#the man is in fact possessed by one of the ghost of christmas

[artemis-ches]

is

is Lucanis wearing a hand-knit sweater ? under his cool ass demon-eyed leather armor ? a brown hand-knit sweater ? am i dreaming ?

[deadboyfriendd]

Cochise IIl: Tango

Summary: An Old Christmas tune brings Eddie face-to-face with what he has been running from. Turns out, you aren't as different as you think you are.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, drug use, drug overdose (apparent suicide), death of minor character, period-appropriate death, angst, fluff, piano smut, oral (fem receiving)

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.6k

Author's Note: I've been creatively and emotionally constipated for weeks now, so the fact that I even got this out when I did was a feart on it's own and I'm very proud of myself for it.

As always, thank you to @dr-aculaaa for being my BTS on this project, love you <3

Find the series masterlist here!

Edward was a man of repose, though, in your sadness, you’d figured you’d been, too. Maybe it wasn't repose at all. Stoicism, maybe, but there was one thing you knew for certain: He was much prettier than you. His skin of alabaster, freckles across flesh kisses of vulnerability and dusted across his worn body as a reminder of the naivety of the youth he once possessed. 

You supposed this is what it was now, slender fingers plucking at strings in the dead of night. Be it the stoicism or the naivety of youth, the moon cast a glow across his cheeks and carved rivers through the valleys of his face. You listen to the inflection of strings scraping loosely across frets. F, A, B, A, in a smooth stacking rhythm. 

There is a twang to his strumming, like there was a string loose somewhere– but not entirely like your piano. The piano had a resounding twang, it echoed within itself like the ghosts of internal hammers and keys before throwing its brashness out against the walls of your bar. You did not know how to tune it, and it would not be tuned again. 

This sound was much softer, much less brash than your own, the hum resounded within the walls of the instrument itself before dissipating the sound into the open night air like an inkwell in water. It spread, filled the space and lingered until there was another sound to see it out. A choreography of sorts, yet the song was all too familiar in the way it filled the space in your head and the hole in your heart. 

Its tiny, needle-pointed feet danced across your brain in flashes of sheer white fabric and the song of the oak floors of The Grand Hotel. Their piano did not sing the same far-east folk song as yours, no, instead it hummed an autumnal hymn of reverence and elegance. It was not as perverse as your piano, but your piano was more gentle with your heart. Your piano didn’t remind you of that worn spot on the floor, or the cracking scabs forming on your hardened knuckles. 

The corner of the door jamb dug a divot into your shoulder, but you didn’t have the grace to move without making the entire balcony creak, so you didn’t. A singular step forward pulls a groan from the floor of the porch where the wood expands with the heat of the impending monsoon, and, regretfully, his fingers pull themselves from the frets like the nails holding the plants to the rafters of the porch. 

“Hello, Edward.”

“Ma’am.”

You leaned back against the post, arms folded and unable to will away the beginning semblances of a grin from your lips. You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes in his direction. 

“I think we’re past ma’am now, Edward.” 

“Well, in that case, I also think we’re past Edward, now.” A grin that resembled your own pulled at the corners of his mouth. He had asked you to call him Eddie earlier, it felt less formal than this. The formality kept you upright, kept this whole thing from crumbling.  

You folded your arms in front of yourself, hip dropping heavy across the solid singing of your piano. Kind-of-but-not-really attempting to conceal the smile spreading across your face like a disease, “That’s a pretty song you were playing.”

“Learned it from a woman.” Eddie had said to you, arms folded, starting a stride with heavy, hollow footing towards you. Slow and in a metronomy rhythm. 

You cocked a brow at him, smile spackled heavy across your face, “Oh really?” 

“Yes, really.” He insisted, “She owned a bar out west. Played it at night on an old piano.” 

“Well I’ve got an old piano here.” You said to him, arms staying folded as you kicked your boot out in a heavy, choreographed stride, “Maybe I can teach you to play it sometime.” 

It was always this song and dance. Always this beautiful waltz of back-and-forth quips, lines wonderfully blurred by the haze of smoke from a cigar and sweet as the kiss of sasparilla, though, that bitter aftertaste would still rear it’s ugly head like the snake from the hole. Rattles thick in the stagnant air like a warning. 

“Y’know,” Eddie had said to you through a puff of smoke, “You should really stop giving me all of these free things.” 

You’d never take that into account. One cigar from the humidor, in the grander scheme of things, would never be enough repayment for anything he had done for this town. Anything he had done for you, 

“Well,” You’d quipped back, sitting back down at the polished bench of your old piano, “ – maybe you should stop saving my life, then.” 

That bitter aftertaste, a sting of smoke stilled in the in-between hung heavy in the air– shattered by the opening arpeggio shrill enough to shatter it like glass. 

“I’ll always save your life.” 

You couldn’t decipher if the pause in your song had been intentional, though, you’d hoped it seemed intentional enough to be a plausible excuse for your silence in return. The bass notes rang heavy under the shifting mechanisms in the hollow underside of the piano as you placed a foot, too-heavy, against pedals in a desperate effort to drown out the harshness of noise, the heaviness of your hands– the weight of this place. 

He filled his space on the opposite half of the thin piano bench, his legs bracing against the floor to press his back against yours. He leaned his head backwards, a welcome weight against your shoulder, and tried to feel the muscles in your hands turn over each other and vibrate in time to the bass crescendos and tinny melodic trebles. 

“Where’d you learn to play something as pretty as this, anyhow?” He kept his voice soft, turning his head to attempt to look at what you were doing. You could feel the heavy breath from his nose cool against your neck. 

“It’s an old German worship song. My husband’s mother would sing it at Christmas.”

He looked at the handwriting along the ledger lines and felt sorrow for the woman that wrote it. 

He can see their Christmas, a mother’s voice a warm river across the rocks of a piano melody, a distraction from the war waging just outside of their front doors. A fire and a meal, though, he remembered the wartime– remembered a time where his own mother had rationed enough of their weekly collection to have a real, fresh meal. He thought of that warmth and then thought of you. 

He tips his head back and blows a plume of smoke in an effort to stifle the memory. Instead, he wishes to replace that warmth with you. 

He stared at the hole in the floor, the discolored groove where you had scrubbed your knuckles bloody and raw. He thought about the him-shaped divot he had scrubbed into the frozen planes of Montana. 

He thought of her, the eldest daughter of two Roman Catholic missionaries following the fur trade to an unholy promised land. 

He thought about God, and just how cruel He could be. 

Did Eddie sit where your husband once sat? Did he lean against the expanse of your back and feel the vibration of the keys travel through the wiry expanses of your arms and settle back against him, just as Eddie had? 

Would he leave a him-shaped hole in you the same way your husband had? Would you wear down the wood the same way he wore down himself? 

“I was married, too.” he admitted to you, voice shattering the turning of sheet music and the resonant patriarchal basso that echoed out against these glass windows. 

“What was her name?”

“Christine.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes.” 

You sound like his mother, he thinks, authoritative but not coddling in the way you question him. He wonders if you feel a discomfort in this statement. He hopes you feel a solidarity in your grieving enough to overlook it. You do not ask him how she died, though, if you were to, he would tell you:

Christine dies at the hand of laudanum, too beautiful to not have a devastating fault. The red-haired daughter of southwest Arksansas– far across that deep blue water she lived, and it was across that water where he had loved and left her. He thought of her skin, like ivory though cold as porcelain even long before her death. Her body, as it was laid to rest, had remained the same even in death as it had during her life. No amount of insurmountable beauty could cover the sullenness under her eyes or the frailness of her wrists. The red halo of hair surrounding her head could not guarantee a peaceful end. No amount of love was enough to save her from herself. 

He thinks of her eyes, long before the hollowness had clouded them over like a storm. He remembered a time where there was a soft glow there, a gas lamp that only he could ignite. He wondered if your eyes held that same glow. 

He thinks of a time where she stood outside of her father’s river home, barefoot in the mess of cattails and thick grass to encase him in a loving embrace. He had insisted that she put some shoes on. He wondered if you did the same, letting your feet burn in the sun-warm sand. He wondered if your husband insisted that you do the same.

Their marriage had died long before she had. The kiss of opium tincture still bitter against his own lips as he pressed them to hers for a last time. 

Your hands were not as tender as hers, yet the tenderness was not what he craved. He thought about this now, as you held his arm in a grounding grip. Tight enough to know that you were still there but not enough to hurt. He wondered if you needed that, too. 

This kiss was all-encompassing, starving in nature, though awkward on the deliverance. 

He knew you would forgive him if he was being too forward, but he figured you were a little past apologies now. Your back is laid across his lap, twisting and contorting to meet his own lips from your side of the piano bench. He uses this leverage to pull you forward, more over him than against him. 

There are hot tears that run down his cheeks, though, he’d figured you were past those now, too. 

His embrace around your back is not hungry– it is desperate, as if he is clinging to anything to keep him tethered to this plane. 

The piano bench scrapes loud against the knotted wooden floors of the bar as he pushes your back against the keys. They sounded with an off-key crash and lingered for moments too long. You do not feel the way the keys and beveled finish of the piano press into your back, in the same way he does not feel the knotted pine dig into his knees when he kneels at your feet. 

“Please,” He whines, tears no longer streaming down his ruddy face, though the sticky tracks remain, “Please jus’ let me taste.” 

It is not possible for you to deny him when crystalline tears budding up against a pink lashline– when a heavy hand drags itself against your leg in anticipation– no– pleading. 

You lean further back, balancing on the slippery edge of the piano bench, and you swear you can hear a soft, “Thank you.” whispered against your thigh between soft, wet kisses. 

His grip is bruising. In the same way you had tethered him to this earth, he binds you to him. One hand lies on the pool where the outer fat of your thigh presses flat against the wood, the other a vice, at your knee in order to keep your legs open. 

The edges of teeth graze against tender skin, affixing themselves along garter belts as hungry hands find purchase on your hips beneath chemise underdresses. Hot, humid breath dampens your skin as it escapes from his teeth– clamped along the garter now sliding down your leg and off your foot. A strong hand pushes back upwards, feeling along the silken hair there. 

Edward was a man of repose. In your sadness, you’d figured you’d been, too. Though, you wouldn’t have guessed it by the way he pressed a hot, flat tongue against your core and traveled upwards slowly in an experimental taste. 

“Like fuckin’ sugar,” He wines into you, his hair a splayed mess against your thighs, his tongue finding purchase against your core. 

Thick fingers prod within you, the slow in and out a tether to focus on as you shook. He wanted you to shake. He wanted you to tremble and shiver all of the worries that had plagued you to the bone. 

Eddie could not be your husband, but he could make you forget– even if it was just for the night. 

He reaches upwards from beneath your dresses, a hand intertwining itself with yours and feeling across the ridges of your cut and calloused knuckles. 

You could not be Christine, but you could be here– even if it was never in your bed. 

At the precipice of your climax, you cry out, and he likes to think that it is for him. He squeezes your hand, emerging from beneath your clothes with hair askew and a dewey sheen across reddened cheeks. When he kisses you, it is softer and you taste yourself on his lips. He does not think of the bitter taste of opium residual on the lips of Christine. Instead, he only thinks of you. 

He does not waste time when he hikes your skirtings above your waist, hands like a vice against the fat of your hips. He is quick when he unclasps his belt and unbuttons his trousers, and smooth when he slides himself into you. 

You are quieter than other women, soft staccato breaths escaping with whispers of moans punctuate his thrusts– slowly and then with more rigor. 

He keeps a furrowed brow as a bead of sweat drips down his nose and onto the bare skin on your chest where his lips now find purchase, staccatos of his own dotting your skin like galaxies in the vastness. 

He sees the way the soft glow of the lamp light heats your skin, the pink ruddiness that graces your cheeks or the glitter that flashes over your eyelids when the light catches the oil there. He sees the way your soft lashes kiss the apples of your cheeks or the soft folds of your neck as your head lolls to the side in satisfaction. He sees the way your hair curls with sweat around your ears in soft coils or the way his saliva has settled in a gloss along your lips. 

And by the stars above you, he swears that he could love you.

A thumb is heavy against you, in circles and figure eights as it wills you towards the edge that you closely teeter upon. 

“It’s okay,” He whispers to you, by soft pianissimo whispers, “You can have this. I want you to have this.” 

A barely-there sigh escapes your lips, deeper-winded than the rest and you allow your body to fall slack as he continues to pump in a rhythm, finishing quickly and lowering your underskirts as he sinks to his knees. 

Tonight, you would hold his head against your stomach as hot tears would once again roll down his face. Tonight, you would card fingers through the tangles in his hair as he lays his upper body limp and racks with soft sobs across your lap. 

Tonight, you think you will unmake the left side of the bed. 

[silverlightsminky]

At the after party.

18+ minors don't interact

Contents & warnings : smut, oral sex, consensual sex, nipple play, orgasms, idol, contraception, NSFW.

Genre: smut

Please be advised that all content presented herein is purely fictional and does not reflect any actual individuals or interactions. The sole purpose of this document is for entertainment purposes only.

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

"Ugh, Mal, do I really have to go to this thing? You know this isn't my scene. Why are you dragging me with you?" You complain to your best friend if 14 years.

She sighs deeply. "Y/N, you're my best friend, and I can't have you moping around, crying over some guy you barely even knew. He didn't even take you on a real date. It was just a casual thing, okay? Okay, great. So go get dressed and let's go."

Mal was right, you and Sam met during the Christmas holiday and you texted back and forth for a while, but it wasn't anything serious. But the fact that he ghosted you hurt your feelings and made you wonder what could have been. Mal's solution to everything and getting you out of your head was to invite you to all the galas, events, and parties she was invited to as her plus one. It's exciting for a model like Mal, but it's ultimately boring for you.

You slink off the couch with an Exaggerated groan with another even more exaggerated "do I REALLLLLLY have to?" As you make your way down the hall to your room to get dressed.

This evening's gathering is a post-event for fashion week. With the presence of numerous cameras and an abundance of renowned individuals, including A-list celebrities and models, one may experience a sense of inadequacy, and you definitely were.

"Y/N, please remember that there are cameras everywhere, so please refrain from any actions that may be considered inappropriate or embarrassing. I must excuse myself to engage in some networking."  Mal said as you fidgeted uncomfortablely In your dress.

With those words, Mal departed, leaving you alone in a room filled with some of the most captivating individuals you have ever encountered. It is at this moment that you notice him across the room—the most ethereal man you have ever laid eyes upon.

"Who is that !?" You wonder aloud, not even noticing Mal approaching you. "That's Hyunjin isn't he just beautiful?" Her words bring you back to reality. You glance away from him for a moment to look at her, then back towards him, but he's vanished. How could he disappear so quickly? You wonder to yourself as your eyes dart around the room, searching for him and now for Mal, who has wandered away to mingle again.

As you navigate through the room you exchange courteous smiles with acquaintances from past events. With a subtle nod, you acknowledge those you haven't had the pleasure of meeting before. In an attempt to avoid engaging in uncomfortable small talk, you discreetly try to slip past the crowd. Suddenly, a warm hand gently grasps yours, pulling you back through a dimly lit doorway.

The door closes to reveal Hyunjin standing before you, hand on the door. "Hello," his soft voice  catching you off guard as he makes his presence known. "I noticed you staring at me, I'm Hyunjin, I wanted to introduce myself where we could hear each other better, and you are?"

"I am Y/N, it is a pleasure to meet you," you say, struggling to maintain your composure in the presence of someone so beautiful.

How can he be real? You can't help but stare at his plump pink lips and chiseled features that remind you of Greek gods. "So beautiful," you softly utter, unable to tear your gaze away from him. He chuckles and responds, "Thank you."

Taken aback, you momentarily entertain the thought that he might possess the ability to read your mind, unaware that you just spoke out loud.

With a gentle smile, he compliments you, "You are quite beautiful as well." He takes a step closer to you, backing you into the door, his breath even hotter on your face. "Can I kis-"  he starts to ask his hand now warm against your cheek as he leans in towards you, before he can even finish the word, you move towards him your lips finding each other in the dimly lit room, hearts racing. It is not typical of you to impulsively kiss a complete stranger, but there was something about this man that left you experiencing a profound sense of connection and familiarity with him. You pull him towards you by the collar of his jacket to deepen the kiss. Hyunjin starts kissing down your neck biting softly at your skin giving you a second to catch your breath. You find your hands wandering, touching his abs you feel his hard member through his pants, his hands are also wandering as he caresses your breast's, you ass and runs his hands down your thighs. "Is this okay? Do you want me to stop?" He asks between kisses. "No its okay, keep going" you pant into his mouth. Hyunjin now feeling the warmth through your panties takes your hand again locks the door behind you and leads you to the day bed in the corner of the room. Still kissing you he lays you down and this time kisses down the length of your body, down your neck, unzips your dress to expose your perky breast's and gently takes your nipple into his mouth and sucks on it, a moan escaping your lips, he kisses down your stomach and lifts up the skirt of your dress kissing down your thighs. He looks up at you from between your legs, pulls your panties to the side and gently licks your clit down your slit over and over spelling his name with his tongue. You need him now, you want to feel him inside you. "Hyunie" you moan to get his attention, he looks up at you with his big brown doe eyes "yes?" He says looking up at you still between your legs "I want you, I need to feel you" you moan and gasp slightly embarrassed by how brazen you are. he comes back up to your level and kisses you again, leaving the taste of you on your tongue as you undo his belt and shimmy his pants and boxers down his hips exposing his hard cock, you  jack your hand up and down a few times feeling the pre cum soak your palm as you urge him to change positions with you so you can return the favor. You get down on your knees between his legs and take him into your mouth, using your tongue ring to run up and down the length of his shaft as you gently suck his cock, it's making you so wet seeing him sitting there with his cock in your mouth with his head laid back on the chair eyes closed enjoying what you're doing with your mouth, you give it one last lick as you get up and straddle his lap wiping the spit off your chin. "Do you have a condom?" You ask acknowledging that even though this is hot as hell you should still be safe about things. Hyunjin shifts your weight so he can reach into his pocket to grab his wallet. Of course he had a condom. You sit there panting as he slips it on and guides your hips onto his hard cock, gently easing it into your wet opening. You bounce up and down on his cock while his finger tips dig slightly into your soft skin. "God you feel so good" you moan into his mouth while giving him another wet kiss. The room is alive with the sounds of you both moaning and him grunting. Before you know it he has flipped you over and now you're laying on the couch again looking up at him with his long black hair hanging down around his face while his cock glides in and out of your wet pussy. "Oh fuck, oh god" you moan "I'm gonna cum, Hyunie I'm gonna cum,  The sounds of your moans were like music to his ears. "

As you reach your high all over Hyunjins cock, your walls tighten around him, causing him to moan and reach his high at the same time, feeling him twitch inside of you as he came made your entire body tremble.

When you were ready, Hyunjin assisted you in putting your dress back on, placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder and fixing your hair for you. Fortunately, you had worn your hair down and kept a hairbrush in your bag, as you were quite disheveled. A beautiful completely fucked out mess, and he was still as beautiful as ever, you helped him straighten up his jacket and made sure no one was the wiser about what you had just done. "Oh my gosh, I can't believe we did that! That's so out of character for me. There's just something about you that makes me lose all control, you're other worldly" You say to Hyunjin as he's fixing his hair in the mirror

He let's out a soft chuckle "I could say the same to you"

He grabs your hand again as you left the room. He smiled politely at the people passing by, trying to avoid drawing attention to the two of you as you made your way back around the party

"There you are!" Mal exclaimed when she finally found you again. "I've been looking all over for you! Where were you?"

You look at Hyunjin with a small grin as you squeeze his hand.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you "

[florsial]

rabastan and regulus???? im sat please tell me more

i fear i might disappoint since they really are just a pair of silly death eaters. To me they are like a domestic married couple with this subtle hint of "there is something but I can't put my finger on it."

Rabastan hates Bellatrix, in fact, he kind of hates all of the Blacks, that's one portion, another is the weird god/dog complex thing he has going with Rodolphus. So he sees the youngest Black (Regulus) and thinks he can kinda "save" Reg from his family's weird shit (blind leading the blind moment). Regulus, on the other hand, is living a very dull and mundane life, there isn't anything interesting happening, so when Rabastan starts cornering him, pulling him away from family dinners and functions to the protest of Walburga and Narcissa, and eyeing him up and down with weird suspicion. Regulus is like, "Let me see how this goes." They watch each other in meetings. Regulus plays the violin and Rabastan watches him when he should probably be listening to whatever Voldy is saying. Regulus didn't really go out during the War so he would just sit for hours on end watching a clock "soldier's wife" style and write unsent letters until Rabastan came back. The Soldier/Soldier's Wife dynamic is something I like between them.

They never would've said anything about actually loving each other, they just kinda fall into the domestic married dynamic over time, they sleep together, share the same bedroom, eat together, and walk together. Rabastan sits as close as he can to Regulus during meetings and they test the patience of everyone around them together. Both grow to know life with each other in it, and their presence becomes a constant with each other. Rabastan isn't all the big of a fan of change, so he's used to the scorns and glares that his family gives him, but Regulus never gave him such, so in canon, there is a feeling of bitterness and betrayal for the "one who got away" (Regulus when he dies) in canon HP books.

They are more fun in an AU though, Bad Influence/Golden Child who meet each other again after a couple years and become this quiet married couple who ignores all family dinner invites (except Sirius because Regulus is still very much the possessive younger brother) and creeps their neighbors out. They are almost too fancy for Sirius' dinners but a mess with the main family branch dinners. They send Christmas cards in July and odd presents just to see the reaction. Their anniversaries are spent exploring abandoned buildings and nearly getting lost in the woods or flying to Dubai or something.

I'm hiding this for reasons. But I love them most when it's with pre-transition Regulus. For Regulus, there is a struggle with internalized transphobia and sexism. Having a relationship with Rabastan kinda makes Regulus think "I can be normal". It allows him to live the life of a woman Regulus thinks he can be. Obviously, it's a temporary thing for him. But there is an aspect of horror in forced feminization that I kind of indulge in with characters as a trans man with no control over my looks, and it's especially prevalent in Pre T Regulus/Rabastan due to their status as wealthy purebloods and the fandom's portrayal of pureblood society as old and Victorian. It adds a sense of unease in what seems to be a perfectly normal couple.

Pre T Regulus/Rabastan in the middle of war is my favorite little thing. There is misery and there is uneasiness. They are pale, with heavy eyebags, and are like a pair of Victorian ghosts drifting about and ballroom dancing. Their relationship is the only thing keeping them sane from their families.

[macravishedbymactavish]

Just Pretend (Platonic!John "Soap" Mactavish x GN!Reader)

TW for typical COD violence and themes, mentions to moments in the MW2 campaign, angst

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare 2 Masterlist |

You found him interesting, like a language you knew most of the words to.

You could figure out the general direction to the club, a hotel, and get a quick lay. But anything worthwhile? A translator may be needed.

Unfortunately Simon wasn't very open, and you didn't feel like having him lecture you on personal space. That if he wants you to know something he'll tell you.

It made your head spin, watching as he worked a room one night. Swiftly bouncing between multiple circles, ensuring he said hi to everyone, buying rounds of shots for special occasions. Hell half the recruits mothers knew him (or knew of him).

You've never seen one person get so many Christmas cards at base.

It was on a mission the night you truly learned. Learned his head was against him, turning out the lights to whisper about all the things he could've done better, the people he should've saved, why wasn't it him instead of those innocent fam-

The scratching of pen on paper got more aggressive, causing you to roll over and look at your teammate. Debating whether or not to say anything. You shifted, enough to alert the masked man beside him. Eyes immediately cast on you, unspeaking, unmoving, but message portrayed clear as day:

Don't you dare disturb him

It was when the scratching was combined with the slight decrease between his breaths that Ghost transformed into Simon. Whispering something soft to the man beside him, eyes flicking between you and the door.

I've got this, leave us be.

You bit your lip, debating whether to fight. Whether to sit on the otherside and secure that you were here too. But you knew that Simon was right; you were past the colleagues circle, well into the mates phase. But not close, not like the two of them were.

So you gave a curt nod, grabbing your blanket from the floor and wandering out of the room. You initially chose the room next door, lying to yourself that you'd get sleep and deal with this hole in your soul tomorrow. The hole knowing you'd never be able to pick up a sword and join the war going on in his head.

It was the shaky voice through the wall, and the nausea it caused deep in your stomach that caused you to barrel out of the room, out of the house. You glanced around, opting to sit on the bench swing. Heels kicked onto the boards of the porch, you slowly swung yourself. Falling deeper in thought.

About the demons you hear scratching at the walls, whispering your name. Waiting for one long night, one mistake on a mission to seap in through the seams and possess every light in sight.

You jumped and swung. Fight AND flight. Grimacing when your hand connected with a person. You blinked, focusing on the dimly lit figure beside you.

Johnny.

"Did.." He started, clearing his throat. Both of you silently acknowledged the fact that he was crying only a minute ago. Both actively choosing not to say anything.

"Did you just slap me?" You both stared at one another for a second, letting it sink in. You had extensive close combat training, knew how to disable an enemy in seconds.....and your first reaction?

A bitch slap.

You both began laughing, slowly stopping until one had the mind to glance at the other. Causing the laughter to erupt full force again.

It was when your faces and stomachs began to hurt when he spoke.

"I've stopped talking to my ma," your head shot up involuntarily, something you'd curse to yourself about doing later. "After....that night," he vaguely waved, shifting to rest his elbows on his knees, head ducking down as he continued.

"It's...its hard. Ma, my family, my old mates. Hell even the slightly old gran at the shop who flirts with me. They all see me before Soap. They still see me as the Mactavish kid who wiped out while biking and used my face to cushion the landing." Your heart sunk, listening to his guilt.

How he dreaded going home for the holiday, knowing everyone would be surrounding him, cheering him on for being this war hero. He'd seen it all with his cousin, back when he still held his youth. He thought his cousin was the bravest person alive.

How do you love someone that let civilians die all around them?

You love the fact that they were brave enough to go toe to toe with a tank. To take down the person going after the innocent. To do what's right.

"It's a lot, I know" he leaned back, sinking into the seat. Legs scrunched up a bit as you continued rocking the chair.

"You're so happy though" you trailed off, immediately regretting saying anything.

"There's something about seeing other people happy. It's infectious." He started with a shrug, "plus nobody likes a sad stripper"

"I'm sorry, a sad what?"

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[fixfoxnox]

The fact that I’ve been keenly watching over my Email for any updates 😭😭 I’m obsessed!!! I love hearing your headcanons and the bts!! Do you have any more info you could spill to us?

I always have more to share with you guys!!!

If you want some headcanons/bts for the story, here are some thoughts about Roach's first life in the og timeline and some other fun stuff. Some of these will be playing into upcoming chapters 🤭

I mentioned it in an earlier post, but I fully stand by the fact that og ghost, while looking super similar to reboot ghost, had a completely different sense of style

Man had piercings, a little mullet thing, and just generally carries/carried punk vibes at all times

OG Soap was in love with Roach. He didn't realize his feelings until it was too late and Roach had already developed feelings for Ghost.

OG Ghost was a jealous king. Like super possessive of Roach, hated when anyone flirted with him, etc. Roach was his person and he was terrified of someone taking him away

Which, coincidentally, led to Ghost and Soap butting heads because Ghost could tell that Soap was in love with him. It didn't help that Soap was fairly flirty (just personality wise) and Roach was completely oblivious to the fact that Soap was in love with him

Roach used to have to break up fights between the two during off time. He never realized just how many fights he was breaking up/how serious they were

Ghost and Soap were at each others throat a lot, but they worked together expertly on missions and never let their anger at the other impact their work.

I like to think that Roach used to ask a lot of questions, which is how he knows so much about Price from his first life

Like as soon as they pulled this man from the gulag, Roach was asking a billion questions. He definitely grilled him about when Soap had first joined the team as well as what the man knew about Makarov.

Despite the fact that Price and Roach didn't know each other for very long, Price was genuinely upset when he realized that he and Ghost had been killed. To him, it was almost like Gaz dying again because both Gaz and Roach had been super upbeat positive people despite all of the chaos.

Couple of things about Jackson for fun!

Jackson and Griggs were actually friends on their squad in their first life. Griggs knew Jackson was super skilled, so it was easy for him to recommend him for things like the squad that were pushing up to find Al Asad.

Jackson has a huge family, both in the reboot universe and his first life. Man has like five sisters and six brothers and a whole army of nieces and nephews

Roach has become an honorary member of the Jackson family in the reboot universe.

Jackson's grandmother was the one to make Roach's scarf. Jackson is the closest with her out of his entire family (she was the only one to believe him when he was a kid and said that he was reborn) so he told her about Roach first and about him remembering to. She immediately set to making the scarf for him

Roach gets Christmas gifts sent to him from Jackson's grandmother, he always makes a point to send her back a little gift basket of craft supplies. Jackson joked after the first Christmas that he did it that Roach was her favorite grandchild now

Jackson and Roach definitely kissed at one point, like at least once, just for fun

Speaking of which, Jackson is bisexual

Jackson is also an honorary Sanderson kid and Roach's parents lowkey think that he and Roach are dating/married and just haven't told them.

They keep dropping hints about it and Jackson is always just

"💀 Roach your parents think I'm sucking your dick when you come to visit"

"You could have said that literally any other way"

Jackson is just very very chaotic. Like positive frat bro energy. Always dropping inappropriate lines because he likes to watch Roach blush.

When Soap/Ghost/Roach are finally together i just know he's lowkey hated by Soap and Ghost because he thinks its funny to flirt with Roach and Make them jealous

They also 100% believe that he and Roach have actually slept together.

"I wish I'd managed to get Sanderson in my bed! I probably would have ruined him for other men though, he would have been in love after one round."

Tbh I lowkey wanna write Jackson/Roach addition to the universe at some point, like a fic of their kiss or adding maybe a slight bit of romance between them at one point

They're just best friends man

Roach and Gaz are lowkey bffs on the 141, but Soap would probably flip his shit if Roach ever said that he wasn't his best friend, so Roach keeps it to himself

But like these two go off base to eat together all the time, especially while Roach was injured

They love to get Chinese food on the weekends and bring it back to the base for everyone. Typically on Chinese food nights they huddle up together in either one of their rooms or one of the den areas in the barracks to play like the longest game of poker you'll ever see

Roach usually wins

Unless Price joins them. If Price joins, he always wins

Before Price knew about Roach being reborn, Roach would occasionally make a comment about something that would have Price looking at him like 🤨 because "that was before even my time, Roach."

Price literally knew Ghost and Soap were gonna fall for Roach all the way back when they were on the roof before the stuff with Shepherd. Like he watched Soap and Roach interact and Ghost watch them and was like "God damn they're gonna date eventually"

Had a bet with Laswell about it, was one of the reasons he was so involved when Ghost was being rude to Roach. He was not about to lose fifty dollars because Ghost was being stupid.

Price is the squads #gaydad and he has a secret husband (its me, I'm the husband)

Jk, in universe he is single (only cause I'm not there 🤚🙄)

Gaz is also single. He very loudly complains about it to Roach on the daily.

Roach has offered numerous times to set him up with Jackson, Gaz only keeps saying no because he thinks Roach picked up on the fact that he thought Jackson was hot during the bar chapter and is embarrassed by it

Especially since he thinks Jackson and Roach are ex's

Roach absolutely did not pick up on the fact that Gaz is into Jackson, he just keeps asking because Jackson keeps bothering him

"Sanderson please get me the hot British ones number" "Ask again please 🙏" "Roach I'm telling you he's my soulmate okay, I will move to England and be his housewife" "Please tell him we never dated and that I could treat him right" "WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO? SANDERSON PLEASE"

(Me creating random ships out of nowhere? Yes, absolutely)

But basically, the whole team is lgbtq+ because I said so

Please ask me more about Jackson I love him sm, but I'll stop talking about him for now

When Soap and Ghost took to cuddle piling angry Roach while he was injured, it was some of the best sleep Roach has had in either of his lives

He also woke up several times to Soap drooling on his shoulder which, while slightly gross, he thought was adorable

He also woke up several times to Ghost with his face literally buried in his neck

To be fair, Soap definitely woke up several times to Roach literally wrapped around him like an octopus

And Ghost woke up several times to Roach with his face buried in his chest (tiddies)

Speaking of which, both Soap and Ghost were definitely dealing with having to confront their feelings for Roach during that period of time because I know they both woke up at one point with a fucking hard on for the guy

Though Roach doesn't intend to use it, he still definitely has James' number from the bar on his desk in his room. He just never got a chance to throw it out after he, Soap, and Ghost briefly got together

Though Roach literally worked with a version of Soap who was Captain of the 141, he literally cannot see reboot Soap ever becoming a captain to the team. Like the thought actually makes him laugh because of how feral this soap is

Speaking of feral, Roach has definitely watched new recruits on base get "accidentally" bitten by Soap because they were staring and Ghosts ass (or his, but he doesn't know that)

"How do you accidentally bite someone?"

"With your teeth, Bug. Obviously"

New recruits on base usually go through at least some of these stages:

"Wow Ghost is hot"

"Oh no, he's scary"

"His fucking boyfriend just bit me"

"Wow Soap is hot"

"Oh no, his boyfriend is scary"

"I just got the snot kicked out of me in training because I was looking at Soap"

"Now I'm injured"

"Oh wow, who is this cute guy helping me with my wounds and apologizing to me for the behavior of these other guys"

"Wow Roach is hot"

"OH NO, HIS TWO FRIENDS ARE SCARY"

Essentially most of the recruits end up being in love with Roach at one point. I know by boy just has an army of people ready to die for him.

Roach will never admit it, but he 100% thinks that his new lifes Price is fucking gorgeous. He is very confused on how the balding man he knew in his first like looks like...that now.

Of course he'd literally never admit this to anyone because Price is like a father figure to him and he would die of embarrassment if anyone knew

Roach and Soap both kept journals in their first life and they both keep journals in their new life!

Soaps is usually filled with sketches of Ghost and, after Roach joined, Roach as well

Roach usually writes down memories from his first life that come up + memories and fun conversations that he has in his new life. He also keeps track of every mission/place/people from his first life that happens/he goes to/he meets again

Okay I should probably stop here for now lmao, I let this get a little away from me

[autisticsupervillain]

It's Fictional Throwdown Friday!

This Week's Fighters....

Kevin McCallister vs Michael Myers!

Conditions:

Kevin has a full day of prep time with complete prior knowledge on Michael and his abilities. Michael is composited from every available resource, including games, comics, and video games (excluding Dead by Daylight)

Scenario:

Michael Myers has broken out on the dawn of Christmas Eve and he's ready to spread havoc once more. Unfortunately for him, Home Alone Kevin McCallister has grown up on ghost stories of the notorious boogeyman and he's not going down without a fight.

Analysis: Michael Myers

"I met him, fifteen years ago; I was told there was nothing left; no reason, no conscience, no understanding; and even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, of good or evil, right or wrong. I met this six-year-old child, with this blank, pale, emotionless face, and the blackest eyes...the devil's eyes. I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up because I realized that what was living behind that boy's eyes was purely and simply...evil."

I can say nothing else that will better describe Michael Audrey Myers than that quote right there. Michael was, for all intents and purposes, an ordinary six year old child. Until, one Halloween night, he grabbed a butcher knife, went upstairs to his sister's bed room, and stabbed her death. Then, without saying a word, he went outside onto the front lawn and patiently waited for his parents to come home.

Michael is then sent to a mental institution where he is treated by Dr. Samuel Loomis. Loomis spent a good chunk of his life trying to reach the young boy, only to see absolutely nothing behind those eyes. Dr. Loomis discovered what all of Haddonfield soon would learn. There is no humanity in Michael Myers. There is nothing there but pure simple evil.

He would break out as an adult and spend the rest of his life tormenting the people of his home town, Laurie Strode in particular. Unfortunately for the many babysitters he would butcher, Michael Myers is far more than a simple man. He possesses blatantly superhuman strength, making him capable of lifting people of the ground with one arm. He's frequently been shown to be capable of smashing wooden doors to pieces and crushing skulls with his bare hands, as well as tossing people through the air singlehandedly.

His durability is similarly impressive, as he has repeatedly shrugged off getting run over, as well as survived getting riddled with bullets more than once, ranging from revolvers to shotguns. He's walked through high pressure fire hoses with absolutely no reaction and he's even so durable that a shovel snapped against his chest on contact. In his most impressive outing, he survived getting blown up by an oxygen leak at point blank range, albiet he collapsed shortly afterwards. This was a blast so massive that it completely obliterated the room he was standing in and nearly engulfed the whole hospital in flame.

While a lot of this is proof of Michael's inhuman resilience to pain, this becomes even more impressive when accounting for the fact that Michael doesn't even have a healing factor in some continuties. With his healing factor, Michael can regenerate from having his eyes shot out of his head, or from having corrosive acid directly injected into his veins. He's come back from having a gioutine embedded in his face and recovered instantly from having a metal pipe shoved through his torso.

Adding onto Michael's superhuman qualities is the fact that he gets stronger every time he kills someone, actively feeding on the chaos and despair he sows until he's an unstoppable force of nature. When getting an electrical cord jabbed directly into his dick barely even staggers the guy, you know you're dealing with something else entirely.

This isn't to say that Michael is some brainless brute. Unlike some of his future clones, Michael is quite cunning and manipulative at times. Firstly, he is an expert at stealth and laying down traps. He frequently sneaks around even trained police officers, seemingly outright teleporting. He's also infamous for faking his own death in order to escape and ambush people later. Notably, he once crushed the voice box of a paramedic before dressing him up in his clothes in order to trick Laurie Strode into killing an innocent man.

Michael is fast enough to keep up with people sprinting even at light stroll and has once even dodged a handgun bullet at close range, reacting at subsonic speeds to do so.

Source:

Having said all that, Michael is not perfect. His healing factor does have pretty severe limits, with his most impressive healing feats either knocking him into a coma or taking up to a year to fully recover from. For example, at the end of Halloween 2, Michael barely survives being hit with an explosion that engulfed an entire hospital room in fire, a feat granting him a durability of around 401 kilojoules.

Source:

While this does showcase his monsterous durability, it also showcases his limits, as this explosion knocked him out for decades.

Though this could be argued to vary by the continuity. The Halloween films are a massive mess of tangled timelines and retcons that constantly erase each other from canon. Across all of them, however, Michael's most impressive feat is this one of him seemingly surviving an explosion that completely obliterated an old church building. An explosion that generated an energy equivalent to 284 megajoules. And even that took him out of action for three months.

Source:

Still, regardless of the continuity, Michael Myers remains one of the most dreaded slashers in cinematic history and for damn good reason.

Analysis: Kevin McCallister

We associate a lot of bad guys with Christmas, don't we? From the curmudgeonly and greedy Ebenezer Scrooge to the nefarious, mean old Mr. Grinch. But none of them are more bloodthirsty or nasty then Kevin McCallister.

Obvious joke out of the way, now let's get into this.

Kevin McCallister is an eight year old kid in the affluent and massive McCallister family he feels he doesn't get the respect he deserves from the rest of his family. In a house of fifteen people, he's seen as the trouble maker, leading to a lot of resentment on both ends. After a particularly bad day during the lead up to the family's Christmas vacation, Kevin childishly wishes he didn't have a family.

The next day, Kevin got his wish. His family was gone. Disappeared. Kevin was the man of the house this Christmas and he was going to live it up while he could.

In truth, his family just forgot about him in their rush to the airport, but Kevin didn't need to know that.

It's all fun and games at first, scaring away the pizza guy, inadvertently robbing a store, and outrunning the cops. But when sone bumbling burglars named the wet bandits come knocking, Kevin decides its his duty to defend his house. By any means necessary.

Kevin is just as creatively sadistic as you'd expect for an eight year old given carte blanche to kill two burglars. He's smart enough to fool people into thinking there's real people present with elaborate use of pulleys, voice recordings, blow up dolls, and automated cardboard cutouts. He's impersonated his own father to gain access to a luxury hotel, scared people away with clever use of movie clips, and is smart enough to realize all mall santa isn't the real deal. ...He's eight years old, that's impressive for him.

But, let's face it, he's best known for his elaborate saw traps. On the smaller scale, he's super heated a door knob with an iron, hit people in the nuts with staple guns and bb darts, set people on fire more than once, and sent people through walls with falling anvils, paint cans, and falling cannons in strings.

But, it's when he takes New York as his stomping grounds that he really breaks out the big guns. After setting Harry's head on fire a carefully hidden blow torch, he filled the toilet with enough explosive gas to blow up the entire room when he went to put it out. Judging by the size of the toilet bowl and how much gasoline was likely in there, the resulting explosion would've generated at least 49 megajoules of energy, if not up to 801 megajoules.

Source:

Or that time he channeled all of a building's electricity into Marv and reduced him to nothing but a screaming skeleton. Vaporizing that much of a human being would require energy equivalent to 251 megajoules.

Source:

And in the fourth movie he.... uh.... flooded a house. And... ruined his dad's wedding. That's.... about it.

Yeah, bet you didn't even know there were four Home Alone sequels. There's actually SIX but Kevin's only in the fourth. Joke's on me for watching them all for this, I guess. Which is a shame because Kevin could've gotten some good scaling from the international terrorists in the third one.

Regardless of the franchise's subsequent milking, Kevin turned Home Alone into a Christmas comedy classic through his wit alone. He's repeatedly made bumbling fools out of the Wet Bandits and absolutely outsmarted everyone around him. To the point of becoming the head of an International Private Security Company by the time of the sixth movie. But depite all that, he's got a few flaws.

Namely, well... he's a kid (by the time of this analysis at least. He's not a kid in the sixth movie. Presumably.) He's scared of the monster in the basement, he thinks his neighbor's out to get him, and he genuinely thinks he made his family disappear. He's an incredibly smart, creative, but still naive kid.

For all we joke about Kevin's murderous tendencies, the core story of Home Alone is about him growing up. Facing his childish fears, taking responsibility, and learning more about the world.

But, if you're the kind of foul scum that'd still from kids on Christmas, then you'd better watch out! Because Kevin's not all alone with you. You're Home Alone with him.

Throwdown Theme:

Throwdown Breakdown:

Here we are, the ultimate Halloween vs Christmas matchup.

...well, besides Jack Skellington vs the Grinch I suppose. Or Dracula vs Santa....

Anyways, surprisingly, there's a decent amount to talk about here.

It goes without saying that Michael can just walk through all of Kevin's low level traps. A hot door knob and bb guns aren't going to stagger someone who walks off bullets semi regularly.

Though, interestingly enough, a nut shot was one of the few attacks to actually make Michael scream, so the nail gun to the nuts trick might still work.

But Kevin's stronger traps would be devastating. One of Michael's biggest problems is that his best endurance feats consistently require long periods of rest and recovery. He's constantly getting taken out for years or even decades by large amounts of damage and I think Kevin's traps can certainly deliver that.

Remember that big explosion that Harry survived in the second movie? Even at the low end, that explosion is 122x stronger than the one that took Michael out for decades at the end of Halloween 2. (49000 kilojoules vs 401) While the high end of that blast is nearly three times stronger than the church explosion, the best durability feat Michael has ever displayed. (801 megajoules vs 204) Meaning that regardless of which end you use, Kevin has enough fire power to put Michael down, as both of these feats took Michael out for months to years.

Yes, this does mean the Wet Bandits are more durable than Michael Myers.

But, Michael is a lot smarter than Harry and Marv in turn. What's stopping him from using his superhuman speed, stealth, or teleportation to ambush Kevin?

While this is still a distinct possibility, I think there's a few reasons it won't happen here.

1. Kevin has used decoys to lure opponents around in the past. While if he tried the whole "hey, I'm over here come catch me" trick in person he'd certainly get teleport murdered, he's more than capable of leading Michael around with silhouettes and voice recordings (or as we in the industry call it, the FNAF 3 tactic). Remember, this trick has worked on even intelligent adults in the series, not just the Wet Bandits, so there's precedent for it. The helpless kid Michael thinks he's ambushing could just well be a decoy meant to blow up in his face.

2. It's very rare for Michael to actively try and dodge attacks or leverage his speed. He prefers to either tank and overwhelm or fake his death and ambush/escape. The latter tactic could definitely work on Kevin if not for the fact that anything that could actually knock Michael over in this fight would almost certainly be strong enough to kill or comatose him. See above.

3. Michael typically uses his teleportation and stealth to either herass and stalk helpless victims or to get past large groups. He'd likely assume this is the former instance rather than the latter and granted his antics would likely be effective here. Kevin is still an easily terrified eight year old, after all. But, he would not be prepared for how booby trapped the house is going to be and would still be liable to set off already set traps even while teleporting or sneaking, simply because he didn't detect them. Worse, Kevin's more harmless traps, like the ones that spray feathers on him would leave Michael unprepared for Kevin's more devious devices, assuming he could tank them.

This is honestly, surprisingly, one of the closest matchups I've done in awhile. Michael can very easily win if he plays his cards right. He's just unlikely too right away against what he sees as just another kid victim.

Shouldn't be too suprising I suppose. Halloween 2018 showed just how weak Michael is to booby trapped houses.

This Throwdown's Winner is...

Kevin McCallister!

[esonetwork]

Timestamp #272: The Return of Doctor Mysterio

New Post has been published on https://esonetwork.com/timestamp-272-the-return-of-doctor-mysterio/

Timestamp #272: The Return of Doctor Mysterio

Doctor Who: The Return of Doctor Mysterio (1 episode, Christmas Special, 2016)

With great fandom comes great tributes to nostalgia.

It’s Christmas Eve in 1990. In New York City, a boy named Grant meets the Doctor in the middle of the night as the Time Lord dangles by his ankles in front of Grant’s window. The Doctor was testing a trap and inadvertently set it off. After some hijinks, the Doctor is finally let in because he is “expected.” Turns out that Grant and his mother believe that the Doctor is Santa Claus.

The Doctor flips through Grant’s Superman comic collection, discovering that Clark Kent and Superman are the same person. The Doctor also learns about Spider-Man before taking Grant to the roof to work on the Doctor’s trap. Grant names the Time Lord “Doctor Mysterio” as he works on the “time distortion equalizer thingy” that will take the edge off of his frequent incursions near the area. It will also help protect a glowing gemstone in the Doctor’s possession. The gemstone is one of four left in the universe and is known as the Hazandra. This “Ghost of Love and Wishes” uses power from a nearby star to make the wisher’s dreams come true.

Unfortunately, Grant swallowed the gemstone after mistaking it for medicine, and now has superpowers. Fast-forwarding to the future, a now-adult Grant works as a nanny. Elsewhere in the city, a man named Brock is hosting a press release at the Harmony Shoal building – which looks a lot like the Daily Planet – and fields questions from a reporter named Lucy Fletcher and Nardole.

Brock later meets with Dr. Sim at midnight, missing the fact that Lucy and Nardole have both independently sneaked back into the building. Sim and Brock enter a vault full of brains and Sim questions where some of the brains came from. Lucy overhears this and meets the Doctor as Brock discovers that Sim and the brains are aliens. The aliens swapped the brain of the real Dr. Sim with an invader, and a surgical team soon does the same to Mr. Brock.

Lucy and the Doctor retreat to the lobby where they meet with Nardole before being discovered by Sim. Sim threatens to kill the intruders but they are interrupted by a superhero knocking on the window of the 100th floor. This superhero is known as the Ghost and he saves the protagonists. The Doctor recognizes Grant as the Ghost before the superhero flies Lucy home.

On the day that Grant swallowed the gemstone, he promised not to use his powers as he waited for the stone to pass naturally. The Doctor tracks Grant back to the apartment where he works as a nanny to confront the hero with a Spider-Man catchphrase. It turns out that Grant is working for Lucy, and when she arrives home she is surprised to find the Doctor and Nardole in her dining room.

The Doctor checked in on Grant from time to time. One of those times was in high school when Grant knew Lucy and had x-ray vision. It was then that the Doctor knew that the stone had bonded with Grant’s DNA. In the modern day, the Doctor chats with Grant before sirens call the hero away and the Doctor meets with Lucy.

Lucy investigates the Doctor while using a Mr. Huffle toy – later sold as a Doctor Who-branded collectible! – to persuade him to tell the truth. The Doctor reveals everything about Harmony Shoal and the brain-swapping operation, and Lucy wants to know how the Ghost is related to the plot. She deduces that the Doctor knows the Ghost’s identity, but she’s oblivious to Grant’s secret. Grant overhears Lucy’s demands and calls her in his Ghost persona. Hilarity ensues as the Ghost agrees to have dinner with Lucy and Grant agrees to watch her daughter for the night.

As Sim and Brock hatch a plot to take over the Ghost’s body, the Doctor confronts them. He figures out the plan to assimilate the world’s leaders and warns the body-swappers as Nadole materializes the TARDIS around him. We learn that the Doctor extracted Nardole from Hydroflax because he was lonely. They travel to the Tokyo branch to search for clues while Grant and Lucy have their dinner on the roof of her apartment building. The Doctor and Nardole track a signal in orbit and find a spaceship.

Brock tracks the Ghost and leads a team to assimilate him while the Doctor and Nardole investigate the ship. The ship has been rewired into a floating bomb and has been targeted toward New York City to stage an attack and lure the world’s leaders. Luckily, Harmony Shoal has been designed as a bunker that can withstand the blast. The Doctor decides to crash the ship into the planet’s atmosphere.

Brock attempts to assimilate the Ghost, but Grant breaks free and returns in his civilian guise to confront the aliens. The Doctor uses his sonic screwdriver to communicate with Grant, asking the hero to use his powers and stop the ship from crashing. Of course, Grant is forced to reveal his true identity to Lucy, but the city is saved from nuclear disaster. The Doctor and Nardole arrive in the TARDIS and confront Brock. Grant and Lucy kiss and fly into the sky with the ship as UNIT arrives to close down Harmony Shoal.

Unfortunately, the brain-swappers escape (as the baddies in the comic pages usually do).

As the Doctor and Nardole say goodbye to Grant and Lucy, they discuss how things end and begin again, alluding to the Doctor’s final night with the woman he loved. Nardole explains as the Doctor returns to the TARDIS. Together they set course for adventures unknown.

In typical Christmas Special fashion, this was a light and fluffy piece with plenty of room for the actors to have fun. Steven Moffat’s love of the Superman comics is on full display, making up most of the homage here. Grant puts off definite Clark Kent and Peter Parker vibes as he dances between his personas, and he acts like Batman with a serious and gravelly voice while in the cape and mask. There are several other elements, particularly from the 1978 Superman film, including the rooftop interview and being contacted on a specific frequency that only their super ears can hear. The x-ray vision sequence in the high school reminded me of the Smallville episode “X-Ray” from 2001, though Clark Kent seemed to enjoy the power a bit more than Grant did.

The Superman comic that the Doctor reads is Superman Vol. 2 #19 from July 1988. In that issue, “The Power that Failed”, the villain Psi-Phon removes Superman’s powers one by one. It’s an ironic choice given how young Grant is shown as gaining his powers sequentially in this episode.

The superhero homage is embellished to the extreme in young Grant’s bedroom, complete with tributes to Superman, the Hulk, Thor, Spider-Man, Wolverine, Silver Surfer, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Captain America, Iron Man, the Defenders, and more. All of them are apparently canon in the Doctor Who universe, and Batman was previously mentioned in Inferno, The Time Monster, Remembrance of the Daleks (where Ace’s earrings were outstanding!), Sky, and The Curse of Clyde Langer. It’s all capped by the nods to Miss Shuster and Miss Siegel, which pays tribute to Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel, the parents of Superman’s legacy.

Brain swapping is a storytelling trope with a long history behind it. In fact, the first supervillain in a DC Comics story was the Ultra-Humanite, a mad scientist who tangled with Superman in Action Comics #13 (“Superman vs. the Cab Protective League”) in June 1939, and that ne’er-do-well transplanted his brain into an actress after supposedly dying in battle against the Man of Steel. He transplanted his brain multiple times over the years before settling on the body of an albino gorilla. Doctor Who fans will recognize the trope as part of the story The Brain of Morbius.

A fun bit of trivia that I didn’t know until I started diving into this story relates to the name Doctor Mysterio. When Steven Moffat and Peter Capaldi were doing the Doctor Who World Tour, they fell in love with the show’s Mexican title Doctor Misterio. Peter Capaldi’s delivery of that name in this episode is an impersonation of the announcer’s voice on the overdubbed soundtrack.

Finally, I loved how the Doctor brought snacks to his investigation. I also loved the callback to The Green Death as Lucy disguises herself as a cleaner just like the Doctor did to infiltrate Global Chemicals.

Overall, this ends up as a wholesome fluff story and a lovely tribute to the superhero genre.

Rating: 4/5 – “Would you care for a jelly baby?”

UP NEXT – Doctor Who: The Pilot

The Timestamps Project is an adventure through the televised universe of Doctor Who, story by story, from the beginning of the franchise. For more reviews like this one, please visit the project’s page at Creative Criticality.

[callowaymp3]

"Sure as shit is, man." Noah drawled, cocksure smile on his face as he barrelled into the room, with all of the confidence he didn't possess. Well, perhaps that was the problem. After all, Noah had a whole lot of misplaced confidence in himself.

The room looked both exactly how Noah had imagined it, and somehow didn't live up to his expectations at all. The apartment looked like it belonged to two twenty something year old women, carefully tended to plant pots in the windowsill and post it notes haphazardly stuck to the refrigerator. But there wasn't really much sign of Flynn in the space. He couldn't help but compare Rae's place to his own, where Flynn's clothes had constantly taken up space on his bedroom floor and whose toothbrush sat side by side with Keeley's own. And then he remembered he was comparing himself to Flynn's current girlfriend, and for multiple reasons, he wasn't supposed to do that anymore.

Meanwhile, the man in question was staring right through Noah, blinking long and hard, with so much focus his eyelashes kissed the dark half-moons under his eyes. Handsome as he was - and Noah was sure that Flynn was sleeping like a baby next to his gorgeous girlfriend each night - there was always something slightly rougueish and mussed underneath that charming smile and thick head of hair. Flynn looked like he'd seen the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future in one fell swoop, and Noah figured he probably deserved whatever reservations Flynn had, given how he'd left things between them.

"She's at work?" Noah echoed, trying his best to suffocate the selfishly giddy feeling that rose within him. "Good job I'm here to see you then, huh?"

He felt like cuffing him upside the head, not hard enough to hurt, forcing a burst of laughter from between the other man's lips, willing Flynn to cotton on to his joke a little faster. Because yeah, this was Rae's apartment, and he guessed he'd expect to find her there, but in what world would he not be looking for Flynn? He noted the stiff way he held his shoulders, the way he held himself back slightly, and resisted the urge to pout at the thought maybe he and Flynn weren't quite as in sync as they used to be.

Noah froze in the middle of the room, realising far too late he was horrifically out of place in his mud-flecked Converse and greasy hair. He squared his shoulders, wondering all of a sudden if the pleasantries he and Flynn had exchanged over text had been feigned politeness, and maybe the other man didn't want to see him at all.

And then, just as Noah was torn betwen booking it the fuck out of there or sinking down amongst Rae's plush couch cushions, Flynn extended his arms to him. All his anxiety ebbed and flowed away as the wannabe musician took two clumsy steps towards his friend, throwing himself into Flynn's embrace.

Wrapping his arms around Flynn tightly, hand slapping his shoulder, Noah couldn't help but melt. Flynn felt warm and familiar, the same soft fabric of his button down, mixed with the unfamiliar smell of Rae's shampoo clinging to his hair, her soap on his skin. His face buried into the crook of his neck, inhaling the smell of the other man's skin, a lightness in his chest Noah hadn't felt for weeks. He'd missed his best friend something fierce, had spent weeks on the road pushing down whatever traitorous feelings rose to the surface by thinking instead of Poppy. She was around constantly, and with her infectious smile and her bubbly personality, she occupied most of his time and many of his thoughts. With her around, it was easy to quell the ache that came with the realisation he still, in fact, loved Flynn.

"Domesticity's done you good, Flynny." he teased, pulling back from the hug, one hand still braced on his shoulder. He squeezed Flynn's shoulder lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You look good."

Chewing his bottom lip in an anxious tell, he relinquised his hold on his friend.

"Job security's a little up in the air right now. So, fuck it. I'm home to see the wife and kids." he laughed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "That's you and Keels, by the way."

Crashing at Rae and Katie’s apartment was an absolute fucking delight. There was no other way to emphasise how much Flynn was enjoying the extra time he got to spend with his beautiful girlfriend, particularly after all the time they’d wasted while her mother was trying to keep them apart. Between Noah, Wardo and Ivy, Flynn had firmly been on the receiving end of some playful ribbing over the past few months for just how infatuated he was with the blonde, but he couldn't even find it in himself to be embarrassed. It truly was that simple to Flynn: He loved Rae and couldn't possibly imagine his world without her.  

 As much as he was enjoying his time in their apartment, he was growing steadily more bored of being stuck indoors all the time with nothing to do and nowhere to go. It wasn't that he missed his old apartment – the place was an absolute shit hole, he had no real desire to return – but he  missed the more material things. He missed being able to stretch out on his feeble excuse for a balcony, guitar in hand, a notebook of abandoned scribbles and melancholy lyrics tossed to the side. More than that, he wanted that for him and Rae; He wanted a space they could call their own, somewhere they could love and be loved, create art and be free. Not that he didn't love Katie, either (he knew how important Rae's friends were to her, and Katie had been something of a rock to Rae both before and after Flynn had left), but he was ready for the couple to finally have a little... alone time, so to speak. 

Admittedly, he was getting ahead of himself. For one, there was no way for him to determine whether or not Rae would even want to move in with him. Not to mention the fact that he didn't have two cents to rub together, never mind enough to rent out an apartment of his own. But Katie, who he'd quietly confided in about his plans, had been kind enough to let him borrow his laptop. Thorough as she was, she'd bookmarked several apartment listings for him to take a look at while she and Rae were working today. It was sweet of her, and Flynn had even had the good decency to blush when he'd noticed a link that stood out from the rest, right in the middle; A listing regarding a second-hand guitar for sale. It was a Yamaha APX 600, second hand but barely used without so much as a scratch on it – and well out of his budget. Either way, he'd recently applied for a job working at a record store in the city, and while he'd take pretty much anything by way of work right now, he doubted the wages were gonna be enough to cover something as insignificant as a replacement guitar on top of the already looming concept of his future bills. 

After what felt like hours of scrolling, a knock on the door sounded, snapping Flynn from his trance and thrusting him back into reality. He lifted his head, a brow arched in confusion. He wasn't expecting anybody, and as far as he was aware neither were Katie or Rae. Katie had said she was meeting Seth after work – no doubt to tiptoe around one another, bicker relentlessly, and pretend they weren't hopelessly and humiliatingly in love with one another – so he had no reason to be showing up at the apartment. Neither of them had mentioned anything about any parcels being delivered, or any visits from their landlord, so Flynn didn't have even the faintest idea who could be knocking on their door in the middle of the day. 

In truth, Flynn still felt like a guest in Rae's apartment. Not because she hadn't gone above and beyond to make him feel welcome – she had done more than enough to assure him that what was hers was his, and that 'home' to her was the people she loved, not any particular place. All the same, he knew it wasn't his place to start taking over hers and Katie's living space; He had so few personal items of his own – very little survived his sudden eviction – meaning it was reasonably easy for Flynn to keep his head low and go unnoticed where necessary. Still, it might be important, so he set the laptop aside and went to find out who was behind the door. 

When he pulled the door open to reveal none other than Noah Calloway, Flynn hardly had even a moment to process the appearance of his best friend before he was shouldering past him and making himself at home in Rae's apartment. Astounded, Flynn blinked in surprise, twisting his body in an attempt to keep sight of Noah, quietly reminding himself that the other man was genuinely there and not a figment of his imagination. 

"Noah?" Flynn finally found his voice, stealing a glance over his shoulder as he gently nudged the door shut behind him. 

Though it hadn't gone amiss to Flynn that The Shattered Diamonds were dealing with a Media Shitstorm of late, he hadn't heard much word from his friend since their last conversation. No texts or calls to tell him he was back in the City, and definitely no inclination that he might be stopping by. Flynn was surprised, but not disappointed. Noah had left on tour with a heavy weight between the two of them, and Flynn had missed him immeasurably. Sure, he was pissed off, but it didn't change the fact that he loved his friend and wanted to make amends somehow. Flynn had all-but begged and pleaded with Noah to reach out the second he was back, but he hadn't anticipated such an abrupt arrival. 

"Uh, no? She's at work, man. How did you..." he trailed off, not entirely sure where that sentence was going. Something irked at the back of his mind upon hearing Flynn call her blondie. It was stupid, petty jealousy, but he found himself suddenly protective of the silly little nickname. That's what he'd always called Rae, but coming out of Noah's mouth it suddenly sounded... insulting? "What are you doing here, man?" 

He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he contemplated what was about to unfold. Why did Noah want to know where Rae was? Was he here to fight, or was Flynn jumping to conclusions and unjustly assuming the worst in his friend? Maybe the anxiety of house hunting was getting to his head, and he was projecting it all onto the other man and he just needed to relax, be happy that he was finally home. 

“So, what? You’re just gonna storm in here without so much as a hug?” Flynn asked, aiming to keep his tone light as he sighed. “C’mere, man. I’ve fuckin’ missed you.” 

[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.

[fandom-puff]

Mating

Pairing: Remus Lupin X Reader

Requested by: anon

Summary: you’ve done a good enough job of covering up your attraction to your new colleague... that is until the moon cycle heightens his senses...

AN: I’m getting there with these requests! I’ve been going through them at my own pace- sorry if I’ve rejected your request though- id rather not write it if I don’t have the inspiration to do so 💖💖💖

Also I went to TOWN on this one, so feedback is greatly appreciated !!

Gif creds to owner as usual x

Warnings: rough, possessive sex, swearing, breeding kink , werewolf tricks (scents, mating, knotting)

Drawing your robe tighter around yourself, silently cursing Severus for putting people in detention. You had agreed to take over his patrols for the night, when in reality, you wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Sighing, you held your lit wand out in front of you, walking up the corridor, occasionally nodding at a passing ghost, telling Peeves to bugger off, greeting snoozing portraits...

The silence of the dark corridors allowed you to mull over your thoughts, figure out some lesson plans, what you would get people for christmas the next time you visited Hogsmeade, but as usual, your train of thought wandered, soon landing on a particular Professor. Smiling dumbly to yourself, you pictures him in your mind, from his grey-flecked hair to his shabby, patched robes; his kind, tired eyes to his light stubble and moustache; his trim chest to his long, elegant fingers...

Shuddering slightly, you tugged your lip between your teeth. What that man could do with his fingers, you mused, remembering at dinner earlier that evening, watching as he wrapped his hands around his goblet- you came to the conclusion that those fingers would look much better wrapped around your throat...

You were so lost in your thoughts that you bumped headlong into the object of your desires. How did you know it was him? Was it his gentle hands grasping your arms to stop you falling backwards? Was it the gentle words he uttered asking if you were okay? No. It was his scent, of all things, which lingered on his comfy knitted jumper- tea and books and... the forbidden forest... you couldn’t help but inhale a few gulps before mumbling your apology, making to move past him. Those hands grabbed your arm again, stopping you dead in your tracks.

“Why not walk with me, YN? Your patrol won’t be as lonely,” he said kindly, smiling down at you. You could see a slight glint of his white teeth in the wandlight as you nodded. Together and in relative silence, you strolled the corridors, occasionally murmuring to one another- yes the weather had been a bit rubbish lately, that book is excellent, no I didn’t know it’s the full moon in three days...

You knew about remus’s condition, as everyone on the staff did. Why was he bringing it up? Did he think you were scared? Did he think you would run away once it clicked? You didn’t care that he was a werewolf, of course you didn’t. If anything, it often made you wonder what he was like in bed before the Full moon. He seemed tired all the time, but you had read about mating- would mild-mannered Remus Lupin evolve into a primal beast? Would he dig his nails into your skin as he got carried away? Would he fuck you from behind like an animal? Did he have a deep-rooted urge to fill you with his seed and watch you swell with his pups...?

“YN? You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” Remus’s voice shook you from your depraved thoughts.

“Hmm?” You asked, letting out a shaky breath. Your knees were wobbly and you could feel heat and wetness pooling in your knickers. You would most certainly be fucking yourself tonight thinking of him.

“I said we’re at my rooms. You’re very welcome to come in for a cup of tea if you like? Might have something stronger in a cupboard somewhere for a nightcap,” he said, smirking slightly. Were your eyes deceiving you or did he just lick his lips?

“I... Er... yes please?” You said, nibbling your lip. Your midnight masturbation would have to wait tonight it seemed. You took a seat on one of Lupin’s armchairs as he pottered about the kitchenette, fixing tea for you both. He soon carried it over and sat opposite you as you sipped at your drinks, once again silent. Remus inhaled deeply through his nose and leg out a soft sigh, before fixing you with a stare, his eyes flashing amber- or was that just the firelight playing tricks?

“God, I wish I was a legilimens,” he hummed. You frowned, cocking up your eye brow and setting your teacup down.

“Why’s that?” You asked, leaning forward, your lips slightly parted.

“Because I’d be able to figure out what’s got you so aroused,” he murmured. You gulped, biting your lip hard as you stared at one another before your lips were smashed together in a messy, desperate kiss. Your teeth clashed and you were both grabbing handfuls of the other’s hair as Remus pulled you into his lap, moaning lowly. “I guess that answers that question,” he grunted as you tipped your head back and sighed.

“H-how did you know?” You gasped as his teeth scraped right over your pulse point.

“Your eyes glaze over when you daydream,” he grinned, nibbling your earlobe. “And do you want to know a lesser-known fact about werewolves?” You nodded eagerly, your nails scraping over his scalp. “Around and on the full moon, our senses peak. Touch, hearing, sight, taste... smell... I could smell your arousal before we were even on the same corridor, YN... now tell me... was that all for me?”

You shuddered as his growl vibrates through your throat. “Yes!” You whimpered, trying to grind on him, but there were too many layers between you both and you whined out dejectedly. “A-all for you, Remus, f-for ages now!” Remus grunted and licked at the blood vessel at the side of your neck, you pulse throbbing against his tongue.

“I know, darling. Moony knows...” you sighed softly, eyes rolling back as you felt gentle hands on your waist, stilling your movements. “If we carry on, YN... Moony will take over. He will claim you as his mate, eternally. If that is what you want, I am more than happy to oblige, but if you are even a shred unsure, please leave my chambers. We can discuss this after the moon when it is safe-”

You pressed a tender kiss to his lips, pulling away and resting your forehead against his. “I want this. I’ve wanted this for ages... please, remus, I’m yours. I’ve felt... drawn to you since we met. It makes sense,”

He smiled weakly. “You understand what you are getting yourself into, this close to the moon? Our first coupling together will not be tender. Passionate, most certainly, but by no means gentle,” you could feel his hands trembling from the effort of keeping control.

“I’m yours, remus,” you whispered, bringing one of his hands down to cup your soaked, clothed heat, biting your lip hard. “I want this. Please, remus, mate with me,”

It was as if something snapped inside him. Without the aid of your hand, he pressed his hand into your heat, feeling how slick you were even through your knickers, attacking your neck with feverish kisses as you rutted against his hand, the heel of his palm mashing into your clit in the most deliciously searing way. Reluctantly, remus pulled his hand away, kissing away your whimpers of protest as he carried you to his bedroom, flinging you down on the bed and hovering over you, his thumb and forefinger tracing the hem of your shirt. “Take it off, remus,” you begged, and he was all too happy to oblige, soon stripping you to your underwear. Gulping, he looked you in the eye as he trailed one finger up your navel, grinning as you shivered and arched your back. “Need to feel you, Remus, please!” You pleaded. Normally, remus would be unwilling to undress fully, ashamed of his scars, but this close to the Moon, he had only one thing on his mind. Almost comically quickly, he tugged his jumper, shirt and trousers off, kicking them aside, practically pouncing on you to kiss you again. You pouted at not being quite able to see his erection straining at his boxers, but were quickly consoled when you felt it pressing hard against your thighs.

“Remus!” You moaned, trailing your hands up his strong back, your fingertips dancing over the silvery ridges of his scars, clutching onto him as though your life depended on it. You could feel the heat radiating off him, hear his pulse quickening just like your own, hear him panting above you. You were so close to him, yet so far, your underwear providing an unbearably wide wall between you both as you longed to feel him against your most sensitive parts. As if reading your mind, remus briefly pulled away and with a flick of his wand, you were both completely bare. Mouth ajar, you eyed up his cock, feeling your cunt clench around nothing at just the thought of accommodating his throbbing length and girth. Sensing your worry, remus nuzzled his face into your neck and kissed your pulse point gently. “I won’t hurt you, darling,” he whispered. “Nor will Moony,” nodding, you spread your legs. Remus groaned as he inhaled, already getting drunk off the scent of your soaked nether region. “Another time, my dear, I am going to drink from your cunt until you can’t come any more,”

You shivered and nodded, biting your lip. “That had best be a promise,” you moaned out, pushing his hair out of his face, breathy gasps and moans escaping you as you felt the bulbous head of his cock tapping against your throbbing clit. “Please, remus,” you begged, your legs moving instinctively to wrap around him.

Your begging was all he needed. He pushed his thick cock into you, stretching you out, grasping your hips to stop your wiggling as he revelled in the soaking heat of your clenching channel, soon moving his hands to grasp your thighs and hold them further apart. “I am going to mate with you, yn,” he growled. “I am going to claim you as mine, and I will be yours. I will fill you with my seed until your swollen with my pups. And when I come, you will feel my cock swell inside you to make sure my seed takes root,”

The filth spewing from his lips had your head reeling, and you bucked your hips up eagerly, begging him to do all of those things as he began fucking you relentlessly, the sounds of skin slapping and the wet noises of your coupling filling the small room as you gripped onto eachother. Remus’s lips found yours and you moaned loudly into his mouth as his tongue collided with yours before he sucked on it gently, sending jolts of pleasure sizzling through your every nerve. You had never felt more alive, more full, more worshiped than you did in that moment, your nails dug into remus’s arms as his thrusting became sloppy as he neared his end. “P-please don’t stop, Remus! Don’t pull out, please! Need to feel you fill me up properly!” You cried, your head resting on his shoulder. Remus grunted and nodded, his hips snapping hard against yours as he neared his peak.

“Bite my neck, YN, love!” He grunted. “Mark me as your mate while I do the same to- Ah! Fuck! Good girl!” You sunk your teeth into his pulse point, sucking harshly. Instinctively, you knew just where to bite, and you gently licked over the wound, moaning lowly as you felt the base of his cock begin to swell as he stilled inside you, the first spurt of cum painting your walls as his groaned out lowly. He basked in his orgasm for a brief moment, before leaning down to suck and bite your neck the same way you had.

You screamed.

The bite to your neck caused a white-hot surge of pleasure to rip through you as you felt your trembling body come undone, your stretched walls clenching tight around Remus’s swollen cock, milking every last drop out of him as you panted, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overwhelming pleasure and the rush of hormones your mating had caused.

Cooing gently, remus lowered you carefully onto your side, facing him, his cock still swollen inside you for the time being. The slight movement had you whimpering and Reaching up to kiss him messily. “I love you,” you moaned, hiding your face in his neck as your body relaxed.

Remus smiled gently and kissed your head and face over and over, pushing your hair out of your eyes. “I’m sorry it was so intense, darling. It’s not always like that, I promise,” he whispered.

“N-no... I loved that. The connection, both emotional and... physical,” you reached up and stroked the tender bite at your throat, shuddering as it twinged. “I am yours,” you murmured, reaching to kiss him gently.

“And I am yours,” he responded, stroking your hair. “My beautiful, beautiful mate, I love you,”

Soon, his cock softened enough to slip out of you, and you groaned softly, already very achey from your coupling. Remus smiled apologetically and spelled away the remnants of your pleasure, tugging the covers up around you. Instinctively, you massaged your lower belly, although you knew it was unlikely that he had knocked you up so soon, especially as you were on wizarding contraceptives. You frowned slightly, a sad twinge rattling your innermost instincts. Remus laughed gently.

“Soon, sweetheart. Soon you will swell with my pups. Just not quite yet,” he said gently, knowing that your mating would have unlocked something deep rooted in your instincts, something rather maternal. You pouted a little but nodded, curling into his side. He was right. There would be plenty of time for breeding later. Before then, you and your mate had some catching up to do before the full moon...

Tags: @a-hopeless-fan @lotsoffandomrecs @justanotherwildstar @rai-strangebr @zodiyack @haphazardhufflepuff @dumbfuckinslytherin @severuslovebot @darkthought15 @rabeccablake @sambucky8 @eleven-times-lively @talksoprettyjjx @extra-trash77 @rangerelik @dracosbbygorl

[toloveawarlord]

Event: 25 Days of Christmas

Day 10: “ You burnt the cookies?!”

Pairing: Clavis x MC

Tagging: @chaosangel767​

A/N: Not gonna lie. This is on of my favorite fics I’ve written in a while. I love Clavis so much. 

Getting Yves to agree to give her a baking lesson had been an arduous task. It was quite amazing how many excuses and ways to say no that the fifth prince could create on the spot. He’d become skilled at a poised denial and swiftly walking away from her.

But Emma was persistent, and he’d finally given in.

It was the holiday season, or so he’d claimed.

“Eleven minutes. Exactly eleven minutes. Not a second more or less, understand?” Yves checked with her one last time. He’d been informed of a visitor, and it required his attention immediately. Leaving her with his prized cookies wasn’t ideal, but surely, she could handle one batch. 

“I’ve got it. And I’ll begin rolling out the dough for the pies.” It would give her idle hands something to fiddle with while she waited. Emma had no real issues in the kitchen. She could cook fairly well, but since tasting Yves' treats, she was desperate to learn his tricks. Humming to herself, Emma checked the clock before continuing to knead the dough beneath her floury hands. “Oh!”

Warmth enveloped her from behind, cold hands covering her eyes. “Guess who.”

“Hmm, I suppose it must be someone who is determined to give me a fright every time he returns from town. I wonder who it could be.” Emma hadn’t the need to guess. His familiar cologne brought comfort to her. The prince that had managed to steal her heart. “Clavis, I’m baking.”

The mischievous prince returned her sight, only to slip his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I see. Yves was swayed by your resolve. He’s as contrary as a cat, but probably one of the only nice ones.” His gaze followed the movements of her hands, the careful way at which she rolled the pin over the dough over and over as it continuously restricted after each stretch.

“That’s true.”

“You’re supposed to say I’m one of the nice ones, you know.”

“Am I?”

Clavis adored the banter between the two of them. It was hard earned on both sides. He’d no idea what possessed her to him, but whatever stars had aligned to bring her here, and give her the strength and compassion to love a man like himself... Well, he did so desire it to be permanent. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’ll take any such various, such as ‘you’re the very sweetest one’ or even ‘you’re the best in bed when you-’”

The audacity!

A puff of flour hung in the air from Emma flicking it directly into his face. It was quite satisfying to see him sputter and reel back. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was an utter accident. Are you alright?” Her features never could hide her true feelings. On the contrary, it was everything that she could do not to burst out laughing. 

More flour than she’d intended had hit its target, and Clavis very eerily resembled one of the ghosts that likely haunted this castle.

His face and clothes were coated in white. One might expect a prince to be at least a tiny bit miffed in this situation. But not Clavis. Not when he was exhilarated at her surprise attack. This was exactly the fun that he adored, although he was typically the instigator. Golden irises lifted, lips tugging up into a playful smile. “I fully accept your apology, my dear. Come here.”

“Oh no! You stay away from me!” Emma retreated around the island to avoid his intended hug. “You’re absolutely filthy with flour.” Her apron had kept her clothes crisp and clean, as it was intended to.

“The only way to resolve an argument between lovers is to hold each other, you know.” He swiped up fresh flour, watching her as a predator stalking their prey.

“Clavis! Don’t you dare!”

Emma made a dash for the door, but it was all in vain. One arm around her waist, and the woman was hoisted up by the prince. She squealed, squeezing her eyes shut as his floury palm smooshed against her face. “Clavis!” 

“Isn’t that better? We match.” Clavis set her down only to cage her against the counter. His forehead against hers, both now a complete mess, as though children had trampled through the kitchen. Footprints mapping out their steps.

“You’ve gotten me all dirty.”

“I’ll be sure to make sure to clean every bit off.”

The banter came to a sudden end, neither wanting to spend another second apart. Their lips coming together in a tender kiss, broken up by their laughter at the absurdity of their play. The bitter taste of flour dissolved quickly. Her arms around his neck, fingers softly stroking his hair. His hands on her waist, fingers tugging at the apron strings to promptly remove it.

“What is going on?! You’ve burnt the cookies!” 

Yves' interruption enough to startle both Emma and Clavis. His voice dripped with annoyance and anger. He’d given her one job. A simple job that any simpleton could complete. And yet, the smell of burning cookies greeted him in the doorway, along with a disgusting display of affection.

“Emma, we should run,” Clavis whispered, sneakily slipping his hand into hers in anticipation of his plan.

“Yves! I’m so sorry! It’s just, Clavis surprised me, and I lost track of time-”

“I can clearly see what went on here. Please spare me the details.” Yves was only glad that he’d made it before any naked bodies were on the countertop. He’d still throw the dough behind them out for safety. “Clean up this mess!”

“Sorry, little brother, but we’ve got very important business to attend to. Yes, simply too important to wait.” Clavis took this moment to run with Emma in tow. He hadn’t given her much of a choice, holding tightly to her hand. “Hurry or he’ll chase us down and make us clean.”

Emma checked and found no pursuer. He’d be far too engrossed in damage control of his cookies. “You’re impossible.” But she laughed anyway. They were like two children escaping a scolding from mother. It was absolutely ridiculous, running away with a prince into the darkened hallways of the castle.

Her room was closest, which is where Clavis ducked into, firmly locking the door behind them. He wasted no time in bringing her close, hands holding her face. He kissed her with more intent, more passion.

It was enough to make her knees weak. The kitchen mess melted away entirely, replaced only with his gentle kiss and tender touch. He lit an intense fire within her body, deep down into her very soul. A pool of love and affection that she’d willingly drown in. 

But.

“Don’t even think about touching my clean bed with these dirty clothes on.”

Golden eyes lit up with wicked flame. “Not to worry. The bath is a perfectly acceptable place to continue this. I won’t disappoint.”

His absolutely naughty words were met with his lips on her neck, kisses and licks along the spots he’d mapped out as the most sensitive. Her voice sweet as candy, and Emma desired to succumb to the pleasure that he provided. An extension of their love for each other.

[sebastian-morey]

"Gemmy..." Sebastian felt his own heart lurch slightly in his chest, his frown as he tried to reason with the part of Gem he knew wouldn't believe a word of argument that came from him. It was a complex situation. One that Sebastian did not fully understand, and probably wouldn't even if he had all the pieces in front of him. That was the thing though, he'd seen pieces of this puzzle for what felt like years now.

He'd even needled his brother lightly a time or two about Snow. About the pair's relationship. It had been shut down every time, waved off and met with refusal and irritation, but Sebastian had still noticed. The extended time spent at the Inn. The way the pair seemed to gravitate towards one another. The fact he'd 'slept' with her. It was almost completely cemented in Seb's mind when Snow had talked to him after Christmas. Her main concern being focused on Gem.

He suspected there had always been something going on between them. But would Gem really break her heart? Not if she knew better. Gem was different - if she liked, or even loved him; if she were friends with him the way Sebastian suspected, she would know that. Anyone that got to know Gem for the man he truly was would understand that - that he didn't do things the same way as everyone else. Especially when it came to people he loved and cared about. He didn't show that in traditional means.

Instead he showed it in always being there. It would show in the fact he'd always put her first. That she would always be the first thing on his mind, no matter the topic.

He wouldn't show his love in words so plainly - but instead in phrases like 'I can fix that' or 'sure I have time'. Surely Snow was smart enough to realize that? Didn't his actions even now show proof of how much he cared?

"...listen to me. Of course the ghost would say that. You think a ghost that possessed someone is going to tell you the truth? No, Gem, they're just going to tell you something they know is going to eat away at you. That keeps you from trying to help. Anything to keep them in control. That does not make it true. You understand?" Sebastian said, dipping his head slightly so that he could try and look his brother in the eye. "...That is not your fault."

@gem-morey

Comedown || Spicy Meatball

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Epilogue

Summary: You and Ransom attend the launch of his book and the cover closes on your story.

Warnings: Bad language, Mature (NSFW, 18+) NON-CON situations, kidnap, violence. Blood. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER…READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED…YOU HAVE BEENWARNED.

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: The end! I can’t believe all this span from @jtargaryen18​’s Halloween Challenge last year. I hope you have enjoyed his as much as I have.

Word Count: 3.6k

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK series so don’t @me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18 get off my blog!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 7

 The town car and it's driver took you to whatever swanky hotel Ransom and his publishers had decided upon, you not caring the slightest inwardly, outwardly only half paying attention. You glanced out the window watching the lights of downtown pass by as your husband of merely three weeks held your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. 

It was a warm July evening, the two of you dressed to the nines in formal attire. Ransom had insisted the launch be an invite only, formal event. Therefore, he was dressed in a two-piece suit, black of course, with a crisp white button down, silken black tie, and you, you looked like an ice queen's slutty sister. The powder blue silk dress you wore tied together with thin straps on each shoulder, your feet already hurting in your nude six inch sandals. Your free hand tapped a neatly manicured finger over your clutch that matched your shoes. A delicate white gold and diamond tennis bracelet adorned your wrist whilst the necklace you'd been gifted at Christmas hung around your neck. You wore your hair the way he said he loved it, in a ponytail full of waves and wisps framing your face.

After the incident on Valentine’s Day, you’d spent another two weeks in the confines of the basement. All luxuries removed and you were used and abused in exactly the way you had been when Ransom had first taken you, until he’d once more sucked the fight out of you. Only this time you didn’t have the strength to find it again. 

You played the part you’d been cast in his sick little fantasy and became totally passive to his whims. You let him fuck you which, in all honesty, wasn’t an entirely unpleasant situation as he knew his way around your body and it felt good. You had given up denying it, and for the moments he was teasing those carnal reactions out of you, you escaped, let yourself imagine you were with someone who you wanted. And by keeping him sweet, you fooled him into thinking you were content. And things settled down, you had that halfway to normal life that you’d achieved before you discovered his manuscript.

But it was bullshit. A means to an end. And you deserved a fucking Oscar.

He’d had the audacity to propose to you, too. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. He asked you the question, like you had a fucking choice.

Angry, desperate tears had filled your eyes as you’d simply gaped at him, tears the deluded cunt took for you being overwhelmed with happiness. With a smile he slipped the gaudily large diamond on your finger, sealing your fate.

It weighed as heavy on your hand as the grief for your lost life, and the despair at your situation did in your heart.

You’d had a small wedding. Attended simply by your parents and sister. He sent an invite to his mother and father but they didn’t show up. Your dad walked you down the aisle and as you walked towards the man you hated with every breath in your body, your father kissed your cheek and asked you if you were sure you wanted to do this. And no, of course you didn’t, but what could you do?

There was no way out. 

“You look as gorgeous tonight as you did on our wedding day.” Ransom’s voice slightly startled you and you turned to face him. 

You smiled at him, the smile you knew he wanted to see, as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek before doing the same to your hand, his lips ghosted over the top of the obscene rock and matching band on your finger which caught the lights of the city, sparkling with all the ferocity of a supernova.

Before you needed to reply with some half assed compliment back, the town car stopped as the driver got out and opened Ransom's door.

"Wait here," he instructed and walked around with the driver on the other side, escorting you out the minute your own door opened.

Flashbulbs fired off in your eyes, no doubt the press there for some absolutely ridiculous notion that this book was anything but its true nature of terror and disgust.

Ransom’s hand pressed into the base of your back as he guided you along in front of him, various members of the press calling his name, and you heard the excited shouts from some as they spotted the bands on both yours and Ransom’s hands, positively shrieking as they asked when you’d gotten married. 

The headlines flashed in your mind now, 'Grandson of the Great Harlan Thrombey Releases First Suspense Novel'. 'One of Boston's Most Notorious and Eligible Bachelors is Strictly Off The Market' . 'Trust Fund Playboy Sinks His Bunny'. 

It made you want to puke. 

In fact, as the press line faded and you stepped foot into the lobby, you swallowed back the bile forcing its way up. A tray with champagne flutes passed you by and you immediately snagged one.

When Ransom had been distracted for a brief moment, you quickly glanced around and swallowed back the entire flute of the bubbly drink. Delightfully enjoying the brief taste and quick head rush it gave you.

The further you walked into the event, his hand still against your bare back, the louder it grew and the more trays of champagne and appetizers were floating by.

As typical, the two of you were fashionably late so, you had little chance to take part in any nibble or further, a drink, because the supposed "man of the hour", more like terror of life, was due to give a speech.

His agent pulled the two of you aside and made mention that it was time for Ransom to greet his guests. He pressed a sickening sweet kiss to your lips and confidently took to the small podium atop a small stage nearby.

“First and foremost, thank you to everyone who came out tonight. But more importantly, thank you to my beautiful wife, without you Sweetheart, this wouldn't be possible.”

The smile he flashed you was loaded with meaning as the pair of you looked at one another, his eyes shining with the depraved private understanding you shared. 

And you hated him then just about as much as you ever had.

Excited muttering spread around the room as he had knowingly referred to you as his wife. It was the first time he’d announced your marriage to the world but, as he smiled and held his hands up, nodding smugly and confirming whatever people were asking him, you felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of nausea. To everyone else it was a sweet dedication, to you it was a sickening truth. This book was based on what he’d done to you. What he was saying was literal truth. 

And the fact that the people currently applauding whatever he had said would never realise the true nature of those words on the pages of his book made you want to vomit in your handbag.

Applause rang around the room and you realised everyone was turned in your direction. Drawing your shoulders back you stood tall and once more fixed that fake smile on your face before Ransom cleared his throat and began to speak again.

But you didn't listen, you drowned him out, the sound of his voice distant and murky like Charlie Brown's teacher. You allowed you mind to think of anything but the present, other than the fact that these people were in unknowing full support of the hell you'd been through the last nine months.

Eventually a loud, rapturous applause signalled the end of his speech and he stepped back, smiling and then turned to the man from his publishers who shook his hand furiously, before the pair of them posed for photos.

That was when he beckoned you to him, looking at you in such a way that made your skin crawl and your teeth seethe with each breath. This bastard expected a photo op from you above all this, commemorating this disaster.

On autopilot you headed towards him, indifference obedience now your specialty and his arm curled possessively round your waist, fingers splaying on your hip. You posed and smiled as the flashes went off, but as you stole a glance at the large, ornate clock on the wall, you suddenly felt your head beginning to swim.

Seeing a convenient way out of this bullshit, you made sure to falter just a little, placing your hand to your chest. It caused Ransom's attention to turn to you.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

“I’m feeling a little light headed and warm.” You looked up at him. “Could we maybe get some air?”

"Sure, yeah," he looked to his agent and they nodded towards a side door in the room.

His arm still round you, playing the doting husband, he led you towards it and opened it with a flourish, allowing you to step out in front of him. 

You emerged into the alley at the side of the building and took a huge gulp of air, steadying yourself.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

You were warm, flushed, your skin tingling as the now cooling air hit your slightly damp skin, your nipples perking at the temperature change were visible through the silk dress, and you didn’t miss the heated glance he gave them as you spoke. "I, I don't know. I think it's all the commotion."

“You do look a little flushed.” His eyes moved back to yours and he studied you for a moment, his large hands gently cupping your face as he kissed your forehead before his lips pressed to yours. “Wanna take a walk?”

Despite the fact you really couldn’t walk far in the ridiculous shoes you were in, you nodded. Anything to avoid going back in there and listening to all those sycophants kissing his ass.

He took your hand and started walking slowly down the alley. You were mid-way down when a man jumped out from behind the dumpster. You screamed and instinctively Ransom jumped to the side, pulling you slightly behind him.

“Give me the money and the jewellery, no one gets hurt.” The man spoke gruffly and you felt Ransom draw himself up to his full height as he glared at the dirty, dishevelled man, disdain on his face.

“Eat shit.”

“Ransom, just... please give him what he wants.” Your voice trembled as your body shook, your right hand already removing the rings on your left.

“I’d listen to your pretty wife, if I were you.” The man spoke as he reached into his pocket and when he withdrew his hand you swallowed at the unmistakable flash of metal.

“Fuck, Ransom, he’s got a knife!” You clutched his arm. “Please just give it to him!”

"Fuck, no," he started reaching for his phone but the man lunged toward him.

In the melee that followed, you were thrown to the side, your rings clanging to the floor somewhere along with your clutch, your palms and knees scraping painfully on the floor. By the time you’d pushed yourself up, you saw the man scrambling to his feet, Ransom’s watch and wallet in his hand. He turned to look at you and you backed away, stumbling once more to the ground letting out a blood curdling scream as he advanced. He stopped, picked up your rings and your bag, before he turned, bolting up the alley and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight.

"Y/N," the croaking voice came from your husband as he staggered towards you, a deep red seeping through his white dress shirt, his one hand attempting to stave off the bleeding. The other, cradling his phone. But he didn't get more than a few steps as he collapsed nearby. 

"Ransom!" You shrieked and heels be damned, you ran to him, looking around, "help!" 

"Call 9-1-1, Baby," he begged, trying to thrust the phone into your hand and you leaned over him. 

With a jittery hand you swiped over to the emergency call option and hit the first two digits before you glanced around again and hesitated, rising slowly to your feet.

“What...” Ransom’s chest heaved as he looked up at you, his face white with shock as you turned the phone in your hand and shrugged.

“Yeah, you see, I could call for help but...” with that you tossed his phone to the hard ground and crunched it with your stupidly high heel, rotating your foot to make double sure, the glass and metal grinding between the stiletto and the tarmac. “Whoops, looks like it got smashed in the fight.” You gave a little chuckle. “And of course, mine was in my bag which he took. Isn’t that ironic? I mean the first time you permit me to use it for something other than to contact you or my mom, I can’t.” You made a little tutting noise. “Guess I’ll just have to keep yelling and hope someone hears.”

With that you turned and screamed, a frantic yell. “Please, someone help us! Please, he’s been stabbed, call 9-1-1.” You slowly dropped back to a kneel, ignoring the sting of your grazed knees and smirked. “Dammed, I really am good at this acting shit, don’t you think, handsome?”

Ransom coughed a harsh and wet cough. His chest heaving raggedly as he struggled between catching a breath and bleeding out. 

“Y/N...” he spluttered, “you...please...”

"So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” you emphasised the 't' of the last word as you spoke the very same line that he had delivered to you months ago, the threat he had held over you and used to keep you in check whenever you stepped over that line. 

His eyes widened further as the realisation set in, you could see his brain working and it gave you a buzz, a sense of satisfaction to know that he understood this was your doing.

You wanted the last thing this bastard thought about to be how you were responsible for his death. But more so, his narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies be damned, you wanted him to completely understand exactly how it was his fault. 

And given the way he was bleeding and struggling for breath, you didn’t have long.

Another scream for help flew from your mouth as you pressed one hand on top of his which were now both clutched to the wound in his stomach, the other brushing his hair back slightly as you smiled down at him. 

“I told you when you threw me back in the basement that the way you treat people would come back to haunt you.” You gave a little shrug. “And, when you told the homeless guy looking in the bins on collection day a few months back to eat shit and get a job, well, he took it kinda personally. He didn’t even blink when I asked how much it would take to knock you off.”

"You..." choking on blood, "vicious..." choke,

At that you gave another loud hysteric yell for help before you turned your head back to look at him.

“See, once upon a time I thought you’d changed. But here’s the thing, a person like you doesn’t change, Hugh. You’re incapable of love. You take what you want when you want for no reason other than it pleases you.”

Another scream for help, and this time you could hear someone answering and a lot of yells as people started running towards you.

“Well, now I’ve taken your life like you took mine.” You bent down, your forehead pressing to his as you smirked. His arm reached up to grab you, his blood soaked hand curling over your cheek and side of your neck. "And you know what? It feels good."

His palm was warm and slick against your skin and his eyes blazed with anger as his fingers squeezed. You knew he was desperately trying to hurt you but you felt nothing. You smiled, as you placed a soft kiss to his lips, your words whispered as you pulled back ever so slightly. “Karma’s a bitch, and so am I. See you in hell.”

As the fake tears started to pool in your eyes once more, you allowed your lip to tremble for distraught emphasis. Blood was now trickling out of Ransom's mouth, along down his ear and to the tarmac. You pulled back just a little so as to see his eyes. You wanted to watch him choke on his own blood as he took that final breath. You started sputtering words incoherently as you amped up the hysteria, hearing the footfalls now just behind you. 

He didn’t even make it to the hospital. 

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was pronounced dead at 21:05 hours on Friday 17th July where he lay in a pool of his own blood, in that dark alleyway down the side of the hotel.

Leaving you a widow.

And free. 

***10 months later***

It was as simple as it sounded, closing your eyes and pointing to a spot on a map. Your finger ended up on Boulder. 

Colorado was far enough from the last year or so of your life that you could feel comfortable. You'd researched it, finding it to be something worth interest. Affordable. Breath-taking scenery. Incredible life altering activities and quaint little towns. The summers were supposedly warm but rarely did the temperature rise above ninety-five, the winters were supposedly very cold, dry and windy; rarely dropping below six degrees with partly cloudy skies year round.

The months following Ransom’s death had been as draining as humanly possible. The investigation had involved countless interviews before the police and authorities settled for it being a mugging gone wrong. But then there had been the months of wrangling and private law cases his parents had attempted to bring against you to prevent you getting his money, despite the probate law being fairly simple. You were married. He left no will. It was yours by default. 

Eventually, when the Drysdales had exhausted every last option, they were forced to concede and that was when you made the decision to leave, a decision of which your parents were highly encouraging. They practically talked you into this whole thing to begin with. Helping you leave your nightmares behind. Despite them not suspecting anything at first, you weren't blind to the fact that things still had not sat right with them. You knew they had suspected a level coercion, that maybe you'd had a manic episode of mental illness, but you never had divulged the full details and by the time he was gone, they hadn't cared. Your relationship with them had strengthened and healed and that was what you cared about.

Now, you were newly nestled in Boulder with a great condo downtown, a stone’s throw from the historic district that was filled with cliché shops and bars.  Whilst you didn’t need the money, you’d taken a job working in the media department of a private law firm. It was a far cry from your journalist days, but it suited you just fine.

The more distance you put between who you were now and who you had been, the better. 

You were at peace.

The May evening air was temperate as you crossed the street and opened the door to the designated bar in which you were meeting your new group of friends, mostly gathered from work, for a girl's night out. You’d been held up a little in the office so they were already waiting at a table. You waved and gestured to the bar, indicating you were going to get a drink. 

As you sidled up to the wooden counter, you were jolted a little into a man to your right. You turned to apologise and gave a little double take. You recognised him instantly. But you didn’t want to make that obvious and cause him to feel uncomfortable. You knew how it felt, to have everyone looking at you, hushed whispered comments as you went about your business, people trying to figure out if you were who they thought you were.

That was part of the reason you had moved, and you sure as hell weren’t about to subject the man next to you to the same, uncomfortable experiences. 

Recovering quickly, you hastily apologised and he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it.” His Boston accent was evident and you smiled.

“I miss that accent.” 

The man chuckled, his warm blue eyes creasing slightly as he looked at you. “You from Boston, too?”

“Concord.”

“Newton.” He replied, “well, I lived there anyway, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Should I? Know that, I mean?”

He studied you for a moment, and you kept your face as passive as possible. You could tell he knew that you knew, but you gave a shrug none-the-less and he smiled, a gorgeous smile that lit up his entire face, perfect white teeth flashing from beneath an immaculately groomed beard, as he extended his arm towards you.

“Andy Barber.” His fingers gently brushed the back of your knuckles, as you shook his hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Oh, of course.” You smiled back. “One of our attorneys.”

“Our?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m Y/N. I work in the media department. I mean I only started a few weeks ago but...”

“Well, in that case, I’m pleased to meet you, Y/N, and welcome aboard.” His smile didn’t falter as he let go of your hand and gestured to the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

You paused for a moment before you took a deep breath.

And nodded.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

******

Sequel: Follow Andy and reader’s story in Consciousness Of Guilt. 

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part III

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of feelings, handcuffs, testosterone, quite a bit of sex, one surprise kiss (cause Erwin is a privileged dick), parents, domesticity A/N: I apparently did not write an author’s note for this originally, but uh, this is one of my favorite sections of the whole fic, so. 

Mike uses the rest of the break to relax, to get his head on straight so that when he gets back on campus he won’t be overbearing. He knows that’s the last thing you want from him.

 You text back and forth a few times a day, but most of it is dumb shit, and the conversation dies off pretty quickly—either Mike not knowing how to respond or you just growing bored. 

 He busies himself by spending time with his parents and playing with Scout who eats up all the attention. Family comes over for Christmas, and his mom and aunt get into an argument. It’s nothing new.

 He’s happy to get back to the school and back in classes just to stimulate his brain. More than that, he’s happy to see you again. Even if it means the two of you go back to friend-only status. 

 Things are awkward between him and Erwin, though. It isn’t the first time they’ve had a hiccup in their friendship, but this one has really rubbed Mike the wrong way. Erwin tries to apologize a few more times, but every time he does, all Mike can manage is an unconvincing, “It’s fine,” which the other man obviously doesn’t buy. 

 He tries not to be possessive when you start coming to the house again, but it’s fucking hard whenever he has to watch you and Erwin talk and joke around. Mike figured you’d be at least a little annoyed that he’d just walked in on the two of you like that, but you act like it never happened.

 Eventually, Mike has to ask about it, just can’t help himself. “Aren’t you, like, even a little mad that he did that? Don’t you think it was fucked up?”

 You’re sitting on Mike’s bed, a controller in your hand as you play Mario Kart, sound a little distracted when you respond, “I mean, yeah, it was fucked up, but I never really expected anything more from him.”

 “What do you mean?”

 You look at him from the corner of your eyes before staring at the screen again. “Erwin is a cocky motherfucker. I’ve seen the way he gets the girls on campus, probably thinks he can charm all of them which means he probably thinks he’s entitled to all of them. Us.”

 “Are you calling him a predator?”

 You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t think he’d ever, like, rape anyone. He at least has enough class and common sense not to do that. But I think… He doesn’t care who he goes after. Single girls, girls in relationships, happy girls, damaged girls. He just has a one track mind when it comes to sex. That’s what I’ve gathered anyway.”

 Laying back on his bed, Mike laces his fingers behind his head and thinks on what you’ve said. “That just sounds like a drawn out way of saying he’s a flirt.”

 “A massive flirt. Without any real care about whose feelings he hurts in the process.”

 “Sounds about right.”

 “I don’t appreciate it,” you sigh, “But he’s your best friend, so I’m willing to put up with some shit from him.”

 “Even him perving on you?”

 “Not the first time it’s happened to me, probably won’t be the last. He’s curious, I can tell.”

 Mike snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he is.”

 You stay quiet for several seconds, toggling over to another track on the game, then ask, “That make you uncomfortable?”

 Blinking up at the ceiling, Mike wonders what the right answer to this is. He doesn’t want to scare you away, but he doubts he’ll be able to act as aloof as you do. 

 “A little.”

 You hum, nodding in a thoughtful manner before suggesting, “I think we can keep hooking up through this semester.”

 Mike sits up on his elbow, looks at you with high eyebrows. “Wait, really?” He sounds too excited, he knows.

 “Yeah. I have mostly easy classes, or really, I have interesting ones which makes studying for them easier. Plus, it might teach Erwin a lesson.”

 He falls back flat, scoffing. “I don’t want you to fuck me to prove a point to Erwin. I want you to fuck me because you want to.”

 The game music stops when you pause it, and then you’re straddling Mike, hands on his chest as you smirk at him. 

 “Don’t let this go to your head, Zacharias, but no one has ever fucked me the way you do.”

 Mike tries not to grin, triumph blooming inside of him, and he grips your hips a little too tightly. “Oh, that’s definitely going to my head.” 

 You grind your covered pussy over his denim-clad cock, and Mike feels all his blood flow south.

 Laughing, you lean down to ghost your lips over his and murmur, “Both heads, apparently.”

 That day, the two of you start a routine that leaves Mike falling harder and harder with every passing day.

 *

 “Come on, please just be my date,” Mike begs, thinks about getting to his knees if it’ll help convince you.

 “Why?” You ask, looking up from your textbook.

 You and Mike are sitting in the library—you studying, him bothering you. “I’m honestly so tired of parties at this point.

 “It’s not like the big parties we throw, though,” he tells you. “It’s just the brothers and their girlfriends.”

 “That makes it even worse,” you push one little laugh through your nose. “What makes you think I wanna spend an entire night with a bunch of frat boys and their matching sorority girls?”

 Mike rolls his eyes. “They’re not all sorority girls, just like, eighty-five percent of them.”

 Your head lolls, an expression that reads nothing but apathy aimed at Mike, and he gives you a hopeful smile and adds, “On the bright side, we get to stay together all night…?”

 “Oh god, it's a cuff party, isn't it?" 

 All he can do at this point is beg because the more he explains it, the more he realizes how not appealing this is to you. “Please.”

 Sitting back in your chair, you cross your arms over your chest and puff your cheeks out as you exhale heavily. “What’s in it for me?”

 Fuck yes. Half the battle is won. 

 “Uhh,” obviously sex is the first thing that comes to Mike’s mind, so the first offer he makes is, “I’ll go down on you ‘til you cry.”

 You snort. “Try again.”

 “Fuck you ‘til you pass out?”

 “Jesus—why do you want to hurt me? Try again. Third time’s a charm.”

 Mike brainstorms for a solid thirty seconds, thinks about what you’ve mentioned to him over the past couple of weeks, sex and school and—

 “I’ll help you study for your geochemistry exam.”

 You finally look interested. “I’d actually really appreciate that. You took the course?”

 “Yeah, environmental geochemistry was sort of my jam last year. Final grade was a ninety-seven.”

 “Holy shit.”

 Mike shoots you a satisfied smile, but before you can tell him to wipe it from his face, he asks, “So, you’re in?”

 “I guess.”

 This is how you both end up in the frat house handcuffed together. No one seems to be surprised at the fact that you’ve come with him, all the brothers used to you hanging around the frat house.

 Most couples are walking around holding hands just because it takes some of the pressure off of everyone's wrists, but Mike doesn't dare try it with you. Too cute. Too comfortable. 

 These types of get togethers are Mike's favorite, though, always more relaxed than the open parties. There’s still drinking and music, but the energy is different since it’s a tighter knit group. 

 It takes about an hour for Erwin and his date to approach the two of you, fingers laced together, drinks in their free hands. 

 “Looking good,” Erwin greets with a smile. "Very… trapped." 

 “Yeah, you too,” Mike says, trying to ignore the subtext of Erwin's comment.  

 Blue eyes flick to you, and you’re questioned, “How’d he end up talking you into this?”

 You don’t miss a beat as you reply cooly, “Bribed me with sex and study help.”

 “Ah, of course he did.”

 Mike’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything, just reaches his pinky out to link with yours, a subtle claim. When you rest your head on his arm, he looks down at you and smirks. 

 “Anyway,” Erwin pushes on. “You remember Maddie, don’t you?”

 Mike lies, “Yeah. How are you?”

 The girl’s voice reminds him of who she is, “Well. How are you, Mike?” It’s a little high pitched and nasally with a northern accent. He especially remembers what she sounded like moaning for Erwin through the wall, obnoxious but Mike can’t really judge since he’s subjected the rest of the house to the same thing once or twice (or a dozen times) before.  

 “Glad to hear it.”

 The group stands together for a few more awkward seconds before Erwin clears his throat and asks his date, “Another drink?” then makes his exit. 

 “You have got to get over this grudge, dude,” you take your head from his shoulder, and Mike immediately misses the warmth. “Like, it’s cute that you’re trying to defend my honor or whatever, but it’s time to move on. You guys are friends. Just talk it out.”

 He sucks his teeth, almost tells you about the way he and Erwin had nearly thrown punches at the ranch house, the way the blond had basically admitted to wanting to try you out, but Mike decides against it, doesn’t want to talk too much shit only to end up making up with him.

 “Guys don’t really talk it out. We usually fight it out.”

 “That’s fucking primitive. You should learn to communicate like mature humans.”

 “Probably,” Mike hums. “But not right now.”

 Being connected to each other means every activity is a partner activity. The most interesting is playing beer pong against Nile and his on-again off-again girlfriend, Marie, house rule for the night being whoever is throwing has to use their cuffed hand. It’s like a twisted three-legged race and requires an amount of teamwork and coordination Mike has never had to deal with before. 

 It’s also the first time he manages to beat Nile. Mike had no doubt that the other man would have crushed you by himself, but it turns out the actual couple does not work together very well. All their shots are clumsy, and Nile gets frustrated right off the bat which only makes things worse. Meanwhile, you and Mike come up with a strategy after the first terrible throw and use it for the rest of the game. 

 You’re both challenged by a few other teams and end up winning every time which has Mike feeling smug about the victories and giddy at how in-tune the two of you are. Gelgar even tells you both, “You guys are good together,” which makes Mike cough as you wave him off.

 You drink a little more, converse a little more, and then—as always—end up in Mike’s bedroom. 

 “You want me to get the key and take these off?” He asks between kisses.

 You smile into him, let out a little laugh and play, “You don’t think it’d be kinda fun to fuck with ‘em on?”

 “It’ll be harder,” Mike snorts. “But, we can. Won’t be able to take shirts off, though.”

 “Good thing we just need to take our pants off.”

 It’s clumsy and silly, and you both tug in opposite directions more than a few times. Mike laces his fingers with yours when he goes down on you, relishing in the way you arch off his bed and squeeze his hand. On the floor, you give him head in the same fashion, and fuck, Mike can hardly focus on you sucking him off while your fingers are woven together, even if it is just for the sake of convenience. 

 He fucks you from behind that night, your face buried in his pillow as he’s buried in you. Both of your arms are stretched behind your back, held at the wrists by Mike’s much, much larger hand. He uses his free one to grip your hip, pushing and pulling you on his cock to his heart’s desire. 

 You’re so pretty, damp with sweat and moaning his name when your head is turned only to shove it back into his pillow when he makes you scream. Your dripping cunt opens up for him perfectly, making Mike feel more inebriated than alcohol ever could, but as his balls tighten and that warmth spreads in his gut, he has a single moment of clarity, assess the position he has you in and pants, “Shit, I can’t pull out.” Not without ripping your god damn arm out of socket or fracturing his dick. 

 “Mmm—fuck, just come inside, come inside me, Mike.”

 That alone makes him lose it, shooting a fucking copious amount of cum into your pussy, so much that it drips from your hole and runs down your thighs. 

 “Fucking C-Christ,” he laughs a little hysterically, gathering thick white and slipping it back inside you. Transfixed by the way his added finger pushes more of his cum out of you, he asks in a daze, “You on birth control?”

 “Yeah,” you answer in a breathy voice.

 Mike hums. “Good. Just gonna sit here for a while then.”

 You let out a whimper that turns to a whine when he rubs his slick finger over your clit. Twitching around him, you tease, “F-finger painting again?”

 He chuckles, “You know it.” 

 Honestly, if he could cover you in cum, he would—admire your body painted in white strings, watch it drip down your ribs and thighs. If Mike hadn’t just gotten off, he would be hard again at the mere thought, but for now his focus is rubbing your little clit. Still face down, you spread your legs more and more, and Mike has to curl over you, breathing heavily on your neck as you wriggle and buck, overstimulating him as he keeps his cock nestled inside of you.

 He groans just as loud as you do as you start pulsing around him, pussy clenching in a way that actually pulls a few more drops of cum from Mike, then you both pant for a little while until Mike straightens up and pulls you with him, your back to his chest as you hang your head. 

 “You good?” He questions, brushing his lips over your neck as lightly as possible.

 “Yeah,” you tell him. “Just… Full.”

 Mike’s body heats all over again as he rests his forehead on your uppermost vertebrae. “Can’t just say stuff like that,” he warns, sinking his teeth into your shoulder.

 “Hmm.” He can see the little smile on your face without even looking up. “You did offer to fuck me until I pass out.”

 “I have a refractory period, you know.”

 You glance over your shoulder, and now Mike gets a good look at your smirk and twinkling eyes. “I can wait.”

 Both of you emerge from the room in the early hours of the morning, still stuck together as you quietly make your way downstairs to find the key to the handcuffs. You’re wearing a pair of Mike’s gym shorts, the mesh falling far past your knees and barely staying up around your waist. He knows you’re still messy and can tell by the way you’re walking that you’re sore, but he has every intention of cleaning you up and taking care of all your aches and pains in the shower. 

 *

It’s party after god damn party with classes and studying and fucking in between. You have never had this much sex in your life, but you’re not complaining. It takes the edge off, and Mike isn’t the worst company. Far from it, actually. The more you get to know him, the more he falls into what you think is his real personality. 

 The brash frat boy is a front, you come to find out, a mask to fit in with everyone else, one he wears very well. 

 But, when it’s just the two of you in his room playing video games or watching TV, he actually relaxes, gets quieter and much more reflective. The pastels and khakis and Hawaiian shirts stay hung up in his closet, both of you lounging in t-shirts and joggers more often than not.

 He more or less tutors you in geochemistry, and between that and all the nerd shit in his room, you realize… Mike is kind of extremely smart. And, it’s kind of extremely hot.

 “I still don’t understand why you hide it,” you tell him one afternoon as you watch him play Ocarina of Time. 

 He shrugs, green eyes wide and focused on the screen, gives you the same answer he did last semester when you’d asked a similar question: “People are more interested in other things.”

 “So you adopted the obnoxious frat boy persona?”

 “I guess. It makes the college experience a lot easier.”

 You cock your head to the side, genuinely curious when you ask, “Doesn’t it wear you out? Seems like you’re just an introvert in hiding.”

 Mike laughs, pauses the game, and looks at you. “It used to. Some days it still does. But, it’s easier than taking shit from the guys.”

 Squinting at him, you mumble, “I will beat up anyone who gives you shit about being a nerd.”

 It makes him laugh. Loudly. And, you see a certain curiosity glimmering in his eyes, unasked questions—probably something along the lines of when you started caring and getting protective over him. 

 You’re not. Not exactly. You just don’t like the idea of anyone giving him a hard time. 

 “No offense, babe, but I don’t know how much damage you could inflict on anyone. You’re, like, two feet tall.”

 You straighten up, chest puffing up as you pull your fists up to your chin and rock back and forth like a Street Fighter character. “You wanna fuckin’ go, Zacharias? I’ll show you how much damage I can inflict.”

 He grins in that boyish way that always makes you look away. It’s too cute and too charming and makes you feel too many things. 

 Mike hangs his long legs over the side of the bed and pulls you on top of him with no problem whatsoever. You’re eye level with him now, heart beating too fast as you hold his shoulders, eyes flicking to his lips. 

 “We can go if you want. We can do whatever you want.”

 He has feelings for you. You know he does, can see it in his eyes, can feel it in the way he fucks you, and you really should cut things off, but… You don’t want to. He’s the most tolerable person you’ve met on campus, much less annoying than Hitch. You have things in common and joke around until you’re both rolling in laughter. And, of course, the sex is incredible. 

 It’s just casual, you keep telling yourself. Mike is smart enough not to push things. He knows better, knows you’ll just turn him down, and though it’s hard to admit, that wouldn’t just hurt him; it’d hurt you too.

 In his lap now, you don’t encourage him to take things further, mostly because you’re still sore from the night before, and he understands that. Instead, you lock your arms around his neck and change the subject to something that’s still bothering you even after several weeks.

 “Have you and Erwin made up yet?”

 Mike makes a face, answers, “Not exactly.”

 “The hell does that mean?”

 “It means we’re talking a little more, but it’s always short conversations and the problem still hasn’t been addressed.”

 You let out a little, “Ugh,” then state, “You guys are impossible.”

 It really doesn’t make sense that he’s so upset about it, especially since you’ve gotten over it. It was a shitty thing for Erwin to do—walking in like that—but you don’t think it’s anything to end a friendship over.

 And, with that thought in mind, you spend the rest of the afternoon devising a plan. It’s not in your nature to meddle, but it seems, in this case, you’re gonna have to.

 *

 Mike is in his fancy ecology class when you walk into the Pike house, nodding at everyone in the den as you step further inside. You learned a few months ago that it’s much safer to keep your shoes on, less jarring to step on a sticky floor the first years didn’t do a good job cleaning. 

 Nile is reclining sideways on the couch with Marie between his legs, an action movie playing on the ridiculously big TV mounted on the wall. 

 “Is Erwin here?” You ask.

 Nile looks at you with a frown, one that’s completely warranted since you’ve literally never asked this before. 

 “Uh, yeah.” He points up at the ceiling. “In his room.”

 “Cool, thanks.”

 “You know which one it is?”

 Squeezing one eye shut, you’re honest when you tell him, “I think so.”

 The way Marie is quick to pipe up, “Second furthest to the left, right next to the bathroom,” is very amusing, especially when Nile clicks his tongue, clearly irritated.

 You make your way upstairs, following Marie’s directions, then take a deep breath before knocking on Erwin’s door, clueless as to what his lock code might be.

 It takes a few seconds, but the door opens, revealing a very tired-looking Erwin. His eyes widen a bit when he sees you, craning his neck back like he’s shocked that you’re standing outside of his room. That’s fair.

 “Uh, hey?”

 “Hey,” you greet shortly. “Can we talk for a sec?”

 Erwin blinks a few times then steps to the side, murmuring, “Yeah, of course.”

 His space is very different from Mike’s, more organized, framed pictures, bed completely made. Even his desk is clean, papers and books all stacked neatly on one side of his open laptop.

 “Studying?” You question.

 “Yeah. Would you like to sit down?” His voice is deep—not as deep as Mike’s—and always so proper, like he spent his childhood in country clubs (he did). 

 “Not really,” you answer without any hesitation.

 Unsurprisingly, Erwin leans against his desk instead of taking a seat himself, arms on either side, fingers hanging off the edge of the polished wood. It makes the muscles in his forearms become more prominent, veins popping against his skin. You have to give it to him, it’s a good move. 

 “So, what’s going on?”

 Running your tongue over your teeth, you recall what you planned to say—cut to the chase, stay firm, don’t get caught up in any of his tricks. 

 “You need to make up with Mike.”

 Erwin immediately snorts. “You don’t think I’ve tried?”

 “Half-assed apologies aren’t gonna work, dude. Actually sit down with him and hash things out.”

 “Yeeeah,” he drawls. “That didn’t work very well the first time.”

 “Maybe try again? You guys are, like, best friends.”

 “Levi is my best friend,” Erwin corrects, “And, I’m pretty sure that you’re Mike’s at this point.”

 “Don’t say that.”

 “It’s true,” he smirks.

 You wave him off, getting back to your original point. “At the very least, you guys should make up just because you have to live in the same house.”

 Erwin crosses his arms over his chest, blue eyes deviating upward as if he’s thinking hard. You doubt he is.

 “So, you’re not mad about what happened?” He asks after a few seconds. 

 You're blunt when you respond, “It was a shitty thing to do. Wouldn’t advise trying it with anyone else, but honestly, I’m not super surprised you’d pull something like that.”

 His facial expression turns to one of true offense, blond eyebrows furrowing enough for a little wrinkle to form between them. “Excuse me?”

 You take a step toward him, almost jab a finger in his chest but resist. “No no no. You don’t get to be pissed. You’re the one who fucked up here. I’m just telling you the truth.”

 Eyes narrowing, he pushes himself off the desk, standing to his full height to loom over you. It’s obviously an intimidation tactic, one he’s probably used before on many people, and it makes your blood boil. 

 In a futile attempt to make yourself look bigger, you straighten your spine and tilt your head to look up at him, lips pursed, eyes narrow. You remember what Mike said about you being too small to hurt anyone, but you can be scrappy. You’re not above slapping a face or kneeing someone in the balls. 

 Erwin peers down at you, jaw setting for a moment as he really studies you, then breaks into an infuriating smile. 

 “You’re cute, you know that?” He moves to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, but you swat his hand away. 

 “Jesus, what is wrong with you?”

 This close to him, seeing the way he acts behind closed doors, you wonder how Mike ever even got close with him. They’re so incredibly different. For the last semester and a half, you've only known Erwin as Mike's somewhat obnoxious, spoiled friend. Now, it seems he's showing his true colors.

 “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, I’m feeling pretty great right now.”

 Oh, you wanna hit him. You wanna hit him so badly, but honestly, Erwin kind of seems like the type to call the fucking police if you did. 

 “You don’t have any reason whatsoever to be feeling good.”

 He’s still grinning, eyes bright and wide as his pupils dilate. 

 Are you calling him a predator?

 He sure looks like one now, a lion with his sights set on an antelope, and as you stare at him, it dawns on you that this was a bad idea. 

 “You know what? Nevermind,” you shake your head. “You don’t deserve to be Mike’s friend anyway.”

 The laugh that pours from his lips is not at all humorous. His voice drops when he challenges, “You think so?”

 You need to leave, need to get out of here before this argument goes any further, but as you make a move toward the closed door, he slides in front of you. You shouldn’t have walked so far into his room.

 “Erwin,” you grit through your teeth. “Don’t do this.”

 “Just tell me—because I need to know—” he breathes, still staring down at you with that unnerving gaze. “What does Mike have that you like so much?”

 Both your hands flex by your sides. There are so many ways to answer this question, all of which will evoke a different response. 

 But being who you are, you speak before you think, spitting the first thing that comes to mind: "You want me to make you a list, Smith? 'Cause I sure fucking can."

 He makes a little circle with his hand, a 'go on' motion, and prompts, "Please, enlighten me."

 And, so you do. 

 "Warmth, sincerity, class, depth, understanding—"

 "So, it isn't just about the sex," he cuts you off, sounding more sure than curious. 

 You pinch the bridge of your nose, tired of these god damn frat boys and their obsession with getting their dicks wet.  

 "I mean, it started out that way—not that it's any of your business."

 "I can give you more, you know. Satisfy you better—"

 "Please shut the fuck up," you beg, getting madder by the second. The confidence, the entitlement, is making you sick. 

 "You don't believe me?" He steps toward you again, and you back up. 

 "No, I don't." Because how could he? Whether it's stimulating conversation or sex, there's no way Erwin could compare. 

 And now you realize just how much you appreciate Mike. 

 Erwin is closing the distance between you, moving slowly but purposefully. "This is how it started with you and him, right? You made him chase you?" 

 "Get out of my way," you demand, trying to shoulder past him—

 And, you should have seen it coming, should have been prepared for the way he grabs you, strong hand closing around your upper arm to pull you to his body. Thick fingers tangle in your hair to pull your head back, face tilted up, and all you can really do is shove at his chest with your free hand, growling in your throat as Erwin crushes his lips against yours. 

 Adrenaline courses through your body. You try to shake the hand on your head, try to jerk your arm from his grip, but he's too fucking strong, and it terrifies you. 

 Your voice is muffled as you plead, "Er—mmf—shtp—"

 You lift your hand higher and manage to hit him just beside his eye with the side of your palm, and it makes him break the "kiss" (you refuse to actually call it that).

 He breathes a heavy, "Just let me—"

 "No." You push his chest again, and he lets go of your arm. Quickly wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you tell him, "You're a shitty friend and a little fucked in the head, but you're not low enough to force yourself on someone," you pant, shaking with nerves and rage, "So don't."

 Hopefully, you're not giving him too much credit. Despite the overflowing fury and fear, you still think there's a little hope for him. Not with you, of course, just in general.

 He stares at you, expression changing from confusion to understanding to regret, and before you know it, he's scrubbing his hands down his face and muttering, "Fuck, I'm sorry. You're right I—I got carried away. I've been jealous of Mike and curious and—"

 "Why?" You blurt because you do not get it. "Both of you are, like, top athletes and in a fraternity, could get literally anyone you wanted, so what is it? Is it because I'm a nobody? Because you're bored of the sorority girls? Am I the one chick on your list you haven't screwed?" 

 "I… I don't know. You just—"

 "Is it because Mike has a toy he doesn't wanna share?"

 "Maybe." Erwin is frowning again, like he's stumped. He doesn't even know what he's feeling. It's honestly a little pathetic. 

 "Well, pick someone else. I know you have Maddie wrapped around your finger, so take advantage of that or whatever. Just leave me out of it."

 Ocean eyes are wide and troubled. He really does look remorseful, but that doesn't change what he just fucking did. God, you're disgusted. And a little hurt. 

 "Don't ever try that shit on me again—or anyone else—'cause I swear to God, I will break your fucking nose."

 "Yeah, okay," he nods.

 You go to walk past him again, voice loud and unforgiving when you tell him, "Move," and then you're out of his room, slamming the door, and getting as far from Pike house as possible.

 That did not go the way you had planned it to, but you should have been ready for the worst case scenario. That's on you, you guess. 

 Because Erwin Smith may not be a predator by definition, but he's certainly something—something you want to stay away from. 

*

"Why are you acting weird?" Mike's voice pulls you from your empty head, and you take your eyes off the loose string of your hoodie—his hoodie—and look up at him. 

 "What are you talking about? 'm not acting weird."

 He moves from his place at the edge of his bed and crawls to prop himself up next to you on his pillows. 

 "Uh, yeah you are. Have been for the past week or so."

 He isn't wrong. You've kept to yourself a little more since your "conversation" with Erwin. It had just been so uncomfortable and jarring, and you don't want to tell Mike because you know he'll just get pissed all over again which would be very annoying since he and Erwin finally made up. Just like you wanted them to. 

 Except now you know Erwin a little better, and you're not sure you want him having any more influence over Mike. 

 Rubbing your face, you shrug and easily lie, "I've just been tired."

 And, of course, Mike is too smart for that. 

 "Tired? That's the go-to answer for anyone who actually feels shitty."

 "I mean, yeah, but I'm actually tired in this case." It isn't a complete lie considering how fucking late he kept you up last night. 

 Mike hums. "Wanna take a nap before the party?" 

 The acid in your stomach churns. The party. The one you do not have any desire to go to. The one that will push you over the ledge of annoyance and into the realm of genuine discomfort. You don't want to go. You don't want to hang out. You don't want to see Erwin. 

 Sliding your legs under the covers, you lay down in Mike's bed, turning on your side so that your back is facing him. You've told him on numerous occasions that you don't have any interest in certain events, but he always talks you into going to them anyway. So, what'll be different this time? You're just gonna end up downstairs huddled in a corner refusing to drink as your eyes scan over everyone, ready to make a quick exit if you have to. 

 Mike settles in closer behind you, the heat of his chest pouring across your back, and you can feel the pillow dip when he rests his head on it. He waits for a while before letting his arm fall over your waist. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut, makes something crawl into your throat, trying to scratch its way out. 

 "I really don't wanna go tonight," you murmur.

 You expect some form of protest, a convincing argument in the form of a well thought out fucking speech while he kisses down the back of your neck, but instead, a low rumble of, "Okay," spills from his mouth, and you hate how it makes you feel—how grateful you are for him. 

 He's getting to know you. Has gotten to know you after spending so much time together. He can read your ups and downs now, can tell when you're joking or serious, take the hint when you want him with a single look (that one might be the most irritating), but it just goes to show how perceptive he is, how much of himself he's been hiding while in college. 

 The shallow jock you thought you knew is no comparison for this. 

 "Spring break's coming up," he speaks into your hair, inhaling deeply and whispering to himself, "Citrus kills me," like you can't hear him. 

 You pretend not to because it's soft and personal and would probably make him adorably self-conscious, and you can't deal with Mike blushing. 

  "Yeah, it is. Couple more weeks." 

 "What're your plans?" 

 You shrug against him, trying not to get too wrapped up in the way his body feels over yours, longer legs tangling between yours, his draped hand nearly covering your entire stomach, his stubble scratching your neck and cheek. 

 When did you get this close? When did you decide it was okay to be this intimate? This is what couples do. This is comfort. 

 And, you didn't think you needed it, but fuck—

 "Nothing, really. Go see Mom, I guess."

 "Come stay with me," he says quickly. "Just for a few days."

 You wriggle to turn on your back and frown up at him as a myriad of questions fill your mind. 

 Mike takes a deep breath, somehow reading every one of them. 

 "I know that sounds like a 'come meet my parents' thing, but I promise it's not. I just thought it'd be cool to hang out not at school and not at a party. Plus," he shows a broad grin. "You can meet Scout."

 "Mm, tempting," you laugh. "I do like dogs."

 "And, you'll love her! She's so sweet and so goofy and—"

 "I'll think about it," you stop him. 

 Mike bites his lip, looking hopeful, but tries to play it off with a, "Okay, cool," then leans down to kiss you as if you've already said yes. 

 Honestly, you have, just not out loud. He had you at 'hanging out'. 

 *

Studying sucks. Midterms suck. Avoiding parties, however, does not suck. Mike still goes to most of them, kind of has to considering they're usually thrown at the PKA house, but sometimes he just shows his face then comes to your dorm. You try to convince him to stay, hang out with his friends, but he usually just shrugs and digs through your stash of movies until he finds something he wants to watch. 

 It's fine with you, makes passing geochem a lot fucking easier, but it also means little sleep and a perpetual soreness between your legs. 

 You just… Can't get enough of each other. And, you think that's how it's always been since that first party. Afterward, you had denied him in the courtyard and then broke as soon as he got into your room to get his stupid shirt. Denied him at the bar then broke as soon as he leaned over you at the pool table. Denied him at the after-game party and broke after… Seeing his room? Watching movies? Acting like friends for the first time? Whatever it is, you're always falling into bed together, some kind of unstoppable force against your obviously very movable object. 

 It's something you think about too much now, always somewhere in the back of your head. At this point, you should probably just be with him, don't know who you're kidding with that lie about focusing on school (your grades have never been better actually), but you're scared. That's really what's been hard to admit to yourself, not the fact that you're attracted to him or the fact that your irritation has bloomed into genuine fondness and admiration. It's that's you're fucking terrified. You can feel it in your bones. 

 Don't get too attached because people leave. All the time. People let you down. People disappoint. 

 You don't want Mike to disappoint you, so you won't give him the chance to. 

 Of course, all of that is easier said than done as you look over at him in the Wrangler, one huge hand pn the wheel as his other arm hangs out of the open window, catching the wind that batters against it like he's trying to push back. You hate it when he does that, too many horror stories of car crashes that end in traumatic amputations, but it's one of Mike's strange simple pleasures, makes him grin as if it's his head hanging out instead. At his core, Mike Zacharias is just a huge fucking puppy dog. 

 A dubstep song from too long ago is blasting through his speakers, the vibrations hitting you square in the chest as you bounce your leg and bob your head. It's beautiful outside, winter's bite melting away into sunny springtime days. Some of them still bring a chill to the air, but it doesn't matter since you basically live in one of Mike's hoodies, dark green with the school's lacrosse logo stamped in the middle. It's faded and worn out and far too big on you, but it's quite possibly the most comfortable article of clothing you've acquired. 

 The drive to his parents' house is a good three hours, but between the playlist he's made (stellar, not that you'd admit it), the road games you play, and the road head you give him ("Oh, Jesus Christ, this isn't safe—this isn't safe—fuck—") you make it there in one piece and in good spirits, though you have take a few drinks of the soda you got at the convenience store to wash the residue of cum out of your mouth before meeting his god damn family. 

 He grabs both your bags from the backseat, slinging them over his shoulders, then starts up the path to a… surprisingly small home. It isn't a shack by any means, but after what you saw of Erwin's stupid ranch house and some of the pictures and stories Nile and Gelgar have subjected you to, you just kind of figured all of them had ridiculous amounts of money. 

 Then again, you know Mike got a full ride to college with a sports scholarship, and he rarely talks about his family and their lifestyle aside from Scout and little tales from his childhood—trips to the zoo, the one time he rode a dirt bike and broke his collarbone, he and his dad rescuing an injured bunny from the park. 

 You should've known back then that you'd get in too deep. 

 The small garden that lines the house is well-kempt and full of blooming flowers, and the porch is home to a wire table and matching chairs with an unsavory gnome sitting on top.  

 "What in the world…"

 Mike doesn't even glance to see what you're looking at, just opens the screen door and informs you, "That's Leonidas," so casually that it makes you snort and push him into his own house. 

 It opens up to a living room, long couch, recliner, coffee table and all. A TV sits right in the middle of a beige entertainment center, DVDs stacked on one side, blu-ray discs on the other. It smells clean—like the lemon wipes you use in your dorm—but even stronger than that is the smell of food. 

 "Must already be cooking," Mike muses, then calls out in a different fucking language that has you turning to him in confusion. 

 Before you can ask about it, a plump woman a couple inches taller than you comes rushing out of what you assume to be the kitchen. Her graying hair is tied into a loose bun, cheeks rosy from the heat, and she's still in her apron and a single oven mitt. 

 "Miche, γλυκό μου αγόρι!" 

 She stops in front of him and reaches up to grab his face, peppering it with little kisses and babbling words you do not understand in the slightest. 

 Mike is laughing, speaking to her in the same fashion, possibly answering questions or defending himself judging by the way he holds his hands up. You think you have an inkling about why when his mother turns to you, puts her hands on your shoulders to look at you, then pulls you into a tight hug. 

 You squeeze her right back, rocking to and fro as she does, then look up at Mike from the corner of your eyes in a panic. 

 What do you do, what is happening, what hasn't he told you? 

 It’s about this time that a large dog runs into the room and actually jumps into Mike’s arms. He grunts as he hoists Scout up, nuzzling into her beautiful coat as she tries to lick his face.

 "Mamá, let her get settled first," Mike laughs from where he’s getting attacked. His mother lets go of you, but it’s only for Mike to set the dog back down, and Scout takes the opportunity to sniff and paw at you. “Be nice,” he warns her, pulling you in front of him and pushing you toward the hallway.

 That need to snoop around is ever present as you enter his room, but the much more pressing issue is, "You could've prepared me, ya' know. Given me a little heads up that you're…"

 "Greek?" He snorts, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. "My last name is Zacharias. That's a pretty good indicator."

 "I—..." You pause, pout, then mumble, "I'm not a genealogy expert."

 "Obviously not."

 He dumps the bags on his bed, a queen size, thank god, because he had told you last week they didn't have a guest room (and had seemed pretty happy about it at the time). 

 "I'll get mom and dad to speak in English for the next few days." 

 "I mean," you shake your head. "It's their house. I don't wanna intrude on that. Let 'em do what they're most comfortable with."

 He steps over to you, makes his classic move of staring down at you and smoothing his hand over your hair to make you tilt your head up. "That's sweet, but I know they're dying to talk with you, so actually being able to understand what they’re saying is kinda necessary."

 Humming, you stand on your tip-toes just as he begins to stoop lower. Before you can meet in a kiss, though, you smirk, "And, just why do they wanna get to know me, Miche? Is that a secret Greek name too?”

 He licks his lips, voice husky when he replies, "I've mentioned you a few times--”

 “Uh huh,” you smirk, too close for him to actually see.

 “And no, I think it’s Hebrew or something.” 

 You snicker before your mouths meet, breaths grow heavy, and the only time you break apart is so that you can look him in his light eyes and tell him, "By the way, the whole speaking a different language thing you can do?" He grunts, encouraging you to continue. "Very hot."

 You feel him smile against you, a self-satisfied, "Yeah?" making you burn against him. 

 "Yeah."

 It's hard to leave the room, but you both know you have to, hoping neither of you look too kiss-swollen when you walk back into the living room, and when Mike's mom is no longer there, he brings you to the kitchen instead. 

 "Smells good," he tells her, leaning over the stove and taking a whiff of the prepared dish that’s been set on top--stuffed tomatoes and peppers that make your mouth water.

 She says something, and Mike lets her finish before asking, "Can we speak in English while she's here? It's kinda hard to add to a conversation when you, like, don't know what's being said."

 "Oh, I'm so sorry!" She immediately gushes, turning to you with a worried look. Her accent is thick and charming, but she doesn't ever stutter, clearly fluent, just more comfortable in her apparently native language. "I just get so caught up when my Miche comes home, I—"

 And, she's hugging you again. 

 "I'm Maia! Christopher—Miche's father—should be home soon."

 You rub Maia's back until she lets go and turns back to the stove, but even as she does, she's asking you, "How is school? What are you studying? Miche's told me very few things."

 He shouldn't have told you anything at all, you want to say. 

 "Um, it's good. I'm an earth sciences major, geology specifically, so Mike—uh—Miche's been helping me study a lot."

 He leans down to speak so only you can hear, "Not necessary to call me that. She's gonna know who you're talking about when you say Mike."

 Not that you'll tell him, but you kind of like the way 'Miche' feels, the way it rolls from your lips to the back of your mouth, and for just one second, you think about how you'd like to moan it in his ear. 

 "So, uh," you shake your head in an attempt to get it back on straight. "Yeah, it's going good, I think."

 "It is nice that you study together," Maia hums, slicing into the dish to portion it out. "Miche probably enjoys the break from his fraternity life." 

 Mike makes an unsure noise, but you grin and lean on the counter, eyes shining as you look at the middle-aged woman, "You know, speaking of that, I need to know what he was like before the whole frat thing 'cause—"

 "Uhh, we don't need to talk about that," Mike quickly cuts you off. 

 Maia, however, catches your eye and winks, a silent promise that she'll fill you in later. 

 Mike sees it, whines a dramatic, "Mamá, please."

 You laugh, glancing over at him with a devious smile that makes him roll his eyes and grumble something. 

 The creak of a door opening followed by the sound of a screen slamming back against the frame signals the arrival of Mike's father. It takes him a couple minutes to join everyone in the kitchen, probably taking the time to get more comfortable after what you assume to be a long day. 

 When he does walk in, once styled hair fallen out of place, top two buttons of his shirt undone, you see exactly where Mike gets most of his looks. He may have gotten his fucking mane from his mother, but he definitely got his height and his eyes from his father. 

 "Oh!" He stops short when he sees you, looks at his wife, then at you, then at Mike. "Is this the girl?" 

 "Dad!" 

 Both of his parents snicker as he turns to you, pleading more than telling, "Just ignore them, they don't know what they're talking about."

 You don't pay him any mind, join in on the fun when you lift an eyebrow and tease, "Am I, Mike? Am I the girl?"

 "Oh my god, this is gonna be a nightmare," he groans, the tips of his ears growing red. Still, he tries to put on a stern face as he points at his parents, speaks in beautiful, rolling words that are beyond you, then turns his flashing gaze to you and commands, "And you, don't encourage them."

 "Mm, no promises." You stick the tip of your tongue between your teeth and wink at his mom the way she had at you earlier. 

 All of you sit at an actual table for dinner, something you haven't done in at least a decade, as you talk and laugh between bites of food. Scout is laying underneath, waiting for someone to drop a piece of food, and every once in a while, you feel her wet nose nudge against your calf.

 Maia and Chris are very kind and very funny, and it isn't just because they pick on their son all the time. Chris talks about his day in the office, complaining about coworkers the same way Mike complains about his brothers—"I just don't understand why you would eat sardines in the break room! Someone explain it to me!" Maia tells everyone about the three hour phone call with her mother—"My god that woman can talk. Every time we said goodbye, she would just start on something new!"

 "Explains where you get it from," Chris says with a chuckle. 

 Maia scoffs then stabs a piece of his food with her fork, eating it with purpose as her husband watches. 

 You lean over to Mike and murmur, "They're cute. I like 'em."

 He grunts. "That makes one of us."

 Sucking your teeth, you mimic his mother's actions and dig your fork into the meat of his pepper, stealing a bite and scraping your teeth over the utensil in a way you know drives him crazy. 

 You immediately regret it when you realize how big the piece is, filling your mouth so that it's hard to chew, and you grab a napkin to cover yourself while Mike snorts and smugly says, "Yeah, bet you feel real smart right now. How does thievery taste?" 

 Shoving his arm, you manage to swallow down enough of the food to talk and tell him, "Tastes delicious."

 When you look back across the table, you find Maia and Chris staring at you and Mike with shining eyes and matching grins. 

*

You get along well with Mike's parents. A little too well in his opinion. There are a couple mornings you wake up earlier than he does and share coffee with his mother. He'll walk in to hear her sharing terrible stories about how, "He was such a sensitive little boy," and, "I miss the days he and his friends would spend afternoons here playing their little games."

 She even breaks out the photo albums one evening after dinner, leaving Mike mortified as you laugh and 'aww' at the pictures of past birthdays, Boy Scout outings, and the horrors of middle and high school. 

 "Look how cute you are with braces!"

 "Please stop."

 "All dressed up for Easter, oh my god, are those bunny ears?" 

 "Mom made me."

 "You were so skinny. What happened?" 

 "Are you calling me fat?" 

 "No, I'm calling you buff. Dummy."

 Less embarrassing are the long walks the two of you take with Scout (who also loves you, of course). She stays close to your hip as you wander around the park, only leaving your side when you throw her favorite ball. At the house, she noses at you until you shift to let her lay either at your feet or on the couch with her big head in your lap. 

 It's the cutest fucking thing Mike has ever seen, and he hates it because he can't do anything about it. He can't tell you how much he likes seeing you walk around in his house. He can't tell you how much joy it brings him to hear your laugh ring out alongside his parents'. He can't tell you how much he loves seeing you slide into his old bed in nothing but one of his shirts, making yourself comfortable against his chest and weaving your legs between his. 

 He can't tell you, but he can do his best to show you. 

 Late at night when his parents are asleep, when the buzzing TV is the only thing lighting the room, Mike moves inside of you with deep, slow thrusts. He hikes your legs up to lock around his waist or pulls you up against himself if he's taking you from behind. No matter the position, it leaves you clawing at him, breathing heavily, jaw dropping open in a silent scream. 

 You feel so good, so tight around him even after he gets you ready for his cock. Your silken walls squeeze and milk him, pulling every drop of cum from him to soak into you. Fuck, he's so glad you're letting him do that now, fill you up until you can't take any more, until white is dribbling from your messy pussy. The way you look at him all fucked out is intoxicating, eyes droopy, smile lazy, body twitching with aftershocks as he sucks on your neck and kisses down your shoulders. 

 You have to know. You have to. Mike knows his feelings are written all over his face when he looks at you, may as well be carved into his skin. The words are on the tip of his tongue every night, but he muffles them with kisses, with burying his face between your legs, with sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. 

 He can't say it because saying it makes it real. Saying it will make it hurt more. 

 So Mike keeps his mouth shut, watches you every day as you converse with his parents and play with Scout. You poke around his bedroom in your usual nosy fashion, finding the rest of his Magic cards, old D&D books and privacy screens. The dusty record player he'd inherited from his grandfather interests you above all else, vinyls stacked around it, some old, some new, and as you flip through them now, cross-legged on the floor and swimming in his hoodie, you tell him the little things you talked about with his mom earlier in the day. 

 "She showed me your baby teeth," you say with a snort. "Why do parents keep those? My mom did too."

 "Black Magic, obviously," Mike says seriously, but when you glance up at him, he chuckles. "I don't know, babe. It's fuckin' weird, though."

 You grin and look back down at The Alan Parsons Project vinyl in your lap. You're quiet for a moment, but when you do speak up, it's in a quiet voice. "I'm pretty sure they think I'm your girlfriend."

 Mike cringes on the bed, shutting his eyes and sighing. "Yeah, that's probably 'cause I told them you were." 

 "What?" You turn your whole body to face him, eyes wide and incredulous. 

 Sitting up, Mike holds his hands out and questions, "What was I supposed to tell them? Hey, mom and dad, I'm bringing home this girl I fuck at school all the time."

 "We don't just fuck," you scoff. "You could've said friend or… Study buddy."

 "Study buddies with benefits," he lets out a humorless laugh. "How many of those study sessions end with your mouth around my cock?" 

 "That's beside the point." You stand up and walk over to the bed, hands on your hips as you glare at him in an unconvincing manner. You're not actually upset, Mike realizes. A little annoyed maybe but more surprised than anything. "The point is they expect us to do couple-y things."

 "We do do couple-y things." Mike reminds you, rolling his eyes when you snicker and murmur 'ha, do do'. "Oh my god, you're a dork."

 "So are you. And, a dumb one. What happens when they find out we're not actually together? Are we gonna have to stage a break up somewhere down the line?" 

 "Stop worrying about it," Mike tries, reaching out for one of your arms to pull you on top of him. You must be very used to straddling him at this point. It seems like you're in his lap more often than you're not these days, even if the two of you are just talking. "Just chill and fake it for a little while longer."

 You pout, glancing to the wall for a second before you mutter, "Might be tough. I've never had to fake anything for you before."

 Mike groans and traces his fingers up your sides, stopping at your shoulders and using them to guide you closer to him. With your face only millimeters from his, he barely even has to whisper when he presses, "Fake it just this once."

 You nod, lips brushing his, and from there you both devolve into sloppy kisses and desperate hands. As always.

[ next ]

[theparanormalperiodical]

5 Spooky Books To Curl Up With This Winter - From Classic Ghost Stories To True-ish Tales Of The Unexplained

It’s the most wonderful tttiiiiii-

Oh, f*ck off.

It’s a shit one, yet again. I’m ill (not Omicron), I’m cold and the only thing cheering me up is various Spider-Man films on Netflix.

But back when “social distancing” wasn’t a thing, I’d spend my Christmases in front of a roaring fire with the TV blaring a random Harry Potter film. This year, I need something a ‘lil different.

I’ve mentioned it dozens of times on this blog: historically, Christmas has been celebrated by telling ghost stories. Why not go full turn-of-the-century by reading a ghost story? Yeah, reading. Remember that? With the pages, and the effort, and the thinking?

Here are 5 spooky-dooky books to get you set for a cosy Winter’s night in…

The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson

This gothic horror tells the tale of a parapsychologist seeking evidence of the supernatural. He takes a group of volunteers who have previously encountered the paranormal to Hill House, a supposedly haunted home. Soon, the characters unravel mentally as mysterious events take place.

The 1959 novel went onto span several film and TV adaptations, all trying to capture the chilling stories that lie within the walls of Hill House, with Netflix’s recent rendition becoming a cult classic.

The Turn of the Screw - Henry James

(This book actually inspired this blogpost - I was given it by a friend, and never quite got round to reading it…)

The 1989 novella follows a governess who takes a job caring for two children at a remote, grand estate. In fact, the story actually starts on Christmas Eve, with the narrator sitting round a crackling fire.

Like many novels charting such events, it is unknown whether the supernatural events were real of figments of the governess’ imagination - you’ll have to read it to find out. Netflix snapped up the rights to the story after The Haunting of Hill House, giving their version events in The Haunting of Bly Manor.

The Woman in Black - Susan Hill

Just like The Turn of the Screw, we hear the story told around a fireplace during mid-Winter. And, yet again, it's the story of someone forced to perform an essential function at a remote, allegedly haunted location.

The story goes that a young solicitor goes to a small market town to settle a recently deceased woman’s estate. But he soon discovered the woman who passed away hasn’t quite left the mortal realm, and has become something of an urban legend.

Hell House - Richard Matheson

Possibly known best for being parodied in the Scary Movie franchise, this novella is staked out like The Haunting of Hill House, with several researchers staying there to find proof of life after death.

And, just like in Hill House, we see the effects of an alleged haunting through the physical and mental corruption of all those that dare stay there.

The Exorcist - William Peter Blatty

Somehow this film - or, in this case, the novel its based on - always managed to find its way into a blogpost.

The inspiration behind the iconic film follows a similar plot: a priest unearths a mysterious artefact during an archaeological dig in Iraq that unleashes *quite literally hell* back home in the States.

The author has previously credited the story to the “real-life” possessions of Loudun and Louviers, as well as confirming he based the priest at the centre of all the drama on a British archaeologist he met in Beirut.

If you liked this post make sure you let me know by liking and reblogging it! And while you’re down there, make sure you hit follow to hear something spooky every Saturday.

PS: I know I haven’t been great at updating my blog with *stellar content* recently. Just got things happening. You know, things. I hope soon I’ll find my way back.