screamed in frustration, but he cut you off with an open mouthed kiss right over the wettest part of your panties.

“Perhaps I can make a good girl of you yet,” he chuckled, as you opened yourself wider to encourage him. 

You nodded frantically, letting out another moan when he yanked the flimsy little scrap of lace down your legs—smearing a line of arousal over your thighs.

“So messy,” he tsked, tapping his finger right above your knee where the naughty little streak ended. “What am I going to do with you?” 

Then he pressed his tongue over the shiny trail of slick and licked it right off. 

You gasped loudly and his lascivious smirk was almost beautiful enough to make up for all of the shameless teasing. 

Almost. 

"You want my mouth, pretty Angel?” he whispered, letting the words brush maddeningly against your folds. “You want me to feed on this sweet little cunt?”

Every cell in your body cried out for release. He already edged you under the table at dinner and now he was determined to unravel you entirely. You would say anything—do anything. 

"Please—" you whispered.

"Please who?" 

Normally you met his arrogance with a cutting riposte, but an entire evening of methodical torment had left you beyond desperate. 

"Please Taehyung,” you begged needily. 

He grinned. 

“That’s right, Angel. Kim Taehyung. Not Min Yoongi or any other pathetic trust fund prick that’s panting for a taste of this pussy.” His eyes fastened on yours significantly. “You belong to me.”

Then his tongue licked a flat stripe over your glistening slit and you sagged onto the bed in relief—only to be thrown back into oblivion when his lips closed over your clit. 

Your body arched involuntarily as a ruthless wave of pleasure tore through you. Your eyes and mouth flew open in a silent scream and it was in that moment you remembered exactly where you were. 

Underneath a giant mirror. 

The passionate woman staring down at you was nearly unrecognizable. Her body was littered with her lover’s marks. Her hands gripped feverishly into the sheets beneath her—-

And Kim Taehyung was kneeling between her thighs, suckling on her weeping cunt with obscene satisfaction. 

It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen in your life. 

Your hands reached down to tangle in his hair, using it for leverage as you ground against his face. 

Then suddenly his grip on your legs tightened and his tongue plunged roughly into your trembling core. 

“Tae—ahh oh my—I can’t—”

The sensation was so intense that your hips bucked violently. You could not keep still. You were charging towards an explosion and your body was shaking itself apart. 

The noises tearing from you were incoherent. Everything around you focused in on the juncture of your thighs where Taehyung was licking inside of you again and again until—

You shattered. 

And the force of it nearly bent your back in half. 

Delirious sobs poured from your lips as he worked you through it, letting the obscene flood of your cum soak his face. 

The sight of him slowly lapping at the release between your folds, was unspeakably erotic. He ran his hands in soothing circles over your skin while you twitched and fluttered back down from your high. 

Then he was kissing you again. 

It was softer this time, but you felt truly depraved—and instantly obsessed—with the taste of yourself in his mouth—on his skin.

You could barely understand this ravenous hunger. You’d just found relief, yet you were already reaching for more. 

Your hands snaked down and wrapped around his still covered cock and he hissed in ragged pleasure. 

“So eager,” he gasped, as you pushed him back against the headboard—but you didn’t have time to bother with his teasing.

You were gonna blow Kim Taehyung into space. 

He bit his lip when you yanked down his pants and boxers together, freeing his arousal with stunning efficiency. 

It was almost unfair to discover that his cock was every bit as beautiful as he was.

“Of course,” you muttered. 

The sultry smirk he shot you in return had your cunt flooding all over again.

“You think Min Yoongi has a cock like mine?”

“I don’t think about Min Yoongi’s cock,” you retorted, wrapping your hand around his length, “you’ve always been the biggest dick I’ve ever met.” 

“I knew you thought about my dick,” he groaned as you began to work up and down the swollen shaft. 

After a moment, his hand slid over your chin to grip your hair, drawing you forward till your lips were almost touching. 

“I wonder what this pretty mouth can do,” he whispered. 

You gasped against him and he smiled. 

“Do you know how often I pictured your lips around my cock, Angel?”

You mewled shamelessly and he growled, cupping your cheek as your hands continued to service him. 

“Do you know how often I imagined this perfect throat stuffed full of my cum?” 

His palm slid down to lightly grip the soft flesh of your neck and you shuddered against him with a needy whimper. 

“I know you could suck me so good, Angel. I’ve wanted it for so so long...”

Your mouth actually watered with anticipation. 

The desire to be good for him—to give him whatever he asked for—consumed you. 

Taehyung let his head fall back against the headboard with a groan at the first brush of your lips along his shaft. His hips rutted involuntarily as your tongue wrapped around the tip and you hummed with pleasure at his enthusiastic response. 

After a moment you slid him into the welcoming heat of your mouth, taking him in as far as you could in one stroke. His jaw dropped open and his entire body jerked forward. 

“Yes, that’s it, Angel—feels so good.”

His praise was addictive. 

You loved that you could bring him to this. You loved to see the haughty Kim Taehyung coming apart as you sucked him. 

It made you feel beautiful—powerful even—and you reveled in every second of it. 

Your eyes were starting to tear. His length began to throb and pulse against your tongue and you knew he was close—so close you could almost taste him—

Yet suddenly he was pulling you back and you whined pitifully at the loss. 

Taehyung chuckled, dragging you toward him till your dripping core slid across his cock.

“I’m not coming before I get inside that pretty little pussy,” he swore, working your hips over his sex till it was drenched in arousal. 

The crass words filled you with the fiercest, most incredible want and you clenched reflexively against him in response. 

“Is that what you want?” Taehyung whispered as he bore you back into the mattress, pinning both your wrists above your head. “You want me to fill your empty little cunt?”

You did. 

You wanted it so so bad. 

“Please.”

Taehyung gently lowered himself closer to you, resting his forehead intimately against yours as he lined up his cock at your entrance. 

“Are you sure, Angel? Because there’s no going back after this... If you give yourself to me, then you’re mine—and I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you.”

“Taehyung, you idiot,”—a tender smile spread over your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck—“... I’ve always been yours.”

He swore violently—letting the slight tremble in his voice betray just how deeply your words affected him. 

Then his fingers tightened on the soft flesh of your hip and he filled you to the hilt with one delicious thrust. 

There was a moment—the smallest space in time—where your eyes locked together and everything seemed to suspend; a strange perfect calm before a monumental storm. 

Then your world caught fire. 

Taehyung drove himself into you with passionate fury, letting years of denial fuel the insatiable rhythm of his strokes. 

Every time he told himself no. Every time he held himself back—

Every bit of it burned away as you screamed his name. 

The feel of him was indescribable. 

You imagined it too many times to count, yet your dreams fell pitifully short of the visceral reality. 

He was bloomin’ magnificent. 

Your fingers clawed up and down his back, desperate to hold on to something while he pounded into your g-spot like an animal. 

“This tiny cunt is the tightest thing I’ve ever had around my cock,” he gasped and you whined needily at his praise. “Like it was made for me—” his hand came up to grip your breast, “like you were made for me.”

“Yes—”

Taehyung’s need seemed to amplify with every whimper and moan that fell from your lips. The feelings you sparked in him were fierce and unapologetically primitive.

He would go to war for you—build a fortress for you—fight a dragon if one dared come close. 

You were his. 

And he felt like a savage every time you cried out for more. 

Suddenly an unexpected movement in his periphery caught his attention.

He’d been so consumed with the extraordinary rush of claiming you that he’d forgotten—

This guest room was thirty-five percent mirrors. 

And now… he couldn’t look away. 

The sight of your bodies tangling together in headless bliss played out before him like a scene from his most debauched and forbidden fantasies. His reflection grinned back at him in fascinated ecstasy while his beloved nemesis lost herself in the pleasure of his cock.

Something dark and wild began to burn in his chest as he studied the lovers in the glass. 

“Look at you, Angel,” he whispered softly, “you really are perfect.”

Then he pulled out of your core and you whined bitterly in protest, chasing his body to rid yourself of the sudden unacceptable emptiness. 

“Still so needy,” he taunted, gripping your hips and flipping you on your stomach before you could even think to protest.

“I want you to watch that pretty angel in the mirror come on my cock,” he groaned, plunging back into you from behind. 

The new angle was somehow impossibly deeper and your body shook as another wave of pleasure overtook it. 

Your fingers clawed into the mattress for purchase as he pistoned into your trembling mound. 

Only Kim Taehyung could rail you like a whore while he worshiped you like a queen. 

He gave you a moment to adjust before drawing your body back against his chest. His arm wrapped over your stomach as he slowly eased your legs apart, unfolding the lewd tableau of your bodies joined together for the voyeuristic gaze of the glass.   

“Look at yourself, Angel,” he growled, mesmerized by the way your breasts bounced with every thrust. “Look at how well you're taking me.” 

Then his fingers slid down to rub your clit and you screamed. 

“Tae! Ah-ahh!”

The pleasure building within you now was violent. You were coiling too tightly, too fast—

“That’s right Angel. Take it all.”

Your eyes locked with his in the mirror for the briefest instant.

And then you flew apart. 

Taehyung threw his head back with a carnal moan as you clamped down around him. His body was hurtling toward its own release with reckless speed. 

“I’m close,” he panted, “where can I come?”

“Come inside me please,” you begged, and Taehyung’s eyes widened in frenzied lust. 

“That’s what you want? Huh?” his thrusts became rougher as he chased his relief, “You want me to fill this puffy little pussy with my cum?”

“Yes, I want it so bad—“ you sobbed. 

“Sweet Angel,” he groaned, gripping at your breasts as he pulled you tighter against him. 

Then he met your gaze in the mirror again. 

“I want everything with you; a home—a family—your body in my arms every morning when I wake up—” his voice trembled, “I want it all.” 

The raw vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke you.

“Tae,” you gasped softly, too overcome with joy to manage anything else. 

His mouth pressed hungrily against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his cock throbbing in your core as he bent you forward, pounding into your sex with exquisite precision. 

"Stay with me, Angel,” he whispered. His thrusts became erratic as he neared his high. “I don’t want to live without you anymore.”

The glorious thrill of his words tore over your senses with euphoric brutality. Your walls tightened greedily around his cock and the taunt cord of pleasure finally snapped. 

He came with a broken groan, flooding the welcoming heat of your womb with his release. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG!”

The sound of his name being shouted by the absolute last person in the world whose voice he wanted to hear woke Taehyung from a dead sleep.  

His eyes widened in panic as he began yanking pillows and covers from all over the bed in a frenzied attempt to hide—

The doors to his bedroom flew open with a resounding crash. 

“Jimin,” he squeaked, trying to look as casual as possible next to a giant pile of bedding. “What uh—what brings you here at—” his eyes darted to the clock on the wall, “—7:30 in the morning?”

Then he frowned. 

“And how the hell did you get past Jungkook?”

Jimin’s murderous expression broke momentarily to allow for a smug grin. 

“Kendra.”

Kendra Jackson was Jimin’s executive aide. She was fierce, capable, intelligent—

And insanely gorgeous. 

Taehyung groaned. 

Poor Jungkookie never stood a chance. 

To the surprise of absolutely no one, yet another newspaper landed on Taehyung’s lap.

KIM HEIR BRINGS NAUGHTY ANGEL HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Underneath the headline was a picture of you and Taehyung (dressed in clothes you stole from Jin’s childhood bedroom) kissing passionately against the side entrance of the Governor’s mansion. 

One of your legs was wrapped around his waist and he was clearly grabbing your ass. 

“Ah… well you see the camera distorts everything from this angle—and-and the lighting is bad so it’s not really what it looks like—”

“Is that so? Cause it looks like you’ve got your tongue down my baby sister’s throat!”

“Okay—okay,” Taehyung massaged his forehead nervously, “so maybe it’s sort of what it looks like but—”

“I’ll kill you.”

“No wait—” he held up his hands to delay an already advancing Jimin. 

“Why should I wait?!”

“Because—”

“—I trusted you with the most important person in the world to me—”

“The situation is just not that simple.” 

“—and you grabbed her ass in public!”

“Admittedly not my finest hour.”

“So you tell me right now—”

“But you don’t understand it’s—”

“—Why the hell would I wait?!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH HER!”

For a moment there was absolute silence. 

Then your head popped out from the massive pile of bedding. 

“Really?”

Jimin’s mouth fell open. 

Taehyung groaned again. 

“As usual, your timing is impeccable.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment.

“Are you really in love with me?”

“Of course I’m in love with you! What part of I want you to have my children did you not understand?!” 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jimin choked. 

“That’s not the same thing!”

“It is for me!”

A radiant smile lit up your face. 

“I’m in love with you too.”

Taehyung’s expression softened. 

“Angel I—”

Then you were kissing and Jimin swung around with a horrified shout.

“Oh! No no no—Come on!”

He stumbled out of the room, hands firmly clamped over his eyes. 

“This is not over, Kim Taehyung!” the scandalized young Park heir howled in exasperation… but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Back in the bedroom, Taehyung shook his head at Jimin’s ridiculous caterwauling. 

“No, it’s not over,” he laughed, pulling you deeper into the comfort of his arms. “It’s only just begun.”

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. 

This baby took FOR-EVER to write. I started it in November and literally worked on it a little every day. 

If you enjoyed it— even just a tiny bit—please consider taking a moment to leave me some feedback. It is so incredibly uplifting and rewarding to hear reader thoughts and reactions to my work.

I promise to treasure every word like gold. It took a lot to bring this story to life. Your kind words would mean the world to me.

[uwusenpaiuwu]

Baji Being A Menace To Society (And Your Relationship) 2.0

Sequel to: Baji A.K.A. The Worst (Best) Matchmaker

Summary: Baji’s at it again, acting out-of-pocket and creating chaos for absolutely no reason, other than to see you suffer. In his own Baji-esque way, of course.

Pairing: Sano Manjiro | Mikey x Male Reader

Warning(s): Boku no Pico is mentioned, but there is absolutely nothing graphic; mentions of masturbation

Note(s): I am so sorry if it isn’t funny. Sadly, I am but an amateur writer, not a comedian. Still, I hope you all enjoy! ^^

"(Y/n), want some ice cream? My treat."

Usually, you'd be the first to jump at an offer for a sweet treat, especially when you don't have to pay. However, as of now, the word 'ice cream,' when said by Baji, instantly triggers your fight-or flight-response. Paired with the fact that he’s broke as hell, your suspicions only increase for the sudden indulgence.

Since you know you're no match for the long-haired menace, your body automatically prepares to flee, legs twitching to lurch into a sprint. Unfortunately for you, just before you can get the fuck out of there, your hand is being grabbed by Mikey, who leisurely begins to tug you along to claim your dessert.

“You like ice cream, right?” he turns to ask, eyes unbelievably soft when looking at you.

And because you’re weak for him, all you can do is nod stiffly, trading in your sanity for the pleased grin that spreads across his face, his confident strides thereafter likely a result of him successfully remembering another miscellaneous fact about you, as has been the case since you officially started dating him. From the most trivial of things, like which brand of pens and pencils you prefer, to the slightly more important stuff, like ice cream being one of your favorite desserts; he’s made the effort of remembering them all.

He really doesn’t need to do any of that, ‘cause you’ll love him either way, but the conscious decision to do so is what makes you love him even more.

Zoning back into reality, you shake your head to reorient yourself. It isn’t the time to be going over the reasons why you’re such a lovesick puppy.

No, there are other things to worry about, mainly Baji.

You squeeze Mikey’s hand as you’re led to the nearest ice cream parlor to try and calm yourself. It works for the most part, especially when you get a reassuring squeeze back.

‘Right,’ you tell yourself, ‘it’s going to be okay.’

After all, Baji wouldn’t do anything too drastic, right?

~~~

You were wrong. So, so wrong.

Despite nothing having transpired yet, every alarm in your head is going off, pounding at the door of reason to get you to wake up and realize that it’s Baji you’re talking about, the same person that sets cars on fire when hungry and punches the first unfortunate soul he passes by on the street when sleepy.

You really should’ve listened to your survival instincts and ran. Alas, it’s much too late to escape, leaving you to wallow in your anxiety, while you wait for misfortune to strike.

And strike it does.

“Please, don’t sit next to me. You make me nauseous.”

“That’s cruel. I bought you ice cream, and you treat me like this?”

Yeah, he may have bought it, but you refuse to eat it because of how intensely Baji is staring at you. Fucking weirdo.

"Oh, do you want some of mine instead, (Y/n)?" Baji accentuates his question with a sensual lick to his ice cream from the edge of the cone to the finessed peak, making you extremely uncomfortable as he stares you down with the full motion.

As slowly as he licks his frozen treat do you slowly raise your middle finger, eliciting chuckles from the other occupants of the table.

You think you won that mini battle, though?

Ha! Nope.

Baji mirrors the vulgar action, not once breaking eye contact as he dips the tip of his finger directly into his ice cream, pulls it out, and proceeds to lick that, too.

Disgusted, you promptly avert your attention elsewhere, praying that Baji won’t continue being, well, himself.

Your prayers fall on deaf ears.

"It's cold!" As soon as the exclamation leaves your mouth, your blood runs glacial, knowing that you've unintentionally played into Baji's trap. The appearance of a sly, almost feral, smirk when you whip your head around to glare confirms what you already know.

The curtain has risen, and you’re standing center stage in a performance you can’t break free from.

"Aw, can't let it go to waste,” Baji continues, reaching over to scoop the ice cream you’re 100% certain he purposely spilled on the front of your shirt, with his fingers.

Then, to your horror and everyone else’s shock, he asks, without an ounce of virtue to his name, "Want me to lick it off with my mouth?"

Chifuyu is seated on the other side of the table, hiding his face in his hands. “Baji-san...”

"It'll stain if it dries like that." Dear God, how you wish to un-see Baji batting his eyelashes at you.

“I don’t care!” At this point, you’ve resorted to clumsily scooting your chair as far away from him as possible, which isn’t actually as far as you’d like considering your surroundings. Hell, so long as you put some distance between yourself and the crazy bastard that wants to see you suffer, you don’t mind having to force yourself halfway onto Mikey’s lap. (The firm hand that keeps you steady by the waist proves that your presence isn’t unwanted either.)

"Geez, (Y/n), you're such a scatterbrain."

Seeing Baji sell the line with a slow tugging of his hair behind the ear has you torn between laughing and dying a little more. Truthfully, his acting is frighteningly impressive, and you would’ve applauded his performance, if not for the fact that the role he’s playing still haunts your dreams.

By this time, most of who accompanied you to the ice cream parlor have figured out what kind of drugs Baji is on this time, which also means that those fuckers have seen, or are at least aware of, the cursed trilogy of questionable porn that’s being reenacted before their eyes, with you as an unwilling co-star. Those that are puzzled as to why people are shoving their fists in their mouths to refrain from laughing are obviously God’s favorites.

“The fuck is going on? I wanna laugh at Baji’s dumbassery, too.”

“Pah-chin... I think it’s best you don’t know.”

Interestingly enough, the one you’re most concerned about hasn’t said anything yet, splitting his attention between observing the scene unfolding and eating his portion of a deluxe sundae.

Then, out of nowhere-

“I understand.”

You and Baji freeze where you are, each of you grasping the other’s collar, you to shove him away, and him to draw you closer.

“(Y/n),” Mikey says, your name rolling silkily off his tongue in a tone much too fond for his next words, “if you like roleplay, just tell me.”

...

“Huh?”

“I’m fine with pissing, remember? So, roleplay shouldn’t be a problem.”

Heat rises to your face at an alarming pace, and it continues to climb as Mikey takes your free hand in his, which serves not to comfort but to unintentionally remind you of the humiliating experience from a few months back. And just when you convinced him that you didn’t want anything to do with getting freaky with the body’s excreta, too.

“You’ve got it wrong! I don’t- arfghfgh?!”

Your prayer to help cool down your flushed cheeks must have been heard, but you’re pretty damn sure you didn’t ask for Baji to shove his ice cream in your mouth!

“Oh, yeah. (Y/n)’s a fuckin’ geek when it comes to roleplay,” the unhinged bastard speaks in your stead, indifferent to the nails clawing at his hand clamped over your mouth. “You should try it with him. We were doing a scene from his favorite anime.”

Mikey tilts his head, interest positively piqued. “Which one is that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, leader?”

Mikey raises an eyebrow.

Baji opens his mouth.

You lunge.

It’s a series of events that happens in the blink of an eye and ends with loud crashing as you tackle Baji to the ground.

“Listen up, Baji Keisuke. We took an oath that day, and if you dare utter a word of what went down, I’ll consider that a breach of the code of secrecy and take you down, making sure you drown in a pit of your own shame and despair.”

Surprised to have been pinned down so quickly, it takes a while for Baji’s brain to catch up, but when it does, he’s frustratingly unfazed at the threat.

“Oho~ How scary. Too bad for you, I have no shame.”

“Not even if I tell Mama Baji where your porn stash is?”

That has the great Baji tensing up.

“You wouldn’t dare use an underhanded tactic like that.”

Your lips turn into a wicked grin. “Are you sure? I have as much dirt on you as you have on me, and like you, I won’t hesitate to use it to my advantage.”

If your grin is wicked, Baji’s is downright evil, showing off his sharp, gritted canines and all.

“You got balls, (Y/n),” he snarls, “but mine are bigger.”

The boy beneath you opens his mouth, and faster than you can stop him, he just...does it.

“(Y/n) (L/n) watched Boku no Pico and liked it!”

Silence.

Silence is all that’s heard for a good, long minute following the booming roar of the revelation.

You dare not look up to gauge everyone’s reactions, instead keeping your icy glare fixated on Baji, who looks smug as shit for having caused the glorious eruption of heat to spread like wildfire across your entire body, from the tips of your ears down to where your skin disappears under the collar of your jacket.

This...

This is war.

Taking in a deep breath, you answer his uncalled for declaration with your own thunderous shout of, “Baji watched Boku no Pico and jacked off to it! Twice!”

Baji laughs. “Oh, pray tell, saintly (Y/n), how many times did you jack off to it?”

“None of your fucking business, asshole.”

“Pretty fucking sure it is, since we were in the same room.”

Someone chokes, while you choke Baji.

“We. Swore. To. Secrecy. You. Asshole,” you practically growl, with each of your words accompanied by a ruthless back-and-forth shaking of the other boy’s person.

“Let up on the choking, dude. I’m not into that. You, however-”

Unable to take the ceaseless slander to your name anymore, you reel your fist back, but, upon seeing Baji’s cheek turned to you, jaw jutted out, as if inviting you to take your best shot, you hesitate. You know you wouldn’t be able to pack enough of a punch to actually leave an impact on him, which is terribly upsetting.

On the bright side, there’s still one tactic you can use that’ll be just as effective, a technique courtesy of your health teacher, who happily taught it to the class to use in case of an emergency.

Technically, it’s meant to be used to assess a person’s level of consciousness, but you suppose it can be used to get back at inconsiderate idiots, too.

“Ow! Ow! What the fuc-! Ow!”

You keep a straight face as you continue to rub your knuckles against his sternum, fully intent on delivering the worst possible pain to the current bane of your existence. It brings a sort of sadistic satisfaction to hear the ever prideful Baji’s screams of pain, and while it doesn’t completely undo the damage done, it does help soothe your wounded self-esteem.

“You want me stop? Beg for it.”

“Pissing, roleplay, choking, and begging? Goddam- OW!”

Your reign of terror comes to its untimely end when you’re lifted up into the air by the armpits, and through the haze of your power trip, you realize that Baji’s saving grace is Draken, who proceeds to carry you out of the parlor with ease.

“People are staring,” he coolly explains when you protest to having unfinished business.

Pouting, you cross your arms over your chest. “It’s his fault.”

Once outside, Draken doesn’t immediately put you back on your feet, until Mikey strolls out of the parlor. Only when the gang leader has his arms outstretched to you are you promptly deposited on the ground and taken into his embrace.

“Are you done letting off some steam?” is the first thing he asks you. Even though you can’t see his expression, the way he holds you and the way he cradles the back of your head, handling you with the utmost care, is indication enough that there will be no reprimand for, essentially, assaulting your division commander. (You would argue that it was an act of self defense against verbal harassment, but whatever.)

There’s just an overwhelming amount of love. So, so, so much love for each other.

“Yeah, I am,” you eventually answer, followed by a content sigh.

“Good.”

Naturally, that’s the perfect time for the tinkling of the bells above the parlor door to pilfer your attention. Baji’s appearance causes your face to morph into a scowl.

You cling tighter to Mikey, peeking over his shoulder to flip the ravenet off and mouth, ‘Go to Hell.’

As always, Baji answers your attempt to appear opposing with an obnoxious smirk.

‘See you there.’

~~~

“Boku no Pico, huh?”

“Draken, don’t laugh! Baji forced me to watch it!”

“All 3 episodes?”

“Twice.”

“...”

“...”

“Favorite scene...?”

“As if I’d have one.”

"Actually-"

“Ahh! Shut up! Why are you here, stupid Baji?! You live in the other direction!”

~~~

“Hey, (Y/n). Want to try doing the same thing with me?”

You look up, perplexed. Mikey literally just walked into the room, and that was the first thing he said to you.

“Do wha-?”

Your breath catches in your throat when you turn your head, only for you to come centimeters from bumping noses with him. And because he can, he lovingly knocks your foreheads together, too.

“It’s okay. I promise it’ll definitely be fun.”

You should feel ashamed for recognizing the same sequence of lines from Boku no Pico so quickly, though any coherent words are overtaken by an incomprehensible, high-pitched screech, a feat achieved solely by a teenage boy going through puberty.

A combination of shock and amusement crosses over Mikey’s features then. He’s never heard you make that sound before.

It’s cute. Strains the ears quite a bit, but cute.

While Draken lurks beside him, questioning Mikey’s standards of what constitutes as ‘cute,’ you’re sprinting across the room, red-faced, to Baji, who’s already grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Stop tainting my boyfriend, you piece of shit! Give him back his innocence!”

(Unbeknownst to you, whilst immersed in your fit of hysterics, your use of the word ‘boyfriend’ has a certain blond beaming.

“Did you hear that, Ken-chin? He called me his boyfriend.”

“Wow, congrats.”

Mikey either doesn’t give a shit or is simply too smitten to acknowledge Draken’s apathetic response.)

Baji blinks, unable to believe what you’re trying to insinuate. “Innocent? That little gremlin motherfucker?”

Both of you look in Mikey’s direction. When he sees you staring, he breaks out in a smile and throws a wave.

Your heart involuntarily skips a beat at the sight, and, okay, you’re convinced. Mikey deserves better than knowing of that cursed series’ existence.

Clearly, you’re down bad for Toman’s leader, and as such, Baji figures he can use that to quench his boredom for the day.

“Ooh, if only you knew what he gets off to.”

The tone in his voice instantly rouses suspicion. You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t care what kind of porn he gets off to.”

“Porn? Nah, ya silly goose-”

“Don’t call me that.”

Baji ignores your comment as he moves to sling one arm around your shoulders, the other raising up to mimic an obscene tugging motion that no teenage boy is a stranger to.

“He jerks it to yo-”

BAM!

One second, Baji is lazily hanging off of your person, the next, he’s sprawled out on the floor, face down, and groaning in pain. You expect nothing less after witnessing him receive a rather impressive flying kick to the chest from Mikey.

Before you can assess the full damage, your view gets obscured by a pair of keys.

“Wanna take my bike out for a spin?”

Yes, you know Mikey is trying to divert your attention from whatever Baji was going to say, and, yes, you probably should check on the figure that has yet to get up.

But do you really care?

You take one glance at Baji’s concerningly unmoving body and quickly come to a conclusion.

You do not.

That being said, you quite literally drag Mikey and, by extension, Draken out of there, chanting an excited, “Let’s go!” on your way, abandoning Baji to wither on the ground.

Baji?

Baji feels betrayed.

~~~

"Chifuyu?”

“Hm?”

“Y’know, I was joking.” Baji flips onto his back with a grunt. “Man, who knew Mikey was all grown up?”

The vice captain of the first division hums, seemingly uninterested in his commander’s musings.

It goes quiet for a few minutes, the sole instigator of noise being Chifuyu flipping the pages of his manga.

Unpredictable is Baji, and the same goes for his train of thought.

“I should punch Mikey for kicking me.”

“No, you’d get beat up.”

“...”

“I should punch (Y/n) for Mikey kicking me.”

Truly, unpredictable and senseless.

“You’d still get beat up.”

Baji opens his mouth to argue.

“By Mikey.”

He promptly closes it.

“Fuck it. I’ll keep spicing up their relationship as payback.”

Sighing, Chifuyu closes his book to crouch down next to him. “Baji-san, with all due respect, you’re an asshole.”

Baji Keisuke has experienced betrayal twice today.

And he deserved it both times.

[muffindaddystyles]

Summary: Y/N's feeling icky about her body, but Harry loves her to bits and pieces, through thick and thin, in health and sick — and he always waits for her to come back to him.

TW: Body dysmorphia.

Y/N's healthy.

All she sucks in is having a sane sleeping schedule due to her UNI otherwise she eats natural goodies, cook and bake home because it comforts her more that way and she works out every evening to stay fit.

Sometimes though, she’s lazy and lacks behind which’s proper humane but deep down it effects her and her mental health more than she admits and she isn’t able to start over again – it mostly happens after her periods.

Harry loves her the way she’s.

Even if she’s clumsy, bumbling, procrastinating, overly enthusiastic to mend her life at 3 am, snotty and sloth-y in her periods, confident and positive around people, kind and loving whenever she comes to meet him, whiny and cuddly when she’s sick, jealous and grumpy with his attention not on her —- he loves her in every way possible, to rivers and to sea his love could never stutter for her ever.

He loves how she’s not overly toned, having soft squishy spots which Harry undeniably wants to admire and kiss shamelessly amount of times -- like -- her plummy pretty thighs that Harry likes to nestle his head in-between making her wriggle and squirm under his grasp, her overly cute tummy that Harry dies to pepper sweet adoring kisses and petal his lips round her belly button, everytime they’re cuddled up his bicep’s always looped her around her tummy to feel it rising up and down in calm rhythm, and oh! her tender titties, they’re actually his favourite babies and he loves to fondle them in his big calloused palms brushing his thumb over the sensitive perky nub and basks in the glittery whimpery mewls of hers.

He loves that she’s curvy and gives zero fucks if she’s skinny or not.

He thinks his baby’s perfect.

So perfect he actually feels the bubbling of devotion and affection filling to the brim of his heart’s chambers and leaking out and upon his ribs tickling him.

Y/N's his person and he worships her with his whole heart.

From some days though, she’s feeling devastatingly insecure about all her things Harry’s in love with and she has no-control over it how much she tries.

Harry’s observing that all with optimism (one of his great quality's that like a lion sly about his prey, he keeps an eye on everything but pretends otherwise). He has his intense gaze fixed on her when she’s taking a look of herself in the mirror for rather too long, running her hands down her body and practically shuddering.

He glances from over his laptop and drops everything he's doing watching her go monkies, sweating buckets and over exercising than her usual time.

He brings her closer and infront of him, pressing her to his chest and coiling his forearm around her shoulders whining a, “Baby..!” when they were brushing their teeth and despite of standing beside him and teasing him occasionally like she usually does she stuffs her face into the crest of his back and hides herself there to have minimal contact with her reflection in the mirror.

Her body dysmorphia spiking dangerously high.

“Deprived me of your cuddles. woke me up so early, granny.” She huffs lying through her teeth and how much his embrace was strong enough to keep her in place she still managed to wiggle out taking her previous cosy position, but he could feel her muscles tensing and an awkward silence falling over them.

He didn’t pry much. He wants to give her as much space as she requires to come back to him hale and hearty, as she always does and whatever happens he never forgets to remind her how much he loves her every night.

..

They were watching rom-coms on Netflix back to back with her curled up into his side with a spongy white wool knitted blanket thrown over them and his cheek was smashed atop her head popping in peanuts every now and then when out of certain she spoke pointing at the actress, “You know she got her ribs removed to get that shrinky waist.” Harry frowned at that. His face itching into disbelief and concern under the bouncing glow of telly.

He affixes his gaze down at her trying to read what’s cooking up in that genius brain of her's which isn’t being very rational and genius right now, they immediately turns soft and caring when she blinks up at him purely.

She squeaks, nose crashing against his collarbones when he scooches her up in his lap grabbing onto her knees to make her straddle his torso and he grumbles cutely when she tries not put all of her weight on him and doesn’t melts into him as his sweet lovie would used to do receiving a smack on her bum on his end.

He’s afraid that an evil version of her chomped onto his dear baby alive.

“Nothing else matters if all ye’ organs are packed safely and healthily inside you,” He tells her brushing loose frays of her hair behind her earlobe and rubs his thumb in gentle strokes over her treacly pulsing point, “Was just telling you ...” She mumbles, dotting touches on his knuckles and playing with his bare cold fingers.

It’s true, she was rambling out facts about the movie and cast out of habit because no-way she’d ever go through any surgeries to change herself to become someone she isn’t.

“Swear!” She yawps out in convincing high pitch when Harry squints down at her with his lips scrunched, one eye twitching in doing so.

“Alrighty. I believe you.” He cradles her cheeks in his palms and brings her mighty close to him to peck her cupid bow, then her bottom lip and the corners of her smiling mouth to suckle generous amount of whines from her and then kisses her lovingly – hands streaming down her spine and then resting atop her dip.

He thought she was ready to come back to him, to share her problem with him and Harry really wanted to bug in, to not let her fight her battle alone and take half of her hardships from her fretting self but guess not.

They were about to have sex when panic seeped in Y/N's eyes and her cheeks blazed up in that of embarrassment as she rushed to switch off the lamps that were the only source of light in their room.

“Moppet.” Harry sighed, knowing exactly what’s happening and she isn’t as foxy in covering it up as she’s thinking herself to be.

“Why wouldn’t y'want me t'see gorgeous self of yours?” His tone punctured and hurt, feeling useless for not knowing how to cheer her up and break her worries down. He smoothens his hands behind her to lock his arm around her waist, fingertips making grape sized indents into the flesh of her hip-bone as she streaks the tip of her nose up and down the crook of his neck, murmuring meekly against his salty skin while he hugs her warmly.

“’M just feelin’ shy.” He giggles at her response puckering his lips against her hairline to pet tiny, tiny kisses there as she fists her hands against his taught chest.

“Not somethin’ I haven’t seen before, love bug.” He blows raspberries against the underside of her jaw and their mouths meet into a messy, giggling, teeth clanking kiss when she sinks into pillows allowing him to cocoon her in his heat.

“I love you, Y/N. No matter what.”

.

The last dam breaker for them was this little get together at Sarah and Mitch's baby shower.

She matched her outfit with Harry. Cute lavender coloured little sweater blouse that was familiar to the baggy baby yarn cardigan Harry was wearing, it accentuated her curves and her bosom so prettily -- her midriff peeking from where the buttons weren’t closed and their jeans were painted (they did it themselves one Sunday when it was extra boring and inactive).

Y/N felt uncomfortable in her own clothes. A bitterness spreading inside her for herself and all she wanted was to escape away from her own skin.

She knows she’s loved and welcomed and cherished by her friends and family and the love of her life, most importantly. Then why was she feeling so icky about herself? Why everything's draining her and exhausting her?

Harry obviously could see through the gloomy tenebrous energy overshadowing her as he stood in the corner of the room grabbing the sorbet he poured in two glasses for them.

A sour guzzle of tears choking his throat and his limbs weakening letting the painful heartbreak seep into him when he watches her being fidgety and fiddling with the loops of her jeans, tugging her blouse every passing second and he’s sniffling a hiccup deep in his lungs when she shrinks into herself in dejection staring out of the window without any purpose.

Harry feels awful to startle her when he plops down beside her, coodling her closer to himself and tucks her head beneath his chin subtly and cups his palm under her jaw to make her look in eyes his eyes.

“Hi beautiful,” His tone had a saddening waver in it and his irises mossed bleak when Y/N remains unresponsive, zoning in and out of her own head feeling herself prisoned into her own invasive thoughts.

“You w'na go home darling?” He gives her a wet smile clearing his throat and blinking the stubborn moisture in his eyes away when Y/N nodded without any vivid expression.

All the way back home he denounced himself of not making her feel loved enough, to not to pest her soon about what she’s feeling and letting her slide deeper into the dark hole.

He thinks he’s a piece of shit.

.

Y/N wanted to dig the earth with her own nails and hide into it and never show her face again, she was overly ashamed of herself.

His hand was holding onto hers tightly, never letting it go as he led them through the hallway and his head perked up in confusion when she stopped them abruptly and lunged to wrap herself around him like he’s the last silver of her hope and the reason to live.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” There comes the first sob after ages of suffering and bottling it all in, not shocked at all he was expecting it to happen. Gently he picks her up and wraps her legs around him, keeping his support firm under her bum as she cried into his soft white t-shirt.

Carefully he sits them on the edge of the bed and tries to pry her soaky flushed face in his cradle but she refuses to show him, clutching onto his cardigan and whimpering brokenly.

“I just feel so disgusting,” Her sob scratches out of her throat and for a second he thought he heard her wrong, that her feeble crying’s playing some kind of a sick game with his heart.

“Harry do something I don’t want to feel disgusting.” But, when she pleaded helplessly a cold shiver settled in his bone marrow spreading an agonising burn in his stomach.

Gently he stirs her away from his chest to look at her, meeting their foreheads together while his thumb wiped her tears away and smoothed over her wabbly lips in profound tenderness.

“My beloved,” He whispers fondling his nose against hers and her eyes flutters into realm of calms, shaky breath falling over his lips as he brings her trembling fingertips towards them and pecks them feverishly.

“The love of me life, me heart.” He continues, “Shhh. Shh baby ‘s okay to cry but don’t tire y'self.” He hushes her when she whimpers loudly at his coy affirmation.

“I’m here with you, waiting f'you, watching y’goin’ through a stony path so I could be there to hold you whenever you trip –-,” He pets her hair, cupping the back of her neck to plant his lips bitten red from worry to her puffy damp eyelids and Y/N becomes a gooey lax of candle that’s been burning for tiring amount and finally her lover came to blew the agonising flame away putting her to peace as he coos snuggling her in his cordial embrace, “You’ve been so strong to yourself and ‘m so proud of me baby.”

“I’m always here. Never away from you, always right by y'side.” His palms bending around her ribs to smush her as intimately close as possible.

“How d'ya want your huggies babylove?” He simpers down at her darlingly, huffing out in relief seeing her relaxing -- her shoulders sinking from him massaging the knots in them.

“Tight.” She mumbles timidly. The gleam in her glossy eyes returning when Harry hugs her as she wished, squishing her in right places and not suffocating her at all – their breaths in sync chests flushed against eachother.

“I love you cuddly, and care f’you.” He kisses her on lips then goes to hug her right back.

“I love you too, Har. Thank you.” She sniffs in his woodsy scent grazing her touch up and down his back, smooching a soft kiss at his cheek.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Lingerie

So, even though I really like the idea of kinktober, I just didn't have enough time to dedicate to it. So I am randomly picking prompts I see dotted here and there on Tumblr and dipping in and out.

So, from the day 14 prompt from @starkerfestivals, I present

Lingerie :)

As normal, no beta.

Enjoy

Peter breathed hard in the silence of the master bathroom, clutching the classy looking paper bag in his fingers so hard his knuckles were turning white.

This was a ridiculous idea. Why had he even come up with it?

He startled as his phone chirped. Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he withdrew the device from his pocket to check his messages.

MJ, using her super-secret skills had apparently known he would suffer a crisis of confidence.

MJ: just do it nerd!

That made him chuckle.

He moved slightly, placing the bag down on the counter and taking the sheet of gold tissue paper off the top.

He and Tony had been together for a couple of months, after what seems like an absolute age of pining and misunderstandings. They’d started slow, due to Peter’s relative inexperience. Sure, he’d done some things before, with boys and girls, but it was with Tony that he’d gone all the way…like that….

He blushed as he remembered that night, how Tony had taken it so slow, making Peter feel so very good. Opening him gently, reverently. He remembered he cried he was so overwhelmed, Tony kissing away each single tear, words of praise falling from his lips. And that was how it had continued, this gentle, tender loving. Which Peter wasn’t complaining about, no siree, but, it’s just…well Peter wasn’t going to break, he was enhanced after all, and it might be nice to do something a bit different.

He was too shy to bring it up with Tony, and wasn’t sure how far would be ‘too far’, for both of them, so with MJ’s help (that girl was fazed by NOTHING), he’d decided on…..this.

He quickly stripped himself out of his clothes, placing them in the laundry hamper, before getting into the shower. He quickly washed his hair, so he could spend more time on his underarms and his….erm…undercarriage. He wanted to be squeaky clean, because if tonight went the way he was hoping, he was going to need to be. Turning off the water he towelled himself dry, before applying body lotion, a habit of Tony’s that had rubbed off on him. But now, all of that done, he couldn’t put IT off any longer.

Peter reached into the bag, withdrawing two pieces of fabric. Black lace fabric. He carefully removed the price tags, before laying them out on the counter-top. A pair of panties and little bralette. He ran his fingers over the lingerie, letting the feel of the material fill his senses. Would Tony like how it felt? He picked up the panties first and slid them up his legs. They had little ties on the side and MJ had declared them ‘cute’ when she had seen them on the hanger. He tucked his cock inside, and it was already partly chubbed from the anticipation and the feel of the material against the sensitive skin. Next was the bralette. He pulled it gently over his head and smoothed the fabric over his pecs. Then, taking a deep breath he finally looked up into the mirror.

Fuck!

He looked…..good….sexy….

Okay, he definitely liked this. He turned this way and that, looking at himself from all angles. Maybe, if Tony didn’t like this, he could just keep some for himself. For when he was by himself. But there was only one way to find out. He pulled his shoulders back, blew himself a kiss in the mirror and opened the door.

Tony was lounging, fully laid out, on the sofa, glasses on, book in hand and his back to the bathroom when Peter emerged. He didn’t turn around though.

“You okay, Bambino? You were a while in there, wondered if you had drowned yourself.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m okay. I, yeah, bought something today and…erm… I wanted to show you.”

Tony started to shift on the sofa.

“Ooooh, I love a fashion sh……” The words died in his throat as he took in the view of Peter in front of him. And stared.

And stared.

Peter could feel the blush covering his exposed skin as he stood, caught in Tony’s gaze.

Shit, this was obviously a mistake. He started to turn back to the bathroom, when Tony’s voice, low and raspy stopped him.

“Where are you going Petey?”

“Well, erm… to get out of this. I’m sorry. I just wanted to….”

“Baby, don’t you dare.” Tony stood up from the sofa and quickly strode over to his boyfriend. “This”, he said, lightly pinging the elastic of the bralette, “only comes off by my hand, when I say so. Fuck, Peter, just….fuck…..”

“So you like it?” Peter’s voice wass soft and breathy, and he gasped when Tony took his hand and pressed it against the significant bulge in his sweats.

“Yeah, baby, I like it. In fact I love it, and I am trying so hard to control myself right now, that I’m worried I’m gonna have an aneurism.”

Emboldened, Peter moved in closer, wrapping his free arm around Tony’s neck and leaving almost-kisses over the bearded face.

“Then don’t control yourself, Daddy. I won’t break.” He took Tony’s bottom lip gently between his teeth, biting it gently and sucking on the tender flesh. Something akin to a growl forced its way out of Tony’s throat, and his arms wrapped around his young lover, lifting him bodily and almost throwing him on to their large bed. Peter was in raptures, this show of raw power and dominance from Tony absolutely turning him on.

His eyes never leaving Peter’s, Tony unceremoniously stripped himself, but then just perched on the end of the bed.

“Touch yourself, bambino. Show me how much you love being dressed up for Daddy.”

Peter smiled, coyly. This, THIS, was what he wanted, for Tony to lose some of his cool, be more feral. His cock hardened further in the small panties at just the thought of Tony ruining him. But he did as asked, and started to run his hands over himself, over the lace, feeling it move and snag on his skin, losing himself in it.

His hand moved over his lace covered cock, lightly brushing it, his pre-cum soaking the delicate fabric and he felt so very sexy and also so very dirty. With his other hand he rubbed his palm over one of his nipples, the small nub standing erect, brushing almost painfully against the lace. Little moans and gasps escaped him and he almost forgot that Tony was there, watching him, until the mattress dipped beside him. He felt his lovers lips and goatee brush over his skin, adding to the litany of sensations. Tony’s tongue lathed over Peter’s other nipple, wetting the material, before he sucked it into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth, and making Peter arch and cry out.

“Christ, Babyboy. You want to be Daddy’s little doll? His little fuck toy? Can’t believe you did this for me.”

Peter’s stopped touching himself now, concentrating on how Tony is making him feel, fingers and lips everywhere, a solid, hair-covered thigh between his own, more slender, ones, nudging at his balls, rubbing the lace over them. He couldn’t help the whine that escaped him.

“Daddy, please…”

Tony moved up the lithe body beneath him, capturing the soft pink lips, devouring them like a starving man. Peter keened and subconsciously rolled his hips, getting some well needed friction on his straining cock. His fingers gripped onto the muscled biceps caging him in. He wants more, but also doesn’t want to stop this. It’s heaven and hell all at once.

Tony pulled away, but moved swiftly down Peter’s body, mouthing him through the lace, licking up the pre-come that was just drooling from his slit. Peter’s fingers tangled in Tony’s hair, pulling at the strands, humping up into his face. He felt tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he became overwhelmed

“Sensitive, needy baby…” came the amused mumble from between Peter’s thighs, and then Tony was moving some of the lace to the side, and a slicked finger (when did Tony get the lube?) was swirling round his tight little hole. Peter let go of Tony’s hair and grabbed hold of his own legs. He pulled them back and held them apart, his mouth falling open as the finger breached him and slid in, up to the first knuckle. Tony pumped and moved his finger deeper, turning it within the tight heat. And before Peter knew it, there was a second and then a third finger, opening him up and making him feel so very good, as Tony multi-tasked by still mouthing and licking at his covered and straining cock.

“’M gonna fuck you now, Bambino. You ready for Daddy?”

“Please, Daddy, need you to fuck me hard….”

Tony slid in, inch by inch. He might’ve been eager to give Peter everything that he’d been begging for, but he would never rush this part. He thinks it’s his favourite sensation, carving a space for himself inside Peter’s heat, seeing that nose scrunch, those lips drop open, the odd tear slid down a soft cheek. He rocked himself in, Peter scrabbling against his arms, long, lean legs wrapped around his waist to pull him close. But once he was seated as deep as he could go, he was determined to do as he’d been requested. Although, to be honest, as soon as he’d seen his boy, looking so sweet and sexy, there was no way this was going to be their usual, gentle loving. It had unlocked something primal, animal, inside him. And he wanted to claim, take, mark.

He drew back, until Peter was writhing around on the head of his dick, like a pinned butterfly on a board, then, baring his teeth, he slammed back in, pushing the very breath out of Peter.

“Yessssssss….oh god……Tony….” And that was it, the pace was set, Tony’s hands gripped Peter’s lace clad hips, half fucking up into the boy and half pulling Peter down onto his cock. He’d never had such a visceral response to lingerie before. And the fact he was fucking his lover delirious was all the better. But when Peter moved one of his hands towards his own cock, Tony stopped him with a command.

“No, I wanna see if you can come from this. Wanna see you make a mess of your panties just from me fucking you.” And Peter could only reply with punched out moans with each thrust.

Tony shifted his hips and Peter’s pitch changed, the thick cock within him brushing over his prostate, making him wail.

“Daddydaddydaddy….Oh, imma…fuckfuckfuck.” His body tensed and his vision whited out as he came untouched for the first time, spurting within the confines of the panties, covering the delicate material with small rivulets running down his inner thigh. He lay dazed, aftershocks zipping through him, as Tony continued to thrust raggedly, chasing his own release. The older man came with a groan, collapsing forward as he spilt his cum inside Peter.

They both lay together, silent for a few minutes, as Peter mindlessly ran his fingers through Tony’s hair.

“Soooo, I was thinking, that maybe I should buy some more lacy things.”

“No maybe about it, baby. But maybe something red and gold next time. I’d like to see you in my colours.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Chasing Fires - Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek: Chapter Five

Brian Zvonecek has spent most of his adult life fighting fires, now it’s time to chase one.

Follows on from Million Reasons but is a stand alone fic.

Tagging   @orileyfiction for all her help and support! Also @me-ladie​ for being the wonderful person she is and betaing.

- Chapter One

- Chapter Two

- Chapter Three

- Chapter Four

The air was cooler down by the lake, the breeze ruffling Brian’s hair as they strode along the concrete pier. Kat’s hand was clasped in his, even though they were both wearing gloves, he could still feel the thrum of their connection. It was always there, whenever she was in his proximity, something inside of him just lit up. He glanced at Kat, taking a moment to study the profile of her face as she watched a dog chase a ball at full speed. 

“It was Katie.” He said quietly as he led her to a wooden bench overlooking the lake. “We were talking about Katie, about what happened to her.”

“I’m sorry.” Kat said, taking a seat. Brian sat down beside her, his arm coming to rest on the back of the back of the bench. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been.”

“You know I sat on this exact bench that night.” He told her, swallowing hard against the anguish in his chest. “I sat here, and I planned what I was going to do to him, how I was going to make him disappear.” 

There was silence between the two of them, a bitter smile twisting at Brian’s lips as he shook his head.

“Brian,” Kat began before pausing, trying to select the right words. “I know it wasn’t you.”

“Someone else got there first.” He confirmed, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to Kat. God, I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until the light died in his eyes.”

She knew. He could tell from the way she clamped her lips together. They had never talked about what happened the night Keeler vanished. During the first interview he hadn’t had an alibi and by the second, he did. She knew that Cruz was like a brother to Brian, that they would do anything to protect each other.

Kat had her own suspicions. Benny Severide had been around that night; he’d left Chicago only a few days after.

“You need to know I have this darkness inside of me.” He told her, gesturing towards the space where his heart resided. “It sits right here, and it tears at me, it kills me that I have that violence in me.”

Kat leaned forward, her elbows coming to rest on her knees as she rubbed her gloved fingers together.

“After Eve died, after I found her…” Kat trailed off before she managed to gather her thoughts. “It burned in me, that rage, that hatred. I fantasied about killing him, about putting my gun in his mouth and making him feel just a fragment of the agony she must have felt.” 

“Does it ever go away?” he asked quietly, mirroring her posture. Kat shook her head, a pained expression on her features.

“He’s been locked up over two years, he’s a cop in prison. Sometimes it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough.” she trailed off before picking up the thread. 

Brian sagged back onto the bench, his head tipping back so he could look at the cloudy sky.

“How do you move past it?” He asked her. “How do we live like this?”

“There’s no easy way,” Kat told him, shrugging her shoulders. “EMDR therapy helped me. I think it saved my life in the end.”

“Do you think I’m that far gone? Because honestly, I don’t even think I can tell anymore.”

The emotion in his voice killed her, it struck some chord deep down inside resonating in her chest. She placed her hand on his forearm, her fingers gripping it tightly. The thought of losing him, of Brian suffering like that…

“It feels like everything is slipping through my fingers.”

“Not everything.” She reminded him, her hand slipping into his. “You still have family, the one back home and the one at the firehouse.”

“And you?” he asked softly, his gaze lowering to their entwined fingers.

“Always.” She told him with a small smile. “I’m always gonna be here, whatever you need.”

“I’d like to be more.” Brian whispered, his lips brushing her hairline. She tilted her head so that she was staring into those gorgeous dark eyes of his. She saw him in all his entirety, how ravaged he was, how he was still trying to put the shattered pieces of himself back together. His thumb ghosted over the apple of her cheek, his gaze dipping to her lips. “I want you to have the best version of me, the man that you deserve.”

“Brian…”

“I’m not there yet.” He told her, his forehead coming to rest upon hers. “But I want to be. Just know that I’m trying.”

“The two of us are gonna get through this alright?” She murmured, her voice trembling as she cupped his grizzled features between her hands. 

“Yea, I know.” He mumbled. “I know.”

[saintshigaraki]

ONE DAY WE’LL REVEAL THE TRUTH (THAT ONE WILL DIE BEFORE HE GETS THERE)

title: youth by daughter

pairing: dabi x f!reader 

words: 1.7k

excerpt: But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief? 

a/n: dabi my beloved (derogatory). this fic is my love letter to parentheses.

tags: angst, toxic relationships, explicit s*xual content, light choking, dabi is a bastard but he is a needy bastard 

in case you’d rather read it on ao3!

MDNI

He’s just outside the door. He hasn’t made a sound, but you know he’s there. You can feel it; in your blood, in your bones, in your marrow. 

(You’ve always been able to feel him, monstrous and cruel beneath your skin. An itch. An awful taunting itch. You’ve wanted him out since he first stuck his claws in you and buried himself deep, but he’s near impossible to shake. He won’t leave until he’s hollowed you out, until your flesh is no longer your own, until all that’s left of you is him. Until all that’s there, is what he believes there should be. 

He’s a self-important bastard like that.)

When he finally decides to open the door, he does so with a slam. It would’ve made you jump if you hadn’t been so focused on the skyline. Tracing the buildings, looking for stars you know you won’t be able to see. They get swallowed up, this deep in the city. Drowned out by light. 

(When you were a child, you didn’t quite understand how stars could vanish in the night. Weren’t they the brightest things in the universe? Burning and brilliant, even light years away? 

You understand it better now. How mankind has this nasty habit of ruining, of polluting, of blotting out things of wonder and then desperately trying to remake it in our own image.

It’s never as beautiful as what was, but it’s far too late for us to admit defeat now.)

He’s mad, burning up with fury. You can feel the heat of it, cutting straight through the heavy chill of the night air. It’s stifling, your balcony so small that he’s practically breathing down your neck with how close he is. Accompanying his presence, always, is the faint smell of burnt flesh he can never quite mask, no matter the amount of cheap aftershave he tries to drown himself in. 

He’d texted you, and you’d ignored him. For a week, you’ve ignored him and if there’s one thing Dabi hates, it’s when he gets ignored. 

He’s the one that ignores you, it should never be the other way around. 

You know that, of course. You know all his little unwritten rules. 

(Don’t ignore him is at the top of the list. Except, of course, during those nights when he thinks you’re asleep and he clings to you like a child, his tears burning where they touch your skin. Even his grief, you can’t help but think, is scorching.

On those nights, you’ve found it’s best to stay quiet. He wields his grief like rage and you’d rather not be caught in the crossfire.)

He’s waiting for you to talk, to stumble over your words, make some sort of vague attempt at an apology. It’s what you would usually do after you’ve broken one of his rules. 

But you say nothing, content to sit in the too-heavy silence. You’re tired. Of him. Of whatever it is you two have been doing. It’s the same stupid story, the same vicious cycle. A snake cursed to eat its own tail. 

He’s using you. He has been for a long while now. If you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, he most likely has been since the beginning. And God, it’s exhausting work, being used. 

Although, really, you’re not all that much better than he is. In the beginning, you were with him purely because he fascinated you. All his grief laid bare, and so vulnerable. So obvious and painful. Undeniable in its brutality. 

(Rage, he’d say, it’s righteous rage, not grief.

But what is rage, you’d ask him, if not one of the many faces of grief?) 

It didn’t take long for you to realize he’s chasing something. And it took you even less time to realize that whatever he’s after, is probably going to kill him one day. 

(You wonder if he knows he’s chasing his own death. You wonder if he’d care at all. 

He reminds you of Eve, eating the forbidden fruit. You think she’d take a bite of the apple, again and again and again if ever given the choice, even knowing the consequences. Even with intimate knowledge of the suffering to come. How could she not? How could any of us hold our fate in the palm of our hands and choose not to sink our teeth into it?)

He’s growing impatient beside you, burning up with it. If he touched you, you’re sure he’d melt your flesh straight to the hollow bone. 

But you don’t break. Just once, you want him to fall apart first. Just once, you want him desperate. 

(He’s always been so good at making you desperate, with a hand around your neck, just tight enough to leave you gasping for air, your back to his chest and his staples drawing blood, as he pounds into you so hard all you could do is dig your nails into his arm. 

His lips are right by your ear, you’re mine, he says. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine. 

And God, with his cock hitting all the right spots in your cunt you’d believe it. You’d believe anything he’d said to you as long he just kept going. 

Say it, he hisses, say you’re mine. 

You don’t answer him right away, mostly because you can’t, not with the way he’s fucking you. You can’t catch your breath enough to form a sound, you can’t get your bearings enough to collect a single thought that isn’t Dabi Dabi Dabi. 

Annoyed at your lack of answer, he brings a searing thumb down to your overstimulated clit. You keen, arching, desperately trying to get away from the sensation that at this point is more pain than pleasure. 

Say it, he says again, there’s a strange sort of edge to it. Looking back you think it might’ve been desperation. Say it. 

When he presses down just a little harder, you finally crack. 

Yours, you gasp. I’m yours. Yours. Yours. Yours. 

He laughs, so deep in his chest that you feel it in your own. 

It echoes in your head for weeks afterward.)

“What,” he grounds out, low and furious, “the fuck.” 

It’s not a question. 

You turn towards him, at last. Though you can hardly see him, surrounded by shadows. There are glints of his piercings in the polluted light, a gleaming flash as he runs his tongue along with his teeth. But it’s his eyes that you lock on. Bright and a brilliant blue. Glowing and monstrous in the dark. 

(You’re reminded, once again, of the stars. Burning and burning and burning.)

With no preamble, you say, “I think I love you.” 

The air around you quiets. Like the city itself is holding it’s breath. 

It’s not a sweet confession under the moonlight. In the week since you came to the realization, it’s already started to fester, to rot straight through your bones. 

It’s a curse more than anything. You love a man whose chasing his own death. You love a ghost. Or, you suppose, a ghost in the making. 

Before you can say anything else (though really, what else is there to say) he cuts in sharply, meanly, “No, you don’t.” 

You can’t help but tilt your head at that. You don’t really know what to say. You don’t know if you’re supposed to say anything. His lips are pulled back, teeth bared, he’s gleaming and sharp, pulled so taught with tension you wonder how he’s even breathing. He reminds you, vividly, of a cornered animal. A scared one. Though he’s trying to mask it with annoyance, with a type of anger that toes the line of fury. 

He’s always doing that. Masking his fear with rage. Masking his grief with rage. Hiding any part of himself that might be perceived as weak, as soft, as vulnerable, under the guise of rage. 

You can’t imagine that it’s anything less than exhausting. 

Though you have to admit, you didn’t expect this response. You didn’t expect fear. You thought he’d be unbearably smug about it. Proud of himself for finally sinking his teeth into your heart. Ready to chew you up and spit you back out. You were ready for him to move on. 

You didn’t expect him to deny it. 

(He could be right, though you doubt he is.

You wonder what it means to love, you wonder how you’re supposed to love. You wonder if you can only love someone if you’ve seen the cruelest parts of them first. 

You suppose if that’s the case, then he might be right. 

You’ve never actually been able to force yourself to look up what exactly he’s wanted for. What exactly it is he’s done. 

Mostly because you’re afraid that even if you knew every last gory detail, it wouldn’t be enough to make you walk away. And how would you be able to look at yourself in the mirror, after that? Knowing exactly who you let share your bed? who cried scorching hot tears into your shoulder? 

Ignorance is bliss, they say. In your case, it could very well be your only hope for salvation.

But, you don’t really think there’s a set way a person is supposed to love. It’s what makes it so terrifying. It’s an unknown. And it’s so hard to not fear the unknown.)

“Dabi-” you start. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he spits out. Eyes flashing, his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

You want to laugh at the absurdity of it all, of him trying to tell you what you do and do not feel, but you think he’d turn you to ashes for the slight. His pride has always been so easily shaken.  

“Dabi-” you try again. 

But he’s two steps ahead of you. He always is. 

He’s already turned around, hiding his face from view, opening the door. And you don’t stop him. You don’t see why you should. 

You can’t shake him from the path he’s on. You don’t think anyone can, really. 

Grief is all he has, it’s all he’s let himself have. It’s fundamental to him now. It’s all he is. And you’re sure he believes whatever he’s chasing is going to fill the hollow void it’s made of him. 

It won’t. You’re sure of that, at least, because even if he does succeed, what will he be left with then? 

You don’t say any of that to him, because you’re not his fucking therapist. And because you’re not so sure he wouldn’t kill you for it. 

It’s anticlimactic, watching him disappear into your darkened apartment. 

But all you can think about when you hear the click of the front door closing behind him is how honest his fear was, almost childlike. Remnants of a poor, grief-stricken boy. 

What a monster it’s made of him. 

a/n part two:

thinking about adrianne kalfopoulou’s ‘grief will keep you reaching back / for what is not there.’ 

i could not tell you why this took me over two weeks to write. i had a lot of fun with it though. dabi my beloved. go to therapy please. also i know dabi can’t cry but....let me have this.