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#and finding comfort in a fat man being so comfortable in his own body in an industry I want to be a part of
gukyi · 9 months ago
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love me or we both go down | kth
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summary: after going through with an arranged marriage to please his parents and secure his inheritance of the family business, kim taehyung thinks he’s got it all figured out. he doesn’t. apparently just being married to you isn’t enough, not when everybody and their mother can pick up on the fact that the two of you absolutely loathe each other. but taehyung wants his inheritance one way or another, so he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures: the two of you need to fall in love, and you need to fall in love fast.
{enemies to lovers!au, arranged marriage!au, rich kids!au}
pairing: kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, smut (i know, crazy right?) word count: 32k warnings: oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, multiple unprotected sex scenes (they’re married y’all), fat cock tae, tae has a wife kink, lots of praise, alcohol consumption (but they’re safe), minor character death (not explicit), mentions of heart attack, slow burn like there is no tomorrow a/n: hello and welcome to the fic everyone, literally everyone, has been waiting for! i am so, so, so excited to share this with you all, especially because none other than rose @kinktae​ helped me write the smut, and i am literally forever indebted to her. you all better go spam rose with all the love and support you can because this fic would not be here without her and i love her so much. 
also, to all my readers who aren’t comfortable reading smut, please know that the smut in this fic is not imperative to the storyline, and you skipping past it will not affect your reading experience., enjoy!
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Never in your life have wedding bells felt so ominous.
The sound of them is akin to the sound of strings, of a single piano note in a horror movie, right when the film opens and someone random is about to die on screen for the sake of proving to the audience that this is, in fact, a horror movie. Make no mistake about it; these wedding bells spell doom for you, too. And the most horrific part about them is that just like that poor, helpless soul in the movie, there is no way for you to escape your fate either. 
With only seconds left to go before you have no choice but to promise yourself to the man waiting at the other end of the aisle, you desperately try to think of any last-ditch efforts to get out of this. Many, if not all of them, are utterly useless. 
Feigning sudden illness won’t work, because then your parents will just reschedule the wedding to a later date. Running away is fruitless. Where will you go? The parking lot?
If only you had a lover out there in the audience somewhere that could object to the marriage when the officiant says, “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” A knight in shining armor that could whisk you out of the venue and off to a new life, far away from here. Too bad all of the people you’ve dated before hate you now. 
Maybe getting married isn’t such a bad thing after all. Instead of having relationships with multiple people who will eventually despise your existence, you only have to have a relationship with one. And the feeling, as has always been, is mutual. 
You bristle as your assistants do some last-minute prepping, fixing your sleeve and adjusting your necklace and making sure you don’t trip on your enormous train. They flutter around you like a swarm of well-meaning but ignorant butterflies complicit in the agenda of your family. None of them have said a word to you about the wedding ever since you arrived at the venue, choosing to talk more about things like the weather. Not that you were ever under the impression they had been hired to entertain you. Maybe they were told to not engage you, just in case you try to conspire with them.
As if they could be of any use in your wildly unrealistic escape plans. 
The truth is that, unless you were to drop dead on this marble flooring right now, you’re getting married. Whether you like it or not.
The doors open. 
You’ve attended red carpets, galas, award shows, and balls. You’ve had hundreds of cameras flashing in your face, the bright light capturing each and every centimeter of you. You’ve had paparazzi waiting outside the restaurants you eat at, the stores you shop at, desperate to catch a picture of you in sweatpants without a drop of makeup on. You’ve been on dates with ex-lovers that looked at you like you were a piece of meat with a credit card. And yet, for some goddamn reason, walking down the aisle in a white dress the size of Pluto, with the rest of your life waiting for you at the other end, makes you feel fucking transparent. 
Face resolute, you clutch onto your bouquet so tightly the flowers feel like they’re about to pop right out of your grasp. Determined not to look at anybody in the audience, you stare straight ahead, right into the eyes of your future husband.
Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen multiple times drunk off his ass with hickies dotting his neck and jawline, cleans up pretty well. For someone getting married, at least. He dons a simple black tuxedo that still probably costs more than the average car, his caramel brown hair is pushed back off his forehead, and his expression is firm and still. He most certainly has had an equally expensive team prepping him, but they haven’t done too bad a job. The silver lining is that he doesn’t look any more thrilled than you are to be doing this, right here, right now. But to his credit, this is definitely the best he’s ever looked, as far as you’re concerned. 
When you reach him, he offers his hand out to you, a hand that you only accept for the sake of professionalism. The bouquet in your hands is handed off to one of your bridesmaids, and the two of you take your position at the front. Your train drags along the aisle, draping over the few stairs you had to climb to reach the altar, this satin trail behind you that cements you to the floor. It may as well be a ball-and-chain. It’s about as heavy as one, anyway. 
This is the longest you and Taehyung have ever held eye contact. Not that you’re really keeping track of how long the two of you have met each other’s gazes, but if you had to make an educated guess, this would definitely be the victor. Most of the time you end up sneering at each other ten seconds in, but to be fair, those other times you were also not getting married. To one another. In a ceremony attended by hundreds of people. And cameras.
There can be no sneering here. 
“Don’t you look nice?” Taehyung whispers, loud enough so only the two of you can hear. He has that drawling, sickly sweet tone to his voice, the one that you hate because it makes him sound like he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else. “Surprised they were able to makeup that scowl off your face.”
This, of course, brings on a hearty scowl only he can see, your backs both facing the rows of attendees. “How much concealer are you wearing to cover up all of the hickies on your neck?” You quip back easily. It’s not like the two of you are going to pretend he doesn’t waltz around at every club or bar or private venue he can find, looking for his next treat. 
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Taehyung grins, and if you weren’t standing in front of hundreds of people about to get married, there’s no telling what next you would do.
The two of you would probably go on like that for another ten minutes if it’s not for the officiant, who coughs once he’s ready and opens the book in his hands. Next to you, Taehyung straightens, hands clasped together at his front, and lips pressed into a neat line. You do the same. There will be no giggles, no laughter nor smiles, nor any genuine emotion at this wedding. This is a wedding for the sake of politics, for economics, for security, and anyone in attendance would be a fool to think otherwise. Especially you. 
“Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, loved ones, and esteemed guests,” the officiant bellows, listing off as many groups of people as he possibly can in an effort to both include and compliment every person in the audience, “We are gathered here to celebrate the wedding, and future life, of Taehyung and Y/N…”
Taehyung turns to you, grinning in that god-awful way, the way he does when he feels like he’s got something over you. And sure, you can’t think of any punishment quite as bad as this, but what’s Taehyung got to smile about? He’s marrying himself off to a woman he hates, kissing goodbye his days as a free-spirited, heartbreaking bachelor, and promising what may very well be the rest of his life to loving you. That is not cause for celebration. 
But perhaps, to him, your suffering is enough to bring a smile to his face. 
Your vows are, to put it simply, total bullshit. Your family hired someone to write yours and there’s not a doubt in your mind that his family did the same thing. This nonsense talk, this complete and utter garbage that spews from your perfectly-glossed lips, shit about how you promise to love each other until the end of your days, how you promise to take care of each other when you’re sick and accompany each other at every event, every gala, every ball. Shit about how you promise to look only at each other, promise to uphold your family traditions and become a dependable spouse. 
The words don’t belong to you. But the thing is that this marriage was never yours anyway. 
When the kiss comes, there’s a part of you that thinks maybe you should have psyched yourself up a little more for this. When Taehyung pulls you in, placing a stiff hand on your lower back as he brings you towards his chest, your stomach turns and shivers run down your spine. The feeling of his hand on your body, the breath from his lips brushing against your own, are enough to keep you frozen in place. 
He smiles at you, almost as if to ask, “Are you ready?”
And you squeeze your eyes shut, almost as if to respond, “Let’s do this.”
When his lips meet yours, there is almost nothing. Nothing runs through you, nothing explodes, nothing strikes. But when he pulls away and cheers and applause rings out throughout the room, there is something. A little heat, a remnant of a flame, left on your lips. A little sting, just to remind you it happened. 
The entire hall is cheering but nothing about this is worth celebrating. The fact of the matter is that you and Taehyung will never love each other the way that you are supposed to. 
“Ugh, finally.”
The elevator doors haven’t even properly opened by the time Taehyung is loosening his tie, tugging it off over his head as he stretches his head back and runs a hand through his perfectly-styled hair. As he rakes his fingers through his caramel locks, the hairspray and gel loosens, strands falling down by the side of his face, framing his temple.
“Don’t sound so relieved,” you huff out, deciding now is as good a time as any to start getting undressed yourself. Reaching down to lift up the hem of your reception dress, you tug off your heels, already feeling lighter on your feet. Who cares if Taehyung is watching you pull off your stilettos like a defeated movie heroine? You don’t think you can walk another step in those shoes. “We still have to live together, you know.”
“Don’t remind me,” Taehyung says gruffly, brushing by you roughly as he stomps out of the elevator. “I’m just glad the fucking night is over. I swear, seeing that fake-ass smile on your face made me want to gouge my eyes out.”
You storm after him, refusing to be the helpless damsel in this situation. “Oh, like you didn’t also have that exact same fake-ass smile on your face. It almost made me think you were actually enjoying yourself tonight.”
“I was only enjoying the fact that I know you hate this just as much as I do.” It’s perhaps the only thing you will ever be able to empathize with him on. Mutually relishing in the other’s destruction. Taehyung fumbles with the keypad to the door to the penthouse for a moment before you hear the lock click, the door sliding open as the entrance lights flicker on. 
The reason Taehyung’s penthouse is so clean is because he’s never lived here before. Neither of you have—Taehyung’s parents bought it just for the two of you. And as much as you absolutely despise the idea of having to live with him, at least it was not you who paid for your place of residence. 
You can tell Taehyung’s never lived here before because it’s actually quite nicely decorated inside. The ceilings are high and the sleek velvet curtains are pulled open, revealing a shimmering skyline. The furniture is modern and functional, and the whole damn place smells brand new. You’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of entering the place Taehyung lived in before now, and it looked nothing like this. The furniture was worn and stained despite the live-in maid, the house reeked of five hundred different spices that wafted from the kitchen to the living room, and the bookshelves were covered with comics, graphic novels, and old textbooks. 
If it weren’t for the fact that you and Taehyung are rich kids in their twenties that hate each other, you might have actually thought the place looked… homey. 
You don’t have time to be impressed by the interior design and architecture skills of whoever designed this place. Right now, all you can think about is tugging yourself out of your airtight reception dress and passing out on the nearest bed. Which, hopefully, will be as far away as possible from Taehyung’s bed of choice. 
“How many bedrooms does this place have?” You ask, shimmying along the floor so you don’t trip over the hem of your dress. From the looks of it, you can see one giant hallway to your right and a massive, double-sided staircase leading up. 
“Enough,” Taehyung grumbles in response. The hazy stupor from all of the fancy champagne is starting to wear off for the both of you, leaving behind two grouchy, begrudgingly-married individuals who want absolutely nothing to do with each other and have no problems making that known. Whatever golden light of the evening that was making Taehyung at least a little bit more attractive than usual has faded, and now you see him for what he really is: an unceremoniously tired man in a suit. “You want upstairs or down?”
You gaze up at the marble staircase in front of you, then back down at your too-long dress. “Down.” The last thing you want is to trip in front of the man you have to see, every day, for the rest of your life. 
“Fine by me.” Taehyung’s halfway up the stairs by the time he turns back around to say something else. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess?”
“Yeah.” There’s no point in being hostile now. The both of you are too exhausted to mean anything by it. Besides, what else can you say? Everything to complain about has already been complained about. At least the two of you managed to wrestle out from your parents the stipulation that you would not be going on a honeymoon together. Now that would have been your worst nightmare. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It’s as good of a goodnight either of you are going to get. Taehyung heads up the stairs and disappears around a corner, and you start wandering down the hallway. All the bedrooms look the exact same other than different colors on the walls and bedsheets, but they all look serviceable to you. Clean. Empty. Far away from wherever Taehyung is. 
You pick the one at the very end of the hall just to be as much of a diva as possible, and don’t even bother drawing the curtains before tugging off your dress. It’s past one in the morning, and you’re so high up you don’t think anyone will be able to see you anyway. By the time you’ve stripped naked and are tugging up the too-tight sheets tucked into the mattress, your legs are about to give out beneath you. The bed could be made of rocks for all you care. Anything to lie down on is fine by you. 
Sleep comes fairly easily to you tonight. Once your head hits the pillow you can already feel yourself drifting off, eyelids fluttering shut, but you don’t sleep quite yet. Not before you can think about how this is your life now, sleeping in a foreign bed in a foreign place with a foreign husband upstairs. This is what you will be living in now. Now and forever. 
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Living with Taehyung is, in both the best and worst ways possible, like living with a roommate that doesn’t give a shit about the fact that they live with another person. It’s good, because you and Taehyung hardly see each other and speak even less, which was pretty much the only thing you were asking for when it came to living with him. But it also sucks, because whenever you do happen to cross paths, Taehyung acts like you don’t exist, barely sparing you a hello or even that tight-lipped smile you send to drivers on the road when they let you cross the street. 
Not that the two of you ever engaged in energetic conversation before you got married. But at least the two of you would acknowledge each other, even if only to shoot a glare and a scowl the other’s way from opposite sides of a hotel ballroom. Maybe it’s just because it’s him, but you did always find yourself actually relishing in those little interactions with Taehyung. In this strange, twisted way, it seemed to provide some sort of continuity to your ever-changing life. Like no matter what happened, at least you would know that the two of you would always despise each other. 
To be frank, right now you’re not sure if Taehyung even remembers he got married at all.
Nights have been a lot more sleepless since your wedding day. After two weeks, the reality of it has finally started to settle in. This is your life now. And ever since you realized that, your bed has felt much less comfortable. 
“But the place is nice, right?”
You look around the living room from where you’re sat on the sleek, white suede leather couch, eyes glossing over the bookshelves, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the draping velvet curtains. From here, you can see the entire city skyline, flecks of gold from the windows of skyscrapers against a navy blue background. Slowly, as the moon creeps over the sky and the clock gets later and later, those lights will soon begin to flicker off, one by one. 
“Yeah, it’s not bad.” Nothing to write home about. That is, if home were a place other than here. 
“That’s good. At least you don’t live in, like, a total dump or anything,” Victoria says on the other end of the line. “How’s Taehyung?”
His name alone elicits this deeply-exhausted sigh from your lips, like it’s been ten years since you married and every day has felt worse than the last. “Fine.” You can’t really complain about anything yet, considering that you hardly ever see the man. 
“Just ‘fine’?” Victoria sounds skeptical. 
“Yeah,” you draw out the word, as if trying to convince yourself of its truth. “I mean, it’s like he doesn’t even live here. I barely see him. And when I do, we don’t even speak to each other.”
“That’s good though, isn’t it? You hate him.” Victoria says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And in a sense, it kind of is. 
“I mean…”
“I know that your life hasn’t exactly… gone the way you had planned, but isn’t this your best case scenario when considering everything?” She asks. “If Taehyung is as distant as you say he is, isn’t it almost like you never married him in the first place?”
As if on cue, you hear footsteps coming down the stairs, heels clicking on the marble as they make their way to the entrance. You whip your head around to find Taehyung, all dressed up in loose, flowy slacks and a flowery silk button-down, strolling down the staircase as he scrolls through his phone, paying you zero attention whatsoever. 
He notices you briefly when he reaches the bottom, meeting your eyes with his own. He offers this measly, unenthused half-smile your way before he grabs his wallet and some house keys from the table by the entrance, opens the door, and vanishes off into the night. 
If you hadn’t been in the living room, you probably wouldn’t have even realized he left. Not that you being present as he’s planning on leaving would have stopped him anyway. This is the sixth night he’s done this in the past two weeks. You could stand by the door and stare him down as he emerges from his bedroom, all dressed up for something you’re definitely not invited to, and he would offer you that same goddamn smile and walk out the door without even blinking. Who he was before you got married and who he is now are no different. Not even a ring could change that. 
“I guess,” you tell Victoria. At least Taehyung hasn’t turned into a helicopter husband. “I don’t know. Maybe I just wish that I didn’t have to deal with him at all.”
Wish you could turn back time. Wish you could worm your way out of an arranged marriage before it was too late. Wish you could go back to the way things used to be. 
You and Victoria talk for another couple of minutes before she regretfully has to end the call, citing both her beauty sleep and an 8AM meeting tomorrow morning as her reasons for hanging up. The moment you put the phone down, you sink back into the couch cushions, staring out the windows at the world below you.
Here’s the deal. What Taehyung does in his free time is none of your business. But also, it’s totally your business, because you are his spouse. A spouse who is an equal amount in the public eye as he is. What he does and does not do has a direct impact on what you do and do not do. 
It’s no secret that when you catch Taehyung sauntering down the stairs looking like a Gucci runway model, it’s not because he’s planning on catching a movie with a college friend and then playing video games for four hours on a couch in a basement. He is going out. To clubs, to parties, to exclusive events that he’s been invited to by his equally-rich friends, all of whom are acting like he’s the same bachelor he’s always been. 
And maybe that’s the real problem with your whole marriage—other than the glaringly obvious issue that it’s a marriage wholly unwanted by the two parties involved in it. Despite the ring on his finger, Taehyung is going out and pretending that nothing in his life has changed while you’re trapped at home, desperate to save you and your family’s reputation by keeping as low a profile as possible. You would give anything to march around the city all day, flashing middle fingers at paparazzi as you shop at your favorite high-end stores and frequent your favorite clubs. But you can’t, because your family’s fortune and influence is on the line. 
And apparently, Taehyung’s isn’t. 
It sort of makes you wonder why it was even Taehyung you ended up marrying anyway. His family isn’t any richer or more powerful than yours. Your spheres have always been sufficiently separate. What was it about him, and perhaps more importantly, his family that drew your parent’s eye? And what was it about marrying you that prevented him from saying no? Money? Prestige? Influence?
You suppose you’ll never know. But whatever mystical force that convinced Taehyung to agree to this must not be as important to him as your reasoning is to you, because it’s become exceedingly apparent that Taehyung does not care that he’s married. He doesn’t care about the ring on his finger, he doesn’t care about his public image, and he most certainly doesn’t care about you.
Perhaps you were naive for thinking this, but you actually believed marriage might tone him down a little. Might age him into a real adult with real world obligations. Instead, it’s only given you a firsthand look into who Kim Taehyung has been and always will be: a selfish rich kid.
You don’t bother waiting around in the living room until he gets back, but you are still awake by the time you hear the door creak open. Taehyung makes no efforts to hide his return. You can hear him chattering loudly on the phone as he stumbles up the stairs, can tell from his gait alone that he is most certainly wasted. You don’t want to know what he did tonight. You’ll probably be able to figure it out anyway when you wake up tomorrow morning and check your social media. 
What were you thinking, marrying him? That he would change? That he would suddenly become someone that you could rely on? You had no choice when you said, “I do,” but you were at least hoping that maybe one day, one day in a long, long time, the two of you would finally see eye to eye. Maybe there would even come a time when you would genuinely love him. How foolish. 
You close your eyes and try to imagine a world where you have married someone you love, someone who loves you back.
Not unlike the many nights preceding it, tonight is sleepless. 
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Unlike your marital status and general disposition, one thing that hasn’t changed about you is your love for extravagant events. Call you conceited, but there is something so much fun about putting on a fancy, expensive dress that you love and getting your hair and makeup done before going to an exclusive gala and posing in front of five hundred cameras. 
Actually, now that you think about it, maybe your wedding could have actually been pretty good, considering it let you do all those things. It’s a real shame there happened to be a storm cloud in the form of Kim Taehyung there to ruin it. Otherwise, you think you would have rather enjoyed that day. 
Tonight is the first event since your marriage where you and Taehyung are both required to show up and act like a happy married couple. Which would probably be a lot easier if you and Taehyung had exchanged more than ten words over the past two weeks. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but there was a part of you that thought you could use your arranged marriage to actually cultivate some sort of meaningful relationship between the two of you. So events like these wouldn’t be such a drain on both of you. 
When Kim Taehyung comes down the stairs, he actually doesn’t look too bad. You don’t know why this sort of thing keeps catching you off guard—like you don’t expect him to look that good whenever you see him. The problem is that you can’t even chalk up the surprise to him wearing tailored clothes or having his hair done. He just looks… good. 
Well, you suppose you do have to look at him every day for the rest of your life. It’s a good thing he’s attractive. At least he’s not sore on the eyes. 
Taehyung and his unfortunate attractiveness aside, the two of you don’t say a word to each other as you join up at the entrance, grabbing any last-minute items like house keys, chapstick, and whatever dignity you have left to spare. You send forced smiles and tight nods each other’s way in the elevator, staring straight ahead in the lobby of your building as the car pulls up to the front door.
By the time the two of you sit down in the back of the limousine, the built-up tension between the two of you is so thick you’re almost positive that even the chauffeur can feel it through the closed partition. 
If you were any more idyllic, you’d probably spend the drive over to the gala staring out the window and imagining yourself in a different life, on a train to nowhere, flowers in your hair and a journal in your hands. Or perhaps you’d be the CEO of your family’s company instead of having that responsibility passed down to a husband you don’t even want, sitting in an office at the top of a skyscraper overlooking the city. Anything. Anything but this.
But the idyllic part of you died when you realized that fantasies like that are nothing but distractions and that daydreams are for romantics and optimists and losers. 
“What’s our plan for tonight?”
Taehyung scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘what’s our plan’?”
You frown. “Well, we’re married, so we at least have to act like it, don’t you think?”
“Isn’t standing there and smiling enough?” Taehyung asks, an unimpressed eyebrow raised. 
You bristle. Maybe that sufficed for your wedding, but there was so much going on it was easy to distract yourself from the gravity of it all. But this event is not about you. It’s not even about either of your families. It’s about someone the two of you are, at best, distantly connected to, through work, through fame, through power. Which means that though the focus will not be on you, there will still be eyes looking your way. Eyes watching your every move. 
“Do you think it will be?” You challenge. Doesn’t Taehyung realize that things are different now?
Taehyung’s lips curl downwards. “What do you expect us to do, shower each other in kisses? We don’t even sleep on the same fucking floor.”
“Maybe I just expected you to act less like a stranger and more like a husband!”
Taehyung sighs. “Don’t.” The word is clipped, short. “Don’t tell me you actually want to be married.”
“I don’t.” It’s a response that you hardly have to think twice about. “But we are, and nothing can change that.” Unfortunately. But it’s a fact that you and Taehyung have both had to grapple with over the past few weeks, and it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you are more aware of it than he is. If Taehyung could have his way, he would ignore you for the rest of his life and keep partying with the rest of his bachelor friends until he keeled over and died. 
He huffs next to you, eyes staring straight ahead. You don’t think the two of you have met each other’s eyes in a week. Maybe more. They’re starting to feel as soulless as your marriage itself. “Whatever. What do you want me to do?”
“What do you think?” You cross your arms over your chest. “Just act like you don’t hate me. Can you do that?” The way Taehyung’s behaving right now, you expect that will be a challenge for the both of you.
“Only if you can. I’ll even hold your hand to prove that we love each other.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
The idea of holding Taehyung’s hand makes you want to implode. The mere thought sends shivers down your spine. But it’s better than nothing, and that’s good enough for you. At least you won’t have to kiss. 
The rest of the ride there is silent. You drive to this gorgeous mansion just outside the city, bathed in lights hidden amongst the bushes, illuminating both the architecture and the enormous fountain that sits in front of it. In a house this size, you imagine you could probably go your whole life without ever having to come across Taehyung. It actually makes you consider investing in a home that big. 
Taehyung helps you out of the back of the limousine, a cold hand clasping your own as you rest your palm against his. You can feel the way his fingers hesitate as yours make to intertwine with his as you walk towards the entrance, smiling at whatever camera flashes you encounter on your way. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were holding hands with a ghost. 
The moment you step inside and are ushered out of the door’s view, Taehyung’s grip relaxes on yours. For a moment, you think he’ll actually spend the rest of the night like this, a gentle hand wrapped around yours, but then he pulls it away entirely and shoves it back into his pocket. Oh. You frown quietly to yourself. So that’s how tonight’s going to go. 
You don’t make an effort to reach out towards him again. 
For an event concerning people you don’t know a damn thing about, everyone sure seems to know things about you. Other than greetings, you don’t think anyone’s said anything to you about anything other than your recent marriage to Taehyung. Every conversation is punctuated by a Congratulations! you do not feel that you have at all earned, considering you and Taehyung could barely look at each other on the way here.
Maybe Taehyung was right. All you really can do is stand there and smile.
“Oh, don’t tell me… Y/N, is that you?”
The champagne swirls around in the flute between your fingers as you turn towards the sound of your name, looking up to see a familiar face headed your way. 
Kim Seokjin is nice enough. He’s terribly handsome and got a flawless smile, but you know better than to trust those pearly whites of his. The sight of him alone is enough to make your body tense up. There was a reason you had explicitly told your parents not to invite him to your wedding. 
“Seokjin, what a surprise to see you here,” you say, forcing a smile. “I thought you were supposed to be in Switzerland right now.”
“Change of plans,” Seokjin grins back in that awful, awful way, the kind of grin that makes you feel like he’s looking right through you. “I came back early. It’s a shame, though, I missed your wedding.”
You shrug. “It was a humble affair.” It wasn’t. And you’re positive that Seokjin knows it wasn’t an accident that you didn’t extend an invitation to him or his family. 
“Ah, I see,” Seokjin says, nodding his head. He turns to Taehyung next to you, who is making no effort to hide how wholly uninterested in this conversation he is, and holds out a hand. “You must be Kim Taehyung, then. I’m Kim Seokjin. Congratulations on your wedding.”
Taehyung shakes his hand firmly, the air between the three of you growing unbearably palpable. 
“Seokjin’s father is the VP of News Daily,” You explain, eyebrows raised as you try to signal to Taehyung what exactly it means when Seokjin is speaking to the two of you. “And his mother is a popular journalist for the city’s post.”
Seokjin grew up in the world of media, and it seems he’s picked up his parent’s affinity for sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. You know he’s not talking to the both of you out of the goodness of his heart. 
Seokjin laughs, his hand waving away the mention of his parents. “Oh, please. That’s them. I’m just a bored socialite like the rest of you.”
You resist the urge to scoff. 
“Marriage treating the two of you well?” He changes the subject to what he really wants to talk about: you. 
“Of course,” you say quickly, preventing any hesitation on your end. Your empty hand reaches towards Taehyung’s, fingers searching for his between the two of you. But his refusal to join hands does not go unnoticed by you nor Seokjin, who is eyeing the space between your bodies with an eyebrow raised. “It’s just been—well, it’s just been difficult to adjust to a new life. That’s all.”
If you were to describe the face of a non-believer, it would be the exact expression on Seokjin’s face. “Perfectly understandable,” he says, that same toothy smile lacing his features. “But it must be nice, you know, to marry someone you love.”
“I couldn’t be happier,” you say, almost challenging Seokjin to say something even more inflammatory. He must know that all you’re trying to do at this point is save face. Love? Ha! As if. 
“And Taehyung?” Seokjin motions to your husband. 
You can feel the way Taehyung is stiffening beside you. “I suppose we are both lucky and unlucky in many ways when it comes to who we love.”
It’s enough of an answer to get Seokjin off your tail. For now. He bids the two of you a tense goodbye before sauntering off to go poke his nose in someone else’s business, fish for drama, a thread of a rumor he can pick apart with nimble fingers. You wonder if anybody actually likes him. 
The moment he disappears from earshot, you grab Taehyung’s wrist tightly and pull him close to you. “What the hell was that?” You hiss into his ear. 
“What?” You can’t tell if he’s playing dumb or if he really is that dense. 
“You!” You exclaim. “Kim Seokjin is the one person who could easily expose how fake this marriage is and you pull away from me? Right in front of him? You can’t even hold my hand for two seconds, that’s how much you hate me?”
“Who cares what he thinks?” Taehyung says. “He’s just another media rat. No one will even remember we were here tomorrow.”
“But if you keep acting like this, people will start to notice! Why can’t you just act like you don’t hate me, for one night? Is that so bad? Is it that torturous, to spend one night with me?”
“Do not turn this on me,” Taehyung orders harshly. “You’re making a scene. Come on.”
You don’t have time to shout at him for bossing you around like you’re a toddler throwing a tantrum before he drags you out of the venue, the two of you finding a back door to the building that leads outside. The cold air blows against your body, goosebumps popping up against your skin, but you find that the chilly night provides quite the respite after practically overheating indoors. Taehyung makes fire rush through your veins but at least the air can cool you back down. 
Nevertheless, your conversation is not over. It’s just been moved to a more private location.
“You do realize that our marriage isn’t going to suddenly go away, right? That we’re going to have to keep doing this for the rest of our lives?” You remind him, eyebrows raised. There’s a part of you that genuinely thinks he’s completely forgotten that your marriage is permanent.
“Oh, and not holding hands for five minutes for this one event is totally going to change the course of our lives, isn’t it?” Taehyung fights back.
“Don’t act like you did the right thing,” you spit out. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I know you don’t give a shit about our marriage.”
“What marriage is there to even give a shit about? Just because we had a wedding and signed some documents does not mean there is a real marriage between us. Look at us,” he motions between the two of you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We hate each other. Is this what you would call marriage?”
“But at least I’m trying to get past that!” You exclaim. “You make it seem like being as miserable as possible is some sort of badge of honor. Do you actually want to spend the rest of your life hating the person you married? Or do you want to grow up and try and move on?”
Taehyung frowns. “What I want is for the person I married to stop acting like they’re doing me such a huge favor by pretending to care about us. Especially when all they really care about is their family’s goddamn reputation.”
“No,” you tell him sternly. You are doing him a favor. He just can’t admit that he actually needs help from you. “You are putting zero effort into this. What am I supposed to do?”
“Let it go!” Taehyung shouts. “Maybe one day we’ll actually start getting along, but right now it’s obvious that neither one of us can stand the other. I don’t need you to do favors for me. I can handle it myself.”
You look away, rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t look like it to me,” you mutter to yourself. 
Taehyung cracks. “Fine. You want me to pretend that I actually care about us? I will.” Thank God. Maybe now the two of you will finally start seeing eye-to-eye. “But make no mistake about how I feel about you,” he spits. “Getting married to you ruined my life.”
You stare straight at him and his eyes are swirling, so obscured in the darkness of the night that you might even think he doesn’t have a soul at all. His pupils bore into yours and for once, for once in your goddamn life, after so many years of staring each other down at debutante balls, so many years of witty refrains and snarky insults hurled each other’s way, it feels like the two of you might actually snap. 
Then, a camera flashes.
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Trouble in Paradise! would be a suitable title for the front page of the city’s biggest tabloid… if anything about your life with Taehyung could be considered paradise. Unfortunately for the both of you, that is not the case. 
You don’t need to keep reading the rest of the trashy article on the front page of the daily tabloid to know how much trouble you’re in, nor do you even have time to scroll beneath the terrible photo of you and Taehyung literally shouting at each other before you hear your phone ring. 
You don’t even bother saying hello to whoever’s on the other end. You know it’ll go in one ear and out the other. 
“I assume you know why I’m calling,” your mother’s harsh tone spits from the other end of the phone. There’s no doubt in your mind that she’s standing in the middle of her office, snapping her fingers at her fifteen secretaries as they partake in the worst damage control your family’s had to deal with since your cousin two years ago was caught with a mistress outside a high-profile restaurant. 
“Can I take a wild guess?” You’re about to be scolded into the next century, so you might as well enjoy your last few moments. 
“Don’t get cheeky with me,” your mother warns. “Care to explain why you and your beloved husband made the front page of the Daily Post today?”
“I know,” you sigh, a hand coming up to rub at your temples. It’s eight in the morning, you’ve barely looked at your phone, and you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet. It feels like you’re still asleep, and most certainly lack the energy to deal with this right now. 
Your mother, on the other hand, thinks otherwise. “You know? You know, and you still go out and do this? For everyone to see?”
“We tried to take our argument outside,” you begin to explain, but your mother isn’t having a single word of it. 
“The fact that you thought it was even appropriate to have an argument in a public setting at all astounds me, Y/N. We raised you better than that.” There’s no need for you to even see her face. You’ve grown so used to that disappointed frown over the years that it’s burned into your brain. 
“Maybe you should have thought about that before marrying me off to a man I barely know so I could be someone else’s problem instead of yours,” you bite. 
“We did this for your own good,” she hisses back. “You are married because we love you, and we want you to succeed outside of this family.”
“Then why do you care what the tabloids print about me?”
“Because being married does not mean you are no longer a part of this family,” your mother informs you sternly, lips smacking together. “Your marriage reflects on all of us, and you know that. What will people think of us when they see how terribly behaved you are?”
“Everyone acts like that, and you know it.” How could your mother preach good behavior when everyone, everyone you know, is just as spoiled and entitled as you? There’s no such thing as being altruistic when it comes to people like you. Being genuine, and good, and pure—that will get you ruined. 
You can hear her breathing into the phone when your mother responds, “But not in public, and that is the point. We expect better from you.”
“If you were so worried about me behaving so badly, then why did you even marry me off anyway? You knew that I didn’t want to. What did you think would happen?” It’s a question you wouldn’t have dared ask three months ago. Hell, even a year ago, when it was first revealed you were to be engaged, you wouldn’t have dared open your lips. But things are different now. You’re married to a man that hates you just as much as you hate him. He is making no effort to improve your relationship and seems hellbent on despising you forever. There is no way to get out of it. And if your parents really foresaw all of that, then what was the point in the first place?
“Your grandmother.”
Your mouth shuts. 
“You know she wanted to see you married before she passed,” your mother says, words clipped and biting and harsh. “She cares about you. She wanted to make sure you’d be taken care of.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” you mutter to yourself like a petulant child. In a way, you sort of are.
“If you want to stay in her will, I suggest you change that mindset.”
You freeze in your tracks. The will?
“Is that a threat?” You ask, positively dumbfounded. Are you being coerced into staying in this marriage because of your grandmother’s will?
You can hear your mother laugh, that muted, knowing chuckle of hers. “It was the deal all along, remember?”
Vaguely, you do. You remember fighting your parents tooth and nail over getting married until your grandmother revealed it was her dream to see you wed. You remember the look on her old, wrinkled face, that soft, sad smile that said she knew she didn’t have much time left. You remember agreeing, because how could you deny her? You remember her promising to remember what you’re doing for her. 
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“But—”
“That’s the end of this conversation, Y/N. You fix things with your husband or you’re out of her will. She’s made that clear. I expect you’ll make the right choice.”
She hangs up. 
Well. 
There are a lot of ways to describe how you’re currently feeling, and you most certainly had an expensive education that would provide you with plenty of the vocabulary, but you think the most appropriate words for the current situation would be: you’re fucked. 
At least the feeling is mutual. 
Hardly two minutes after your mother’s brutal phone call, Taehyung comes storming down the stairs, hair still mussed from the night prior, his own phone clenched tightly between is fingers. Even from where you stand in the middle of the living room, you can see the way his eyes are glinting with anger, the veins popping out from his skin. 
“I just got off the phone with my parents,” Taehyung begins, not even bothering to spare a ‘good morning’ your way, “and they are fucking furious about last night.”
You shrug. “Join the club,” you mutter, arms crossed in front of you. What, does Taehyung really think you got off scot-free?
“Don’t act like this means nothing to you,” Taehyung says as he approaches you, footsteps calm despite his demeanor being anything but. “You’re the one who’s so obsessed with keeping up their family’s perfect reputation. You’re the reason we’re even in this mess in the first place.”
“What do you mean, ‘I’m the reason’?” You ask, astounded. Like he’s totally absolved of all blame and just an innocent third party. “You are the reason we went outside. You are the reason we had that argument, because you refuse to accept the fact that we’re actually married and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Right, because holding hands is really gonna show all those people how in love we are. I bet your parents are so thrilled right now.” Taehyung drawls. 
“It’s a start!” You shriek. “God, you’re just so—so infuriating! You can’t accept that this was your fault, too. You just have to turn everything against me and you always, always have to get the last word. It’s like you think you’ll die if you don’t.”
“Like you’re any better,” Taehyung huffs back. “You think I’m the villain because I don’t want to pretend to be in love with someone I’m not in love with. You act like us not holding hands is going to ruin our lives. It was one event! One! It’s obvious we hate each other, so why even try?”
“What, do you expect me to just sit around and do nothing? To act like everything’s fine? Like I’m happy?” As if. This marriage is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. “While you prance around the city with your rich boy friends, going out to clubs and parties and pretending that I don’t exist? Is that what you expect from me?”
Taehyung laughs, this loud, disbelieving sort of noise, like he’s never heard such nonsense before. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean the rest of my life has to change. Am I not allowed to enjoy myself with my friends? Or are you determined to keep me chained to your side for the rest of our lives?”
“What I want,” you punctuate every word, “is for you to stop acting like you haven’t got stakes in this, too. You think I don’t know how your family works? What being married to me means for you? Because I do. And I know that if we were to divorce, it would be you who would get the short end of the stick. Make no mistake.”
That’s enough to shut Taehyung up for a good few seconds. And it shuts him up, because he knows it’s true. Taehyung’s family may have a little more money, a little more power than yours, but you’ve got a family intimately more connected with the media. One phone call and Taehyung may have a rather messy, rather public breakup to deal with. 
“You wouldn’t,” he says, calling your bluff. 
“Are you sure about that?” You say, sticking your ground. You would never really divorce him, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I am,” Taehyung says firmly. “Don’t think I don’t know what being married to me is in it for you. What is it? Money? Power? Your father’s CEO position?”
“That’s none of your business,” you snap quickly. Maybe you’re more transparent than you thought. Bristling, you straighten your shoulders and turn back to meet his eyes. “Regardless, it seems we both have a reason to stay in this marriage.”
“It seems we do,” Taehyung agrees with a thin, contained smile. “Then I suppose we can reach some sort of agreement.”
“As in…?” Your interest in piqued. 
“I’ll stop going out with my friends if you stop picking fights with me all the time,” he says economically, like he’s killing two birds with one stone. 
“Only if you agree to also act more like my husband when we’re in public,” you tack on, because you just can’t settle for anything less. 
“Public only,” Taehyung specifies. 
You scoff. “Like I’d even want to pretend to be your wife when we’re in private.”
“Good. It seems we’ve come to a deal.”
“What’s in this for you, huh?” You prod, just to be annoying. Taehyung’s right. There’s a reason you’re not divorcing him the second you get the chance. But there must be a reason why he’s not doing the same thing. 
“Does it matter?” He challenges, a single eyebrow raised. “My life is just as awful as yours.”
Fair enough. 
“Do we have a deal?” Taehyung asks, holding out his hand, that sneaky, devilish grin lacing his features. 
Taking his hand in yours and grasping it firmly is the easiest decision in the world. His palm presses against your own, hot hand meeting your cold skin, and it feels like the two of you are finally finding some sort of balance. You look up into his eyes, burn your gaze into his pupils, watch them glint in the white ceiling light of the living room. 
“Deal.”
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For two people raised on the values of reading the fine print and making educated choices when it comes to business deals, you and Taehyung sure haven’t worked out any of the intricacies of the deal the two of you agreed to. Unlike those business deals your parents constantly agreed to, however, knowing all of the stipulations and provisions of your strange, strange agreement with Taehyung may prove more harmful than helpful. 
Like right now. 
“Wait, we don’t have to be by each other’s side the whole night, do we?” Taehyung asks you, eyebrows furrowed in a knot, as you sit in the back of a big, black van on your way to a mutual friend’s twenty-first birthday bash. 
“There are going to be a lot of cameras there,” you respond. 
“Yeah, outside the entrance to the damn club. You know they won’t be allowed in, so who cares?” Taehyung rebukes. 
You huff out a little sigh, not wanting to get into an argument when you’re literally minutes away from your first public appearance since the whole tabloid debacle from three weeks ago. You and Taehyung could both do with being a bit more relaxed than you normally are when you’re around each other. 
“Hasn’t Clarissa invited hundreds of people? They’ll all notice if we aren’t together,” you remind pointedly. The girl whose birthday party you are attending is an heiress who grew up on the money of two people with a monopoly over the current artificial intelligence market and has millions of followers on social media. There will be notable people there. And people will know the two of you, as well. 
Taehyung rolls his eyes. “That’s the point, Y/N. There’ll be so many people, no one will even care. It’s her twenty-first birthday. Do you think people are going to be sober?”
You purse your lips together. He’s got a point. “How about when we are together, we hold hands. But if you see a friend or something then feel free to say hi.” Taehyung can be afforded that luxury. Especially because the chances of him not bumping into someone he knows is exceedingly low anyway. 
Taehyung nods in agreement. “You too. But I won’t leave you unless I know you’re with someone you’re close with.”
“You don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine,” you say with a small chuckle. What, is Taehyung suddenly worried, or something?
“Yeah, but it would be in bad taste if I left you with someone you didn’t know well. Or alone. Just wanna make sure you’re taken care of.” He shrugs nonchalantly, turning back to look out of the window on his side of the car. 
“Okay.” 
You don’t really have anything else to say to that. You’re sure you can handle yourself if you’re left alone for a few minutes while Taehyung says hi, but you actually find yourself rather appreciative of his resolve to look after you. Or, at least, make sure someone else is looking after you. It’s quite… chivalrous. Strikingly out of character for the Taehyung you’ve become well-acquainted with over the past couple of months. 
By the time you arrive, it’s obvious that Taehyung was right about there being so many people you two practically don’t even exist. Other than the herds of camera crews waiting outside the joint, photographing everyone that steps out of a black car to see what they’re wearing and who they’ve come with, no one seems to be paying you any attention. And in a way, that sort of nonexistence, that anonymity, it’s refreshing. Your entire life you’ve felt like all eyes were on you, like there was constantly a spotlight above your head, but here, the party centers around someone else. 
Despite that fact, Taehyung keeps his promise. He keeps himself pressed closely against you when there’s not enough space for you two to stand side by side, and he makes sure to have a hand gently intertwined with your own as you weave your way through the dozens of bodies in the room. He doesn’t say anything, of course, always looking up and forward instead of beside him, where you stand, but you find that you’re actually quite relaxed with his presence. He spots a bit of a clearing near the back of the first floor of the club, where a whole bunch of leather couches are pressed up against the brick walls, where the two of you can take a breather. 
“Damn, Clarissa knows a lot of people,” you say when you finally settle down, happily plucking a martini from a tray held by one of the many caterers wandering through the venue. 
“I doubt she’s even spoken to half of them,” Taehyung comments. “She and I have maybe spoken once… three years ago.”
“It was enough to get you invited, wasn’t it?” You point out with an eyebrow raised. 
Taehyung nods, chuckling a little. “Touché,” he says, clinking his own cocktail glass against yours. 
You take a swig of the drink, letting it wash down your throat. You’re not exactly sure how else you’re supposed to survive the night. “You must enjoy this, huh?” You muse, looking up at Taehyung from where you’re seated on the couch. He’s standing next to you, looking around the room with a distant gaze in his eye. 
“Enjoy what? The drink? It’s nice,” Taehyung says, having another sip. 
“No, I mean this,” you say, motioning toward the crowd. “The clubbing, the dancing, the drinking. I’ll bet that if you could do this every day for the rest of your life, you would.”
“I’m honored that you think so highly of me,” he deadpans. 
“Just making an observation,” you say, holding your hand up in surrender. “I mean, isn’t this what you used to do every weekend before we got married? Get wasted and party? Wake up in someone else’s bed the next morning? Muscle your way through the week just so you could do it all over again?”
Taehyung shakes his head, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like someone keeps up with her tabloids. Let me guess, you would scroll through all of those trashy articles on your phone whenever you woke up so you could see what your future husband was doing?”
“I could have never even met you and I would know that that’s exactly what you do,” you say, even though you definitely did do those things before your engagement was announced to the public. “You’re a heartbreaker, Kim Taehyung. I don’t need to read a tabloid to know that.”
“Well, you must be quite the lucky girl, then,” Taehyung comments. “You seem to be taking up so much of my energy that I don’t have the time for that anymore.”
You place a sarcastic hand on your heart. “I didn’t know you were always thinking about me. I’m touched.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Taehyung huffs out, making the two of you both shake your heads as you chuckle to yourselves. First civil conversation you’ve had with each other in a long while, even if there may have been a few blows exchanged. 
The privacy doesn’t last long. Soon after, a huge crowd of people that could honestly still pass for teenagers herds towards the back of the club, all of them wanting to take pictures with each other. You and Taehyung do your best to stay out of the way, but one of the girls recognizes him from the Elle photoshoot he did about a year ago and begins to strike up a conversation with the both of you about your recent marriage. If she was paying attention to anything the tabloids leaked three weeks ago, she doesn’t mention it. Taehyung smiles and happily answers all of her questions, and even offers to take a picture of the group for them. The conversation ends before the two of you even catch her name. 
You’re standing by the line of buffet tables laid out against the staircase leading up to the second floor, no doubt as crowded as this one, when the opportunity for you to speak to someone other than Taehyung finally presents itself. 
“Y/N!”
You’d recognize that voice anywhere. You turn around to see Victoria barreling towards the both of you, not even caring when she accidentally spills a bit of her piña colada on the floor as she does. 
“Hey!” You exclaim excitedly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure Clarissa invited everyone on her, her best friend’s, her best friend’s cousin, and her best friend’s cousin’s dog’s contact list,” Victoria says with a laugh. “It’s nice to see you. I feel like you’ve been holed up in that big ol’ penthouse for weeks.”
“Damage control,” you remind her succinctly. Victoria knows enough that that’s all the explanation she really needs. 
“I don’t know if the two of you have ever met formally,” you say, thinking back to your wedding, where Victoria spent most of her time schmoozing with your parents (who love her) and didn’t even engage with any of the people who Taehyung’s family had invited. “Taehyung, this is Victoria. Victoria, Taehyung.”
“Pleasure,” Victoria says in that loud, unabashedly forward way of hers, holding out a friendly hand. Taehyung smiles back curtly, taking her hand and shaking it gently, so as not to spill any more of her drink. 
“Mine as well. I remember you were at our wedding.” Oh? So he does know her?
“That I was. Oh, I miss that day. The food was excellent. Tonight’s isn’t too bad either. Hope you’re doing well, the two of you. It’s nice to see you getting along,” she says, always the observer. 
Taehyung’s eyes widen a little when he picks up what Victoria is not-so-subtly putting down, but you place a hand on his upper arm to calm him. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “She won’t say anything.”
“My lips are sealed,” Victoria adds. 
“If you wanna go spend time with some of your friends, you can,” you say, giving Taehyung a nudge. He looks positively helpless standing in between the two of you as Victoria out-extroverts him. 
“Alright,” he says hesitantly, even though you know he’s already spotted at least ten people you’re sure he’d want to spend time with over you. “I’ll come find you soon, okay? Don’t go too far.”
You nod, and Taehyung disappears off into the crowd. Not two seconds later, you hear someone else call his name in a familiar tone. 
“I thought you said you hated him,” Victoria points out as the two of you watch his caramel brown hair makes its way throughout the crowd. 
You take another sip of your drink. “I do,” you say. 
Victoria looks at you like you’ve just told her you’ve sworn off custard-filled doughnuts. 
“What?” You ask, feeling suddenly defensive. 
“Nothing,” Victoria singsongs. “It just doesn’t look like that to me.”
“We just need to keep up a good appearance in public, that’s all. You know how mad my parents got when the tabloids leaked all that shit a few weeks ago,” you explain. You’re not sure what all the fuss is about. Taehyung said he would do these things. And he did. That was him upholding his end of the deal. This is you upholding yours. 
“If you say so…” Victoria says, not looking at all convinced. “I guess I’m just surprised that—that you two seem to be getting along so well. Maybe you being married isn’t going to be the worst thing after all.”
You stare back out into the crowd, scanning the top of people’s heads for Taehyung’s familiar locks. In the dim light of the club, you have a difficult time finding his, squinting your eyes slightly as you look around, but eventually you spot him, dancing happily with some old friends of his you recognize. He looks like he’s having a good time. And that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, this might end up alright. 
“Yeah,” you say, though with the pounding of the bass and the alcohol already rushing through your veins, it doesn’t really feel like your voice belongs to you. You look back at Taehyung, knowing exactly where he is now, and you smile. Just a little. “I guess he’s not so bad.”
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You never do get a chance to meet Taehyung’s friends that night. By the time he joins back up with you and Victoria he’s by himself, a little more drunk than when he left, and ready to go home. And for once, instead of fighting him, instead of insisting you stay an hour more just to make sure you’ve done all of your rounds, you let him take you home. 
Taehyung has been spending a lot more time at the penthouse lately. Perhaps his family’s business happenings are slow, or perhaps he’s actually starting to get more comfortable with inhabiting the same space as you, but he has definitely found himself quite the rhythm in that house of yours. He even comes down to the first floor rather regularly. 
When he’s home, Taehyung is a lot quieter than you thought he would be. Granted, you don’t exactly know what you were expecting in the first place, but it certainly wasn’t him ruminating in one of the home offices while the Beatles play softly on the stereo, nor was it him reading a book in French in one of those big old grandfather chairs in the living room. If you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was still absent in that old way of his, ghostlike and silent, like he was occupying the space instead of truly living in it. 
But you do know better, and even though Taehyung is just as noiseless as he used to be, the house already feels a little bit fuller. 
Perhaps the reason you’ve become so keenly aware of his presence over the past few days is because of the notable fact that Taehyung has indeed held up his end of the deal, and no longer goes out with his friends in the evening. Or at all, for that matter. Which strikes you as rather odd, because he’s the epitome of a social butterfly, a thousand contacts in his phone and a whole group of friends he regularly spends time with. Maybe his parents told him to tone down the public appearances, too. And that’s understandable, but don’t they know Taehyung? Can’t they see how much he thrives on social interaction? It almost makes you feel… bad for him. 
To remedy this, you suggest he invite over his friends. Just for a few hours, you swear you won’t mind. 
“Seriously?” Taehyung looks positively shocked when you tell him he can, standing in the doorway of the office he seems to have designated as his own. 
“Yeah, why not?” You say with a carefree shrug. Besides, you’ve never met his friends anyway, and now seems as good a chance as any to introduce yourself. You are his wife, after all. “Unless your parents say you can’t. But it’s not a problem for me.”
“You… don’t mind if I have my friends over for a bit? Honest to God, we’re probably just going to play FIFA for three hours straight,” Taehyung says like it’s some sort of warning. Like the idea of him and his buddies from college are going to sit in the living room screaming at the television, leaving you alone to do literally anything else, is somehow bad. 
You laugh. “It’s fine, really. Call them. I’d actually quite like to meet them.”
Taehyung picks up his phone almost instantly, as if you’ll change your mind in the next five minutes so he better get them over soon, and already you can see the way his face is lighting up, the way his eyes crinkle as he chats to his friends and the way his lips curl upwards when they crack a joke back. Isn’t it obvious? He feeds off of the energy of others. Who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?
As it turns out, Taehyung’s friends actually end up being quite nice anyway. 
He invites over three, because four people is apparently the perfect number for a hardcore game of FIFA on his Playstation, and they are all very handsome men you have never met before. You suppose like attracts like, after all. 
“You must be Y/N,” says the first one you see when you open the door to let them in. He doesn’t look a day over twenty-one—in fact, he could probably still pass as a college student—and has rather long dark hair that drapes over the sides of his face, covering the edges of his big doe eyes. “I’m Jungkook. This is Jimin and Hoseok.”
“Nice to meet you all,” you say, stepping aside so they can enter.
The shortest one, Jimin, grins in response, and Hoseok, behind him, gives you a wave. It’s refreshing enough as is, not having to exchange formal greetings and shake each other’s hands like you do with everyone else. Hoseok even gives you a bit of a nod, too.“You, too,” he says. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
Oh, have they, now? Interesting. 
“All good things, I hope,” you say awkwardly, forcing a small smile as Taehyung comes bounding into the room, ears perked up at the sound of his friends’ voices. 
“Definitely. Thanks for having us over. We didn’t wanna intrude on the sanctity of your new place,” Jungkook says, gesturing vaguely to the house as a whole. He’s got this excellent, genuine grin on his face, the kind that people who are just happy to be alive always wear. 
Already he’s said enough to charm the shit out of you. Who knew Taehyung’s friends could be so… friendly? “Please, you’re welcome any time. I was just thinking Taehyung was getting a little lonely.”
“There he is!” Jimin shouts excitedly when he spots Taehyung behind the two of you, looking a lot more casual than he normally does when he’s alone with you, having abandoned his usual silky button-down and wide-leg slacks for a loose shirt and some sweatpants. You didn’t even know he had those things in his closet. 
“Hey, everyone’s here!” Taehyung exclaims, just as happy. He squeezes past you to give the three of them a big hug, and it almost makes you feel like you’re intruding on something you shouldn’t be in. Even though this is literally your house. 
“Nice place you got here,” Hoseok comments, eyes drifting around the living room. “Very minimalist, I like it.”
“Sure hope you don’t spill anything on those nice leather couches of yours,” Jungkook says. 
“Yeah, unlike Kook, who has spilled tomato soup on every shirt he’s ever owned,” Jimin jokes, earning laughs from Taehyung and Hoseok and a punch from Jungkook. 
“Moved after we married,” Taehyung says simply, shrugging his shoulders. It’s an easy enough explanation for why it doesn’t look at all lived in. Here’s hoping none of them realize you sleep in different bedrooms. 
“Yeah, congratulations on that, man,” Hoseok says, giving Taehyung a celebratory nudge in the shoulder. “Who’d have thought, out of the four of us, Kim Taehyung would be the first one to settle down.”
The way Taehyung’s body tenses up at that comment does not go unnoticed by you. 
“Seriously, I would have never guessed,” Jimin adds on. “You’re showing us a new side of yourself, Tae. But I’m happy for you.”
Normally, you’d probably take offense at such blatant insinuations that your husband was a former playboy, especially from his equally noncommittal friends. But truthfully, it’s not like you were blind to Taehyung’s transgressions either. And what matters most is the fact that since it was announced publicly, you are the only woman he’s been seen with since your engagement. 
“Me too. You seem to really like her. I’m glad,” Jungkook pipes up, sending a smile your way. You definitely feel like you don’t belong in this conversation. “I think the two of you will be good for each other.”
“Yeah, I hope so,” Taehyung says with a nervous chuckle. His eyes quickly shoot your way, the two of you meeting gazes, your hesitant expressions matching. At least the two of you are on the same page. “Alright, alright, enough,” Jungkook says. “Who’s ready to get their ass kicked in FIFA?”
“You’re on, Jeon. But when I win, you owe me a five-star dinner,” Hoseok challenges. 
“Deal.”
Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately crowd towards the couch, and you take that as your cue to leave. But before you can disappear down the hallway, you and Taehyung look awkwardly at each other, hands tied. It’s not like you can say anything to them. 
The truth is that, sometimes, it’s easy to forget that not everyone else knows that your marriage is just for business. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that there are still people out there that believe you marry for love. 
Isn’t it crazy to think that you used to be one of those people, too?
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“Hey,” Taehyung says when you meet up at the bottom of the stairs again. 
“Hey,” you respond. 
“You look nice.”
You scoff a little to yourself. What, are you exchanging compliments now? “Thanks,” you say, looking him up and down. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Like he ever is. 
“I knew you had taste,” Taehyung teases, and it’s the sort of comment that would have earned him a melon ball to the face back when the two of you were teenagers at a debutante ball, but today only earns him a roll of your eyes as you join hands. You don’t have anything big tonight—just a small dinner to celebrate some sort of business accomplishment for your family, which means that all you have to manage is not ending up in some sort of food fight by the end of the night. 
“I didn’t have a choice, did I?” You retort easily as you get into the car. 
You don’t normally speak a lot on the way to events. Not that you ever did, but even as your relationship has slowly faded from pure hatred to attempts at compromise, you both seem to relish in being able to stare out of your respective backseat windows and into the city that surrounds you. Just out of curiosity, about halfway through the ride you look towards Taehyung to see what he’s up to, and find yourself genuinely surprised to see him leaning against the window with his eyes closed. Is he sleeping? A couple more minutes of gazing at him tells you he is, because his body has gone lax and his breathing has evened out, soft snores leaving his mouth. This ride can’t be longer than twenty minutes. Has he not been sleeping well? Up in that enormous second-floor bedroom of his?
He’s awake by the time the car parks outside the restaurant, this fancy name brand steak place that was chosen solely because the biggest beneficiaries of your family’s new business deal are two sixty-year-old men whose entire diet consists of beef and beer. No cameras tonight, just a small family affair. You and Taehyung hold hands as you enter the restaurant and are led to the private room in the back anyway. 
You and him are seated on the far end of the long, rectangular table, alongside all of the other adult children dragged along to celebrate something that has no effect on their lives. But it’s nice, because the space alone prevents your parents from actively speaking with you, and you and Taehyung can stay in your own little bubble, only chiming in for a toast when necessary. 
“What are you going to get?” He asks you, the two of you gazing at the menu. No matter how fancy this place is, all the options seem to boil down to steak, steak, steak, steak, and caesar salad. Classic. 
“Oh, so you actually care now?” You counter, an eyebrow raised in amusement. 
Taehyung laughs. “Aren’t I supposed to?”
You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, wise to his usual shenanigans. It’s hard to tell if Taehyung really means what he says, or if it’s all for show. But perhaps he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious, since no one else seems to be paying you any attention. 
“The choices on this menu are simply overwhelming,” you say, motioning to the six options in front of you. 
“I know, I’m so torn,” Taehyung jokes, making you huff out a little giggle. At least he’s still got that same sense of humor. 
You both end up going for a pretty classic steak dinner, which neither of the two of you finish because the damn portions are the size of your head. Dinner is, in and of itself, absolutely mindless, all of your parents talking about things that don’t concern you whatsoever, leaving you and Taehyung to your own devices as you desperately try to make the night go by faster. 
At one point, you notice Taehyung’s foot brushing up against yours, the leather of his loafers brushing against the toe of your patent heel. Thinking someone of it, you push back, foot nudging his back to his own chair. It’s not a second later that Taehyung retaliates, the two of you dancing around each other underneath the table. 
If the two of you were any younger, or perhaps any less resigned to your fate, there’s no doubt in your mind you would be attempting to get Taehyung to fall off his chair in an effort to do the same to you. Footsie means war. But when the both of you know that, at the end of the day, you’ll still be going home to the same place, and waking up the next morning in the same house, it doesn’t feel like this is a battle.
It’s just life. 
Eventually, you meet Taehyung’s eyes with a hesitant smile, shoe pressed against his, stuck in ceasefire. And for once, he doesn’t have that devilish look in his eye, that smug little grin on his face that tells you that he’s going to make you regret whatever it is you just did. He’s just smiling back at you, all pink lips, having found real fun in the little things. 
And that makes you happy. 
The rest of the dinner is uneventful, which, in your book, is about as good as a dinner can go. You cheers to the future of your parents’ relationship with their newfound partners and say a quick goodbye to them both, hurrying out of there before they can ask you any questions on your relationship with your husband. But you don’t spend the car ride in silence on the way back. 
Instead, you say, “Have you been sleeping well?”
The question seems to catch Taehyung off guard. He was already getting in position to take a power nap on the ride home, head pressed up against the window of the car. 
“What?”
“Have you been sleeping well?” You repeat. “I noticed you fell asleep on the way here.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess,” he says, a hand scratching the nape of his neck. “I mean, it’s been hard adjusting, I suppose. But I’ll get over it.”
Hard adjusting? You’ve been together for nearly three months now. Three months worth of sleeping in the same penthouse bedroom, on the same soft-as-a-cloud mattress, underneath the same weighted blanket. And he’s still having trouble? 
“Oh. I mean, I just wanted to ask because you seem really tired lately.”
“I got a lot on my plate, what can I say,” Taehyung says with an empty smile, forcing a chuckle. “I’ll be fine, seriously. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Isn’t that my job?” You remind him. “I am your wife.”
Taehyung doesn’t say anything to that. He just lets out an audible breath, the kind you let out when you’re amused and have something snarky to say, but don’t have the energy to get the words off your tongue. 
The rest of the ride is pretty quiet. 
When you get home, you place your house keys in the bowl by the entrance and take off your shoes, just about ready to take a hot shower and collapse in bed, when Taehyung’s voice stops you. 
“Hey,” he begins, almost hesitantly. You look back at him inquisitively. “I was thinking, maybe, if you wanted, we could start sleeping in the same bed?”
You scrunch your nose up. Not in disgust, but in surprise. In bewilderment. What brought this on, all of a sudden?
“Really?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. “I thought we liked the separate bed thing. Gives us privacy.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung says with a shrug, “but—I don’t know, it’s stupid. I just thought, you know, since we’re married and all. And it’s been three months.” He looks about two seconds away from backtracking, from shaking his head and going upstairs before you can say anything else. 
“Alright,” you say quickly, nodding your assent. Taehyung’s eyes widen when he hears the word, like he had completely expected you to shut him down the moment he made the suggestion. “If that’s what you want. We can try it.”
“You sure?” He asks, that same hesitant smile from earlier lacing his features. It’s strange. He almost looks… sweet. Nervous. 
You grin back at him. “Yeah, I am.”
Taehyung lets you grab some of your toiletries and your pajamas from your designated bedroom before you head up the stairs together, towards the bedroom he’s claimed for himself. Funnily enough, this is the first time you’ve been in his room. Three months of living together and you haven’t dared step foot on the second floor. 
You don’t know what you were expecting when he opens the door to let you inside. Maybe a room that screamed ‘Taehyung’ a little more than this one does. One that looks like an actual human has been living here. But other than one of his classic silk button-downs draped over a chair, there’s not a shred of evidence someone has actually been sleeping here. You could honestly be fooled rather easily that the shirt, too, is just decoration. 
“You can pick a side,” Taehyung says casually. He grabs his own sleepwear—an old t-shirt and some sweats—and heads into the bathroom to change. 
You wonder why Taehyung has had such a difficult time adjusting. This room is about as lavish as a bedroom can get. And yet. 
Sitting down on the left side of the bed, you begin to remove your own clothes, unzipping tonight’s dress and stepping quickly into your pajamas, hurrying to make sure Taehyung doesn’t catch you half-naked. How funny is that, you think to yourself. You’ve been married for three months and you still can’t bear the thought of Taehyung seeing you without a shirt on. 
When Taehyung comes out of the bathroom, hair all messy and clothes all casual, he grins lazily to himself. “I sleep on the right anyway,” he comments mindlessly. 
Within twenty minutes the both of you are about as ready to pass out as you have ever been, the only lights still on the ones on your respective nightstands. 
“Goodnight,” Taehyung says, reaching an arm over to switch his off. 
“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning off yours as well. And all of a sudden, the room is shrouded in darkness. 
You fall asleep instantly. 
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When Taehyung wakes up the next morning, the first thing he says to you is that he hasn’t slept that well in ages. 
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“You slept together?” Victoria shrieks, so loud you actually have to move your phone away from your ear as you punch in the code inside the elevator for access to your floor. 
“We did not sleep together,” you emphasize. “Okay, well, we sleep together, as in, in the same bed. But we are fully clothed. And not the slightest bit interested in doing anything other than sleeping.”
“I thought you said you liked having your own space,” Victoria points out. “When was the first time you—uh…” she pauses to find the right words, “shared a bed?”
“A couple weeks ago. It’s really not so bad, I don’t know why you’re so hung up over it,” you say, lips pursed. You squeeze the phone between the side of your head and your shoulder, hands full of shopping bags, the string of the handles burning your skin. Maybe you should look into getting a personal shopper. 
“I’m hung up over it because, for the longest time, you have sworn off Kim Taehyung. Called him dead to you. Insulted him every chance you get.” 
You scoff. You don’t need reminding of how much you hated him, how much you can’t believe you have to spend the rest of your life with him. “It’s different now. We’re married. And he said he wasn’t sleeping well. I felt bad.”
“He wasn’t?”
“Enough about him,” you say, shutting her up. You don’t feel like talking about him with Victoria anymore. “Word through the grapevine says that your parents are actually thinking of letting you start your own company?”
It’s enough to distract Victoria. For the rest of the ride in the elevator, she talks animatedly about a new streaming service her parents are considering letting her launch, under their parent business, of course, but it’s her own company nonetheless. And you’re proud of her. Proud she could do something your parents would never dream of letting you do. Proud she could make that happen. 
You push open the front door with the side of your hip after entering in the security code, phone still snug between your ear and your shoulder, when you hear Taehyung call out your name. 
He comes into view from the kitchen, which surprises you because you have, on multiple occasions, made fun of how much of a disaster chef he is, especially because he’s admitted to you he’s not a very good cook. 
“I made brownies,” he says, holding out a plate of the chocolate treats in front of you. Instinct has you dropping your bags on the floor by your feet and reaching out, but you eye him first, suspicious. 
“I have to go,” you tell Victoria, hanging up before she even gets a chance to object to your sudden departure. “You made these?”
“Yes, I did,” Taehyung says, rather proud. 
“And the kitchen is… still standing?” You ask, skeptical. 
Taehyung frowns at you, clearly unimpressed. “How bad of a chef do you think I am?”
“Pretty bad,” you admit with a shrug. 
Taehyung pouts sadly to himself for a moment. “These are good, I swear. Nothing weird in them like vegetables or anything either. I used a box mix.”
“No wonder they look so nice,” you comment snidely, hesitant hand reaching out to grab one. They feel like brownies. So that’s good. 
“Hey, I was the one who had to crack the eggs and shit. Three eggs! And not one eggshell in the bowl!” Taehyung says, clearly very pleased with himself. 
You laugh at his enthusiasm, taking a bite. It’s good. And exactly what you needed after a long day of shopping. “I’m proud of you. They taste good.”
“I knew you wouldn’t doubt me.” Taehyung grins.
“They’re really good, actually,” You amend, genuinely surprised. And the best part is that you can count at least ten brownies left on that plate, which means that you get at least five more. Which, if you had any less self-restraint, you would probably eat all at once within the day. 
“I’m glad you like them. They’re all for us, you know. No one else to share them with,” he says.
“Honestly, I’m probably going to finish them by tonight. You’ll have to make more tomorrow,” you say sheepishly. 
“We can make some together,” Taehyung suggests. 
“I’m looking forward to it,” you respond. The words come off your mouth easily, tumbling from your lips without you having to think about it. You aren’t saying them because you have to. You’re saying them because you want to. Because baking with Taehyung doesn’t actually sound too bad. Especially if it means more brownies. 
“You’ve, uh, you’ve got something,” Taehyung says, gesturing vaguely to the side of his lip. 
“Oh, I do? Yikes,” you say, a little embarrassed. Your hand comes up to wipe at the left side of your mouth. “Is it gone?”
“Wait, here, let me do it,” Taehyung says, reaching out towards you. He presses his palm against the side of your face, cradling your cheek and jaw in his enormous hands, and all at once it feels like your skin is on fire. 
Your body freezes up at the touch, at the way his thumb swipes at the corner of your mouth, right against your lips, wiping away nothing but a goddamn brownie crumb. You look at him, look right at him, how can you look anywhere else when he’s right in front of you like this, and it feels like you are caught in his gaze, a rain droplet trapped on a web, a bee stuck in its own honey. His big, brown eyes sparkle from the ceiling lights, a chocolate sky that mirrors the food he just made for you. He looks at you and his eyes are so soft, so open, so happy to be looking right back at you. God. 
“There,” he says, a moment too late. 
“Thanks,” you stammer out, speechless otherwise. 
You both stand there, looking at each other, wordless expressions drawn all over your faces, no idea what to do next. 
After a while, Taehyung breaks the silence. “Do you wanna order takeout tonight?”
“Okay,” you nod, still a little breathless. Taehyung smiles before retreating back to the kitchen, leaving you standing in the entranceway, shopping bags abandoned by your side. 
You look over to where he’s vanished. There’s a part of you that wishes he hadn’t left. A part of you that makes you want to see him again. 
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Phone calls from your mother are never good. The last time she called… well, you know how that went. So when you see her contact information light up your home screen, it’s only instinct that you feel your heart rate spike. 
“Hello?” The voice that comes out doesn’t even sound like yours. 
There’s no good way to put what comes next. Your grandmother has died. Heart attack. The paramedics got there too late. It was over before it even started. 
For a moment, for a split second, it feels like everything is frozen. Like the world has come to standstill. Your mother’s voice echoes in your ears, suspended in time, the words turning into stone as they crash onto the floor. And when they do, it is as if everything comes back to life. 
Truth be told, you don’t know how long you stay there, sitting on the edge of the left side of the bed, your phone resting lifelessly in the palm of your hand. It feels at once like an eternity and only a second in time. You spoke to your grandmother two days ago. You had promised that you and Taehyung would visit her soon. How can this be happening?
Your phone buzzes relentlessly in your hands, condolences pouring in from every person in your contacts, sorry’s and heart emoticons and If you need anything, I’m always here’s filling up your screen. There’s a part of you that vaguely registers your mother, alongside some of the other members of your family, trying to call you. But nothing can seem to shake you. 
Until—
“Y/N? You still up here?”
You hear Taehyung before you see him. Hear his voice, hear his footsteps, hear the door creak open as he enters your bedroom. Slowly, almost sluggishly, you twist around to look at him, the mere act knocking the wind out of you. Or maybe you were already breathless. 
“Hey, you alright?” Taehyung knows instantly that something is wrong. 
“My grandmother died.” The words sit heavy on your tongue. There’s no point in not telling him. He’ll find out soon enough. He’s… he’s family, isn’t he?
“What?” Taehyung freezes in place. “I—I’m so sorry to hear that, Y/N. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say, voice weak but steady. You blink up at him, once, twice, three times, and then suddenly you feel tears running down your cheeks. 
Taehyung doesn’t say anything else. He rushes to your side and sits himself down on the bed next to you, arms wrapping around your body. And you don’t think about the fact that it’s him, about the fact that this is the closest the two of you have ever been. You just let yourself be engulfed in his frame, let yourself be enveloped in his hold as the tears stream down your skin, little hiccups jolting your throat. You close your eyes and press yourself into his arms, head resting against his chest, and wish so desperately that so many things about your life were just a little bit different. 
It must be at least five minutes before either one of you dares to move. Your phone begins to rattle incessantly, that familiar and insistent buzz that the both of you are hard-pressed to ignore. 
“I think you should answer that,” Taehyung whispers into your skin, lips right by your forehead. 
“Yeah,” you sniffle, sitting up next to him and wiping the remnants of wetness by your eyes. Well, Taehyung’s seen you cry. There’s no going back now. “You’re probably right.” You look down at the phone. It’s your father. 
“I’ll be downstairs, okay? Unless you want me to stay,” he offers, looking hesitant. 
You shake your head. “No, it’s—it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“Call me if you need me,” he makes you give him a nod of understanding before he finally gets up, hands slowly removing themselves from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake. Remnants of warmth. Suddenly, you feel much colder. Hardly a minute later he’s out of the room, and you can hear his distant footsteps as they make their way down the stairs. 
Sighing, blinking, and swallowing all at once, you pick up. 
The call passes by in a blur. Your father says the will will take at least half a year to be executed, but that the funeral is already being planned. Your grandmother had hoped you would eulogize her. You agree, but you have no idea what you will say. He says Taehyung is invited but does not need to come if he cannot make it. He says a lot of other things too, about your mother, about your cousins, about your aunts and uncles and your poor grandfather, who passed five years ago, but you can’t even remember them moments after he’s said them. 
When he hangs up, the tears on your cheeks have dried, patches of them left along your skin. You head to the bathroom, getting off your bed for the first time that day, and try to wash away everything that has stained the morning. A part of you doesn’t even want to bother, just wants to slug downstairs and eat as much sugary cereal as you can get your hands on, but you can’t go down there looking like this. Looking so helpless. 
By the time you reach the kitchen, Taehyung is already standing there, on the opposite side of the counter island, a big stack of pancakes in front of him. They look mouth-watering. 
“Hey,” he says softly. “Thought you might want something to cheer you up.”
“Did you make these?” You ask, a little endeared. That was thoughtful of him. 
“Yeah. They’re still warm,” Taehyung says. He holds out a fork. 
You grin. 
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The funeral is a week later. It sucks in every way that something can suck. But not in the same way your wedding sucked, or even the announcement of your engagement. It sucks because it’s a funeral, because you have to stare down your grandmother’s casket when a part of you still doesn’t even believe that she’s gone. Because everyone there is so sad, so melancholy, dressed in all black and looking down at their feet. Because everyone is so sorry for you, so sorry for your loss, everyone has nothing but condolences to offer you. What will those do? They won’t bring her back. They won’t change things. They won’t make you feel even the slightest bit better. 
Taehyung comes. He comes because he offers, and because you want him to. You want someone whose hand to hold. Want someone to smile at you when you’re speaking in front of your entire extended family and trying not to cry. You want someone who is familiar, and warm, and there for you. 
And most of all, you want someone who won’t keep the conversation going when you get home. 
“Do you wanna order Chinese?” He asks, coming into the living room, where you have been sulking on the couch ever since you stepped foot inside the door. 
“That sounds nice,” you force out. 
“Okay. Your usual?”
“Yes, please.” You don’t bother asking how Taehyung already remembers what you like to order when you’ve only gotten Chinese twice in the last three months. 
“I’ll call them.” He disappears off into the kitchen. 
What you do appreciate about Taehyung is how he has defaulted to food as a comfort measure, and how the thought alone genuinely brightens you up a little bit. You don’t know each other very well—still, after three months, you couldn’t even say his favorite color—but he is doing his best, and he is trying his hardest. In some ways, you were unlucky to marry him. To marry someone you didn’t love. To be forced into a union you had no say in, with someone you had so much antagonistic history with. 
But in some ways, your luck has changed. In some ways, marrying him was perhaps the best thing that could happen to you. Taehyung is snarky, a little devilish, and absolutely full of himself, but he is not thoughtless. He is not heartless. He has proven that he is willing to put in the work. That he can grow to care. To change. To compromise. And isn’t that the luckiest thing you could have gotten?
“I’m sure you’re probably sick of hearing people tell you they’re sorry for your loss.”
His voice breaks your reverie, carrying throughout the wide open space of your living room. He’s grinning honestly where he stands, slowly making his way over to you. 
“Kind of, yeah,” you admit. “It’s not going to bring her back. Most of those people probably don’t even mean it.”
“Don’t say that,” Taehyung says, sitting down next to you. “I’m sure they do.”
You look at him skeptically. 
“I mean, they’re sorry for your loss because that loss is causing you pain. And that sucks,” Taehyung explains, albeit a little less eloquently than you thought he would. “I know it sucks for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t like seeing you sad,” Taehyung says honestly, shrugging to himself. 
You scoff a little to yourself. “I would have thought my downfall would be the exact thing the great Kim Taehyung would wish for himself.”
“Maybe a couple of years ago.”
You narrow your eyes. 
“Okay, maybe even a few months ago,” Taehyung admits with a laugh, making you smile, ever so slightly. “But it’s different now. I like it when you’re happy. When you’re snarky and funny and a little evil. Seeing you like this… I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”
“That’s called empathy,” you point out. 
“I’m trying to tell you that seeing you sad makes me sad, stop being a smartass,” Taehyung chides, and that really makes you grin. “There. There’s that smile I was looking for.”
“You’re so annoying,” you say, even though there’s no malice behind it. You give him a little push, palms of your hand pressing lightly against his shoulder as you roll your eyes. 
“Only for you,” he promises. He manages to grab a hold of your wrist as your hand meets his torso, pulling you into him as he wraps an arm around your torso. You gasp a little at the sensation, head falling against his body, fitting snugly in the crook of his neck. He gives your side a comforting rub. “I’m sorry today was so shitty.”
“It was,” you agree. “But Chinese food will make it a little bit better.”
Taehyung looks positively scandalized. “What? ‘Chinese food will make it better’? But not your loving, doting husband?” 
You pretend to think for a little bit, tilting your head up to the sky as you tap your chin with your finger. “Okay. Maybe that, too,” you cave after a bit of waiting, just to be extra bothersome. 
“That’s what I thought,” Taehyung says proudly, looking down at you, eyes sparkling. You can feel his grip tighten as he presses you against his body, letting you rest your head on his side. It feels like the longest hug ever, like you’re wrapped up in a weighted blanket. Only it’s not a blanket. It’s Taehyung. It’s your husband. 
He’s your husband.
“Tomorrow will be better,” he says, and it sounds a lot like a promise. 
You nod against him, letting your eyes drift shut. Things are pretty awful right now. Your grandmother’s dead. The funeral was the saddest family event you have ever attended. You have no idea what’s supposed to happen next. 
But he’s right. He seems to be right a lot these days, actually. 
Tomorrow will be better.
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Taehyung lets you sleep in for the next few days. Next several days, actually. Every time you wake up it’s close to noon and your husband is nowhere to be seen, the right side of the bed cold to the touch. It’s nothing to be worried about, though, because you can still see the noticeable dip in the bed from where he lies upon it, sinking his weight into the mattress. Taehyung’s an early bird and you’ve been having fitful nights ever since your grandmother passed. 
Today, you pull yourself out from underneath the covers around noon, sluggish and still tired, squinting as the near-afternoon light streams through the enormous windows of the bedroom. Taehyung must have thought to keep the curtains open today. 
You pull on the first casual clothes you see in your shared closet, some wide-leg sweatpants and a drapey t-shirt, and trudge downstairs like a raccoon to a trash can, hoping to fish through the kitchen cabinets to find something to eat. 
Taehyung is, as far as you can tell, nowhere to be seen. You can’t seem to hear him anywhere, and a part of you wonders where he’s at when you stumble upon the note left on the granite counter. 
Had a meeting downtown, be back around 1! There should be smoked salmon and some cream cheese and bagels in the fridge. 
Taehyung.
You chuckle to yourself as you read his flowy handwriting, amused that he thought to let you know of, of all things, the available breakfast foods in the kitchen. You check the clock. It’s nearly noon. Which means you have just over an hour of the house all to yourself. 
Having the house to yourself for five minutes is infrequent enough as it is, let alone for a whole hour. So often is Taehyung around, somewhere, holing himself up in one of the dozens of rooms or mindlessly wandering down the hallways. And for how much Taehyung is present, the funny part is that you still have no idea what he gets up to most of the time. Despite your voluntary abandoning of the separate bedroom rule, the two of you are still firm proponents of the sanctity of your personal spaces. There are rooms in the penthouse Taehyung has never been in, rooms filled with your clothes and makeup and accessories for when stylists come over before an event. A sewing room that you had specifically asked your parents for, because a part of you never let go of that childhood dream of being a fashion designer. 
And there are rooms in the penthouse that you have never been in. Rooms with dark wooden doors that have always been kept closed, that you have never stepped foot in. It’s not that you aren’t curious as to what Taehyung gets up to. He could have a goddamn evil lair in one of those rooms and you would be none the wiser. But you don’t go, because he doesn’t go into your rooms. Because you two, despite all the vows you have broken, promised each other you wouldn’t.
An hour to yourself is almost a good enough excuse for you to head back up to the bedroom and take a nap. Not that you don’t get enough sleep on a regular basis, or that you even had a fitful night last night—hell, you woke up near noon today and already you want to go back to sleep—but what else is there to do when he’s not around? What new freedoms have suddenly been given to you?
You head back upstairs, much less groggy after that delicious bagel of yours, when you catch a whiff of what smells like wet paint coming from down the hallway. It’s potent and immediately invades your senses, prompting you to wonder if that has always been there, or just magically appeared. Maybe you were so sleepy earlier, you didn’t notice it. 
Well, you notice it now. Unable to help yourself, you start to wander down the hallway, towards the source of the smell. God, it stinks. It takes you back to those days in middle school, when you would spray paint projects inside a tiny little classroom, have to step outside for fifteen minutes while you cracked the windows and aired it out. It gets stronger the further down the corridor you go, like a thick, smelly cloud stationed firmly within the walls of the penthouse. And then you realize where it’s coming from. 
It’s an art studio. 
A very messy art studio, you amend to yourself, as you peek inside. The door is wide open, and all of the windows are popped too, but the extra air circulation doesn’t seem to have made a dent in the scent. And all over the floor, the walls, and the tables are canvases covered in paint, denim jackets and pants and shirts with these wide, unafraid brushstrokes. Open cans of spray paint lie discarded on the hardwood floor stained with splotches of red, yellow, and green. 
Is this what Taehyung does in his free time? Is this where he goes, this bright, sunny room at the end of the second floor hallway? Is this what he is making?
You look down in awe at the clothes resting on the floor, splayed out to maximize dry time. Abstract faces, landscapes, and words are painted onto the backs of jackets, the fronts of old white t-shirts. What hasn’t made it onto the clothes has been put on canvases instead, blurs of color mixed together in this purposeful pattern, confidence emanating from every stroke, every dot. It’s not art in the way that the gorgeous landscapes of Monet, the picture-perfect portraits of Kahlo, the messy, unplanned splatters of Pollock are. It’s art in a different way. In a Taehyung way. 
Who knew he loved it so much? 
You almost feel like an invader encroaching on his territory when you lean down to start cleaning up some of the mess, throwing out empty spray-paint cans and tossing out grey paint water. You don’t dare touch any of the work, don’t dare try to move it. You do what you can, washing out the brushes resting in the water and cleaning up the wet splotches of paint on the hardwood. Over time, the thick scent of still-wet paint slowly fades, disappearing out the window as the fresh afternoon air seeps in. And you stand there, in a room full of art, in a room full of pieces that Taehyung has undoubtedly poured his heart into creating, and you smile to yourself. 
That’s how Taehyung finds you ten minutes later, peering into the room after declaring that his meeting had ended early. 
“Thought I’d find you in here,” Taehyung says with a grin as you jump at the sound of his voice, eyes widen when you turn around to see him standing by the door. 
“Oh, hey,” you say sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Maybe because this is the farthest room in the house from the front door,” Taehyung teases lightly, coming up behind you. “I see you found my studio.”
“I know I’m not allowed in here,” you admit. 
Taehyung scoffs. “Who says?”
“Didn’t we both agree on that?”
He shrugs. “Sort of. I think we just reached an unspoken understanding we wouldn’t invade each other’s personal space. But it was not in the fine print, no.”
“The fine print of what?”
“That deal we made.”
Right. That deal you made, four months ago, That deal, where the two of you agreed to pretend to be in love with each other during public appearances so you wouldn’t get burned at the stake by your families. Where the two of you agreed not to interact with each other otherwise because you hated each other so much. 
“Oh, yeah,” you say distantly, feeling naive for already forgetting about it. It doesn’t seem to have slipped Taehyung’s mind whatsoever. 
“It’s okay, I don’t mind that you’re up here,” Taehyung says, interrupting that piercing little voice in the back of your head that is asking you why on earth you forgot about that deal in the first place.
“Yeah, I—” You scratch at the nape of your neck, trying to find the words to say. “It just smelled like paint, so I wanted to see what you get up too. And it’s this, apparently.” You motion vaguely to the entire room.
“You sound… surprised,” Taehyung muses correctly. 
“I guess I am,” you surmise. “I’m rather impressed, too, actually.”
“Really?” It’s Taehyung’s turn to sound surprised. 
“Yeah,” you tell him honestly, looking into his eyes. “I—you know, I just came in here because the entire hallway smelled like wet paint and I wanted to know why. But I didn’t know you loved art so much.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Taehyung points out. 
You suppose that’s true. You don’t know his favorite color. His favorite song. His favorite book. For a long time, you didn’t know what he got up to on his side of the penthouse. You don’t know how he met his friends. What he studied in university. Who he has loved in the past. Who he loves now. You don’t know why he does the things he does, and why he doesn’t do the things he doesn’t do. 
But you do know his Chinese takeout order. 
And you do know his hobbies. Well, one of them, at least. 
Who’s to say you can’t learn more?
“Well,” you start with a smile. “I’m your wife, aren’t I? Shouldn’t I begin to learn?”
Taehyung picks up what you’re putting down instantly, grinning in response. “Only if you’ll tell me things about you, too,” he requisitions. 
“I will,” you promise. It’s the easiest one you’ve ever had to make. 
His face is light, bright, bathed in the rays of the afternoon sun. His eyes shimmer as they meet yours, golden flecks more pronounced like this, in this gorgeous, open space, daylight streaming through the windows. Looking at him makes you feel like you are surrounded by warmth, makes you feel like the sun is opening its arms out to you. He has always been gorgeous. Beautiful. But looking at him like this, standing in the middle of a room filled with all the things he loves, a yellow halo surrounding him—he is ethereal. 
Taehyung smiles. “Then I will, too.”
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The hand-holding comes naturally tonight.
The funny thing is, actually, you don’t need to hold hands at this gathering. It’s not an event. Or a public appearance. It’s not even a business dinner. It’s your aunt’s sixtieth birthday party, reserved exclusively for family. Isn’t that strange? That Taehyung is, technically, family now?
For so long you had vowed to stay as far away from him as possible. Vowed to stick it to him whenever and wherever you could, do anything you could to get on his nerves, rile him up. Vowed that when you, one day, took over your family affairs, you would never, ever invite him. Make it known that he wasn’t to be a part of your life. And yet, here you are. Clinging to him despite being well-acquainted with—loved by, even—every other person in the room. Holding his hand like a goddamn lifeline. 
To be fair, Taehyung doesn’t look a hair out of place here. Dressed relatively casually, a smart sweater with a collared shirt underneath it, he smiles warmly at all of your relatives and presents your aunt with a beautiful and very expensive scarf the two of you had commissioned from a designer in Italy, which she absolutely loves. She pinches his cheek and proceeds to wear it for the rest of the night. 
“Damn,” you murmur to yourself as you wander around your aunt’s house, hand wrapped around his arm. “This place hasn’t changed a bit.”
“When was the last time you were here?” Taehyung asks. 
The question actually makes you think for a moment. “I don’t know, maybe five years ago? Last couple of birthdays I was overseas or in school. Had to send her a card.”
“Bet your parents were real pleased with that,” he jokes, making you both laugh. At least you two will always be able to share your experiences of domineering and influential parents with each other. 
“Oh, I’m sure. Just as pleased as they were when they realized how much we hated each other.” You expect that little jest to elicit a laugh out of Taehyung as well, but he just smiles tightly, huffing out a breath of acknowledgement. 
“Eh, it’s not like that now, is it?” He offers up. 
“I suppose not,” you muse, sitting down together on her ancient grandma couch in the living room. No matter how rich your family gets, she’ll never get rid of this thing, that’s for sure. 
One thing you’ve picked up over time is that, for every second Taehyung spends basking in the spotlight, he spends an equal amount of time lingering by the wall, watching the rest of the world turn without him. He’s an observer. He is one by nature, feeling an irresistible pull to understand humans in a way only artists could ever do. He sits down next to you and watches your family in an environment where they can relax, where they can feel comfortable and be casual with one another. 
Very seldom have you ever brought friends to events like these. Small family affairs. But Taehyung isn’t a friend, is he? No, he’s your husband. He belongs here just as much as you do. 
“My family seems to really like you,” you point out. Not that anybody has ever harbored as much disdain for him as you. Your parents called him respectable and polite when they told you you were to be wed. Your grandmother had said he was a dashing young man. He doesn’t exactly have to reach far to be loved around here. 
“That’s my job, isn’t it?” He replies snidely. 
“Oh, just take the compliment,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Taehyung always has to be so difficult. “I’m surprised you aren’t nervous as hell. Last boyfriend I brought to meet my parents was shaking in his Louis Vuitton shoes.”
“Last boyfriend, huh?” Taehyung’s interest has been sufficiently piqued. “And, uh, how many of those have you had?”
You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, smile twitching on your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Mr. Heartbreaker.” Pretty rich of Taehyung to be asking you such a question when he’s probably had more girlfriends than you can count on both hands. “Not as many as you’ve had girlfriends, that’s for sure.”
“Guess I’m a lot different than all those trashy guys you’ve dated, aren’t I?” He asks, an eyebrow raised as he looks at you. 
“You are?”
Taehyung nods assertively. “Well, yeah. First of all, I’m your husband. Second of all, your parents love me. Third of all, you love me, too.”
You scoff. “Don’t humble yourself. You don’t know me that well.”
“Speaking of which,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as he points to you knowingly, “how about you tell me a little fact about yourself? It’s my job to learn about you, isn’t it?”
“That is my line, watch it,” you sneer, pointing back at him. You wrack your brain for a fact that you can tell him, something more exciting than your favorite color but less weird than one of those terrible icebreaker exercises you had to do in college seminars. Something that has pertinence to who you are. Who you’ve become. “Alright. I used to want to be a fashion designer when I was little.”
Now that catches Taehyung off guard. “Really?” He says, genuinely intrigued. 
You shrug. “Yeah. I learned to sew when I was really little. Been tailoring and hemming clothes all my life. But I always wanted to design my own stuff.”
“Is that what’s in your room?” Taehyung asks. “A sewing machine?”
“Bingo.”
“Wow,” Taehyung says. “I didn’t know that.”
“Isn’t that the whole point of this exercise?” You say, just to be smart. 
Taehyung shakes his head, eyes rolling. 
“What about you?” You ask. You can’t imagine what he’ll say. Astronaut. Veterinarian. Or, if he really wants to surprise you, a business executive. 
“A museum curator.”
It is an answer that simultaneously surprises and doesn’t surprise you at all. 
“Fitting,” you muse. “You could have put your own art on display.”
“Pretty sure that’s, like, super unethical,” Taehyung reminds you. 
“So? You’re rich. Start your own museum. Put your own art on display. Live your dream,” you amend. “It shouldn’t be holed up in that studio of yours forever. It deserves to be seen.”
Taehyung smiles at you. “You think so?”
You nod. “Of course. You create beautiful things, Tae.” It’s the first time you’ve ever called him that. And that is not lost on Taehyung, either.
“Thank you,” he says softly, blinking as he looks at you. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.
Later that night, when everyone’s gotten a few drinks into their systems and Bruce Springsteen is playing low on the stereo, Taehyung disappears off towards the bathroom, no doubt because of the excellent soup that was served that night. All by your lonesome, you feel a little stranded, surrounded by your old relatives dancing on the hardwood floor of the dining room, your other cousins too young to actually spend time with. 
In the commotion, your mother comes up to you, swirling a rather large glass of red wine in her hand. 
“Where’s Taehyung?” She asks. 
“Bathroom.”
“No wonder you were alone,” she says with a hearty laugh. “The two of you have been glued to each other’s sides all evening.”
“He’s my husband,” you offer as an explanation. 
“I know, I know,” she says, shaking you off with a smile. Your mother is a lot more casual once she’s had her fill of wine, no doubt her favorite, Bordeaux. A lot more loving, too. “You really made your grandmother proud, you know? She loved you so much.”
“I know,” you say, trying not to get choked up at the mere mention of your grandmother. 
“She was so happy to see you with Taehyung. It made her feel safe that you would be taken care of,” she continues on, barely paying you and your swimming eyes any attention. “She would be so happy to see you with him now, too. How much you love her.”
“I miss her,” you hiccup out, trying to compose yourself. Nothing kills a birthday party like some sad sack crying over her deceased grandmother. 
“I know, darling,” your mother says, calling you by a nickname she has hardly used ever since you turned eighteen. She squeezes you tightly, a small hug of comfort. “I miss her, too.”
Someone calls your mother’s name, distracting her as she wanders off to your uncle, who is asking what the best way to cut the three-tiered cake on the dining room table is. She bids you a goodbye before disappearing towards the kitchen, no doubt ready to make the cutting of the cake an affair all on its own. 
Taehyung comes back soon after, spotting you instantly as you stand around in the living room. 
“Hey,” he says, noticing the wet shimmer of your eyes. “You alright?”
You nod, feeling better already now that he has returned. Now that he is by your side. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I hope those tears aren’t because you missed me,” he says, wiping away a stray one that has escaped from your eyes. You close them as his thumb brushes against your upper cheek, your eyelashes, opening them only when you’ve felt his touch vanish from your skin, leaving little sparks in their wake. 
“No,” you say. But the night makes you honest, and a couple of drinks, even more so. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
Taehyung smiles. “Me, too.”
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For all those days you have spent together, never have you and Taehyung had a night in. Which isn’t necessarily completely surprising, considering how many evening events the two of you have had obligations to attend, considering your differing work schedules and meeting times. Considering that, for a very long time, the two of you had no desire to spend any time with each other at all. 
But tonight, there is nothing on your calendar. No galas, no dinners, no meetings, no schedules. There is only Taehyung, who has spent the entire afternoon up in his studio, inhaling spray paint fumes and doing what he loves. And there is only you, who has spent the entire afternoon wondering what the hell you’re going to do tonight when there is nothing else planned. 
You knock on the door to his studio, catching him right as he’s finishing up another piece. This one is a single flower, painted in broad, confident strokes, bright green and red and sunflower yellow decorating the canvas. 
“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, turning around to face you. 
“Wanna order takeout tonight?” You suggest. 
Taehyung grins. 
Thirty minutes and your favorite Chinese food later, you and Taehyung have settled onto the couch, trays of dumplings and noodles and rice in front of you, an unfunny movie playing in the background. 
You can’t remember the last time the two of you sat on this couch together. Maybe that night you had made the deal? Perhaps not even then. It wouldn’t at all surprise you if you found out that this was the very first time you and Taehyung have sat together on your couch, in your living room, in your house. So often is it occupied by others—Victoria, who sometimes comes over to ooh and ahh at your closet, Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok, who sit on this couch and play FIFA like it’s their job, your mother, when she wants to make herself at home in a place that doesn’t belong to her—but never you. Never you and him. 
“This is kinda nice, isn’t it?” You ask, swallowing a bite of dumpling. 
“Chinese food is always nice,” Taehyung responds over a mouthful of cold noodles. 
“Not that,” you say with a sigh, “this. Sitting together. Watching this shitty movie.”
“It’s not that shitty,” Taehyung tries to reason. On screen, the main character is getting pied in the face during some weird college fundraiser. “Okay, it’s a little shitty. But it’s good background noise, right?”
You nod halfheartedly. “I guess.” Silence. You take another bite of your dumpling, not really sure how to continue the conversation. “We don’t really get to do this a lot, you know? Sit and eat dinner and watch a movie together. Like a date.”
“We’re on a date now, are we?” Taehyung muses, eyeing you snarkily. 
“Isn’t that what this is?” You retort. 
He shrugs. “I suppose it is.”
“Tell me another fact about you,” you request, looking over to him where he sits on the opposite side of the couch. 
“About what?”
“Anything.”
Taehyung pauses, ponders for a moment. But he could never say anything wrong. Not when there is still so much you don’t know about him. Still so much you want to learn, so much you want to commit to memory. For so long you have stared at the planes of his face, the curve of his nose, the twinkle in those dark brown eyes. Those you will always remember. But what about who he is? What he loves? Those are things you still don’t know. 
“The very first time I met you,” Taehyung begins, “I asked Jimin what your name was.”
“When was that?” You ask. Despite you being someone who has spent the better part of the last several years vowing never to give Taehyung the time of day, you sure don’t remember when it all started. 
“That debutante ball,” Taehyung remembers fondly, “when we were fifteen. I asked Jimin what your name was because I wanted to ask you to dance.”
“Shut up, no you didn’t,” you say with a scoff. 
“It’s true. You were standing there in that poofy white dress and I wanted to ask you to dance,” Taehyung points out. The fact that he even remembers what you were wearing is shocking. 
Who knew. Who knew, back then, that you would one day grow up to marry him. 
“And what did I say?” You demand more. 
Taehyung laughs at the memory. “I came up to you, and I asked you if you wanted to dance, and you said, and I quote, ‘Who are you?’”
“No,” you say, aghast at your own behavior. Were those really the first words you ever said to KIm Taehyung?
“You did. Don’t you remember?”
You think back. Think back to every year you have ever known Taehyung, every year you have spent scowling at him from across ballroom floors, making some snide remark as you pass by each other in the hallway. Every year you have spent cursing his existence, willing him away from you so he could bother someone else. Every year you have listened to rumor after rumor of girlfriend after girlfriend. You think back and somewhere, somewhere in there, in those dusty corners of your brain and cobwebbed boxes of your heart, is that first memory of Taehyung, too. 
Of him standing there in some generic black suit, black hair swept over his forehead, shoes too big. Of him coming up to you, trying to be as suave as a fifteen year old could be. Of you saying to him, instead of a hello, or even a what’s your name, “who are you?” 
Of him saying—
“And you said, ‘your dream come true’.” Like a dam bursting open, the memories flood back to you all at once. “I remember that.”
Taehyung laughs out loud at the thought of him saying something so cheesy. “Unsurprisingly, you didn’t want to dance with me.”
“You were so—” you begin, but you don’t have the words. Don’t have the words to express how you felt about him that night. Don’t have the words to express how you feel about him now. Thinking about this, talking about it, it is a bridge. A bridge between what was then and what is now. A bridge between who Taehyung was and who you were and who Taehyung is and who you are. “—so unthinkable. I couldn’t believe you had come up to me and said that. I couldn’t believe you had the audacity. But something about that night made me remember you. Made me remember your name.”
“You thought about me after that?” Taehyung asks. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“There is something about you that is unforgettable,” you say, honest and real and true. What else can you tell him? The truth is that you have always thought about him. Whether you liked him or not. 
You finish your dinner and place your trays on the end tables next to you, stacking your empty bowls and plates on top of one another as the movie rumbles on in the background. 
“It is kind of a shitty movie,” Taehyung admits after a while of being wholly unenthused. 
“Yeah,” you agree. “But it’s good background noise.”
Taehyung laughs at your little mockery, warm and deep and from his belly. You look at him. He feels so far away, on the other side of the couch. Feels like he’s miles apart from you. You have spent countless nights clinging to his harm, hand gripped tight in his. And sitting like this, a full couch cushion of space between the two of you—it isn’t enough anymore. So you inch closer. 
And closer. 
And a little closer. 
Until you’re pressed up against his side, legs touching as they rest neatly in front of you, backs stick straight as you stare at the television. 
Taehyung holds his arm up. An open invitation. 
Without asking, you lean into him, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder, in the space right underneath his jaw. You pull your feet up onto the couch and curl into his frame, pressing yourself against him. He is warm and firm and inescapable. He smells of coffee and paint and Chinese spices. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you in, as if there were any other place you’d rather be. 
You sit like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other. Lazing around on the couch as the stars twinkle above your head. The movie ends and the two of you don’t even bother skipping the credits, letting them and the cheesy 80’s pop song play on, a distant soundtrack. 
“I never thought any of this would happen,” you breathe out. 
Taehyung looks down at you curiously. “What? This?”
“All of it,” you admit. “Us. Getting married. That stupid tabloid picture. My grandmother. This. It’s all so new.”
“New things will happen all the time,” Taehyung muses aloud. “We can’t help when things change.”
“You don’t have any regrets?” You have plenty. Regrets that you’ll never become the CEO you wanted to be in college. Regrets that you’ll never become the fashion designer you wanted to be as a little girl. Regrets that you will come to resent this marriage, resent Taehyung more than you have in years past, all because you had no choice. Regrets that your grandmother couldn’t see you now. Regrets that there were so many things in your life you could have changed, but didn’t.
“I thought I did,” Taehyung tells you. “I wanted to spend more time with my friends. I wanted to major in art in college. I didn’t want to marry you. I know you didn’t want to marry me.” He looks down and you look up at the same time, eyes locking, inches apart. “But looking back on it, I’m happy where I am. With what I have.”
“I never thought it could ever be like this,” you say, words falling off your tongue before you even ask them to.
“What?”
“Us.”
There’s no need to elaborate. Taehyung understands. He understands that, half a year ago, you both would have thrown yourselves into a volcano before holding hands with each other. He understands that getting over your hatred for each other seemed like an absolutely insurmountable task. He understands that you had never wanted to marry each other, that you couldn’t believe you would have to spend the rest of your lives with each other. 
And he understands that now, things are different. 
“I’m glad things happened the way they did,” Taehyung begins. “I’m grateful for us.”
You press yourself impossibly closer to him, feel his grip tighten around you. Like this, you can hear his heartbeat. Hear it thump like a drum, steady and firm and unwavering. His heart beats against his chest and you wonder. 
You wonder if he can hear the way yours beats for him, too.
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There were lots of things that made your night in together special. But one of them is the glaring fact that you don’t get them very often. That their infrequency makes them all the more valuable. 
This has become blatantly obvious to you, because right now you are not spending a night in together. Right now you are stuck at a gala that you have to attend for the sake of business, drinking thin flutes of champagne and mingling with people you barely speak to. 
The one good thing about nights like these is that Taehyung looks positively gorgeous in suits. He sort of always has, but you’d never admit that to his face. At least not until now. And as his wife, you are lucky enough to have a front-row seat. 
“I can feel you staring at me all the way from over here,” Taehyung deadpans as he helps himself to a chocolate-covered strawberry from the buffet table. 
You’re too obvious to have any shame about it. “What can I say, I like the view.”
“Hard to believe I was the once the one being shouted at for being inappropriate in public,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. He bites into the strawberry and eats it all in a single go, tossing the stems into a bin nearby as you join back up in the heart of the crowd. 
“It’s only inappropriate if other people hear,” you tease, letting him guide you, hand intertwined with yours, towards an empty corner where the two of you can snuggle up to one another in (relative) peace. 
“I don’t think the champagne was very good for your filter, Miss Y/N,” Taehyung hisses into your ear, warm breath tickling your skin. 
“Don’t you mean Mrs. Kim?” You pose, an eyebrow raised. 
That seems to do something to Taehyung. It’s not very bright in here, with it being nighttime and all, but even still you can see the way his eyes darken. See the way his lips curl upwards, feel the way his grip on you tightens. It sparks something within you. Something deep in the pit of your belly. 
Something that makes you want more. 
You test the waters. “Mrs. Kim has a nice ring to it, don’t you think, Tae?”
Taehyung looks about a moment away from losing control. But instead of slamming you against the wall in front of all of these people and giving you what you really want, he growls out, low and powerful, “Home. Now.”
He doesn’t need to tell you twice. 
You hail your car outside of the venue and it’s all the both of you can do to not jump on each other right then and there, in the backseat of this giant black van, overcome with want, with need, with everything in between. Taehyung’s leg bounces impatiently the entire ride back, and the feeling of your hand pressed against his doesn’t seem to be calming him down. He pulls you close to him in the backseat of the car, a hand resting on your thigh. You eye him carefully, as if challenging him to be any more daring. He grins. 
Home cannot come soon enough. The two of you tumble out of the backseat and into the elevators, where you mash the top floor button after entering in the security access code, desperate and shameless. The ride seems to take hours, and the heat that surrounds you practically smothers you, covers you, fills up your lungs and chokes you. 
There is nothing left by the time you reach your door. The moment it slams shut behind you Taehyung presses you up against the back of it, pins you against the wood as he hovers over you, eyes tracing your lips. 
“Tell me something,” he demands. 
“What?” 
“A fact. Something I don’t know.”
It doesn’t take much thinking. “I want you,” you breathe out, watch it hit his skin, watch the way his eyes glint in the light of the entranceway. “Please, Tae. I want you.”
It’s enough for him. 
This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed. The first time was nearly five months ago, in a chapel, at an altar, surrounded by hundreds of people. It was so unfun that you seem to have eradicated the mere thought from your memory. But you remember that feeling from that day. That feeling you got when you pressed your lips against his, cemented your marriage with a kiss. That heat. That sting. 
Kissing him now—that feeling has returned tenfold. When his lips meet yours, it feels like fire is rushing through your veins, setting alight every nerve it passes, unforgiving and relentless. His enormous hands come up to cup your jaw, fingers pressing against the skin of your cheeks as they pull you close to him, keep you trapped in his hold. This is not the first time you and Taehyung have kissed but it feels like it is—it feels like there is a lotus blooming on a lilypad in your heart, it feels like you have been struck by lightning, it feels like nothing else you have ever felt before. It feels brand new. 
Pressing back against him, he slowly releases you from the cage he has created against the door, spinning around so the two of you can tumble up the stairs and into your bedroom, unable to resist sneaking in pecks here and there as you make your way upstairs. Every step you take you stop, giggle as he presses you against the railing just so he can steal another kiss from you, put his hands all over your body. It’s a wonder the two of you even make it into your bedroom at all. 
When you do, however, all bets are off. Taehyung presses you against the still-made bedsheets with a glint in his eye and a growl on his lips, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you, at your body.
"Aren't you a sight? Laid out so pretty for me," he purrs, robbing a breath from you.
It's a tone you have yet to hear from him. You find yourself growing impossibly hot under his stare, burning with an uncharted desire.
You can hardly wrap your brain around it. Here you are, craving the man you had spent the better half of your young adult life loathing. Maybe it’s the champagne; maybe it’s the way his fingers are running slowly up the length of your clothed torso. Whatever it is, your stomach does flips, unfamiliar to the way your body preens under his touch.
"Don't let it go to your head," you tease, simply because you could.
Taehyung hums disapprovingly, pressing kisses into your neck as he grabs one of your thighs and wraps it around his waist, riding your dress up in the process.
You sigh, exposing your neck further for him as he paints bruises into your neck. It feels like just yesterday you had called him out at the altar for his habit of sporting the very same marks you were soon to wear.
Perhaps you should have thought twice about letting the man you had married purely under business pretenses press his hips against your clothed center, but as he rolls his into yours, your mind falls blank, silencing any and all reservations you should have.
Whimpering, you beckon his mouth back onto yours, tongue meeting his wantonly. 
You feel his fingers creep up the outside of your bare thigh, thrilling you in the most primal way. Reaching the band of your underwear after what felt like entirely too long, he runs the pad of his thumb against the lacy fabric.
 You could scream. He is doing this on purpose. He must be. Surely he knows how badly you were aching for him? For him to fill you– whatever the manner may be.
You let out a whine before you can help yourself, frowning as Taehyung looks pleased with himself, confirming his knowledge of your prolonged pleasure.
"What's that? Did you say something?" he mocks, looking cruel and yet strikingly gorgeous as he smirks above you.
"God, you're irritating,” you huff, hips jerking up against his as he pulls at the band of your underwear, the elastic snapping back into the flesh of your hip. "Just fuck me already."
He tuts, clearly unimpressed by your impatience, "Now, where is the fun in that?"
Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers suddenly snake their way between your thighs. Mouth falling ajar, you grip his shoulders as he runs his middle finger against your clothed slit, trailing up and down your warmth. To think he was still dressed while he was touching you like this...
"No... I think I'll take my time with you," he says.
You mew against his hand, arousal forming against his long digits' ministrations. You have to hand it to him. Taehyung knows what he’s doing. The life of a bachelor has seemingly served him well.
You aren’t usually vocal in bed, but the way he’s purring words of filth to you, breath hot against the shell of your ear as he tells you how hot and slick your pretty pussy felt against his hand, has you gasping and sputtering, your own fingers wrapping around his wrist.
The fabric of your panties provides a friction that toys the line of pleasure and pain, making you thrust up to meet his motions, your humility slipping from you.
Taehyung watches you intently, cock growing hard under the constraints of his dress pants. You look better than he could've imagined, eyes watering and body shivering under his touch, his fingers soaking with your arousal. He can only imagine what you'd feel like with his fingers fully buried into you, rocking them against your velvety walls.
He lets out a groan of his own, turned on by the idea of you fucking yourself onto his fingers, whimpering out his name in ecstasy.
There’s this part of you that faintly recognizes that Taehyung has done this plenty of times before. Plenty of times with plenty of other lovers. But there is a different part of you, that part that bursts with light and hope, that reminds you that he was never married to those other ones. That his allegiance lies with you. And that thought, knowing that deep within you, he is yours, makes your jaw fall slack, pretty noises tumbling from your lips and your thighs clamping around him.
You were close, closer than you care to admit. Every touch against you is careful yet deliberate as he reads the signs of your body, the way it keens and arches into him, offering you words of encouragement as your climax finally hits.
"That's right. Good girl. Let go for me," Taehyung coos, eyes dark and focused on your writhing form.
You cry out into the familiar space of your shared room, head thrown back as you ride out the high, letting it wrack your body, send jolts throughout your veins.
You barely have time to catch your breath when he presses his mouth back onto yours, kiss still as eager as it was when you both first entered your home. You are alight with satisfaction as he pulls away to press a trail of kisses against your jaw.
"I want—f-fuck," you stutter as he finds your already hypersensitive clit once more, rolling his thumb over your now soaked panties in tantalizing circles, "want to make you feel good, too."
Admittedly, this fantasy had crossed your mind once or twice, brought on by the way he carried himself in a suit and the way his large fingers wrapped around the champagne glass; confident, collected, and entirely charming. Who are you to shy away from a man like him? He certainly has always been rather good-looking. 
He pauses his motions, pulling his hand back to sit on your waist. Your dress is of the finest, most delicate satin, and after tonight's activities, completely wrinkled. You can almost hear your stylist's cries of dismay. Whatever. You have a steamer. And why focus on the dress when it’s obvious the two of you are focused on what lies underneath it?
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You nod, skin still burning from your past climax.
Helping you back up, Taehyung stands. You lick your lips as you sit back up on the edge of the bed, watching intently as he unbuckles his belt, audibly hissing as his pants fall to his ankles, cock visibly straining against the fabric of his underwear. Thank God you don’t have to stand. With the way your thighs still felt weak and how your husband looks like a goddamn Adonis towering above you? Your legs surely would give out underneath you if you rose.
Brows furrowed, Taehyung palms over himself briefly before pulling down the waistband of his underwear, his painfully hard member slapping against his torso.
Your eyes widened on instinct. While the last thing you wanted to do was help inflate Taehyung's already large ego, you were certainly impressed at his size; thick and girthy, his tip red and shining with precum.
He couldn't help but smirk, thoroughly pleased by the way you stared at him unabashedly, chest rising and falling heavily.
"Open up for me," he orders.
And who are you to deny a request from your dear husband?
Your pretty lips wrap themselves around his engorged tip, all remnants of lipstick long gone by now. Taehyung hisses, a hand finding the side of your jaw as you run your tongue against the underside of his cock.
"Fuck, you're so pretty," he grunts, fighting off the urge to grip the back of your head and fuck your throat. As much as he'd love your have you choking and drooling all over his cock – and boy would he – he lets you set your own pace, not wanting to overwhelm you.
It doesn't take long for you to sink your mouth further down, however, clearly set on making Taehyung feel as good as you could.
A low moan erupts from his throat, digits pressing into your jaw in request to take more of him in, which you happily oblige.
You had your eyes trained on him, completely obsessed with the way he panted through pink lips, hissing slightly every time your tongue rolled over his sensitive tip.
Lolling his head to a side, his eyes meet yours, gaze primal and wolfish as he watches the way you worked his cock.
"Doing so good, love. Doing so fucking good for me,” he murmurs.
You hum against his skin at the sound of the sudden pet name, an unfamiliar feeling fluttering in your belly. You push aside the feeling, focusing instead on the way he grunts at the new sensation you had just given him.
Giggling, you pull off his cock, opting instead to press a kiss against his leaking tip, making sure to hold his eyes as you run kitten licks against it.
"God, you're such a tease." He shakes his head in disbelief. 
He looks so good above you, shivering and cursing out praises on how good your mouth feels, how well you take his cock. Running your tongue along the length of his shaft, you become certain that this is a display you can’t imagine yourself ever getting tired of. But you have all the time in the world, right?
"Y/N,” he gasps suddenly, hips jerking towards your face. "Love, I'm gonna-- gonna cum."
"Cum in my mouth, please." Your voice was pleading and desperate. Taehyung had never heard such words spoken more sweetly. 
"Fuck's sake."
You let out a yelp in surprise as his fingers work their way through your hair, bringing your head back down onto his cock. You relax, though, when you feel the hot ropes of his cum hit the back of your throat, your hands finding purchase on his thighs as you do your best to swallow it all down.
Pulling yourself off him, you let out a small cough, eyes watering slightly as you hadn’t managed to prepare yourself with a breath before his release. His large palm runs across the top of your head as you caught your breath, expression flickering with something unfamiliar. Could it be... fondness? 
Your heart stammers at the thought as you stand, slowly stepping out of your dress, letting it drape off of your figure. Taehyung looks absolutely gobsmacked, pupils dark as he gazes at you, eyes unabashedly raking your body. He’s shameless. 
You both are. 
Slowly, you step towards him, fingers reaching out towards his shirt, carefully undoing the buttons as you gaze at each other, expressions unreadable. 
"Tae?” You ask innocently, blinking up at him. “Fuck me?" 
Your polite request makes Taehyung chuckle. 
"Please?" You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes blinking up at him adoringly for good measure. You reach the last button, let his dress shirt drape open. He brushes it off himself, stands there for a few seconds just to let the way you’re ogling his toned chest go to his head. At least he’s good-looking. 
He sighs, probably contemplating some clever rebuttal, but eventually decides against it as his cock is already twitching back to life.
"Alright, love. Turn around. On your knees for me," He orders, making your stomach flip.
To your surprise, you are hardly in place when the warmth of his large hands finds the soft of your tummy, pressing you back into his chest as he pressed a peck to the back of your neck.
You squirm in his hold, whining as that same hand of his grabs hold of your breast, long digit rolling your nipple between their tips. You can’t help but press your ass back into him. His cock feels hot and heavy, pressing against the back of your thigh, making your pussy clench in anticipation. 
You want him.
You want him so bad that you don't know what to do with yourself, shuddering as his free hand runs along the side of your ass, leaving scorching hot trails on your skin wherever he kneads into your flesh. He's touching you everywhere – everywhere but where you need him the most, and the arousal that drips down your thigh mocks you.
"Dammit, please!" You exclaim, running out of patience.
"Please what?" He says, an eyebrow arched.
You shiver, committing the way his middle finger traced your pelvic bone to memory forever.
You puff out a frustrated breath, nearly at your wit's end. "Please fuck me, Tae."
Taehyung pauses, grip on your breast and hip tightening as he lets out a moan. You let one out yourself as you feel him readjust, cock pressing against your slick entrance.
"Fuck, you sound so pretty when you say my name," He grunts. "Okay, baby. I'll fuck you. Begging so nicely for my cock."
You let out a squeak as you're suddenly pushed down onto your hands, back arching as he pushes his fat cock inside your heavenly cunt. He's thick, so thick, that you instinctively grip the sheet underneath you, fingers curled around them tightly as if it means to hold onto your sanity.
Taehyung lets out a shaky breath, angling your hips up so that you could take more of him.
"You feel—feel so good," he admits above you, and suddenly you wish you could see him. See the way his bangs stick to his damp forehead—see the way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip wickedly.
You let that thought go, however, as he thrust into you, making your jaw fall slack and eyes flutter shut. Profanities roll off your tongue unabashedly, helpless under the way his thick member pulls out of you, only to slam back into you.
You weren't expecting this. The way he stretches you out further than anyone had before. Your pussy clenches around him, reveling in the sweet, sweet burn.
He digs into the flesh of your hips, holding you steady as you mew and cry out, pushing your hips back in time to his, trying your best to meet his movements.
"Tae... fuck, fuck, fuck—"
He was filling you to the brim. Filling you tight and deep.
God, the way he was panting behind you was music to your ears. His cock pulses every time you call out his name, voice muffled and buried as you had your head pressed into the mattress, hair messy and bouncing with every hard thrust.
"S'good! Fuck... so, ah, big..." you cry out.
You feel drunk. Intoxicated off this beautiful man and the way he makes you feel a way only he can.
You nearly let out a sob as the rough pads of Taehyung's fingertips suddenly reach around you and find your neglected clit, rolling light circles on the soft and swollen bundle of nerves skillfully.
You are a mess, whimpering and drooling into your expensive sheets, and he filled every inch of you, leaving no place undiscovered. Your high nears, stewing on low heat somewhere near the pit of your belly, waiting for a chance to erupt and wash all over you. Taehyung must be close to, you realize, as his thrusts began to slow down, slamming into you roughly as if chasing after his high.
"Gonna take this load? Huh? Gonna let me cum inside your pretty little pussy?" His voice is straining, as if trying to breathe evenly but merely moments from falling apart.
If only you could formulate an intelligent response, but instead, you are a blubbering wreck, thighs shaking as they threatened to give out underneath you. But somehow, Taehyung knew. He had you. Quicking his motions against your delicate pearl, he could tell you were close too, and he was going to make sure you got there.
Suddenly, you're crying out and convulsing, tears brimming at the ends of your eyes as you feel Taehyung empty into you, collapsing onto his hands as well.
You feel his hot breath against the back of your neck as he pants, breath growing more and more even as the two of you regain control of your bodies and minds.
Pulling out of you, he plops down beside you, and for a moment, the two of you hold each other's gazes, eyes speaking in ways words never could.
Finally, after what feels both like an eternity and just a moment, you work up the courage to say something, moving closer to him as you place a hand on his chest, cushioning your chin as you rested on top of it.  
"Psst," you beckon, voice hushed.
"Yeah?" His voice is husky and tired.
"I’m grateful, too."
"Huh?"
"I’m grateful for us, too."
Taehyung's gaze is soft, and it lingers on you for a second before the sides of his mouth curl up tenderly. He grins down at you, eyes drifting shut. You feel him squeeze you closer, pressing you against his skin. And then, you hear his breathing steady, see his lips part slightly. 
You lean into his chest, eyelids fluttering. “Thank you, Tae.”
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Not unlike the many other mornings you have awoken in this bed, when you open your eyes as the morning sunlight streams through the windows, Taehyung is nowhere to be found. The sheets on his side of the bed are flipped aside, revealing that soft outline of his body from the night before left imprinted into the sheets, a dip in the mattress where he slept. You had fallen asleep all wrapped up in each other, tangled up like vines, but must have separated sometime during the night. Distantly, you register Taehyung’s voice outside, notice his phone missing from his bedside table. He must be on an early morning call. 
You check your phone for the time. Ten o’clock. 
A late morning call, then. 
Still basking in the afterglow of the night prior, you slowly inch your way out of bed, shivering as you pull the covers off you and scoot your legs around so they hang over the edge of the bed. You rub at your eyes until you faintly remember you did not take your makeup off last night, and when your hand comes away covered with black streaks and flecks of mascara, you wince to yourself. There goes five hundred dollars worth of a skincare routine. 
After washing yourself up and applying as many serums as you can to your skin, you wrap yourself up in one of his button-up shirts, the torso so wide that it drapes over you. The tips of your fingers peek out from the ends of the sleeves, and you cross your arms lightly over your chest as you make your way to the door, ready to entice your husband back to bed for round two. What? It’s Saturday. 
You peer around the door to find Taehyung standing a few feet away, facing away from you. He’s shirtless, and as his wife you have absolutely no problems ogling him, the toned curves of his back, the muscles in his arms. He’s always been a looker. You just finally have an excuse to look for yourself. 
You approach him quietly, not wanting to interrupt nor broadcast your sex life to anybody on the other side who may be listening. Already, the idea of crawling back in bed together sends goosebumps along your skin, makes you giddy with anticipation. You’re just about to tap him on the shoulder, lips curled upwards in suggestion, when he says—
“And my inheritance? That’s secured now, right? Because I said I would pretend to be in love with her in public—?”
And it is as if Medusa herself appeared in this room, turning you to stone as your heart thuds to the floor, a hollow, empty noise. 
You don’t hear the rest of Taehyung’s conversation. You don’t even hear the sound of your own heartbeat. This terrible, aching sound rings in your ears, silencing everything in its wake, drowning out even the sighs of your own breath. It is as if you have been frozen solid. As if you have been shot in the stomach. You stand there, feeling absolutely nothing, and all you can do is brace yourself for what is to come. Taehyung’s words were the knife but his next actions will be its removal, leaving in its wake an irreparable wound. 
He turns around, casual and cool, voice still hushed. As if you were still asleep. As if you hadn’t heard anything at all. But when he twists his body and sees you standing there, staring back up at him, lips parted in shock. 
“I’ll call you back,” he tells whoever was on the other side of the line, looking more panicked by the second. He opens his mouth so he can explain himself, but you don’t need him to. You’ve heard everything already. 
“I should have known,” you say, feeling angry and betrayed and sad all at once. “I should have known it was all an act.”
“Y/N, wait, let me explain—”
“What is there to tell me, Taehyung? What are you going to say? That you didn’t mean it? That you thought I wouldn’t find out? That last night was just a one-off?” You demand. The heat from your veins hasn’t left. Still, it simmers through your blood, burning you up from the inside out. “That you didn’t want to lie to me?”
“It’s not like that and you know it,” Taehyung says defensively, brows furrowed. “Just give me a chance to explain myself.”
“Explain yourself? How you pretended, every day and every night, just so you could get some more money in your bank account? So you could make sure you would get your father’s business when he died?”
Taehyung bites back easily. “Don’t act like you weren’t also faking it at some point. I know you were almost removed from your grandmother’s will.”
Your tongue is bitter at the mention of your grandmother. As if Taehyung ever even knew her. “My grandmother has nothing to do with this.”
“Really?” Taehyung challenges. “So you wanting to stay in her will was just a little bonus, right?”
“Don’t,” you say sharply. “It’s different.”
“Different how?” Taehyung spits. “Because right now, to me, it looks pretty similar to what I’ve done.”
“My grandmother died months ago,” you remind him. Her will is no longer the question. It has been written, settled, and executed. There was no reason for you to continue playing along once she took her last breath. No reason—unless you wanted to. “Meanwhile you’ve been keeping your inheritance a secret from me this entire time.”
“We made a deal,” Taehyung says. “A deal that said we would both act happy and pretend to be in love because we both had things we needed to worry about. Family things. Money things. You were a part of this, just like I was. You pretended, too.”
“Well, maybe I stopped pretending!” 
You can’t take it anymore. All this anger, all this emptiness, it’s been bubbling up inside you ever since you heard those first words come out of his mouth. It spills out of you all at once, an eruption from your lips, your heart’s doors bursting open. You have held his hand tightly in your own. You have pressed your lips to his. You have laid yourself bare in front of him. What is there left to protect? What part of you has not already been stained by him, by his touch, by the feeling of his fingers against your skin?
The hallway is silent, but you can hear your cry echo down the corridor. Hear the way it bounces along the walls before fading away. 
“Maybe I stopped pretending,” you repeat, softer this time. You blink and already can feel the streaks along your skin, the tears falling from your eyes. “Did you ever think about that?”
“Y/N, what are you talking about?” Taehyung looks like he’s in disbelief. Like he cannot believe the words you are saying to him. 
Well, that makes two of you. 
“Can’t you see, Tae? Can’t you tell?” You ask, the nickname falling from your lips before you can even help it. You must remind yourself to change that, later. “I’m in love with you.”
They are words you have never said to someone before. Not even your old boyfriends. Words that you always knew you would reserve for someone special. Someone who would touch your heart and make it their own, someone who would leave imprints of their fingers against your chest. Someone who would brighten you up from the inside out, leave you bursting with light. 
Ironic, that Taehyung has become that someone. When he is the one person you never thought could. 
When he has proven, time and time again, that you two just cannot mix. Oil and water. Pastel and acrylic. Satin and silk. 
“You don’t have to say anything,” you spit out quickly, before Taehyung has a chance to respond. “I know it doesn’t matter to you.”
“Y/N, yes it does,” Taehyung begins, desperate and pleading. “I know you heard what I said, but I swear, it stopped being an act for me, too. Things are different now, just like you said.”
“Don’t. Please.” You pull away as he reaches out towards you. Faintly, you remember that it is his shirt you are wearing. Remember that no matter what you do, he will always surround you. “Please, Tae.” You have nothing left. You can’t bear to look at him, but where else will you go? You cannot believe the things he’s said, the things he’s done, but where else would you go?
“I love you, too,” Taehyung says, and a part of you wants so badly to believe him. 
A part of you wants so badly to ingrain those words into your head, carve them into your heart, let him wrap his arms around you and promise that everything will be alright. But things are different now. Just like you said. You and Taehyung are not the same people you were six months ago. Or six weeks ago. Or even six minutes ago. You are helpless and he has proven that he does not care. 
“I have to go,” you say, looking away. You don’t think you could handle turning back to him again. “Please, Tae.”
“I’m sorry,” Taehyung says, and he reaches out once more but you are not there to meet him halfway. Were you ever?
“I know,” you whisper back.
You duck into your bedroom and pack a suitcase of everything you need. Being here is suffocating. Being with him is like setting yourself alight. 
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Victoria has no questions when you show up at her door later that day, suitcase by your side and this ridiculous bottle of Merlot in your hands. You had picked it up on the way over. You sort of figured you might need it. 
“You don’t wanna talk about it, do you?” Victoria asks. 
“Tell me about your streaming service,” you hiccup in response.
Victoria is happy to oblige. She even tells you that she still hasn’t picked a CFO, and that the position would be open for you if you ever wished to take it. 
Funnily enough, what will become of you once your father retires and passes along the company is the furthest away from your thoughts. 
You remember being so worried about that. Being so worried that, once they married you off like every good daughter should be, you would be absorbed into your husband’s life, cut out of your family’s. Your father would choose a cousin, an uncle, or even a friend to take after the business, bestowing upon you a thoughtful inheritance but nothing more than that. All of those years of schooling, finance in college, your MBA soon after, would be wasted, just so you could hang on the arm of your husband for the rest of your life. 
It’s thoughtful of Victoria to think of you for the position. She knows just as well as anyone else that you would be an excellent fit. And if things were just a little bit different, you would be jumping at the offer. 
But your future career plans are on the backburner, along with the rest of your life. 
All you can really do, right now, at this very moment, is wait for things to change. As they always do. 
“Don’t you have an event tonight?” Victoria asks about three days into your stay. She’s given you her favorite (her words, not yours) guest bedroom and an enormous closet to match, despite you only coming over with a carry-on’s worth of clothes. 
You scoff to yourself. “Like I’d want to go to anything with him.”
“Have you even called your parents?” 
“No,” you say, not even caring about the repercussions. There’s no doubt in your mind that they’ll be ringing you soon. And when they do, maybe then you’ll finally work up the courage to tell them what really happened. Tell them that you can’t go back there. Not yet, at least. 
“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” Victoria says as she hands you a bowl of vegetable soup, homemade from a couple of days ago. You nod to yourself, sniffling as you curl into the couch cushions and wish they would absorb you whole. 
There’s no need to ask her what she means by ‘this’. Everything. From your engagement to the marriage, from those tabloids to the deal, from your grandmother’s death to now. It has all been unfair. Life is unfair. And while you’ve always known that, it has been particularly cruel to you as of late. 
Still, when you wake up sometimes, you can still feel him tracing over your skin. Feel his lips hovering over yours, breath fanning out over your cheeks. You turn over and expect to see him lying there, on the right side of the bed, sheets mussed as they cover his figure. You wake up and for a brief moment, for that split, split second, there is peace. And happiness. And love. 
And then there is nothing. 
“Yeah,” you sigh. “Me, too.”
Maybe he really does love you. Maybe things really did change. But you have always been a pragmatic person, always let your head guide you rather than your heart. The secret’s out. Taehyung had an inheritance he needed to secure. You were his path to doing so. Those things haven’t changed. No matter if his feelings did. 
“Hey, look at this,” Victoria says, brows furrowed as she holds out her phone in front of you, revealing a livestreamed interview from the event tonight. 
You peer over. 
It’s Taehyung. 
Of course it’s Taehyung. Who else would she be showing you?
He stands in a clean-cut gray coat, draping over his figure, black dress shirt and slacks underneath, belt wrapped neatly around his hips. He holds his hand up in a wave and smiles politely to the cameras, to the reporters, letting the flashes wash over him like waves in the ocean. 
“Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim!” Someone calls. “Where’s your wife?”
Oh, God.
Taehyung grimaces a little, pursing his lips. “My wife won’t be joining me tonight.”
“Can you tell us why?” They shout. 
“Sorry, no more questions. Thank you for asking though. She’s well,” he says, quickly ushering himself along, entering the venue so no more reporters can bombard him. When he disappears, the livestream immediately moves on to the next guest, but you hardly pay them any attention. 
“Huh,” Victoria says aloud. 
Indeed. Taehyung’s response strikes you as rather odd. Why would he tell the public that? Why not make up a lie, say you’re sick, or you’re overseas, or you’re just late? Why simply tell them that you won’t be there? Surely, Taehyung is just as aware of the consequences of arriving at an event without you as you are. There’s no doubt that his parents will be in contact with him soon, too. No doubt that this will leave a stain on his family. His image. It might even threaten his inheritance after all.
So why not lie?
You frown to yourself, nose scrunching up in confusion. You don’t like where this train of thought leads.
“You okay?” Victoria asks when she sees the bewildered expression on your face.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you say. Just completely befuddled. It escapes you, why Taehyung wouldn’t just make up some sort of excuse as to reasoning behind your absence. Why he would even show up at the event at all. Certainly, going to the event without you is worse than not going at all. It prompts questions. It spreads rumors. 
Later that night, you get a call from your parents, demanding to know why you weren’t there with him. You say you got sick. You plead with them not to question anything. 
You wonder what happens next. You and Taehyung still have two more events this week. A dinner and a ball. What will you do then?
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Taehyung goes solo for the dinner. You suppose you could have predicted that, considering his apparent willingness to arrive alone for the first event, too. He hasn’t made any efforts to contact you and for once, you’re glad for his silence. Not that you even know what he would say to you, anyway, but at least he isn’t begging you to come back to him. 
The sad truth is that if he did, if he got down on his knees right in front of you and willed you to come back home, you probably would. He has always been impossible to resist. Even when you first met him, when he sauntered up towards you and told you he was your dream come true. You didn’t know it then. But he was. He was everything you would ever want. 
Why would he lie? 
Why would he do that?
You can’t wrap your head around it. What is he getting out of it by telling the truth? By admitting to the paparazzi, to the reporters and the cameramen, that you won’t be there with him. That you will not be joining him. Nothing, certainly. His parents must be furious. His inheritance may be on the rocks. His image might tank. 
So then, why do it at all?
Could it… could it be?
Is it true?
You have loved Taehyung for a long time. Longer than you probably even care to admit. You have always held your head high at events, spoken loudly and without fear, but being with him made you feel safe. Secure. You would hold his hand and know, know that he was holding yours, too. It grounded you. It soothed your worries. 
Does he really love you back?
Taehyung smiles politely and laughs when he needs to at these events, but he doesn’t look the same. Even through the screen you can see those bags under his eyes, that spark that has faded. You hardly recognize him. He looks so lonely, without someone by his side. So distant. 
When you know the dinner has ended, you almost pick up the phone and call him. 
Almost. 
Instead, when the ball rolls around, you ask Victoria if she’s got a spare dress she can lend you.
 Kim Taehyung, for someone you have seen covered in paint splotches, wearing old college hoodies, and fresh out of a restless night’s sleep, cleans up pretty well. For a married man, at least. 
You wonder what the past few days must have been like for him. If they have been as empty as your own. Wonder what it was like, riding alone in a big black van to this hotel ballroom, no one to tease, no one to laugh with, no one to hold. No one to poke him awake if he accidentally fell asleep. No one to make sure he’s okay. 
Taehyung stands right outside of the entrance, waving politely to all of the paparazzi, smiling as the cameras flash, giving them the time of day for a moment before he heads inside and muscles his way through another event without you. 
Or so he thinks. 
You spot him just as he opens his mouth, ready to repeat those same lines all over again.
My wife won’t be joining me tonight. She’s well, though.
And maybe it’s just because you haven’t seen him in nearly a week. Maybe it’s just because he is about to lie to those reporters once more, ready to face whatever consequences come his way. 
Or maybe it’s just because you miss him. Miss him terribly, have been missing him terribly. Being away from him was necessary, but that didn’t make it any less unbearable. Not getting to hold his hand, see his smile, meet his eyes. You and Taehyung may not have always liked each other, but you saw him every day regardless. He became a constant in your life. Not an if, but a when. If everything went to shit, you always knew he would still be there. 
And there he is. 
“Wait! Taehyung!”
Taehyung’s eyes widen as he hears your voice, gaze darting around wildly, mouth parted in surprise. He looks around desperately, scanning the crowd, meeting the eyes of every single person in front of him until he finally looks to the left, sees you rushing up towards him, hiking up the skirt of your dress as your heels tap against the sidewalk. 
And when he spots you, sees you running up to him, his body relaxes, a weight lifted from his shoulders as he beams back at you, relieved and thankful and filled with joy, all at once. And you know, then. 
You know that everything will be okay. 
“Sorry I’m late,” you say sheepishly, cheeks burning as he looks at you, takes in every inch of you, breathes you in and lets you fill him up. 
Taehyung doesn’t respond. You reach out to hold his hand but he grabs your wrist and pulls you in, presses you against his body as he presses his hands against your cheeks, palms burning as they meet your skin, and he kisses you. In front of all these people, he kisses you. 
And goddamnit, you will kiss him back. 
It feels like lightning, like a thunderstorm, like the waves of the ocean are crashing against your heart. It feels like fire, like flames are licking at your veins, sending sparks through your blood. It feels like home. 
You and Taehyung ignore the shouts of reporters, the flashes of cameras, the honks of the cars on the other side of the road. When you part, he presses his forehead against yours and lets the tip of your nose meet his. And you smile. 
“Don’t be alone any longer, Mr. Kim,” you whisper, loud enough so only he can hear. 
“When I’m with you, I never am, Mrs. Kim,” he murmurs back. 
You wonder what those tabloids will be saying about you tomorrow. 
The rest of the night finds the two of you pretty much inseparable. You wrap yourself around his arm and for the first time in a long time, he presses his hand against the small of your back, keeping you close. Like he’d ever lose you again. 
One of your least favorite parts about attending balls used to be the dancing. As a young and eligible bachelorette, you would always have to lock hands with another, let him awkwardly guide you along to the music as you made the worst small talk imaginable, forcing laughter and smiles whenever he said something he thought was particularly funny. 
But, like so many others, things have changed. Things are different now. 
The waltz comes on and you and Taehyung are the first to reach the center of the ballroom floor, letting him rest his hand on your waist as you press yours on top of his shoulder. Let him twirl you around the room as the orchestra plays in the background, a soft, sweet, light little melody that carries you along. 
“I missed this,” you say softly. 
“I missed us,” Taehyung corrects. He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry for not telling you about my inheritance.”
“I’m sorry for storming out. I should have listened to you.” you respond easily. You both have plenty to apologize for. But night is darkest right before dawn. 
“I should have said something,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. “But I was just so—so worried that something would go wrong. And I didn’t know how to explain how I felt about you. I acted in the beginning, too, but then things changed.”
“They always do,” you muse with a grin. 
“I couldn’t believe I had you,” Taehyung admits. “I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous. And funny. And true.”
“Go on,” you tease, even though you do nothing to hide the smile inching its way across your face, the heating of your cheeks, the simmering of your skin. 
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I just—I felt something for you I couldn’t explain. I still can’t.”
You don’t have to prod any further. You know. Deep within your heart, you know. There is love blossoming in his to match the garden that has bloomed in your own. The flowers that have sprouted in the ashes. He has them, too. And when those petals open and the light streams in, he will know. He will know, too. 
“You make me crazy,” you tell him, whispering gently into his skin. “But I’m a better person when I’m with you. I know I am.”
“I meant what I said, that night,” Taehyung says. Makes you wonder which night he’s actually talking about. “That I’m happy that things have changed. That things happened the way they did. I’m grateful for us.”
“I am, too,” you say. And you are. 
You rest your head against his chest as you dance together, swaying back and forth to the beat of the drums, to the strums of the violins, all wrapped up together like ivy, like vines. Those, too, sit in that garden of yours. Keep you tethered to his side, keep him close to yours. He holds you in his arms and he smiles, because he knows, too. Knows that that garden in your heart will soon have a matching one in his. A mirror image of who you are. Who you’ve become. 
Things change. They always will. But so long as he is by your side, and so long as you are by his, you know. Everything will be okay. 
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It's different, this time, when Taehyung presses you into the mattress. 
There is no rush. Because now you know for certain that all the time in the world is yours. He is yours forever. You are his.
The two of you are a mixture of tangled limbs and shared breaths, the feverish, irrepressible need to give yourself to each other nearly tangible. He breaks the kiss suddenly, and you’re about to break out in protest. That is, until you see him unbuttoning his shirt.
Inspired, you wiggle out of your own clothes, eyes locked on Taehyung's soft torso and the idea that you had married such a beautiful man, inside and out.
Looking back, you wonder if that was always inevitable. If you and Taehyung falling into each other had been written in the stars from day one, sealed as your fate from the moment he came up to you at that ball when you were teenagers. He was going to be a part of your life no matter what. Whether or not you ended up marrying him. But having him like this?
It makes it all worth it.
"Do you like what you see?" That old cocky smirk of his makes an appearance.
You raise a brow, choosing to omit a response as you unclasp your bra, letting it fall from your chest.
Taehyung swallows.
"Do you?" You tease.
His response comes in the form of bites down your necks and licks down your chest, stealing your breath from you. 
Your clothes are somewhere dispelled beside your passionate bodies, growing cold beside the way your two hot bodies warmed one another.
"You are so beautiful," Taehyung praises, fingers coming up to cup your breast, bringing it up to his mouth.
You mewl, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as his tongue toys with your pert bud, teeth grazing it ever so often just to hear the broken gasp that'd always follow. 
"And so sensitive too," he giggles, making you pout. His hands are gentle as if every touch means something. As if you mean something—no, everything—to him. And the most wonderful part is that he means everything to you, too. 
"Shut up." You roll your eyes playfully, gasping as his palm comes down the side of your thigh suddenly in warning. You bite down your swollen bottom lip at the gush of arousal that dampened your underwear in response.
"Watch your tone, love. Of both our positions, you are in the most compromising one." He reminds you. It isn't a threat, and while usually, that kind of tone would thrill you, you couldn't help but want his mouth back on yours already.
"You talk too much." You flop back onto the bed with a sigh. Taehyung watches with interest as your pretty tits bounce in consequence. Extending your hands out towards him, you give him a pouty look. "Just wanna kiss you."
"Is that all I am to you? Just a pair of lips for you to mack on? I've got news for you, sweetheart, there's a brain behind these ravishing good looks." He scoffs in feigned offense, sitting back on his heels.
You giggle.
It seems as though even during the most intimate of moments, Taehyung still found a way to be, well, Taehyung. At least that hasn’t changed. 
"Whatever, pretty boy. Why don't you come over here and put that mouth of yours to good use?" You purr, making his eyebrows raise in surprise.
"Oh? I don't remember you being this assertive when I was pounding you into the mattress last time."
“What, I can’t have a little fun as well?” You tease, grinning as you look up at him, raking your eyes over his figure. 
"Wanna have fun, love?," He murmurs into your ears, hands gripping either of your plush thighs. "Then spread those pretty legs for me, and I'll show you exactly how much fun you can have."
God, you love this man.
You oblige eagerly, breath quickening as he helped you press your knees by your chest, leaving the wet patch in your underwear on full display. 
"My pretty little wife." He sighs dreamily, making heat rush to your core.
Taehyung's cock stood loud and proud, a hot reminder of where the night would eventually lead to. Seriously, how did you get so lucky? You must've been a saint in a previous life, you decide right then. Or at least, the stars have chosen to be rather kind to you in this one.
"Gonna take these off," he mutters, mostly to himself, tugging the ruined fabric over your ass and down your legs, with your help, of course.
Despite your usual display of confidence, lying beneath your husband, spread out like this, has you feeling vulnerable and slightly insecure. But that insecurity vanishes, however, as he lets out a soft moan, fingers moving to spread your glossed lips apart.
"So fucking pretty, baby. Gonna make you feel so fucking good," he groans, leaning down to press his face near your most intimate part.
Pressing a tentatively lick against, his eyes flicker up to yourself, curious to see if you’re okay with him proceeding. And, well, it’s not like you’re going to say no, are you?
Embarrassingly, you rut against him, making him laugh as you drown in your own mortification.
"Need it that bad, huh?" He coos.
"Yes, please."
The rest of your plea is lost in a moan as Taehyung finds your clit, wrapping his pink lips around the sensitive muscle and giving it a generous suck. Your hands are in his hair before you can think to stop yourself, tugging at his scalp deliciously as his mouth makes its way with you.
Thank goodness for this apartment belonging to just the two of you as the noises that tumbled from your lips surely would've left a roommate blushing.
You're panting, begging for more even though you aren't sure how you'd even handle more. It comes as a delight and slight surprise as fingers suddenly slip inside, wasting no time to rub against your velvety smooth walls, curling themselves inside you.
"Fuck, Tae!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.
It was pure reflex. Up until now, you had been watching Taehyung intently, completely consumed by the way his mouth moves against you. How his tongue flicks against your needy clit cruelly. It just felt too fucking good.
You're so wet, positively dripping down his chin as he runs his hot muscle up and down the length of your pussy, devouring you like he hadn't eaten in months, and you were his first meal.
Taehyung’s nothing short of addicting, completely and utterly intoxicating, and you slip further and further to your demise with every lick he takes, every press of his tongue against your clit.
He has a hand pressed against the lower half of your torso, feeling the way you jerk and squirm as he makes a mess of you. You’re close and you know it, too, if not by the way you’re calling his name over and over again, then by the way your thighs tremble, hardly even strong enough to stay up.
"Let go for me, love. I've got you." He sounds so sweet, so angelic, despite how filthy what he was doing to you was.
His words are the push you need, and, like a rubber band that has been stretched past its limit, you finally snap, back arching off the bed as you come with a cry. White fills your vision, and your mind goes blank, only sounds of blissful static filling your ears.
His fingers hold up your quivering legs, mouth pressing kisses onto your pussy encouragingly until you simply can't bear it any longer, pushing his mouth away as you stutter out words of sensitivity and overstimulation.
“I’m going to have to request more of that throughout this marriage.” You manage to say once your vision and breath come back to you.
Grabbing one of your hands, Taehyung brings it to his mouth.
“All you need do is ask,” he replies, making you laugh as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand, always a gentleman
Not long after, you find yourself pressed against Taehyung, tongue running against his as he presses his hips into yours. He isn’t coy about his want for you, rolling his cock against your already sensitive center. Warm precum leaks onto your lower abdomen, and suddenly, all you can think about is having him inside you again.
“Taehyung?”
You don’t even need to ask. Hitching your leg around his thigh, he knows exactly what you’re seeking, lining up his leaking cock with your swollen entrance.
Pressing into you, he buries himself to the hilt, groaning out as your warmth envelopes him. You moan out so prettily for him, feeling tight and full with your first orgasm only minutes ago.
“You okay?” he hums, kissing your cheek.
You nod, ears warm at the intimacy of the moment. In many ways, this is nothing like your first time together. You are face to face, eye to eye, heart to heart. Between your bodies could be found more than just desire, but commitment. Devotion. Love. 
“I love you, Tae.” You gush, sighing out as he begins to rock into you.
He falters slightly at your confession but recovers quickly, intertwining his hand with yours and pressing it by your head.
Faintly, you realize. 
That was the first time you had ever told him that.
You look up at him, expecting some wide eyes or even a bit of a nervous tilt to his lips, but all you are met with is a glow. He beams down at you, and your heart swells. 
“I love you, too, Y/N,” he whispers, but you hear the words in your ears loud and clear.
Soft noises fill the room as the two of you become one—hearts synchronizing with one another in silent promise.
It was a promise unlike the one you had made to each other that day at the altar, for this one was real. This one was true.
You shutter with every thrust of his hips, your abused clit finding itself in the crossfire of Taehyung’s passionate motions.
Whimpering, you cling to him, overwhelmed and emotional, like your heart was about to burst. Taehyung lights a fire in you, sends lightning straight through your core. Every word, every smile, every kiss, every touch, they send shivers down your spine, tingles throughout your skin. It’s like you’re falling in love with him all over whenever you see him, whenever his deep brown eyes meet your own.
You remember being so afraid of love that you broke up with all your old boyfriends because of it. Because you couldn’t commit, because you were worried about your career, because they just didn’t give you that spark. But lying here pressed against him, against your husband, you aren’t afraid. Wrapped up around him, tangled up in him, you know. 
Between messy kisses and words of adoration, you find yourself growing closer and closer to your release. Brows furrowed and neck flushed, you come with a soft whimper of his name, coaxing his own orgasm out of him. He lets go inside you, painting you with his seed in a way that pleases you to no end.
Hand still in yours, he gives it a squeeze, pressing a kiss onto your damp chest, right over where your heart beats for him.
“I love you,” Taehyung says again when you meet his eyes, firmer this time, louder. Like he’s worried you didn’t believe him the first time. 
“I know,” you say with a giggle, the words going straight to your head—and your heart. 
Taehyung scowls. “What, no ‘I love you’ back? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Well, only because you want one so badly,” you tease, pressing a quick kiss to his round button nose. “I love you, too, Tae. Always will.”
“I think I knew, then,” Taehyung says with a fond sigh, nostalgia overcoming his expression. “That first time we met. I knew you would be mine, one day.”
“You got lucky,” you scoff slightly. “But I’m glad things happened the way they did.”
“You’re my dream come true, Y/N,” he says. 
“And you are mine,” you murmur.
As the two of you drift off, all twisted up in each other, so mixed up you can’t figure out where you end and he begins, you think back to that night. That ball. 
“Who are you?” You ask, nose scrunched up in distaste. Before you stood a boy you had never met before, wearing shoes that were too big for him and a suit that was a touch too small. 
He grins at you, running a hand through his perfectly-styled hair fringe swiped neatly over his forehead, and he says, “your dream come true.”
And so it was. 
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don’t forget to message me! ~ and don’t forget to message rose!
7K notes · View notes
thefanbasewhore · 7 months ago
Note
Bucky seeing you with a busted lip and being all worried. Reader tells him they got mugged and he is BIG MAD
Summary: After ignoring Bucky for days he finds out the reason why.
Warning/content: violence, mugging, stitches.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader
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It's inevitable, bound to happen despite how hard you really do try to hide it from Bucky. Of course he notices the way you've been distancing yourself, dismissing any thought of seeing each other and he's incredibly sweet about it.
He sends texts asking to see you but you reply with lame excuses like work is making me stay later or something along those lines. His replies are always so disgustingly sweet against your hesitation.
'That's fine, get some rest. I miss you, sweet girl. How about tomorrow?'
It still sits in your phone with no reply, if only the stupid fat lip would go away already. It's been days and the swelling is starting to fade but instead a large, purple bruise crowns your lips, a rather large cut reaches the top of your Cupid's bow right through to the bottom lip.
It's late, you're stirring a bowl of instant noodles while the TV blares some lame adult cartoon show but you're not really paying attention to it anyways, just mindlessly scrolling on your phone.
"I thought I told you to lock your doors." The deep rasp momentarily frightens you, tipping the bowl just enough for a few drops of hot broth to burn the skin of your exposed thighs. "Sorry, sweetheart. Didn't mean to scare you."
The voice behind you can only belong to one person in particular, and you're trying to avoid him the best you can considering he will never, ever let this go. "Buck, you can't just sneak in here and scared me!"
He's close, the front of thighs press against the back of the couch, the coolness of the vibranium felt send chills down your spine as it whirls and clicks as your hair is moved to one side. Soft lips press against the skin of the opposite side, soft but gentle. Petal like lips soaking in the familarity he missed so much. "How else would I find out why you're avoiding me?"
"I'm not avoiding you Buck, I'm avoiding a certain situation is all." Lips never stop but you feel the strong press of wrinkles forming against your own skin from his forehead. Pinches confused as he hovers. "What does that mean?"
He's rounding the bend of the sofa with slow foot steps as you squeeze your eyes shut, not ready for the chaos that might follow afterwards. Even though this is it, Bucky is going to find out, you still turn your head to the other way in hopes it never comes.
Flesh fingers find your chin, angling your face to face him. Soft eyes meet steel blue ones, concerned laced in the wrinkles between his eyebrows as his face drops.
Instantly, both hands cup your face, rolling your head from palm to palm for any other signs of an injury. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"I'm fine Bucky." The man is kneeled between your legs, flesh thumb pressing into the divot of your chin and points it up. Getting a closer look at the nasty gash, two small stitches follow a transverse line down your bottom lip. "Before I tell you, don't freak out."
"Tell me."
"Don't freak out, I'm fine, I'm fine." Hands squeeze his wrist, trying to reinsure him the best you can manage.
"How can I not? First you're avoiding me and then I see this!" Bucky's voice raises an oculate, eyes narrowing like he can't believe the words even left your mouth.
"Tell me." He urges, eyes never leaving your own. The grip of your chin isn't rough at all, gentle but just enough pressure that signifies he means it. His other hand pushes the hair away from your face, running along the hair line with comforting cool metal.
"I got mugged walking home the other day, I fought back and he got me good with a key."
His mouth opens, but then closes. A stern, hard line wrinkles his forehead, "Why didn't you tell me? Did you get a good look at him? Did you call the cops? Nevermind I'll find him myself."
"No, this is exactly why I didn't tell you." Rolling your eyes and trying to move from his grasp but the vibranium that holds the back of your neck doesn't let you. His eyes soften just the slightest, a small hiss falling from your lips as he reaches out run a thumb across the stitches.
"My pretty girl." He hums, he'll make sure the man never touches a woman like this again. "What did he look like?"
"Bucky, I mean it, no going after him. I don't want you anywhere near this, it happens. No more fighting, no more violence." Bucky chews the inside of his cheek, the warmth inside his chest burns it. Aches with the thought of anyone touching his girl in such a way. You catch his drifting, hand reaching out to cup his jaw. "Promise me right now, that you will not go after him or look into anything about it. The cops are handling it."
"Fine..." He doesn't like it but the way your eyes meet his, it's impossible to deny you anything but he can't look away from brusing lip. He's annoyed, body posture gives it away. He's stuff, quiet, shoulders tense with a trembling anger. "Never hide something like this from me again, never."
Guilt creeps over, pushing your shoulders forward with a soft sigh. "I'm sorry honey, I just didn't want you to freak out or worry."
"Oh because wondering why you don't want to see me is not worrying at all." It's sharp but well deserved but the hand that cups your cheek doesn't match the tone. A large thump runs over the highest part of your face, watching the way your eyes close with the warmth of his skin.
"M' sorry Bucks, won't do it again. I promise." Without a thought you're leaning in to find his lips, but when they make contact you wince in pain.
Bucky presses one more soft kiss to your forehead before claiming he's going to get an ice pack for your lips but the moment he turns the corner, he presses the phone to his face.
He might have promised but Sam didn't.
1K notes · View notes
inkykeiji · 5 months ago
Text
break my heart in two, but when it heals it beats for you
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character: zenin naoya
genre: smut + angst
notes: aaaaah this is my lil submission for the sewer’s soulmate syndrome collab (and my first collab ever waaah!!!) it’s a curseless soulmate AU with the tiniest hint of the zenin’s being a prominent crime family. please please heed the warnings!! | title credit: back to you by selena gomez
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, incest (reader and naoya are half siblings), mentioned death of a family member (mother), naoya being his misogynistic self, excessive use of the word ‘Daddy’ to refer to their biological father, one (1) instance of physical abuse, size kink/size difference, mentioned relationship between a university student (reader) and their TA, infidelity, one (1) mention of Daddy being yakuza, age difference, spanking done by reader’s biological father, toxic relationships, minimal prep, rough sex, a hint of degradation
words: 9.5k
synopsis:
Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the very moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.
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It’s a few days after his twenty-ninth birthday, the night you appear—unannounced, uninvited, and an absolute fucking mess—falling into his father’s arms the moment he opens the door, fingers curling in the material of his cashmere button up and tugging as powerful sobs rip through your entire body, violent tremors following.
It’s fucking disgusting, the way his father reacts. Naoya watches the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the living room, nose wrinkled in distaste, features twisted in aversion and saturated in abhorrence.
Because his father lets you cling to him like a child—a grown woman, gripping a seventy-one year old man like a sniveling little girl—as he manages to scoop you up into his arms, collapsing onto his favourite armchair with you in his lap, hushing you gently as he rocks you back and forth, large hands stroking your shuddering back as you nuzzle your puffy, snot-stained face into his chest, wailing out Daddy!
It’s the first time Naoya’s ever seen his father behave in such a way, revolt churning his stomach as he observes the quite frankly unfamiliar man in front of him. It makes him fucking sick to watch, acidic bile rising in his throat until it stings the back of his tongue, face souring as he swallows it back down.
And you can’t even manage to force words through your stuttering breathing and hiccupped little sobs, unable to explain the situation at all without being overwhelmed by another fresh wave of tears, crashing over your body as you fall back into the sanctuary of his father’s arms, face buried in his neck, now soiled with spit and salt water.
“Naoya,” his father calls, voice curt and stern and demanding, snapping Naoya’s gaze to his own in an instant. “A glass of water, please?”
Naoya scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck do I look like to you? The help?”
And Naoya’s no stranger to the level gaze his father fixes him with, has seen that same look etched into his father’s face more times than he can count, eyebrows pinched and mouth pressed in a firm, fine line, chest rising as he inhales slowly, calmly, deeply, then exhales through flared nostrils.
“You look like a good big brother who’s on his way to get his baby sister some water,”
Ah, right, that’s who you are—the bastard, Daddy’s little mistake, an ugly, irreversible stain on their family’s prestigious name.
“That bitch is not my sister,” he grumbles as he stomps from the room and towards the kitchen to fetch you a drink, huffing under his breath about being treated like a fucking woman, yet obeying his father’s orders nonetheless.
It turns out, Naoya learns, that your mother has passed away, leaving his poor bastard of a baby sister all alone in the world, with nowhere to go—and you’ve come here to ask for shelter and food, just until you get on your feet.
It’s fucking pathetic, as far as Naoya’s concerned, shaking his head in condescending disbelief with a cruel snort. It’s almost difficult to believe that you, undoubtedly the family disgrace; you, with your dirty blood and the dishonour you haul around everywhere with you, have the balls to come crawling to his father begging for support. You’re an adult, for Christ’s sake, and you should act like one, should be out scouring the earth for some equally pathetic man to serve like you ought to, like you would have, if you knew your place. Maybe then, Naoya would have a shred of respect for you.
Maybe.  
“How selfish. Daddy already pays for your tuition, why should he provide you with housing, too? Are you really that incompetent? Can’t do a thing for yourself, huh?”
Your head whips around to face him, almost as if you’re startled by his presence, by his voice addressing you directly, a sharp gasp falling from your lips the moment your eyes meet.
It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him since you’ve arrived, the first time your gaze has connected with his, eyes bloodshot and gleaming as crystal tears stream down your cheeks, excess water clinging to spidery lashes, clumped together in spikes.
God, you’re beautiful.
It kicks him right in the motherfucking chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a few feet into the stone fireplace, a hand gripping the mantle for stability while his body caves in on itself. A spear of agony sears through his body, slicing clean through all of his vital organs as you choke out an apology punctuated with an honorific, head shaking in jerky little motions as your tongue struggles to form words to explain yourself.
And he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life, skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, thick black smoke filling is lungs as he wheezes on an inhale, strangled by it.
“Naoya,” his father snaps, eyes wide and scorching. “Leave.”
Each step away from the living room feels heavier than the last, as if his blood’s been replaced by lead, by rapidly drying concrete, rendering him incapable of lifting his feet from the floor, dragging them against the tile until it’s fucking painful, calves and thighs tingling as if the blood flow’s been entirely obstructed, muscles quivering and exhausted.
“It’s okay,” he can hear his father’s faint voice soothing you, each of your sniffles feeling like a sharp little thorn straight to his heart, each of your tiny I’m sorry’s carving out a vacant, phantom wound in his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,”
“Pathetic,” Naoya spits to the empty hallway, though the word wavers, catching a little in his throat, letters scraping the gummy walls as he forces them from his mouth, leaving scalding little blisters in its wake.
It’s then that Naoya decides he hates you; standing motionless in the dark  hallway, feet inexplicably bolted to the floor and chest burning with some unknown emotion, a fire that blazes and rages, flares and thrashes, with each of your hitched little apologies, his teeth clenched together so tightly he’s surprised they don’t crack.
But it’s only after your sobs have calmed, father having reduced them to soft sniffles and half-hiccups through tender words and sweet affirmations, only after Naoya knows that you’ll be staying here for the night—that you’ll be safe—that he regains control over his limbs, that he rips his cement-filled feet from the floor and trudges towards his bedroom, scalding inferno dulled to simmering coals and faint flickering cinders.
He doesn’t think about it—isn’t going to think about it, refuses to waste his time or energy on such absurdity, refuses to allow his father’s preposterous decisions and ridiculous sentiments soak up space in his consciousness.
And he absolutely refuses to think about is the way your sudden presence punched a sharp gasp from his chest, the way he suddenly feels incomplete, like something’s missing, now that you aren’t within arms-reach, the way that he lost control over his entire body for the first time in his fucking life, in that hallway, just a few moments ago.
    ✰          ✰          ✰
His father—your father—falls in love with you almost immediately; having only met you briefly a few times before this, despite sending your mother multiple cheques every month for over twenty years.
It’s truly deplorable, positively sickening to watch the way his eyes light up when you come skipping into the living room after your afternoon university classes, dropping a fat, almost obscene kiss to Daddy’s cheek before plopping down on his lap as you chatter on about your day—about what you learned in lecture today, about the essay you got back (top of your class, of course), about your cute TA with the white hair and crystal eyes who always seems to conjure a bashful expression the moment you mention his name.
Naoya watches the entire thing unfold day after day, a deep sneer etched into his face, jaw clenched so hard it begins to ache, light eyes glaring daggers in your direction.
Something akin to jealousy, a creature with glowing emerald eyes and gnashing teeth and razor claws that slash and tear at the pit of his belly, roars and rattles the ribs that keep it caged within his chest, gnawing on the bones every time his—your—father makes you giggle, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze at him; every time lithe fingers brush hair back from your face or a large palm settles on the crown of you head, petting you gently; every time you nuzzle into his neck, curling up comfortably—perfectly—in Daddy’s big, strong arms that keep you protected from all of the bad, from all of the evils of this world, from him, the big brother that loathes you.
It’s unsettling, almost sad in a sense, seeing his father fall from grace, observing the way you decay his persona so quickly, eating away at it like corrosive acid, rotting him from the inside out; the way he morphs from one of the most powerful and feared Yakuza bosses into soft, sticky, sweet putty in your hands the moment you appear; the way your presence shatters his tough, hard exterior and renders him gentle and tender—gentler and tenderer than he’s ever behaved with Naoya or any of his older brothers.
He can’t fucking stand to watch it, despises every single thing about it, positively detests the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensations that thrash and thunder inside of him, an unusual mixture of envy and melancholy, of wrath and desire, combined to create something toxic, something hazardous, something uncontainable that erodes his senses and mind, leaking into his bloodstream and poisoning his thoughts.
Because his gaze stays glued to you the moment you enter a room, like he’s bewitched by you, cursed by you the way his father has become, unable to rip his eyes from your form until you exit.
Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.
And the worst part, the worst part is that he hasn’t a clue why. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, why you evoke such strong emotions—emotions he’s never felt before, emotions he doesn’t have a name for—or why, suddenly, everything feels wrong, off, whenever you’re not around.
It’s fucking annoying. Those tiny, raised bumps on the inside of his wrist—shaped in the form of a zodiac constellation, a mark everyone is born with, a mark that supposedly hints at your soulmate—burn and tingle as he meditates on these notions, blunt nails scratching viciously at his skin.
    ✰          ✰          ✰
Daddy grants you permission to stay at the estate for as long as you’d like, because of course he does, a victim to the spell you’ve cast. He even gives you your own room, helps you pick out furniture and takes you shopping for new clothes. You promise to do your share around the house—pinky swear—and, to Naoya’s immense dissatisfaction, you don’t disappoint.
No. Instead, you excel.
Those pretty little words weren’t empty promises—you begin cooking all of the meals, taking on the task to do the dishes entirely by yourself, tending to the house and the garden outside, even going as far to aid the help in their daily cleaning routines, until Daddy tells you it isn’t necessary.
And you manage to capture almost everyone’s hearts through your deeds and duties, through your kind and compassionate nature, through your being attentive and, for the most part, obedient—but most important of all, being family oriented.
You do the laundry when it needs to be done. You keep the house spotless and the kitchen sparkling. You learn everyone’s favourite dishes and then dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting them.
Naoya observes you throughout it all, sharp eyes following your movements, watching as you expertly tend to everyone’s needs, almost as if you know what they’ll require before they do.
You’d be perfect wife material, if you weren’t his sister—he catches the thought as it drifts through his mind—a sentiment that’s almost involuntary, unthinking in nature— and strangles it with his bare hands, stomps on it until it’s nothing but dust.
Because what’s more infuriating than anything else is that you are a good woman, a perfect woman, a woman who—for the most part—understands her place and duty in the household; or, at least, you did, before Daddy began spoiling you rotten.
It earns you the nickname princess from your favourite nii-san, hissed through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes and scrunched up noses, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with artificial icing sugar—a nickname Daddy irritatingly and affectionately adopts, extracting all of the patronization Naoya had imbued it with and stuffing it full of love.
You aren’t invincible, though, no matter how precious you are, how sweet your voice becomes when you bat your eyelashes and fix a pout on your lips, how much Daddy is barely able to deny you.
Because Daddy’s incessant spoiling does eventually bite him in the ass, just like Naoya knew it would.
    ✰          ✰          ✰
“But Daddy,” you whine, wearing your prettiest pout and cutest puppy-dog eyes, lethal weapons that are nearly foolproof, your most cherished expressions that grant you almost everything you want. “It’ll just be for a little, I promise! Just a drink or two!”
“I said no—”
“But everyone’s going! Even my professors will be there; I’m expected to show up!” Voice rising in pitch, your arms cross over your chest as eyebrows knit deeply and a lip juts out further, looking about two seconds away from stomping your foot.
Naoya would be amused, really, to see a grown woman acting like a petulant fucking child over some inconsequential party being thrown by the department, if he didn’t feel like his heart was ripping itself to pieces with your teary expression and soft half-sniffles, with the knowledge that, if you attend, you’ll be with him.
“You have an exam tomorrow,” Daddy reminds you in a sigh, dipping his head to scrutinize you over the rim of his reading glasses. “Are they not all required to write the same exam as well?”
“Well, they are, but—”
“But they didn’t spend their study break out gallivanting with their TA, did they?”
Your eyes widen for a second, shocked by the words leaving your father’s mouth, but the expression is gone in an instant, morphed into incredulousness, eyes rolling as your tongue tuts in disbelief.
“Please, we were studying,”
The chuckle that escapes your father’s lips is anything but warm; it’s cruel and condescending, a sharp slap to the face, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he snaps his book shut, the sound echoing throughout the living room.
“You must think me a real fool,” he’s almost snickering as he throws his glasses on the coffee table, grunting a little as he stands from his armchair and raises himself to his full height, towering over you. “Do you think Daddy’s stupid?”
“What? No, of course not—”  
“Then why are you lying to him?”
“I-I’m not—”
“And you’re doing it again?”
Head shaking in jerky, quivering movements, your lips open and close, emitting nothing more but little squeaks of breath as you try to backtrack, managing to stammer out an apology.
“It’s a little late for that,” your father’s saying sternly, a large hand curling around your bicep as he yanks you towards him, beginning to haul you down the hall. “Good girls do not lie to their fathers,”
Naoya sits tense and coiled in his father’s armchair, a symphony of your cries mingled with harsh slaps of Daddy’s calloused palm against your smooth skin carrying throughout the house, and he swallows thickly, past the lump that’s lodged itself in the column of his throat, past the bitter acid rising in his chest, past the irregular thumping of his heart against his ribs.
Because he doesn’t know why your wails and squeals of Daddy! M’sorry! Daddy! make his cock throb and his chest ache—ache with longing, with want and desire, with jealousy—doesn’t know why he finds himself fucking his fist to those memories that same night, mind fixated on the quick glance he had caught through the sliver of the open door when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he had to sneak down the hallway just to make sure everything was alright, images of you thrown over father’s knees, bare ass spanked raw materializing in his head.
Or maybe he does know. Maybe he refuses to admit it. Maybe he just pretends he doesn’t, because he wishes he didn’t.
Still, you always get off fucking easy, as far as Naoya’s concerned. He’s never witnessed his father allow any woman to talk back to him with such horrid disrespect, to whine and plead and roll their eyes without a backhand so heavy, so hard it knocks them to the floor.
And yet, you receive a few measly spanks to your ass—a punishment that’s more embarrassing than anything else, terribly unfit for a grown woman—and get sent to your room for the rest of the night.  
“She truly is Daddy’s Little Girl,” his mother had snarled after one particular punishment, features curled up in an unattractive sneer.
Naoya can’t help but begrudgingly agree.
      ✰          ✰          ✰
“Oh, lighten up,” one of his brothers nudges his foot with the toe of his slipper before collapsing next to him one abnormally cold evening in early October, interrupting Naoya’s nightly routine of glaring at you, cuddled up into Daddy’s side as you watch a show. “Just because you aren’t Daddy’s favourite anymore doesn’t mean you have to skulk around looking like you just ate a whole lemon,”
“What’re you on about,” Naoya seethes through clenched teeth, glancing at his older brother through the corner of his eye.
“You know,” he responds airily with a knowing smirk, nodding his head in your direction. “She’s taken your place, huh? Or is that not what’s upsetting you?”
And that hurts—it hurts, because he used to be Daddy’s favourite, Daddy’s youngest—the baby—Daddy’s spoiled brat. He’s used to being the center of Daddy’s attention, used to being the object of his praise, used to being the golden child, the prized child, the destined son nurtured and conditioned to take over the Family Business once his father retires.
Light eyes roll back in his skull as he tsks in disapproval, shaking his head and clearing his throat to rid the tremble from his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,”
“Mm, I think I know more than you believe,”
The words are spoken in a murmur, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Naoya’s gaze snaps back to his face immediately as he calls your name, gently pulling you from the hushed conversation you were having with Daddy, full of giggles and murmurs, nonchalantly asking, “When’s your birthday?”
No.
No, Naoya wants to hiss at his pathetic excuse of a brother, large hands curling into quivering fists, nails biting into the fleshy heels of his palms as teeth grit, forcefully swallowing back down the two letter refutation.
No-no-no-no-no, he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t need to know, throat constricting as you inhale to speak, chirpily responding.
Blood turns to thick ice in his veins when he hears your birth date, when he realizes those raised little bumps he was born with on the inside of his wrist match your zodiac sign. Heavy dread, black and poisonous and akin to thick disappointment, sinks in his chest, latching onto the floor of his stomach and spreading quickly, sticky as it engulfs all of his surrounding organs, coating them in acidic pollution.
He’s up and out of his seat before his brother has even finished asking you his next question, stumbling out of the room on unsteady legs, nearly tripping over his own ankles in his haste to get away from you, to escape.
He doesn’t want to know what the bumps on your inner wrist are, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care, that this is all bullshit anyway, century-old myths created by the dreamers and the sentimentalists. It isn’t like the prospect hadn’t already crossed his mind—drifting through a sick orgasmic haze after fucking his fist to the memory of you—the potential that you may be his ‘soulmate’, a cruel trick played on him by the gods. Except…
Except it isn’t real. It isn’t real. There’s no science backing it up, nothing to concretely prove that the zodiac constellation embedded in his skin has anything to do with his ‘soulmate’—or anyone else’s. It’s just a legend, an old wives tale made up for the romantics and nothing else.
In his alacrity to resist it, he turns fucking ruthless in his verbal assault, but nothing seems to deter you; it barely seems to phase you at all, carrying on your tasks or your cute little babbling as if he hadn’t just insulted you.
Because you’re incessant, almost desperate to gain his approval, continuing to treat him like a god—doing more for him than you do for anyone else, including Daddy—regardless of how many how many expletives and offensive sentiments he hurls at you.
And eventually, he goes a little too far.
    ✰          ✰          ✰ 
The night before Halloween is dark and dreary, thick grey clouds stuffed with rain that continuously drizzles over the estate, brutal winds whipping the tiny droplets against the windowpanes, tiny specks and splatters of water decorating the glass, rearranging themselves every time the wind throws another smattering of rain towards them.
You skip into the living room, full of bashful giggles and muted squeals as Daddy fawns over you, awestricken as he murmurs about how beautiful his princess looks.
His princess.  
Naoya’s not quite sure what you’re supposed to be, nor does he care, tearing his gaze from your scantily clad form before his brain can even register what the costume is, before blood can rush to his cock, before he can witness the shy little smile on your lips and the pretty way your eyes glitter as you twirl for Daddy.
No, the only thing Naoya cares about is the fact that the dress of your costume is way too short to be considered decent, fluffy petticoat barely covering your ass, fanning out to reveal the edges of dainty pink lace clinging to the supple flesh of your ass as you twist and turn.
And he hasn’t a clue what you’re chattering on about, isn’t listening, can’t hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in his ears as he stands from his seat and stomps towards you, strong, callous voice cutting off your excited babbling as he glowers expectantly at his father.
“Jesus Christ, Daddy, you aren’t actually going to let her go out in that, are you?”
“Why?” you ask before your father can respond, genuinely confused, head tilting cutely. “What’s wrong with it?”
“What’s wrong with it?” he repeats incredulously, thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks several times, eyebrows raising and huffing out a sarcastic laugh in disbelief. “Are you joking?”
Your head shakes slowly, a frown beginning to materialize on your lips as your eyebrows knit.
“It’s entirely inappropriate,” he scoffs, enunciating his words slowly, like you’re stupid.
You stare up at him cautiously, bottom lip jutting out in a pout so deep your chin puckers. “But nii-san, it’s Halloween—”
“Oh? And what are you going as, a slut?”
A little strangled gasp of Naoya-nii! hitches in your throat, your entire expression crumpling at his disapproval, hands running over the costume in an almost protective manner, smoothing it down.
“N-No, I’m—”
“I don’t care,” he hisses. “There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that—go change. Now.”
The direct order surprises you, shock saturating your features before resentment begins to bleed through. Blinking hard, you force the tears from your eyes, expression hardening and shoulders rolling back, spine straightening.
“No.”
“What did you just say to me?”
“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no,”
That sharp, self-assured smile drops from his face in an instant, face screwing up from such defiance, such disrespect. “Excuse me?”
Shivers skitter up your spine, tiny spikes of ice chasing them, but you refuse to back down, even though your voice is beginning to quiver.
“Y-You’re not Daddy! You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t care if you’re older!”
And just like that, the sharp smile is back, stretched abnormally wide across his lips—like it had been cut, carved, into his handsome face—uncanny and inhuman as his eyes glint with malevolence, words flowing from his mouth slowly, calmly, almost serenely, as he prowls towards you.
“You’re right—I’m not Daddy, because I would never let a woman speak to me the way he allows you to speak to him, you ungrateful little brat,”
A large hand, decorated with chunky, glittering gold rings, cuts through the air, striking you across the cheek with such force you stumble backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over your own feet only to have Daddy wrap a strong arm around your waist, catching you with ease and pulling you to his chest.
And it’s intense, so intense it kicks the breath right from your chest, barreling up your throat where you choke on it as it tangles with a sharp yelp. Hands fly to clutch your cheek immediately, throbbing thorns of pain shooting through the side of your face.
Daddy’s yelling, but it all sounds muddled, muffled, like your deep underwater and he’s shouting from above the surface, despite the fact that you’re clinging to him, pressed up so tightly against his side you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body.
Naoya-nii isn’t saying anything, hand dropped limply to his side, pretty gold adorning his fingers coated in gleaming crimson. He isn’t even looking at Daddy—no, his gorgeous light eyes are focused on you, on the sticky scarlet leaking from the wounds his rings left when they collided with your cheek and the glistening tears shielding your eyes.
And for once, he has nothing to say, no sarcastic remarks or cynical little comments, voice evaporating in his throat as his chest burns, scathed with regret, remorse, repentance—all unwarranted, undeserved, unnecessary. Because—because you earned that slap for being so fucking disrespectful; you needed it, were practically begging him to put you back in your place, back where you belong: below him, behind him, and never beside him.
Because no matter how cute you are, how sweet and precious and good, none of it permits you to speak to him in such a manner, to act as though you’re equal.
So why has this inexplicable agony taken root at his core? Why does he feel like his heart is mutilating itself, tearing itself to shreds, with each of your pitiful little whimpers? Why does he feel the overwhelming urge to make it better, to make your pretty tears and precious sobs stop?
Inevitable anger surges through his veins—furious at you, for eliciting such bothersome emotions; furious at himself, for being so weak, so vulnerable, and allowing such pathetic sentiments to take over, to rob him of his control, of his autonomy.
And despite everything, all of his rage and loathing and confusion, his hand buzzes from it, from the sensation of touching your soft skin for the very first time, even in such a brutal and malicious manner, and instantly, he craves more.
    ✰          ✰          ✰
You don’t speak to him after that. You stop making his favourite meals, stop asking him about his day and then uninvitedly reciting your own in that cute, excited chatter that is so distinctly you, stop doing all of those extra little chores—washing his clothes and changing his sheets and scrubbing his bathroom until it sparkles. You put an end to everything.
And he fucking misses it.
He shouldn’t, but he does.
It’s painful to admit, but he can’t ignore it, notices your lack of presence almost immediately, that gaping void spreading, growing, as it roars in protest, claiming more and more of his body every day, like some sort of inky disease that only your presence seems to calm, to cure.
It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks, because he can’t stop it, regardless of how hard he tries, an impossible ailment he can’t void himself of. It fucking sucks, because you’re eating him up, consuming his very soul, devouring him from the inside out without even sparing him a goddamn glance—and you don’t even know it.
And it’s getting exhausting, putting up this front all the time, fighting against the intense feelings you swirl around in his chest, in his cock, without a hope, without a chance in hell. Fighting for nothing, because he knows he’ll never win. Fighting for nothing, because he isn’t sure he wants to anymore.
They’re unruly, voracious and rabid, tearing up his chest, his lungs and his heart and his throat, with sharp piercing claws and becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, to disregard.
Still, he’s too stubborn, too proud, to give in, to give up, even though the thing living inside him grows stronger every day, even though he knows that one day, it will overpower him.
    ✰          ✰          ✰
It’s windy—the estate quiet as the wind howls softly through the dense pines outside and ruffles them—the night it finally does, the night it takes over entirely, bursting through the barriers he keeps rebuilding and repairing around his soul and his sanity, writhing inside him when he hears soft sobs, muffled by the wood of your bedroom door, just past three in the morning.
It possesses him, like some sort of eternal spirit sinking deep into his bones and sewing itself into his soul, revoking his control over his body as a sudden, intense need to comfort you, to find out what’s wrong and make it all better, courses through his veins, entirely unaware of his actions as he pushes past the door and into your room.
“Naoya-nii?”
It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time you’ve even looked at him, since he struck you.
And he aches to apologize, I’m sorry’s and I shouldn’t have done that’s blistering his throat as they linger, just behind the back of his tongue.
But his pride outweighs them by a hair, despite how much his chest stings with the need to make things better, to make things right, for a reason unbeknownst to him. It’s just a sense—vague in meaning but strong in feeling—that longs for reconciliation, that’s desperate to rid your pretty face from the permanent scowl his presence etches into it.
That’s the first time he creeps into your room, the first time he loses his autonomy to the thing inside of him as he takes you into his arms and comforts you, the first time he allows you to cum from grinding on his cock.
Except it becomes a habit, an addiction, a nightly routine, cravings becoming stronger and stronger with each passing night. And for a brief span of time, it’s enough to appease the creature, the short nights spent with you in his arms, body trembling against his as you whimper out his name and his honorific, tangling on your tongue.
Because it feels right. It feels righter than anything in his life ever has, uncharacteristically gentle hands guiding your hips as they rock against his, soaked cunt gliding over the flannel of his pajama pants with ease as you huff out the prettiest little mewls into his neck.
It feels right only when he’s here with you, alone with you. Suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense again, like the world is in colour again, like the planet balanced again. He can no longer deny this feeling, this ache deep at the very pit of his soul that throbs and stings and burns mercilessly without your presence. You’re the only thing that can heal it, that can quell it, that can complete it.
So he gives in. It’s just for the nights, he promises himself, vows never to allow such sentiments to trickle into the daytime, to save it for when the sun sinks beneath the horizon, pledges never to permit these nightly escapades to advance from anything more than dry humping, nothing further than your cum on his fingers and your thighs stained with sticky cream.
But eventually, that isn’t enough, either.
And he was stupid to think it would be.
    ✰          ✰          ✰
The harsh slap of Testoni loafers against stone echoes out among the immaculately landscaped front yard, bouncing off thin tree trunks and being absorbed by tall, thick shrubs. Silver light, cast by the haloed moon hanging high in the clear navy sky, illuminates the garden, the foliage faded and washed out, painted by the moonbeams. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle trickle of water mingles with Naoya’s harsh breaths, cellphone gripped tightly in one fist as he paces back and forth like a rabid dog, small rocks popping under his feet.
It’s late. It’s too late—you were supposed to be home hours ago. Naoya’s tried calling—seven times, now, his phone buzzing in his palm to warn him of a low battery—but you haven’t picked up once. But that isn’t new, nor is it unusual; you rarely answer his calls while you’re out with Satoru.
So, really, this shouldn’t be cause for alarm. It shouldn’t.
Except he knows the man you’re out with, knows what you’re doing with him, and he can’t get it out of his fucking head, assaulted with fabricated images of you trapped under a large man with ivory hair and crystal eyes, back arching in ecstasy, his name leaving your lips in the prettiest gasps, in the way Naoya’s name leaves your lips during his habitual sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.
He’s terrified it’s going to drive him insane, eyes pricking and throat burning as his nose twitches with the threat of tears, eyelids shut so tightly his whole face scrunches up, tense and crumpled every time a new wave of contrived memories of you cumming all over that asshole’s cock crash over his mind.
Copper stings his tongue as sharp front teeth nibble at the raw cuticles surrounding his nailbed, face puckering at the taste and ripping his thumb, glistening with saliva, from his mouth.
This is pathetic, goddamn it! It shouldn’t even matter who you’re with and what you’re doing with them, shouldn’t be any of Naoya’s concern at all whether you’re safe or not, shouldn’t fucking hurt nearly as much as it does, a heavy ache that weighs on his chest more and more and more as each second ticks by, ribs caving in and splintering under the force, snapping into sharp spikes that puncture his lungs and make it painful to breathe.
“This is such a waste of fucking time, I don’t even—” he’s muttering to himself when you step out of Satoru’s car, his internal monologue beginning to leak from his head out his lips, your presence immediately cutting it off as his head snaps up, light eyes paler than normal, practically glowing in the moonlight.
A startled little whimper pries its way past your lips when you see him, stomping towards you with a heaving chest and a growl ripping from his throat.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he’s seething as a large hand seizes your arm, wrapping around your bicep and yanking, bring your face closer to his. “Huh? Do you know what fucking time it is?”
Frenzied eyes search your face, wild and erratic in their movements, sharply zeroing in on the tiny galaxies of swirling lilac and cobalt peppered with little pinpricks of scarlet that’ve been sucked into the flesh of your neck.
He chokes on something—a gasp or a snarl or a sob, maybe a mixture of all three, you aren’t entirely sure—pearly teeth gnashing together. “You’re a little slut,” he spits the word out like venom, harsh and biting as it whizzes past your cheek, slicing into your skin.
“That’s it, that’s all—that’s all you’re fucking good for,” his grip tightens with each word that flows from his mouth. “At least you’ve picked a rich man to sell your pussy to, at least you aren’t a total idiot, just like your mother, huh?”
“What is your problem?” little hands claw at the fingers latched around you, finally breaking free from him, ripping your limb from his grasp with such vigor you nearly fall on your ass, teetering backwards on unsteady feet. “You know, just because you can’t own up and face your feelings, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Isn’t my fault.”
“This?” he spits, face screwing up in scorn. “There is no this,”
“Oh my God,” eyes rolling, you shake your head, exhaling a dubious laugh. “Shut up. There’s no one here—you can be real with me, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you snark, arms crossing over your chest as you level your gaze with him.
He glares back at you, sharp jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching with the grinding of his molars, large hands balled into tight, trembling fists on either side of his body.
“You know there’s something here, between us, within us, even if you refuse to admit it,” you continue after a beat of silence, voice softening.
His whole form is beginning to quiver and he jerkily shakes his head, exhaling harshly. You think he may be crying, but in the faint moonlight it’s hard to be sure.
Holding your wrist up, you swallow thickly, glancing at those little bumps embedded in your skin, watching the tiny shadows that form when your arm twists. “I have your sign,” your voice is quiet as you look back at him, flashing the inside of your wrist to him. “And I know you have mine,”
A cynical smirk spreads across his lips, but it looks more like a grimace, like a flimsy mask desperately attempting to cover something else, tongue tutting in disbelief. “Yeah, and there’s millions of people in this world with any given sign. It’s all bullshit—it could be anyone,”
“It could be anyone,” you agree, nodding. “But it isn’t.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I do! I know you feel it too! Christ, why are you so—so adamant on denying this, even when it’s just the two of us? What’s the point?”
“You’re my fucking sister, that’s the point. This is inappropriate, it’s wrong,”
“If it’s so wrong, then why do you sneak into my bedroom every night? Why do you let me cum on your fingers? Why do you fuck my thighs?” your footsteps speed up, jogging a little to catch up to him. “Huh? Huh? No answer? Or do you know the answer, and you’re too afraid to say it?”
“I don’t know!” he explodes, whirling around on you and trapping you against the brick, palms laid flat against the wall. “Alright? I don’t fucking know why I do those things. They make me feel sick afterwards, but I…”
But I can’t stop.
But I need you.
But I love you.
Chests heave with harsh exhales that mingle and echo in the garden, your eyes studying his face intently, in a way that makes him feel naked, exposed, makes him want to turn and hide from you.
“I’m not asking—” you start, words catching in your throat and blinking hard to clear rapidly welling tears from your eyes. Your voice is softer, more fragile and weak, when you speak again. “You don’t have to marry me, for Christ’s sake. I just—I just want you to—I need to know you feel it too,”
“Why?” he hisses, acidic envy bubbling in his chest, beginning to erode his resolve, walls crumbling to rubble. “What is there to know? You already have him,”
“But I’d rather have you,” the words materialize on your tongue before you even know what you’re saying, earnest eyes boring into his.
“God, don’t—” eyelids shut tightly, lithe fingers tangling in blonde hair and tugging. “Don’t say shit like that,”
He can feel them, those three little words thrashing in his chest, desperate to claw up his throat and spill from his lips, but he grits his teeth and swallows them back down, letters lodging and forming a painful lump.
And you notice. You notice, because you’ve studied him extensively, have learned to read him—his mannerisms, expressions, behaviours—well.
And you’ve just found his weakness.
“Do you want to know what I think of when he fucks me?” you ask, eyes searching his face in an almost frenzied manner, breath accelerating as you quickly push the words from your lips, worried if you don’t speak fast enough, if you don’t vocalize these sentiments now, you’ll lose him again. “It’s you. It’s always you. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to think of someone else, of anyone else, but you just…you just won’t leave my brain! It’s like a—a sickness, or something. Like a chronic illness, and it’s only getting worse,”
A strangled growl rattles in his chest as he tears himself away from you, fists violently rubbing at his eyes.
He knows. He knows, because he’s tried the same thing, attempted to desperately forget you, to disintegrate the weird feelings you endlessly evoke in his chest by losing himself in women night after night, often multiple women at once, drowning himself in their moans and gasps and soft bodies to no avail.
“There’s no cure,”
He doesn’t even mean to say it, words slipping from his lips unconsciously as he gets tangled in his thoughts, flipping through the countless memories of faceless women of all shapes and sizes, faceless woman that somehow always mange to morph into you.
“No,” you respond, shaking your head. “There isn’t. But at least I’m trying!”
He spins around, gleaming eyes flashing, brimming with bewilderment, features falling in surprise for just a moment before they harden again, varnished in offense.
“What’re you talking about,” he seethes, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his eyes narrow into sharp slits, scrutinizing, analyzing, dissecting.
“I-I’d rather have you, yes, and he’ll—no one will ever compare, will ever even come close to how much I—” you cut yourself off, swallowing the thought, then clearing your throat and beginning again. “At least I’m trying to find someone, though. At least I’m trying to find just a shred of what I feel for you, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, alone and miserable,”
“Oh,” he laughs humorlessly, a callous little sound that viciously tears from his chest, that scrapes his throat and comes out strangled, full of incredulity. “You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t think I’ve tried endlessly to forget you? To cleanse you from my mind? To move the fuck on from something that had never begun in the first place? You’ve imprinted yourself in the tissues of my fucking brain in a matter of months. It’s tiring. It’s hopeless,”
His voice breaks on the last word, some of the merciless heat fading from his features as he glares at you, eyes almost pleading for you to understand.
Because you’re the only one that can.
You’ve been in this together the entire time, right from the start, from the moment you walked through that front door.
And he’s been resisting it, fighting against it, against himself, all while the current only becomes stronger, only continues to grow in strength and size, and he’s motherfucking exhausted at this point, sick of battling some invisible force he was convinced didn’t even exist, sick of waging a war he will forever be destined to lose.
You’ve broken that wall, shattered it to dust, destroyed all of his weapons of defense and robbed him of his sovereignty, and now it’s all pouring form his mouth, an endless, uncontrollable stream of confessions, of thoughts and desires, of agony and misery.
“But it doesn’t even fucking matter, because I love you. I love you and I fucking hate you for it. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried every single trick in the fucking book to stop it, to get over you, to forget you—and none of it has ever fucking worked, not even for a second. I don’t want you; I—I don’t want to be, but I’m in love with you,”
It looks as though your breathing has ceased, chest halting in its rapid movements, body gone still, static, stagnant. Your silence is deafening, has his ears ringing and his heart pounding, thrashing against his ribs as it aimlessly attempts to crawl through the cage, to present itself to you, bloody and beating and all yours. It’s all yours—take it, kill it, end its suffering.
“And there’s nothing—”
Surging forward, your lips crash into his, body following as it smacks against his own, effectively cutting him off. Naoya freezes, eyes wide and breathing stopped, entire body turned to ice, rigid and tense, but you are not deterred, arms winding around his neck as fingers thread through the gold and ink at the base of his skull.
“I love you, too,” you mumble into the kiss, refusing to break contact for even a second, lips brushing his as you speak. “I love you so much,”
The confession—an admission he already knew, deep down in his very bones, an admission he can no longer ignore, now that you’ve said it—snaps him out of his trance, and something switches, something breaks. Because then he’s kissing you back, tongue forcing its way through your lips to assault your own as calloused hands find purchase on your hips, squeezing your flesh hard enough that you yelp.
He chuckles against your lips, and then he’s pushing forward, forcing you to walk backwards, too fast for you to keep up, his legs longer than yours, body bigger than yours, stronger than yours.
Even with all of his shoving, you still aren’t moving quick enough for him, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet, whimpering hushed apologies into his mouth, a response to the growls that rumble in his chest each time you trip, your pitiful little sorry!’s consistently being cut off by his tongue.
Large hands hoist you up without breaking the kiss, mouth still attempting to devour you whole, to suck up your very soul, and your legs automatically wrap around his waist, latching onto him.
Either of your bedrooms are too far, and he can’t take it, he can’t wait—not with the way your fingers are tangling in his shirt and tugging, the way needy little whines are hitching in your throat, the way you’re squirming in his grasp, trying to grind against his half-hard cock.
You’re fucking desperate, but so is he, thigh whacking off the edge of the wooden coffee table as he blindly staggers towards the kitchen, tongue hungrily dragging against yours while he does so.
The cold marble stings your skin as he deposits you onto the nearest countertop, hips wedged between your thighs keeping them spread.
Little fingers immediately go for his belt, nonsensical whimpers sounding in the back of your throat as you fumble and struggle, hooking your fingers through his beltloops and pulling.
“Eager girl,” he chastises, a little breathless as nimble fingers find the soaked lace at the apex of your thighs, pushing it to the side. “Nii-san has to prep you first,”
“No,” you whine, pitched high and much too loud. “M’wet enough. Want you, want you now, nii-san, please, just give it to me, been waiting so long, please,”
The words are slurred together as they tumble from your lips, infused with a potent lust that casts a dense haze over your mind, rendering you capable of only focusing on what you need.
Light eyes dart up, holding yours through fanned lashes for a moment, as if they’re searching for any hesitancy, before his lips form the most genuine smile he’s ever given you.
“Yeah?” he huffs out, finally breaking your stare to watch his hands undo his belt, continuing to speak as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and frees his cock. “You think you can take it?”
“Yes, nii-san,” you nearly mewl, gazing at him with blown, glazed eyes and a cute pout. “Please, give it to me, I-I want it, please,”
His gaze finally flicks up, that sincere smile stretched wider across his face, a playful glint in his eye, voice void of any of its usual derision. “You want what? Hmm, baby? Come on, nii-san wants to hear you say it,”
A low whimper leaves your throat and you shift on the countertop, as if trying to wiggle closer to him. “Your cock, nii-san, want your cock, please-please-please, gimme-gimme-gimme,”
It sounds as though you’re close to tears, voice cracking and thick with desire, Naoya’s cock twitching in his palm in response to the sound, and, God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, absolutely adores it when you beg, thinks you sound so pretty when you’re pleading for him.
“You’re a greedy little girl, you know that?” he pants while he pushes in, a muffled yelp prying past your lips. “Shh, hush now, nii-san will give you what you need,”
The stretch is incredible, cute little cunt throbbing around his thick cock as it struggles to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling as though he’s going to tear you into two, leaving stinging micro-fissures in the delicate flesh.
Yet despite the burn, the ache that settles deep in your core, that feels like he’s splitting you in half, a satisfied moan leaves your lips, head falling forward and resting against his broad shoulder, fingers curling in the cotton that adorns his torso and pulling him closer, closer, closer.
Because, finally, you feel whole, more whole than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, satisfying an inexplicable desire buried at the crux of your very soul, something you didn’t even realize you were missing until you finally had it.
“S’not enough,” you mumble into him, nuzzling your face against him like a cat. “Need more, nii-san, need more,”
“You really are a selfish little fucking brat,” he grunts as fingers flex on your hips, tips digging into the pliant flesh and gripping, singeing his name into your skin in rapidly blossoming indigo and ultramarine.
“Nii-san was going to try and be nice,” the words, strained and husky, spill from plush lips as his hips begin to thrust, slow and hard, winding back as they draw the force to ram forward, slamming a cry from your chest as his cockhead pounds against your cervix. “But you’re too impatient for that, aren’t you?”
It’s a fucking lie; his self-control had been hanging by a thread, barely restraining the primal need to wildly buck into you, but you just snapped it, just tore the last of his treasured discipline to fucking shreds with nothing more than a few words.
The pace is ruthless, your head bouncing off the cabinets with each powerful snap of his hips, an endless stream of cries pouring from your lips, one hand curling around the edge of the counter as the other grips his shoulder, nails burying themselves in the hard muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. Sharp bones carve a spot just for him, made for him, between your legs, into the tender flesh of your inner thighs.
“You’re mine, you hear me?” he pants out, eyes so bright they’re practically glowing. “Mine.”
“Yours!” you gasp out, head nodding in sloppy little movements against his shoulder as you fall forward, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Yours, yours, yours,”
Everything feels hazy, almost dreamlike in a sense, vision blurring over with a thick shield of tears that you can’t quite explain, his name and the honorific becoming muddled on your tongue, fusing into one as you wail it out, clinging to him in a way that’s almost possessive.
“Nii-san’s here,” he promises you, voice hoarse. “Nii-san’s yours, too,”
“Mine,” the arms thrown around his neck tighten, fingers tangling in soft gold and wrinkled cotton. “Mine, mine, mine—”
“Mine,” he echoes, hips never faltering even as you wind your body around his, large hands keeping your hips still as he fucks into you. “And only mine—”  
“Forever and ever and ever—”
“You belong to me, were made for me, put on this earth for me,”
Words of confirmation are escaping from your lips, you’re absolutely sure of it, can feel them vibrating up your throat as you speak them—but it’s so much, too much, all of the feelings swirling around in your chest, sending spikes of pleasure and thorns of pain shooting through your veins as they clash together. A sudden wooziness settles over you, brain fogging over as he becomes the only thing you can think of, the only thing you want to think of, nonsensical babbling still slipping from between parted lips in hitched puffs of breath.
“So full,” you nearly sob, one of Naoya’s hands tangling in the hair at the back of your skull and yanking, pulling your face from the sanctuary of his neck and exposing your expressions to his scrutinizing eyes, devouring the beautiful tears streaking your cheeks, the contorting of your features as pleasure washes over them. “M’so full, nii-san, it’s so much,”
“Yeah? Better than he could ever stuff you?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re wailing out, affirmations falling from your lips with each brutal piston of his hips. “More, need more,”
Because it’s like an addiction, an innate need for more of him, for all of him, ravenous and unquenchable, that’s always existed within you, that his cock stretching you out, filling you up, has only just awakened.
His aura is positively intoxicating, overwhelming your senses and becoming all you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell, taste, touch. His taste lingers on your tongue, faint notes of minty pine and sharp nicotine dancing with your tastebuds; his touch brands itself into you, bruises and bitemarks carving his name into soft skin; his scent assaults you, envelops you, overpowers everything else as it wraps you in a shackled embrace of expensive aftershave and cedar wood.
A growl tears from his chest, so rough that it vibrates throughout his entire body, and his pace quickens, cock plunging into you and an incredible speed, dragging against that one spot that has you nearly screaming, that has your eyes rolling back and your little hole fluttering around him as a blistering fire sparks to life in the pit of your belly.
You can feel it, furling in on itself with each vicious rut of his hips, each relentless bang of his cockhead against your cervix, a concentrated ball of scathing heat pulsing, quaking in your stomach as it curls tighter and tighter and tighter with each plunge forward—until it bursts, a fiery explosion that buzzes through your veins as your cunt clenches, gushing on his cock as he praises you—yeah, that’s it, make a mess on nii-san—entire body coiling from the sheer strength.
“Tell me,” he keens almost desperately, voice pulling you from the clutches of post-orgasm unconsciousness, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains his finesse. “Tell me how badly you need it,”
And you don’t need to be told what, pleads pouring from your mouth in an instant, before your brain can even comprehend what you’re saying, an instinctual reaction to his command. “Need your cum, nii-san, need you to full me up, fill my tummy with it, stuff me full of it, need it so bad, nii-san, please gimme your cum, please, please,”
The words are all jumbled together, thick with tears and wet with saliva and imbued with delirium, quivering and breaking as your body trembles from overstimulation.
“Fuck,” he chokes on the curse, hips stilling, pressed flush against your ass as his cock throbs, filling you with spurt after spurt of thick cum, a broken whine catching in his throat as endless words spill from yours, peppered with the sweetest moans—yes, nii-san, thank you, nii-san, fill me up, fill my body with it, my brain with it, I need it, I need it.
And he does, pumps you full of so much that it begins leaking out from your abused little hole—still stuffed with him—and down his cock.
And it’s then—after he has filled you up, with your precious little cunt still pulsing around his length, whimpering out his honorific as you hold onto him, voice raw and wrecked and cracking with residual tears—then that Naoya’s sure you were meant for him, made for him, perfectly tailored to him; he knows you were, his very own gift from the gods.  
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biaswreckme · 7 months ago
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how to care for your hybrid | jjk
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Pairing: hybrid!Jungkook/Reader
Member: Jungkook
Length: 5253 words
Genre: smut, fluff, angst, 5+1
Rating: 18+
Triggers/Warnings: smut, hybrid smut, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), insinuation of past abuse (but nothing explicit or even saying what happened), mention of abandonment 
Project: @btscreatorscorner​ March workshop with the theme push the limits
Summary: how to care for your hybrid, or 5 times you cared for bunny hybrid!Jungkook and one time he took care of you
A/N: So this was supposed to be a drabble and it turned out to be a 5k fic. Alright. This was written for this month’s workshop for BTS Creators’ Corner network, and the theme was to push the limits. I had never written a hybrid fic before, so I interpret the theme as coming out of my writing comfort zone (even though it’s still smut...) Thankssss to my lobely lobely betas, @heejinnien​ for beta-reading the sfw parts of this fic, and to @taegularities​​ for beta-reading the nsfw bit :3 I love you girls ♥
You can find the sequel here.
1. Provide them with a comfortable home
You still remembered the day you had brought Jungkook home from the shelter. You had gone with a friend, just as a companion, not intending nor really wanting to adopt a hybrid. Sure, you’d feel lonely sometimes, living by yourself and in a foreign country, but the thought of adopting a hybrid had never crossed your mind. Adopting a plant? Sure. Adopting a cat? Maybe. Adopting a hybrid? Never. Until you saw him, that is.
The shelter was legit, your friend had said, having done her research. But the place still made you uncomfortable; the creatures, those people, inside the divisions - you refuse to think of them as cages - waiting for someone to help. You had to bite your lip to keep from crying upon seeing them, knowing it was a rescue shelter, and then your eyes crossed with his.
There was some magnetic energy in the air that had pulled you closer to his unit until you could read the informational pamphlet: he was named Jungkook, a rescue bunny hybrid. Your gaze had immediately shifted to the man again; he was only a couple of years younger than you, but there had been something about his gaze that almost hypnotized you. He had such wide, expressive, and round eyes glistening with moisture and paired with his ears drooping low on the back of his head, you could not resist it.
There would be a home inspection and you would need to get some provisions to fulfill all the exigencies, but you rushed to get everything together. They had provided you with a list of items to make the bunny hybrid comfortable and ease the transition, and you did not hesitate, deciding to worry about the credit card bills later.
And so you took him home. He had clung to you entering the apartment, slowly exploring the space and showing where he would be sleeping. At the shelter, they had told you the hybrid would need an appropriate bed, but you hadn’t felt comfortable just getting a bunny bed at the store, so you got him a real and human bed, wanting him to feel at ease enough to not need to shift into a full bunny to sleep - they had also told you he tended to do that, sleeping as a bunny because he did not feel comfortable in his hybrid human-like body.
You had gotten the basics necessary for the approval of the adoption, and then you took him to the store, letting him choose his own things. It would be a while until that wide-eyed, surprised look would leave his expression, even when you were alone at the apartment and just hanging out on the couch on a Sunday night. That first night, giving him the blankets and tucking him in, you promised to take care of him, and you could barely hear his voice in reply, so small and shy, even though he was much taller - and more muscly - than you. It did not feel right that he had to make himself so quiet and small if that was even possible, so you swore to yourself that you would do everything to help him come out of his shell.
And soon you would find yourself in the company of a very loud and boisterous bunny, no shame about singing, his love for gaming until late hours, and working out. And you could not avoid falling in love with him.
2. Make sure they are getting appropriate food
It was a Friday night, you got home tired after a long day at work, and you smiled to yourself, biting your own lip upon the sight that greeted you upon entering the apartment. A shirtless Jungkook, towel haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, his torso glistening with sweat from working out in your living room. He lifted his head upon hearing you enter, a big smile lighting up his face and his long ears pointed up. He got up and made a movement to hug you.
“Hi, noona!”
“Oh no, you don’t,” you barely ducked out of the day. “Jungkook, you’re sweaty…”
He was faster than you, predicting where you were going to dodge his new attempt at enveloping you with his arms, something he had been picking up whenever you joined him in a boxing workout. His arms quickly went around your body, pressing you against him, your forearms up in the failed endeavor of avoiding getting his sweat all over you. He hugged you tight, his chin resting on your shoulder and you felt one of his ears on your head as his entire body seemed to tremble, and as you looked down you saw his tail wiggle from side to side rapidly.
“You’re finally home,” he sighed, swaying you softly from side to side.
“Is everything okay, bun? I’m sorry I’m late, they had me stay…”
“I’m so hungry,” you could almost see the pout, knowing the small lisp that came out whenever he pursed his lips and whined.
You looked around the living room, seeing the empty protein shaker bottle on the coffee table, narrowing your eyes.
“Didn’t you have your shake? You were working out.”
“Well, I did…” he started.
“We went grocery shopping and there are still some veggies and fruit cut up from our weekend meal prep, bun,” you felt him hiding his face even more on your shoulder, squeezing your body. “What’s going on? Am I forgetting something?” There was a slightly teasing tone in your voice, knowing what he wanted.
“You promised…” his voice was a mumble, muffled by the way his pouty lips were pressing on your body, but before you could ask him to repeat, “You promised pizza night, noona.”
“I know, bun, I haven’t forgotten it,” you stepped away from him, looking into his eyes and seeing his demeanor change completely.
“Oh?”
“I made the order when I was stuck at a red light. I got your favorite,” you were about to continue, but was interrupted by his sweaty hug again, this time accompanied by a chuckle.
“Ok, we have just enough time to shower before it arrives, so let’s run and get ready.”
You were right and there was just enough time to quickly wash the day - and Jungkook’s sweat - away. You set up the coffee table while he went to get the pizza, knowing it would be hot and he would almost drop it entering the apartment as usual. You sat side by side on the floor in front of the small table, turning the television on to the show you have been binging, your backs propped up against the sofa.
Jungkook was usually very strict with his diet, being mindful of the food he ingested to maintain his physique and try to lower his body fat percentage - which was crazy to you, his muscles were already prominent and he seemed to get only bigger… how were you supposed to leave the house to work when you had your bun looking like that, especially early mornings, his hooded half-open eyes almost smiling at you wishing you a good day at work. Your fridge was always full of fresh and cut-up vegetables, fruit, and greens, catering to his diet (and you had to admit you have been eating much better since he entered your life). Sometimes you thought it was all his difficulties from before, his time spent in the shelter, that he had such a love for a cheesy hot pizza every once in a while during the weekend.
And how could you say no to him when he purposefully lowered his ears, pouted, and widened his big round eyes even more to convince you?
3. Explore new things together
“Come on baby, you said you wanted to try this. It’s just us now.”
“Y… yes, noona. It’s just so… big.” Jungkook’s eyes were wide open, looking at the size of the pool in the club. For as much of a muscle bunny he was, the sheer magnitude of the pool seemed to scare him.
He first brought up the idea when you were watching tv a few days ago, some random program late at night showing people on a beach, and Jungkook had seemed to be fixated on the screen. He wanted to visit the sea, for he had never been there before. You agreed to it, but you had to admit that you were scared too, so you compromised: you would start your water adventures at a pool, so he could test things out, see if he truly enjoyed being in the water and swimming.
A few calls later there you were, standing by the water. You picked a time when they said people weren’t usually in - it even involved getting a day off work so you could go this early, but you would do everything for Jungkook. You looked at him, observant, watching his reactions carefully. His ears were down the back of his head, his hands clenched together in front of his shirtless torso, his front teeth worrying into his bottom lip. You took one of his hands into yours and started taking him in the direction of the small ladder to enter the pool. For a moment you wanted to jump in, but you didn’t want to make him even more nervous.
“It’s okay, bun, we’re going into the shallower part so most of your body will be above the water, ok?”
He nodded, but still seemed hesitant to get in, waiting for you to do it first. You stepped down the small ladder, showing him that almost half of your body was above the water, that he would be safe and didn’t need to worry about this part. The water was on the warmer side; you thought going for the hot pool was the best idea to help him feel comfortable at first. He stepped in feet by feet, slowly, his nose scrunched, but the moment he felt the warmth on his feet it was like magic: his ears shot up and his eyes widened in surprise, his mouth coming into a small circle.
You smiled encouragingly and stepped back, giving him some space, seeing him put one of his feet to the bottom and then the other, grounding himself. He was taller than you and he noticed the difference in the level of the water surrounding you. You lowered your body, telling him you were doing it first so as not to frighten him and submerged yourself to get your hair wet. When you emerged, you saw his eyes were wide again, but his ears were not down as before. There was a glint of curiosity in his expression and you nodded in encouragement for him to try it out.
“It’s just like when you wet your hair in the tube, bun. Here, hold on to my hands and remember to hold your breath.”
He did so, holding them tightly in his fists as he bent his knees and lowered his body. You chuckled slightly when you saw that half of his ears were still out of the water, so you quickly untangled one of your hands from his and lightly pressed on them so they were submerged too. He got up and shook his head, water droplets flying everywhere. He started laughing when he saw you put your hands in your eyes, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.
“Good?”
“Yes, noona, it’s good.”
“Are you ready to go a bit deeper?” His long ears perked up at your question, but his face seemed apprehensive. “Not much, we’re not swimming today, just going a bit more so you can maybe try floating.” His head moved up and down, agreeing to the idea, and you couldn’t help but think it was so cute the way his ears moved too.
You grabbed both his hands again so you were looking at each other as you slowly started to step back further into the deeper part of the pool. You didn’t rush, letting him adjust to the increasing level of the water, and only moved when he seemed comfortable. Jungkook always loved to have baths, so you figured he would love going to the pool too, especially a hot one. His smile got wider with each step, feeling more confident and safe with you. When the water hit your shoulders, you stopped and let his hands go.
“Bun, let’s try floating, ok? We’re starting small today, so you can just come closer and put your arms around my shoulders.” You said as you turned your back to him, and almost immediately you felt his arms around you. “Good! Now try letting your feet rise from the floor, let your body float a little.”
He tentatively lifted his feet, clinging to you harder as his body moved with the slow slushing of the water.
“I’ve got you, Kook,” you said as you pressed your hands to his. “I’m not letting go. Trust me, bun. Kick your feet back and put your weight on me.”
You felt him kick the water behind you, his strong arms flexing as he let his weight fall onto you. You knew the moment he started to float and enjoyed it; he pressed his face against your neck and started giggling, and when you looked at him, his nose was scrunched with happiness. His long ears were slightly facing backward, his eyes half-closed, and his little tail wiggling. You walked around the same area of the pool while he kicked his feet behind him, laughing freely as he enjoyed himself. As soon as you taught him to swim you would be taking a small holiday on the beach; you wanted to see this joy in him forever.
This moment was worth everything.
4. Make sure they are getting enough attention
“Morning, noona.”
You heard his voice, so gentle and still thick from sleep, waking up to the sound and the small kisses, his lips softly pressing against the back of your neck, his nose smelling your hair, his warm chest pressed against your back. You made an attempt to move your body but he tightened his arms around you.
“No moving yet, noona.”
“Morning, bun. What are you doing?”
“Just making sure you’re not going to leave my arms today,” he started, and you noticed his voice was heavy with emotion.
“Bun?”
He stayed quiet, hiding his face on your shoulder blades, and you did not say anything else until you felt it, until you felt them. There were small droplets of tears falling on your skin, and you turned around quickly to look at him fighting his embrace. Your hands immediately went to his face, wiping his cheeks, seeing him close his eyes and just quietly crying. Whenever he got like this, he would usually be quieter, needing to talk in his own time, so you did not ask him anything else, giving him space to let his feelings out. All you did was press your forehead against his and wipe his tears with your thumbs, and when you saw he would not stop so soon, you hugged him, letting your shirt dampen without caring about it. The moment you cradled his head against your chest, sobs started to wreck his body, making him shake and you could feel tears gathering in your own eyes. You had no idea how long you were like that, slowly caressing his hair, minding his long ears, but all that mattered was Jungkook. Slowly you felt his body starting to shake less, his hard sobs turning into small hiccups as he almost clawed at your back, needing to be closer to you.
“You’re… you’re not leaving me, right, noona?” His voice was quiet, but his question was too loud in the silence of the bedroom on a Saturday morning.
“Jungkook… no, love, I’m not leaving you,” your heart started to crackle with this question, and you pressed him against you even more. “Why, why do you think that, bun?”
He sniffled, pressing his nose against you and inhaling deeply, then said, his tone still small, “I’m feeling lonely… this past week…”
“Oh, Kook…” it seemed impossible, but you held him even closer to you, “I’ve been just too busy and exhausted from work, I know I got here yesterday and you were already in bed… I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”
He sniffled again and you felt a new wave of fresh tears wetting your clothes.
“I thought…” he started, but his voice faltered. “I thought I made you mad. I thought you were angry at me… and that…” there was a small sob that shook his entire body, “I was scared, noona, I was scared you were going to take me back.”
You could not stop your own tears from falling on top of his head; you had no idea he had felt that way. You had tried texting him during the day whenever you could have a moment for yourself at work throughout this insane week, but again and again, they demanded more hours from you and you did not have the chance to say no. Jungkook was still finding his freedom and footing in the world, and it had worried you that you had to leave him to spend more time by himself than usual. But you never expected this reaction, and you made up your mind. They could ask someone else at work, why did it always have to be you?
“No, Kook… Listen, bun,” your voice trembled, so you paused to be more stable when talking to him. “I’m so sorry you were alone this week, this is not going to happen again, I promise. And the day you came home with me I made a promise, remember? I’m never taking you back unless you want to go.”
He shook his head quickly, signaling his opposition to the idea.
“I don’t want you to go either, bun. I love you, and I’m sorry again.”
He finally looked at you, murmuring I love you too, a small smile gracing his lips. Your chest was starting to feel lighter, starting to relax after being so worried at his crying. You had never seen him like this, and you never wanted to see it again.
“What do you need from me, bun?” you said and kissed his forehead, letting your lips linger for a brief second.
“Can we just… stay in bed today? I want to stay like this in your arms, I missed you too much, noona.”
“Whatever you want, love, I’m yours.”
“I never want to leave this bed,” he whined, burrowing closer to you, and you noticed that even though his face was swollen from the tears and his voice was hoarse, his ears were more relaxed than they were before; they were tense in a way that was new to you.
“What about food? And I’m sorry, you’re not using this bed as a toilet, ok?” you tried to lighten the mood and it worked, the sound of his delightful chuckle filling the room, and you laughed along. But you understood and agreed. You never wanted to leave this bed. And at least for the day, you would only leave when necessary, needing to feel him in your embrace and carefully observe as he truly started to believe in you, leaving his worries in the past.
5. Love them unconditionally
The first time it happened was purely accidental. You were cuddling on the sofa, watching television, your hand caressing his hair when you felt his entire body tremble with such force that you stopped and looked at him, your hands away from him.
“Jungkook, bun, what… did I hurt you?”
You were worried; his arms were crossed in front of his body and his hands clasped together tightly on his lap. His doe-like eyes were more expressive than ever, open wide, his long ears were down, and he seemed to still be shivering. What had you done? You noticed there was a pink hue starting to tint his cheeks and neck and when you kept staring at him, you saw that he tried to make himself smaller. You felt tears start to gather in the corners of your eyes, fearful that you had done something to remind him of his life before, as he usually referred to the time that preceded the shelter.
“I’m sorry, Jungkook. I’m so sorry, just tell me what I did so I don’t do it again.”
“You didn’t…” he started, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. He cleared his throat and continued, his eyes wandering around the living room,  “you… I…”
You nodded, trying to encourage him to speak, needing to know what went wrong.
“Noona… my ears… my bunny ears, they’re, hm, too sensitive,” he said, blushing harder, and he shuddered.
Oh.
Oh. Your gaze shifted downwards, and you could see his hands were trying to conceal his erection. You licked your lips unconsciously, and his eyes seemed to get even bigger.
“Bad sensitive or good sensitive?”
He looked down at your question, clenching his hands and pressing them on his crotch, but said “Good sensitive, I think?”
You scooted a little closer to him on the couch but still did not touch him. “Talk to me, bun,” you said softly, feeling that the subject was delicate, but you wanted to know whether or not to bring it up again, whether or not you could touch him like that.
“Noona… no one ever touched them like this before, like you,” he seemed hesitant, but continued nonetheless, “you don’t hurt me. You like it, you like me, right?”
You did not think twice before enveloping him into a hug, pressing him tight against you, overwhelmed with emotions at his question.
“I love you, Jungkook. Every part of you.” You had a feeling that this was what he needed to hear. It was not often that you saw him being insecure anymore, and it tugged on your heart uncomfortably. “You don’t ever have to feel bad with me, ok? I love you,” you repeated, emphasizing, trying to comfort him.
“I love you too, Y/n,” his voice continued soft, but he looked a tiny percentage more confident. “I think… at some point… maybe…” he looked at you, and you nodded again for him to continue. “I think I might want you to touch them when we’re, you know,” he wiggled his eyebrows up and down, chuckling, and there he was, getting back to you.
You laughed with him. It was unusual seeing him this shy in talking about sex, as he was definitely not shy at all performing it or even talking about it most of the time, but you understood this was a different issue.
“Only if it will make you feel good, bun, you know I don’t want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable,” you took his hand and held it, caressing the back of it with your thumb, and he nodded.
The next time it happened was not accidental at all, and it caught you by surprise.
You were already in bed, whispering sweet nothings as sleep didn’t reach you. The kiss started innocent enough, his lips pressing softly against yours while his hands stopped at your lower back, pulling you towards his body. His tongue caressed your lower lip and you opened your mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body closer to his. His leg nudged its way between yours, and shortly after he rolled over you, his underwear not able to conceal his erection and you felt it directly where you needed it as he grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his waist.
His kisses moved down to your neck, nipping and sucking, his hips subtly moving, stimulating you. You grabbed his hair as he descended, lifting your tank top, softly sucking on your nipples as his hands started to lower your panties. He wasted no time, licking your slit from bottom to top, pausing to circle your clit before putting his lips around it and sucking rhythmically as one of his fingers teased your opening, slowly moving in and out. It wasn’t long until you felt your orgasm building that your hands grabbed his hair, pulling him up and towards you.
“I want you in me,” you whispered against his lips, tasting yourself, you needed to feel him.
He nodded and quickly removed his underwear, throwing it haphazardly behind him. He moved back between your legs, lowering his body on top of yours as you crossed your legs on his waist, helping the angle. His cock started to press into you and you felt the delicious stretch, inch by inch. His thickness filled you perfectly; you could almost feel the veiny lines that adorned the underside of his cock pressed on your walls, and whenever his hips made those small sharp trusts, the upwards curve of his erection put some pressure just right where your sweet spot was.
It was sweet and slow, your mouths connected in a seemingly never-ending kiss, his hips moving without rush, the pleasure building unhurriedly and constantly, his weight on top of you heightening the feelings. You started canting your hips with his, your languid movements following his rhythm, and his hand reached to yours, intertwined your fingers. He broke the kiss, looking into your eyes as he directed your hand to his hair. You immediately entangled your fingers on his dark strands, tugging on it and he moaned, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and stopping the movements of his hips. Before you could ask what happened, he pushed your fingers from his hair, shaking his head softly and smiling. Still staring, he lowered his head and made your fingertips graze against one of his long ears, almost a ghost-like touch. You opened your mouth in surprise and let out a loud moan at the same time, as your first touch on that sensitive part of his made him snap his hips hard once against yours.
A shiver perpassed his body, probably due to the intensity of the touch, but he looked at you and nodded, and so you did not hesitate. Your other hand went to his head too, so you could gently caress his bunny ears; he trembled again but started moving his hips, this time with more urgency and small whines came out of his mouth in between kisses on your neck. One of his hands sneaked between your bodies, his thumb circling your clit, pressing on it, needing you to get closer, the intensity of his orgasm starting to overwhelm him. You were already close, so close to it, but you wanted him to reach his peak with you.
“Can I…” you pause to moan, feeling the edge approaching, “can I touch your tail too?”
He seemed so lost in the moment that you had to repeat the question, the need clear in your voice, and upon hearing it again, he did not hesitate in moaning out an affirmation, curious to see what it would feel like. You waited until you were at the brink of the precipice, your right hand going down his body, his back. And just as a sharp snap of hips hit you just right, snapping the coil of your orgasm, your fingers reached the fluffy tail. Feeling your touch, Jungkook let out a loud shout and stopped his hips, his cock deep inside you as you felt him pulse and his entire body trembled. He fell on top of you as aftershocks still ran through his figure, little high-pitched moans leaving his lips. You were not sure how long you were like that, legs entangled, your fingers caressing his back soothingly as your own body calmed down from the intense orgasm.
“Jungkook?”
“I’m…” he moaned out, “good. We’re doing this again as soon as I have control over my body, okay?”
You chuckled and he moaned for you to stop, the tiniest of movements overwhelming his senses. The next time you giggled at a comment he made, he turned you over, pushing your upper body into the bed and hoisting your hips up, and you certainly did not laugh anymore that night.
+1: Expect to be surprised by them
You heard the commotion outside on the street and you ran out of the apartment to the front door of the small building to see what it was about, and you opened it just in time to see Jungkook stepping out of the cause of the noise.
“Bun, what’s all this?”
“Oh hi noona! Surprise!”
It was indeed a surprise. This morning you had woken up and could not find Jungkook anywhere so you assumed he had gone for a run, but apparently not. There he was standing and waving at you in front of a camper van, a huge smile on his face, his long ears perked up. You could see your neighbors, Taehyung and his cat hybrid Jimin next to him, a sheepish expression on Taehyung’s face and a smile as big as Jungkook’s on Jimin’s lips.
“We’re going camping, noona!” Jungkook said as he approached you, enveloping you into his arms. “You’ve been so tired from work and now that you have a break, I thought we could go camping and have some fun…”
“Right now?” You asked, a little overwhelmed, but starting to get excited about the idea.
“Yes! Taehyung-hyung called up this place and rented the van, we got groceries, and Jimin even helped me pick a new coat for you, noona, I know you needed one.”
You felt your eyes tear up. You were so used to taking care of Jungkook and putting him in the first place that it was strange having someone take care of you like this. But this was Jungkook, you should have expected that. The day you brought him home from the shelter, he had said he would take care of you just as much as you would take care of him. You kissed him softly, pressing him against your body, and you whispered a thank you low in his ear.
“I love you, noona. Now let’s get your things ready, we have to get going, or else Tae-hyung said he is going to play all his old records in this player he brought the entire trip,” he stated wide-eyed and clearly hinting that he definitely did not want that.
You chuckled, knowing how picky Jungkook was with everything - his food, his clothes, his music. You took his hand and pulled him into the house, waving to the other boys at the front, signaling you would be out in a minute. You quickly packed a bag with Jungkook’s help and you waited as he got his camera and equipment bag, not forgetting the aux cord, set on not letting the other boys have control over the music.
What you would find only later on that evening is that for the first night, Taehyung and Jimin would set their tent a little far from the camp, giving you two some space for the date Jungkook had planned. A bottle of your favorite wine, Jungkook cooking a simple dinner by the fire camp, the bun’s eyes shining brightly as he scrunched his nose, and his small tail wagging slowly to the rhythm of a Frank Sinatra record under the moonlight.
--
Hope you enjoyed it and if you want to read more, how about finding out about the first time bun!Jungkook went to the beach?
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kiridarling · 7 months ago
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𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒
izuku midoriya | ft. ceo!au + praise + exhibitionism + breaking and entering + body worship + f!reader + more! minors dni.
— 3.8k words
“When I saw you this evening, in that ballgown, I knew I just had to have you. But I can't be a gentleman for much longer, as much as I'd like to."
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You’ve always hated Chopin.
“L’œuf mimosa, Madame?”
After turning down the poor waiter whose arms quiver under the weight of the plates, you turn back to your red wine and people-watching. The ballroom is full of golds and reds, the amber lighting illuminating the intricately decorated walls. And you sit in the middle of it all—you and your 147 billion net-worth, with a ball gown that’s caught at least half the aristocratic asshole’s attention, not that they were very loyal to their wives in the first place.
You're not here for their attention, though. You’re strictly here for business—and frankly, you want to do nothing more than sock these fat business moguls in their chubby faces until their teeth fall out and demand they pay their taxes. But, seeing as you’re the only woman here who isn’t a gold-digging wife, you bite your tongue.
You’ve always dreaded black tie events, but as you’ve said, duty calls.
A whine filters through the speakers, followed by two amplified taps and a clear of a throat. The murmur down as the auction's owner takes the center of the stage, stilling in front of the next piece of art—hidden behind a black veil—before adjusting the tie to his business suit.
“I’m glad that you all could be with us tonight. I have both a great privilege and honor to host this event,” he announces, bulbous head already growing damp under the heat of the stage lights. “Now that we're almost at the end, I'm sure you won't be disappointed. Saving the best for last, as one does."
He includes a casual wave to his comment and the audience erupts in a flurry of chuckles, though not for long. As he walks over to the piece, hand raised and ready to reveal, silence seizes the room by the neck.
"Well. Shall we?”
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The audience balances on the edges of their seats, with millions of wide eyes and thrumming chests in anticipation. A smooth flick of a hand and the black sheet is removed, and there sits the only piece you’ve had your eyes on all night. She’s even more beautiful up close.
“El Bacio, The Kiss. Francesco Hayez, 1859.”
The grip around your glass tightens. The brilliant blue from the woman’s dress in the oil painting may as well burn your eyes, and the surrounding murmurs peak with your interest. You know it's yours without question, though—you can outbid almost anyone in this room. Anyone that matters, anyway.
“This is the original version, originally commissioned by Count Alfonso Maria Visconti of Saliceto. It was donated to the Pinacoteca di Brera in 1886 and went missing in 1937. Starting at ten million.”
You try not to scowl. The fucker jacked up the price by two million.
“Twelve million,” the man says as he recognizes whoever lifted a hand. You sit tight, your hands throbbing in your lap for the right moment as you survey the room for anyone who could possibly pose a threat. You find none.
The bidding continues. The price elevates from twelve million to fifteen to thirty to fifty. You raise a hand, finally, fingers splayed wide and confident to signify a five.
“Fifty-five million.”
The room falls silent; you try not to smile. You know for a fact no one wants this painting more than you do, and you’re determined to have it.
“No one else?”
His eyes scan the room but no one makes a motion. It’s yours.
Until there’s movement from your peripheral.
“Sixty million!”
You eye whoever had the audacity to raise their hand, only to be met with a rather peculiar sight—a man, roughly your age, with slicked-back green hair and a hand twice the size of yours, lifted lazily in the air.
With a huff, you find yourself thrusting another five into the air.
“Sixty-five millio—Seventy million!”
You know that green-haired (probably) trust fund baby has got to be doing this for fun because the poorly hidden smirk hidden behind the hand he rests his chin on is more than obvious.
You dislike him already, immediately categorizing him with the rest—another sleazeball.
“Seventy-five million!”
“Eighty million!”
“One hundred million!”
In your defense, you were getting frustrated.
Either way, the green-haired stranger backs off with a nonchalant shrug, and it makes you burn this discontent. The business mogul-turned-auctioneer steps off the stage for another twenty-minute intermission and folks turn to one another for conversation. You sigh, simply satisfied that you’ve gotten what you came for.
You find yourself faintly puzzled by the boy with the green hair, and you're sure it's solely due to his age. Frankly, you've been the only one under thirty in the Top 100 Richest People since you achieved such a feat, and the fact that you haven't heard of him is...puzzling. But it doesn't matter. Clearly, he’s just another fellow looking to put another pretty thing in his foyer—you doubt he knows a thing about art, and definitely not an appreciation for it. You find solace in the fact that it's the new addition to your precious art collection instead, and will be owned and taken care of by someone who actually enjoys it.
“Good evening.”
You jump. Wrapped up in all of your inner turmoil (complemented by inner bragging, naturally) you fail to notice the greenette cross the expanse of the ballroom and make himself comfortable in the open seat next to you, despite your lack of approval.
“Hello,” you say, unsure of why he's here. He offers a hand to shake, Rolex glinting under the golden lighting.
“Izuku Midoriya,” he introduces, and you suppose shaking his hand won’t hurt.
“Your name?” He snorts, raising a cocky eyebrow. You scowl.
“Does it matter?”
“Not particularly.” Izuku rests his forearms on the table as his evergreen eyes rake your figure up and down. “But if you prefer to remain nameless, be my guest.”
“[Y/N].”
“Hmm?”
“My name,” you clarify. “It’s [Y/N].”
You’re not exactly sure what possessed you to tell him your name so easily. Maybe the fact that most already know who you are, and the fact that this man—this stranger—doesn’t know who you are, irks you a bit.
Okay. It irks you a lot.
“Well, Miss [Y/N],” Izuku tilts his head sideways. “I think that’s a very pretty name.”
Your body betrays you with a light gasp. Stupid thing.
“Well. I’m bored,” Izuku announces childishly, relaxing against the chair. “Lets go somewhere.”
You roll your eyes at his asserted dominance—in no way does he expect you to go with him, does he? You raise an eyebrow.
“No.”
Izuku clicks his tongue as if it were a buzzer, and more importantly, as if you were wrong. “Why?”
That has you scoffing. “I don’t know you.”
Izuku’s eyes flash with a challenge and it’s gone just as quickly. He leans forwards, crowding your personal space yet again.
“I told you my name, no?”
“You did,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your back. You feel too small. “But I know nothing about you.“
“Well,” Izuku places an inquisitive finger on his lips, and it’s almost mocking, the way he takes a moment to think about it. “My name is Izuku Midoriya. I like...katsudon and hero movies. I’m here because I have too much time and money on my hands, and I’m, most importantly, bored.”
Your eyes narrow. “What do you do for a living?”
Izuku’s lip curls, and it’s downright sinister, “I'll tell you if you come with me."
You roll your eyes, and he takes both your hands in his. You don’t pull away, but you don’t reciprocate it either.
“Where?”
Izuku shrugs, “Wherever the wind takes us.”
Your stomach growls loudly, interrupting your fairly intimate conversation and dying your cheeks pink. Izuku raises an eyebrow.
“I heard they’re feeding us escargo for dinner.”
“Ugh,” you sigh, shoulder sagging. “Looks like I’m not eating, then.”
But there’s a glint in his eyes, and you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t one in your own. There's an ebb in the discourse, a beat, before Izuku's nodding towards the exit.
“Fast food?”
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Wendy’s hits different during a Parisian midnight.
“—and so I had to be like: No Kacchan, you can’t hotwire his car to blow just because your food was, and I quote, lukewarm.”
You snicker behind a fist, digging your fancy heels into the grimy cement sidewalk, Wendy’s frostee in hand. Izuku hasn’t let go of your hand since you two left the fast-food joint, and for some reason, you haven’t pulled away.
"Violence seems to be a reoccurring theme with your friend," you say, laughing when Izuku nods in agreement, eyes stuck on the full moon hanging high in the air.
"You remind me of him, actually."
You raise an eyebrow, unable to see the correlation at all, "Because I'm a loud and angry and I like to blow things up."
"Or, because you're strong—independent. The type of woman to make men turn tail and run, you know?" Izuku turns to you with a lopsided grin.
You hum, averting your eyes to the moon. It's a stupid question, one that's all too loaded yet empty at the same time, and you hate that you hesitate to ask it.
"Why haven't you ran, then?"
"Easy." Izuku lets a smooth shrug roll off his shoulders, "I like strong women."
He continues to pull you to an undisclosed destination, the two of you stumbling through the heart of Paris with his suit jacket around your goosebump-ridden shoulders. People stare, but for the first time in forever, you find that you don't care much.
Finally, you two reach Izuku's "big reveal." You gaze at the magnificently lit french building in confusion, the golden under lights contrasting both of your beings against the navy blue sky.
"The Louvre?"
"Mhm," Izuku says, and he looks more than giddy. "Have you been?"
"Once," your voice is weary and you're sure he senses it, his grip tightening around your own. "For a fundraiser...but it's midnight Izuku, ho—"
But he's already tugging you to the right, dipping between columns and arches until you reach the back of the building. Izuku turns to you and whispers:
"Watch this."
It's hard to tell what he did exactly, especially with no light—it's just a bunch of jingles and ticks. Though, the moment you can't escape the sense that this is beyond sketchy, a lock clicks, and a door whines open.
"Hurry. And take your heels off," Izuku whispers, tilting his head towards the entrance. You hear the crunch of a leaf and see the beginning of a white flashlight curl around the building and fuck, this place has to be crawling with security guards, doesn't it?
"Don't tell me what to do," you grumble...as you take off your shoes. (Because you were going to do it anyway.) You enter and he closes the door behind the two of you, submerging you both in complete darkness.
"Security's only on the outside," Izuku grins. "They don't expect us to get inside, so as long as we're quiet, it should be fine."
"Until we have to get back out again," you say, huffing. Your heart pounds from the adrenaline because frankly, you've never been one for adventures, and breaking into a historical french museum is miles out of your comfort zone. "Seriously, did you think this through at all? What happens when we get caught?"
Izuku sighs, turning to you with a pout before grabbing your free hand again. "Women worry too much. C'mon—I wanna explore."
"You—let go, you misogynistic assho—"
You're cut off by a finger to your lips. Izuku bends down so he’s looking at you straight on, eyes dark as he sternly whispers, "Do you want us to get caught?"
It's not the prospect of getting caught that makes you falter, though—it's the way his stare pins you in place, voice swollen with that air of dominance you claim to hate. You have to tighten your grip on your heels to ensure they don't hit the ground.
"Now," Izuku‘s strangely childish manner returns, tugging your hand once your panicked whisper-yelling ceases, "Shall we?"
You roll your eyes, but your bare feet patter against the cold Louvre tile anyway. And you've got to say, the museum is much nicer when it isn't crawling with people.
"Mona Lisa's forehead is bigger than I thought," Izuku observes with a finger on his lip. He's on the wrong side of the railing, his nose close to kissing the glass protecting the piece. You snort, dropping your head to pinch the bridge. He turns to give you a weird look.
"What?"
"Nothing, just," you shake your head, the cool wood of the railing digging into your forearms. "Did you actually want that painting?"
Izuku frowns. "Which one?"
"El Bacio."
"Mm," the greenette hums as he thinks, blinking to the corner of the room."I suppose. You seemed like you wanted it more, though."
You roll your eyes, "So you cap at eighty million?"
Izuku shrugs, hopping the railing. Seems like he's finally done insulting poor Lisa, "I capped when you started to sweat."
You huff, but stomping instead of walking isn't so intimidating when you're barefoot. "I wasn't sweating."
You see a hidden smirk on Izuku's face once you catch up to him, and it's frustrating and insulting, to say the least. Both of you proceed down a hall of statues. "You're much easier to read than you think, Miss [Y/N]."
"And you're not as perceptive as you think, Mister Midoriya."
Izuku chuckles at that, shaking his head. "Well played, Miss [Y/N]. Well played."
You're not sure why your chest swells, but it does, and it takes both you and your limited lung capacity off guard. But you don't have much time to sort it out—Izuku's grabbing your hand again, and redirecting your attention to the last statue in the hall. You recognize it and frown.
“Cupid and Psyche?”
The silver moonlight pours in through the window, spilling down Cupid’s tipped wings and the softest points of the Psyche’s curves. Izuku hums in confirmation, hands sliding to encompass your hips as his chin hooks on your shoulder.
"Well done, Miss [Y/N]."
His voice deepens—it's coarse and heady, and gets your blood rushing in a way breaking and entering never could have.
"Amore e Psiche, Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss. Antonio Canova, 1793."
You fail to understand why this statue stood out to him compared to all the others, but the circles Izuku’s thumb presses into your hips signifies that you’ll find out soon.
"Cupid represents desire, and Psyche, the human soul," Izuku says, running his hands up your sides. "Together, they make the perfect union."
Dipping his nose into your neck, Izuku inhales, and the hands around your waist tighten, if the smallest bit. "Psyche was the prettiest woman in the world; so pretty she rivaled Venus' beauty with her own. It didn't matter if it broke rules—Cupid knew he had to have her."
The gentle nudge of a neck evolves into a set of butterfly kisses, tracing the column of your neck until his mouth reaches your ear. A hand slides to gently cup your breast, and the other to your thigh.
"Miss [Y/N], when I saw you this evening, in that ballgown, I knew I just had to have you. But I can't be a gentleman for much longer, as much as I'd like to." Izuku groans into your neck, hips gently grinding forwards. "So, it's up to you what we do next—I could drop you off at your home to probably never see you again, or...”
Izuku shifts, and you can feel his hardening cock against your back. “I can bend you over right here. Your choice.”
You hesitate, determined to think this through—but Izuku's wandering hands and rutting hips prove to be too much of a distraction.
"Fine," is all you say, before whirling around, grabbing the greenette by his dress shirt, and slamming your lips onto his.
Izuku kisses back with a grin—like he knew you were going to say yes—and places his hands around your waist yet again, backing you up against the marble statue.
"Sit on the platform," he breathes into your mouth. You frown.
"Like, the platform to the statue? Caus—"
"Yes on the statue, now sit," Izuku demands, but he doesn't give you much room to protest, forcing you onto the marble platform. Hiking your dress to your waist, Izuku's calloused palms slide up your inner thighs, spreading them apart to make room for himself in between. He pauses.
"No panties?"
You flush red—from the exposure or the comment, you aren't sure—but you huff in defiance nevertheless, determined to stand your ground and keep some of your dignity. (Though you're positive Izuku can feel you shaking already.)
"I'm wearing a dress," you defend weakly.
Izuku hums behind a bitten lip, lying a heavy thumb on your clit. It's enough pressure to make your thighs tense but not much else, until it flicks downwards.
"I wanna taste you," Izuku growls with dilated pupils once he finally tears his gaze from your exposed body. "Can I?"
Heat surges through your veins, and you let him pry your thighs apart as you respond with an unsteady, "Yeah—yeah, that's fine."
Izuku's chest rumbles with a growl as he closes in on your pussy, hands gripping underneath your thighs. You whimper when he trails butterfly kisses down your inner legs, the grip you have around the skirt of your dress tightening.
"So pretty," Izuku groans, chuckling when you shiver as he flattens his tongue against your slit, "My Goddess."
With that he dives in, almost sending you toppling with the force. The moonlight dyes his green locks a navy blue, and you can't resist seizing them into a fist when he pushes a finger in.
"Feel good, Gorgeous?" Izuku says with a knowing smirk on his sinfully glossed lips. Another digit enters and it has your toes curling as you nod. “Shit, you’re tight.”
Izuku spits on your pussy and it’s downright dirty, before looks at you under forest green eyelashes, the other hand finally letting go of your thigh in favor for pulling at the top of your dress.
“Izuku, wha—“
“I wanna see your tits,” he huffs. You’d laugh at his enthusiasm if you weren’t so aroused, and you find your hands joining in the flurry. The moment they’re free, Izuku’s mouth latches onto your breast in an instant.
“F-Fuck, ‘Zuku—“
“You sound so good when you moan my name, sweetheart,” Izuku groans, and you jolt as he tweaks a bud.
“Say it again.”
He pinches your nipple and clit at the same time, and it has your legs kicking as you squeal his name again.
The Izuku growls and it's nothing but feral, and another yelp of his name has him pulling you to your feet to the point where your noses almost touch. Aggravated from being so close before the greenette ripped his fingers away has you scowling.
"Wha—"
"Can I fuck you?" His breath ghosts your lips. You hide your shock by a roll of your eyes.
"Do you always ask stupid questions?"
Izuku hums in contemplation before grabbing you harshly by the jaw, to the point where your cheeks squish into your eyes and your lips pucker. "Say it, Bunny."
"I just sa—"
"Say 'I want you to fuck me, Izuku,'" he says with a cruel snarl. "’Hard.’"
Your eyes dart from his heavy gaze to the statue, and you can't help but feel more fragile than glass. "I litera—"
"Say it, brat."
"I—" you try but nothing comes out, and you blame that darkened stare of his, "I w-want you to fuck me. Izuku."
Izuku inhales sharply, the fingers cradling your face tightening before he speaks again.
"Good girl."
He spins you so your hands lay on the statue's base, yanking your hips back and flipping your dress so your bare ass is exposed to the cool air.
Izuku's palms caress your behind, kneading both globes before he pulls you against his bare cock. (When he took off his pants is beyond you.) He slaps his cock against your clit until you huff in frustration, turning around to shoot him an angry glare.
"Today, Izuku."
The greenette blinks out of his absorbed gaze on your behind in favor of glowering you down. You waver under his glare despite your best efforts.
His cock kisses your entrance and then all of it is in you at once, and his size is enough to make your inner thighs ache from the stretch. You bite your lip in an attempt to muffle a moan, but that crashes and burns fairly quickly.
"O-Oh shi—"
"You said today, didn't you?" Izuku rasps, before pulling out and stuffing you full at a quick and steady pace. Your hands scramble for proper purchase against the statue—without breaking it, for gods sake—but the harder he fucks you into it, the harder it is to stay upright. "Quiet, baby. We're not supposed to be here, remember?"
You nod frantically, teeth digging into your bottom lip. The thought of getting caught, you, of all people, while being railed against a marble statue—
Izuku moans in your ear, a hand moving between your thighs to rub at your clit. "Oh, you tightened when I said that—you like the idea of getting caught, Bunny?"
You respond with a choked moan, thighs quivering with an impending orgasm. Izuku groans as you tighten around him again, but they quickly turn into shushes.
"Bu—"
"I-I know," your voice cracks and it's absolutely pathetic. "But I can't—"
Izuku's hand wraps around your mouth to the point where his fingertips just barely brush your ears. You whine, eyes fluttering as the new grip adjusts the angle ever so slightly, and pushes him so much deeper.
"You're gonna kill me," Izuku says, wheezing out a laugh. "I—fuck Bunny, I'm close."
You whimper behind his hand and nod as if to say me too, and you're sure Izuku understands from the way he groans before he speeds up in all aspects. "Good. G-Good—cum for me baby, I know you can—"
Your toes curl into the marble floor as the coil in your gut snaps, knocking the wind out of you and sending you thrashing in Izuku's arms. You hear the greenette curse and shudder behind you, stuttering hips slowing to an eventual stop. Both of you stand there for a moment, comfortable interrupting the silence with nothing but your heaving breaths.
"You okay?"
You chuckle. It's dry and scratchy, and your lip throbs from biting it so hard, but it isn’t...aggravating, per-se. "You sound worse than me."
Izuku laughs at that, though it waters down as he pulls out with a hiss. "I don't think worse is the correct adjective here, Miss [Y/N].”
You snort. Back to “Miss [Y/N]” it is, then.
Your ears catch the distinct wail of ever-increasing sirens, but you don't think much of it until the side of Izuku's face starts flashing blue and red. Both you and the greenette falter, sharing a look.
"Police! Hands in the air!"
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i wrote this while watching a hysterectomy in physio aah (also yes, the french police speak in english leave me alone skjdhfgk) — sun
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iwaasfairy · 8 months ago
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Thanks to your page I’m a Meian slut now. Can I request Atsumu having a crash on meian’s baby girl and he lets it slide for the most part because he gets it. But after too much flirting and a little too much lingering touches and stares he gets fed up with Atsumu that he fucks his precious baby over Atsumu’s sleeping body? If he wakes up or not is up to you. Thank you I Iove you
Okay but any time you guys say I made you a Meian fucker I start glowing and twinkling and jumping for joy like the little gremlin I am. Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy my sweet baby!!
tw size kink, jealousy, voyeurism, daddy kink, degradation, the usual meian line-up yk
You’re a really pretty girl. He knows this, because not only was it one of the first things he thought when he saw you, it’s the first thing a lot of people mumble under their breaths when they first see you. And they wouldn’t be wrong, so he never minds. You’re gorgeous, younger than him and a bit of a flirt at the best of times, or well— you’re the type to interact with people like they are the most interesting human on the planet. It is what drew him to you, years of being single, though definitely not hopeless, kept him feeling a chunk less attractive than his confidence would make him believe. But you never made him feel anything less than important, and it’s a quality he’d never change about you.
But he’d also be a massive fucking liar if he said that right now— just at this very moment— he wishes you’d keep all that positive, gentle attention on him instead of the younger blond standing side to side with you. He’s a grown man, and though the two of you get plenty of comments of people trying to judge you or dissuade you, he doesn’t just get jealous. Saying that he’s just too old for you, what do you even have in common? That you’re young and could find someone your own age, that it would make you happier. He’s confident enough at least to know that you love him more than that, enough to ignore the people judging him for the years he has on you.
He’s sure enough about his decision that it doesn’t matter that everyone seems to find your company pleasant, or that you’d bend over backwards to make others comfortable. It’s the fucking reason he fell for you in the first place. Meian knows well enough that no matter how adoring your eyes right now, he’s the one who can make them glitter and shine with happiness and love just by holding your hand or whispering in your ear. So it is fine, this is totally— less fine — when Atsumu wraps his arm around your shoulders and your champagne swishes side to side in your glass from the motion.
Sakusa seems to understand the dilemma in his captain’s mind, because without any further prompting, he hands him a glass of whiskey or something alike. “She sure knows how to give morons like him an ego boost.” Kiyoomi’s face barely changes as he takes a sip of his own drink, putting it down on the table nearest to him and continuing as he crosses his arms over his chest. “No wonder the jackass squad loves her so much.”
“Yeah,” Meian nods, tilting the drink in his glass between the ice, catching your eyes from across the room. There’s a moment where you pause mid sentence, seemingly reading his mind when he lifts a brow and you’re quick to slip from under Atsumu’s hold with a little motion of your hand to slip away for your own overpriced drink. When you reappear between the people, Bokuto is already cheerfully motioning you over, but your eyes flick to Meian again when he throws half of the drink back at once. “I’ll have to do something ‘bout that.”
+
The good thing about hotel rooms is that since they aren’t yours, you have less work cleaning up after yourself. Of course, it’s not very polite to leave a mess for the staff to clean, but he’s far past being polite tonight. It isn’t that hard to convince you to follow behind him at the distinct promise of getting your pussy pounded as soon as you get back to the room. And it’s really easy when you’re a bit tipsy and he’s got a second key to everyone’s hotel room, to just slip you inside and press you up against the wall, muffling your whines and moans with a kiss.
Tongue in your mouth as he makes quick work of shoving your dress down your body, too fed up and turned on to take it any slower. Your much smaller body pressed to the wall as he loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt, watching as you fumble with the belt of his pants. Everything is tossed to the floor quickly, belt buckle dropping with a loud thud. Your thighs rub together in anticipation when you stare between your bodies at his hard cock, spitting into your hand to rub over the head.
You throw your face back and moan when it twitches in your hand, impossibly too big. But you always do your best to take it, even if you struggle to even get a hand around it. “Daddy, f-fuck, please hurry, I’m so—” you start, only to be shut up when he slides his fingers into your mouth and makes you suck them.
“You’re gonna be real quiet, yeah?” He mumbles under his breath, bending down a little more to allow you to grab onto his shoulders. Your pretty lips smeared with lipgloss and cheeks hot, you suckle and hollow your cheeks so pretty on his fingers as soft hums come from your throat. You let yourself be picked up against his wide chest, wrapping your legs around his waist and feeling your pussy throb at the press of that massive cock now rubbing between your legs against your slit. If you weren’t wet before, you definitely are now. “If you can’t do that we’ll have to stop, and I really don’t fucking want to,” Shugo mumbles. “Understand?”
“Yes, mhm-daddy,” you pull back to breathe, only to stick those long fingers back into your mouth. Chin full of drool and running down his hand, he drops you on the free side of the bed, right atop the light, golden bed sheets. The expensive mattress bouncing when you shift all your focus on him. “Daddy, daddy, hurry please. Needed you so bad all night, couldn’t think of anything else.” Your legs spread instantly to make room for him between them, locking at the knees to pull him towards you. “Please, want your pretty cock inside me.”
“My cock? Or any cock.” He leans down towards your body, able to cover you whole, then looking between his legs at the way the head of his fat cock rests at your slit. You’re so wet already, and normally he’d drag it out more than this, making sure his baby is nice and prepped to take something this size. But your pussy is already glistening and making his cock wet each time you roll your hips over the head of it. “Because you sure were laying it on fuckin’ thick tonight.”
As your mouth drops open with a silent moan when his cock pushes inside and spreads your slick pussy open too wide already, he grabs your little throat and pushes you down into the mattress more. “You’re my bitch. Mine.” The growled rumble of his chest has your pussy fluttering around him when he pushes in further, your head thrown back and mouth open as you grab onto his hand for support. “Say it.”
“I’m you— h-holy fuck,” you squeak, still being stretched wider the more he pushes in, “yours, yours -hng- ah! Please daddy, give me — ahhh.” You don’t even know what you’re asking for, only that you never want him to stop. Even when he fills you up to the brim and still has more to fit, thick thighs pushing against the bottom of yours to push in further. You mewl and grab at him more to pull him closer, further, deeper into you. It aches, but it doesn’t matter when it knocks the air out of your lungs each time he pulls out a little to pump the blunt cockhead back against your cervix, stuffing you so full your eyes roll back.
“G-good, feels- ugh-hmh feels s’good,” you cry, and he lifts you a bit further up the bed to lean down on you more, pushing his cock impossibly deep each building thrust. He only picks the speed up more, rattling the bed frame under you and making your tits bounce. Your gummy walls stretching and belly bulging with the shape of him and your breathing interrupted every so often with a teary gasp or hiccup. He leans down though, kissing you deeply and forcing you to be quiet as he sucks on your tongue, letting go of his leverage of your throat to grip your hips tight instead.
He pulls you back on him like a fleshlight again and again until you’re shaking on him, pushing at his shoulders for breath. “Gonna cum, mhm.”
“Already?” he can’t help but laugh a little when you bob your head up and down wildly, wrapping a hand around his strong bicep and digging your nails in. “Wanna cream all over me?” Again you nod, tears beading at your lash line, and his heart swells a little while looking at you so vulnerable underneath him. Too bad this isn’t exactly the most romantic situation. Still he gives in, dropping his hand to your clit and rubbing the rough pad of his thumb in tiny circles over your clit. “Go on then, baby. Cum on daddy’s fat cock. I’ll give you what you need.”
Cock driving between your legs and moulding your little cunt with his shape, a ring of white creaming around the base of his cock, wet slaps sounding out each time he fucks deeper into you. It’s his absolute favorite sight. The slight furrow of your brows and the ruined make-up, cheeks shining and skin covered in his hands. You only manage to take a choked breath before your muscles pull, toes curling and back arching off the bed as you clench like crazy around his cock. “Mhmdaddyfuckohfuck ohfuckyesyesthankyou.” 
He doesn’t stop, fucking you through one orgasm and already heading towards another when yanking up one leg to lift it towards his shoulder. “You can play with whoever you want, but don’t forget who owns you, hm?” he whispers, catching your lips again as you sniffle and moan, being overstimulated to hell. And while you cry out ‘yes’ over and over, Atsumu does his very best to still be asleep on the other side of the queen size. Not that you’ll be able to notice anyway.
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chiwhorei · 8 months ago
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wick(ed)
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pairing: dabi x fem!reader
genre: smut, 18+ mdni
word count: 2.3k
tags: very, very sacreligious themes, trespassing, (pink) waxplay, blindfolds, bondage, public sex, oral
a/n: this is my contribution to the sewer’s valentine’s day collab: two in the pink, one in the kink. check out everyone else’s pieces here! valentine’s day was on a sunday this year, so as far as sacrelige goes, my hands were tied. this is dedicated to @undermattsun, as all bastardization of the catholic faith should be.
hymn: take me to church by hozier
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For there shall be no reward to the evil; the candle of the wicked shall be put out. -Proverbs 24:20
The smell of musty wood and a subtle fog of smoke traps you as soon as you’re guided blindly. From the sound of creaking and the loud slam behind you-- the door you’ve been pulled past is tall and heavy. The sound makes you jump backwards into the body of your captor.
“Dabi, please just tell me where we are. You’re freaking me out.” You try to reason with the man escorting you, careful to ensure you don’t trip as you walk forward into the undisclosed building. You slump forward slightly, every sense trying desperately to piece together what’s covered by satin fabric.
“If I told you where we were, wouldn’t that ruin the surprise?” You let out a shaky huff, Dabi has never been one for romantic displays of affection, so you’re doubtful there’s a bouquet of roses and chocolate written into the night’s activities. You feel his breath fanning in hot puffs against your neck, he’s close enough to graze the shell of your ear.
“And don’t call me Dabi. That isn’t who I am to you when we’re alone,” Your skin prickles at his touch, one arm snaking its way to circle around your neck. He presses his pointer finger and thumb into the skin, dragging the pressure upwards to tilt your chin, “What’s my name, princess?”
Even blindfolded, you can feel the scorch of blue eyes on your face. A warmth that burns if you get too close. No matter how many times Dabi tried to push you away, whether with actions or sharp words, you always remained fireproof.
“I’m sorry, Touya.” Your voice is little more than a whisper, words filling the still secret space around you. Dabi hums, pleased at the way your body is reacting. Without being able to see, you’re sensitive and jumpy. Every sound, every movement, every feeling is amplified.
“Just a little farther, princess.” You lean against his chest, the feeling of rough skin and hard muscles calms the fraying ends of your nerves. You know Dabi-- Touya, he’s not even close to a good person. Under purpled scars and blue flames, he’s still a villain. But you know at least one thing for certain, he would never hurt you.
At least not in ways you wouldn’t like.
Wherever he dragged you probably didn’t come with a formal invitation, that much was obvious in the sounds of metal instruments against what you could assume was a lock. The tight little dress he had “bought” for you does nothing against the cold air assaulting your uncovered skin. Your teeth chatter, skin icey and hyper-sensitive. Dabi notices the way you bristle, and runs his warm hands over your arms. His fingers press into the skin, pushing you forward.
You can feel the drag of carpet under your shoes, the heavy footsteps directly trailing yours are muffled where Dabi’s boots usually stomp loudly. You’re stopped abruptly, his hands finding the fat of your hips, turning you around to face him. Your own come up to brace against his chest, the clamoring in your heart calming slightly at the comforting smell-- sage and freshly struck matches.
Dabi drops his grip onto the skin right below your ass, squeezing slightly as his lips hover over yours. You feel his mouth an inch from you, lifting up on the balls of your feet to connect them. The man above you laughs as you try to catch a kiss like a carrot dangling on a string.
“Hold on tight, kid.” Dabi rewards you a chaste peck before hoisting you up, your legs circle around his waist, instinct guiding where your sight can’t. The overwhelming anticipation for what he has planned ignites in your core. It’s not lost on him, with the damp fabric of your panties pressed right against his abdomen. Dabi can already feel his cock straining in his boxers, pressing obnoxiously against his zipper.
You nuzzle against the crook of Dabi’s neck, careful not to rub against the staples lining his collarbone. He braces you, holding on to your ass tightly as he walks up three short steps.
Rough linen hits the back of your thighs as he sets you down. Your fingers come down to your new perch, crinkling the farblic in your fingers. From what you can feel, it seems like wood covered in some kind of table cloth.
Dabi steps away, his warmth dissipates but you’re still trapped under his stare. From this position, you realize you’re propped up higher than where Dabi stands, His eyes burn in a trail from your face to your slightly parted legs.
“My beautiful girl.” He marvels at where you sit perfectly on display, his voice now loud enough to eccoh against high ceilings. The sound startles you, every inch of skin submerged in a fresh flight of goosebumps.
“Touya, p-please,” Your voice sounds like a stranger’s as it reverberates around the room before it hits your ears. What are you pleading for?
You’re not sure if your begging for less of his torture, or more.
“Patience, princess. Don’t you trust me?” His question is loaded, knowing full well that you absolutely shouldn’t be trusting the villain before you. It’s almost funny how easily he crept into your heart; staking claim on your body, seeping into your blood.
“I trust you, Touya,” Your voice is barely above a whimper, your words feel like a salve dripping down his scarred shoulders, “always.”
He stole your heart, he’s probably ruined you in more ways than either of you would like to admit. But in exchange, unlike anyone who has come before, unlike any other person on the planet-- you have his heart too.
Dabi lets the backpack on his shoulders fall to the ground, you can hear the rustling of whatever he brought with him. He’s quiet as he approaches you again, reaching up to rub his thumb over your lips. Upon the contact, your mouth falls open to capture the digit, closing around it to suck lightly. Your temperance is a stronger hit than any drug Dabi could find.
He pets your cheek before bringing the satin rope in his left hand up to your lap, you feel the soft fabric against the top of your thighs.
“Give me your hands, princess.” Dabi almost coos when you put your wrists together and lift them towards him as an offering.
The silken rope snakes around your wrists, just tight enough so you can’t move them. He sets your hands to lay comfortably back in your lap. You’re now robbed of sight and touch, all you can comfortably do with your hands is fidget with your fingers.
“You’re always so agreeable, kid, shouldn’t you be worried? All alone with a big bad villain.” His words are desperate confirmation, poking at your resolve to see if this will be the time you cry out and demand your freedom back.
“Never.” One word reads like novels, your tone clearly extending past tonight. Not an ounce of duress to be heard even as you bristle with anticipation. It’s true. The touch that no one else has ever found welcoming is one you lean in to.
The hands that could turn buildings to ash have never scared you.
Dabi leans in to capture you in a kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in the way he knows will make you gasp. His tongue slides into your now open mouth, desperation pushing in to explore you. Dabi tastes like Seven Stars and mint gum-- you swear the nicotine seeps right into your nerve endings. Fingers tangle into the straps of your dress, pulling them down your shoulders. You jump at the cool air against your exposed chest, nipples hardening immediately. Every new sensation is acute when you aren’t given any forewarning.
His hands come up to either of your cheeks, anchoring himself to the earth. The world seems to stop on its axis when it comes to you. The moment frozen, suspended in time. He would live in your orbit every available moment if you let him.
Dabi snaps out of the spell you have on him at the sharp whine that leaves your lips. His forehead lands against yours, catching each other's unsteady breaths in the small space between you. Dabi looks down to see the way your thighs are rubbing together, laughing lightly at how worked up you’ve become. You can’t see it, but he’s fairing just the same.
“You always submit so sweetly, princess,” Dabi bites your lip with a playful growl, turning away to grab the last of his surprises, “but the fun hasn’t even begun.”
The first notable sound your ears pick up is a light crackle. Your brows crease under the blind, trying to place the small pop and flicker. Dabi brings a small flame towards your body, you can see the smallest outline of blue past the silk barrier covering your eyes.
Flickering fire is an inch from your skin, but you don’t flinch away. When it comes to Dabi, all you ever seem to want is to be closer.
The next thing you notice brings realization crashing against your skin like a bucket of cold water: the smell of a burning wick. All of your senses still available piece together the remaining puzzle. The cold echoing, the feeling of scratchy linen against your ass, the smell of wood and perfumed smoke and candles.
“C-church. You brought me to a--” Your realization is cut off with a sharp prick of heat dripping down your chest. You yelp at the feeling of melted wax trailing around the swell of your breast.
“Clever little girl,” Dabi punctuates each word with another splash of hot wax. It runs down your now sweaty skin and hardens in lines on your exposed chest and stomach, pooling in the bunched up fabric of your dress.
“You look so beautiful like this.” You hang on his words like they’ll save you from the onslaught of a melting candle.
“Please, Touya I--”
But you aren’t begging for mercy. You’re begging for more of his touch, for more of anything he wants to give you, even if it’s searing hot.
“You’re gonna want to see this, kid.” Dabi’s fingers are at the back of your head, loosening the blindfold so it drops around your neck. Even in the dead of night, you wince at the moonlight spilling through large stained glass windows. You look to where Dabi stands before you, a mix of lust and adoration flashes in the blue of his eyes. Your own gaze comes down to the lashes of pink splotching your skin.
“This is definitely your color, princes.” Dabi stares for a moment longer. You look equally angelic and depraved like this, almost naked and glistening in an onslaught of melted pink, positioned like the most holy sacrament. He’ll take you.
Dabi pushes you gently so your back falls against the altar, pulling both legs so they’re propped against the table top and spread for him. Your bound arms fall to lie above your head.
It’s so irrefutably evil-- both the breaking into a place of worship and the sick joy he gets from making you a mess below a god he doesn't believe in. Dabi pulls your panties away, the fabric almost matches the pink he dripped against your overly sensitive skin.
“So wet for me,” he muses, kneeling down to be eye level with your sopping cunt, “you like being on display like this, don’t you.”
Your eyes roll back at the feeling of Dabi’s tongue against your lips, your cunt all but quivers at his attention. Dabi wouldn’t be caught dead in the stiff wooden pews on any given Sunday, but he still kneels before the closest thing to religion he has ever known.
Both of his hands come up to either of your thighs to keep you from squeezing them together. There’s no escape from the devil between your legs, there’s nowhere to run from the whip of his wicked tongue.
His pace gives you no time to breath, lapping against your folds like a man dehydrated. Every long swipe against your skin ends in his lips closing around your painfully hard clit to suck harshly. You’re hurtling towards orgasm, twitching in Dabi’s hold.
“Oh fuck, oh my God.” Your chanting of prayer makes Dabi chuckle against the puffy skin, pulling back only slightly to slap your clit with a wet pop.
“Not quite, princess.”
His prodding is relentless, slurping at your pussy with no care to how you’re definitely dripping against the white cloth under you. The knowledge that your arousal is crisiting the altar below you should be mortifying. Instead it’s driving you higher.
Dabi can tell you’re close, the shaking begs for him and the way you clench around his tongue is warning enough. He’s well familiarized with how your body stiffens before the final--
“T-Touya, I’m gonna cum.”
Your warning is almost screamed, muffled only by a series of whimpers. You contract every muscle in your body tightly, it feels like your spine could snap in half before relaxing limply against the wood below you. Your eyes are squeezed shut but fall open as bliss consumes you, your body feels boneless and limp.
The first things your gaze can focus on is the cross behind you, from your position bent over the altar, it’s upside down. You shiver at the blaring symbolism but are quickly pulled from any impending guilt at the feeling of Dabi’s cock against your cunt. All you can, all you want, to do is let him have anything. Body and soul and whatever could exist of you.
As Dabi presses the head in, you welcome him like home. He has to steady himself with a rough grip on your hips as you suck him in inch by thick inch.
God doesn't exist, Dabi thinks to himself.
But he’ll take you like communion.
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all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️
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saradika · 5 months ago
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The Bad Batch - Wrecker NSFW Alphabet & Headcanons
Wrecker x F!Reader
Rating: E | 2.3k words
A/N: I wrote a Wrecker fic (Utterly Wrecked) before this new season of Bad Batch came out. I was struggling with characterization, so I made up some headcanons to help myself, and filled out this alphabet to get an idea of the character. Since it's done, I thought I'd share it in case anyone was interested!💕
This might not fit your Wrecker vision and that's ok! I envision him as a sweet, sort of soft!switch that loves to take care of you.
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Wrecker enjoys physical affection, and knows how hard you have to work to take him. Afterwards, you better bet he’ll be pulling you on top of him, letting you use his bulk as your personal pillow as you drift off. He loves to take care of you.
If you’re staying up, then he’s down to cuddle, tucking you into his side or letting you try for the millionth time to be the big spoon.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He likes his arms, and as an extension, his hands. Wrecker does a lot of the heavy lifting, and takes a lot of pride in that. He also likes to see your hand in the crook of his elbow when you walk around together. Or seeing how his large hands look on your body.
On their partners, Wrecker likes all of you. He loves your smile, loves your laugh, loves you from head to toe.
But if he had to really choose, Wrecker likes your thighs and your ass. He likes the way your legs wrap around him, the way they tighten when he’s fucking you while standing up. He likes strong things, and your legs carry you everywhere. And he likes the curve of your ass, how each curved globe fits perfectly in the palms of his hands.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Wrecker cums a lot. Like, a lot, lot. Sex with him is usually messy, and if he cums in you, you will definitely will be feeling it drip out of you later. Maybe even for days.
Luckily he also likes to cum on you, seeing the way it glazes your skin, or how you struggle to swallow it all.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He would love for you to take charge. He will definitely likes to take care of you, but deep down he would love for you to take care of him.
No one has tried to out-muscle him before, so for him it would be such a turn-on for you to push him down and (consensually) use him for your pleasure. It would drive him crazy.
He’s been thinking about telling you this, he thinks you’d be willing to give it a try. But he’s not sure how to explain it yet.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He’s fairly experienced. There hasn’t been any long-term partners, Batch 99 has been way too busy. But he’s had flings, enough to know how to make you moan beneath him, enough to know he has to work you open before you can take him.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
There’s many that are difficult to do, because of your height difference. It’s just how it is, but he loves to find out what works.
His favorite so far is you on top of him, feeling you slide up and down on his cock as you ride him. And then when you get too tired, he wraps his hands around your waist and moves you himself.
(Wrecker’s second favorite is you underneath him, so he can see the way his cock disappears into your heat, and the way your tits bounce with each of his thrusts.)
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He won’t like, tell a joke, while you’re in bed but he isn’t afraid of humor. He might tease you, or simply laugh because you make him feel so happy. Wrecker is not afraid of humor in the bedroom, and honestly it’s a little relieving. If something embarrassing happens, it gets laughed off and your evening continues.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Wrecker is transfixed by you. Yes, when he’s been away for a while, or when he’s getting close to cumming he might get a little lost, too distracted by how good you feel.
Otherwise, he is sweet and attentive. He loves watching your body move, the way you stretch around him. The pretty expressions you make when you’re close, begging for him to move just a little faster. And he will, anything for his girl.
Outside of the bedroom, he’s not one for grand romantic gestures. But there’s no doubt in your mind that he loves you, he shows (and tells) you in ways every day.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He keeps things fairly groomed, not meticulously so, but it’s not a jungle either. If you had a preference he would do it, but unless you said anything he just keeps it tidy.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He won’t admit it (ok, maybe he will) , but he thought about you while jacking off before you were officially together.
Now, he doesn’t really feel the urge unless he’s away on a mission. When that happens, he has a couple risque photos you took for him that he loves to use.
Or he’ll use a memory, like the first time you were able to completely take his cock, every last inch. That’s a favorite memory of his, and yours as well.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
He definitely has a size and strength kink. Nothing gets him going faster than you telling him just how “big and thick” he is, how he’s “going to split you open”.
Sometimes you’ll compliment him when you’re out and about, just to see the look on his face, the heat sparking in his eyes when you brag about just how strong your man is.
Also as mentioned, he likes to see his cum on you, so he has a bit of a kink there, too. He loves to see it drip out of you, or the way it covers the pretty flesh of your stomach and tits.
(He also gets off on seeing you touch him, unable to wrap your fingers fully around his girth.)
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
His favorite is your apartment or his bunk. Somewhere where he can spread out, take his time making you feel good, a place where he can go a few rounds.
If it’s been a while, then the nearest closet is good enough. He can pick you up and brace you against the wall.
(Wrecker isn’t afraid of getting busy in public but it’s not as easy as it sounds - but more on that below.)
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Your enthusiasm gets him going, the second you touch his upper thigh or rub yourself against him, he’s just waiting for you to say the word (or already looking for a empty room to sneak off to.)
He’s big on praise, if you’re watching him train and mention how good he looks or how strong he is, he’s probably already half-hard.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Wrecker is sweet, so he struggles with heavy degradation, giving or receiving is a bit of a turn-off. He can’t bring himself to say some of the rougher stuff to you, and he doesn’t think he’d like it if you said it to him.
Teasing and light degradation are okay, as long as you’re both comfortable. But nothing completely humiliating.
Right now one of your “no”s is anal, you just can’t see how that would work at the moment. And because it’s one of yours, it’s one of his as well. He doesn’t feel he’s missing out.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Wrecker is a giver, he loves to go down on you. He could probably do it every day. He wants you to straddle his head and ride his face, he wants to drown in your release.
He’s pretty talented, with the amount of practice he’s had with you. If he works his clit with his mouth, with his fingers buried in you, you’re a goner in no time.
He loves receiving almost as much, nothing gets him ready faster than seeing you struggle to swallow him down, lips stretched wide around his fat cock.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Wrecker likes to start slow, explore his favorite parts of you, work you open until you’re wet and aching for him.
Once he’s in you though, feeling how tight your cunt is and hearing how needy you are for him - sometimes he forgets and starts to pound into you, making you gasp.
He’s never rough enough to hurt you, he’s super aware that he could damage you with his strength if he’s not careful. In fact, the first time he grips you so hard you bruise, he feels completely awful (even though you said you liked it - a little reminder of your night together).
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
If you’re being honest, it’s tough to make a quickie with vaginal sex work with Wrecker. There’s not always enough time for you to get prepared.
But luckily, he’s down for you to ride his thigh, or his fingers, if you’re on a time crunch. And he’d never say no to you going down on him. Actually, he’d be turned on all day knowing he’d cum down your throat right before you had to go to work for the day.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He’s a little risky. He likes showing you off, letting people know you’re his. Wrecker probably won’t fuck you in front of an audience, but he will absolutely get handsy in a dark booth or pull you into a supply closet so he can finger you. You would be able to convince him to do more if you wanted, all you’d have to do is ask.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
When he’s worked up, he cums fairly quickly. He’s just too excited, craving your touch too much. But usually he is ready for another round soon after, happy to bury his face in your pussy until he’s hard again for you.
On a good, long night, he can go at least 2 rounds with you (preferably both in your pussy, he likes to see how much you can take).
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Wrecker has no problems with toys, and is happy to use them on you. Or have you use them on him. If it makes you feel good, he’s game to try it.
He’d love to use a plug on your ass while he fucks you, but at the moment it’s too tight of a fit.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He wants to give you everything. His idea of physical teasing is moving a little slower than usual, or at most, pinning both your hands with one of his, to prevent you from touching him while he’s taking care of you.
Wrecker is more likely to verbally tease, something like, “if you think you’re so ready for my big cock baby, why don’t you nicely ask for it?” But meanwhile he’s already lining himself up to your pussy.
Out of the two of you, you’re the one more likely to physically tease. Sometimes when you’re straddling him, getting ready to drop down on his cock, you like for him to beg for it. Beg to feel the hot, warm, grip of your heat around him. And he likes it, too.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Wrecker is a loud guy, he can’t help it. He always has been, and always will be. He’ll try to be quiet for you, when it’s late or if you’re in a room closer to/with others, but when he’s buried in you, he’ll forget.
He’s not a huge talker in bed, but he will absolutely moan or groan to show you how good you feel. When he’s getting close he’ll start to get more verbal, telling you how good you’d look stuffed with his cum.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Wrecker loves when you borrow his clothes so sleep in, he likes wearing them the next day because they smell like you/your perfume.
Also if he saw you bullseye a target with a blaster, he’d be instantly as hard as a rock. Anything involving an expertise with blasters or weaponry is a turn-on.
(I also have some personality/relationship headcanons below!)
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Wrecker is big. He’s physically huge, bigger than his other vod. That translates to all of him, including his cock. He is long and thick, and sometimes it’s a real struggle to take him.
You were shocked when you first saw it, your first thought being, “No fucking way will this fit.” But you’ve stretched and practiced, and now it’s definitely manageable.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Wrecker has an average to above-average drive. He’d appreciate a couple times a week, but he’s not going to push for it. (But he is always ready to go when you’re feeling frisky.)
However, he’s always eager to bury himself in you when he gets back from a mission. He’s been day-dreaming about you all day. Expect him to show you just how much he’s been missing you, he literally can’t wait to fuck you.
(He’s also a cuddler, so hopefully when you snuggle it will turn into something more, but he’s not going to try to jump your bones every time you tuck yourself into the crook of his arm.)
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
If it’s bedtime or late, he’s probably out as soon as he sees that you’re comfortable. Some of the positions you do, the amount of times he makes you cum (and vise-versa), well - it wears a man out. Even one as strong as Wrecker.
------
Personality / Relationship Headcanons:
He does have a loud voice, but he’s very friendly and kind, always quick to smile and have a good time
Wears his heart on his sleeve - the first time he realized he loved you, he just blurted it out. (I’m imagining you’re like, just doing something normal, like talking about something you’re passionate about and he just can’t keep it in - he tells you right then how he feels)
Always giving you a sweet, dopey smile, and thinks you’re the smartest fucking person he knows (other than Tech, but that’s just because he’s known Tech longer)
Wears his thoughts on his sleeve as well. Once you get to know him, his face tells you his opinion before he even opens his mouth. Sometimes this works against him, like if you say something he doesn’t like, he’s not able to hide it from you. This sometimes causes fights, but he’s always honest.
Doesn’t get too embarrassed often, doesn’t sweat the small stuff
Would absolutely wear a matching t-shirt with you (i.e the classic - “She’s my sweet potato” “I Yam” combo)
That being said, Wrecker does get sensitive / embarrassed if a vod makes fun of him
Strategically clever, and emotional intelligent, but not great with subtle cues. Better to be straightforward and honest with him.
Loves to touch you, after the first time you held hands he didn’t want to let go. Always reaching for you, wrapping a hand around your thigh or around your shoulder.
Love Languages: Physical Touch & Acts of Service
And that's it! Thank you so so much for reading! 💕
Tags (tagging some Wrecker babes because most of you are here for Din/Boba): @jangofettswife, @deathwatchnightowl, @pala-din-djarin, @thefact0rygirl, @delusionsxfgrandeur, @thiccumz, @rexsjaigeyes, @justwastelandbabyy, @mandaloriandin, @zinzinina, @themaydecemberist , @clanoffetts, @latenightsthoughtsnstuff
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baby, what do you think Hwajin would say/do if he found out his chubby girl was bullied relentlessly up to like college age for being fat? And it kinda wrecked her self-esteem and body image.
Woopwoopwoop here we go!
Chubby fem below the cut 💕
CW: smut, praise, oral (female receiving), just a lot of reassurance and love 💕
First reaction is just pure rage
Like he'll be shaking with anger and you gotta bring him back to reality bc he's lost in thought thinking about how he's gonna get back at all those punks who made you feel bad
Will 100% offer to hunt them down and beat the shit out of them if that's what you want
He knows it won't solve anything, but what can he say? He's a man of action, not a man of words sksksk
But once the anger dies down it's replaced by sadness bc :( why would they do that to you? Why would they be mean to his sweet puppy?? :(
He's disappointed but not surprised that teenagers are pieces of shit who need to have lessons beaten into them he probs goes back to being angry for a bit sksksk
He's not good at moving on, he's got some past shit that he just can't let go of and he really needs to sort that shit out bc it's unhealthy dude! Get it together!
But he knows that the best thing for you would be to move on so you can live your best life and be as happy as possible
BUT LET'S BE REAL HE SUCKS AT COMFORTING PPL SOOO SKSKSK
He'll ask Hanrim for help and she'll come to the rescue bc she went to an all girl's school and knows how shitty ppl can be
She reminds you that you're not defined by what ppl say about you and that your self worth comes from within
People bullied you for being fat? Well all that means is those ppl aren't comfortable in their own skin and are terrified of ever being seen as "different" so they take out their fears by treating others like shit
She'll find some positive affirmations for you to repeat daily and she may even get you in touch with a therapist if that's what you want!
All in all she's much better at comforting you with words than Hwajin
So how tf does Hwajin comfort you if he's shit at using words?
Uhhhhhh through sex sksksk
V cliche but he will take you home and worship every inch of your body
No fr he is literally grabbing or kissing every single millimeter of you all the way down to your tippy toes and then you tease him about having a foot fetish and he gets all pouty
Focuses his attention on the parts you're most insecure about, leaving gentle tender kisses so you can see how much he loves them
Doesnt matter where: arms, tits, tummy, double chin, chubby cheeks, thighs, fupa, ass, muffin top--he is kissing it and smooshing his face in it bc jesus christ you sre so fucking soft and plushy and he adores you
Insists that you sit on his face
No you don't understand he's not taking no for an answer, he will lift you up and sit your pussy on his face himself if you won't sit willingly
And ya better brace yourself bc he is wrapping those big muscley arms around your thighs and keeping you on his face for at least an hour but lets be honest its prob gonna be closer to 2 or 3
Wont let up until you're sobbing and can barely speak
If you're too tired he'll stop there, but if not he's keeping you on his dick all night
He'll change positions about 20 times so he can see you in all your chubby glory
Im talkin missionary, cowgirl, doggystyle, shit he'll even pull up some positions on his phone for yall to try sksksk
He'll toss you around to where he wants you, showing you that even though you're bigger than average, he can still move you without any problem and fuck you silly
Will do this every night for the next week bc he loves you and he needs to remind his baby girl that you're the most exquisite person on the planet no matter what a couple of snot nosed brats from your past say
Will throw out so much fuckin praise jesus christ dude-
"That's it, that's my girl, taking this cock like a champ"
"I love watching your body jiggle when i fuck the shit out of you"
"Cmon baby, ride my dick, let me see how that pretty body moves"
"I love seeing this fat ass bounce on my dick" proceeds to smack your ass bc he's a heathen and can't control himself
"You look so fuckin sexy when you cum, puppy. Let's go for one more~"
Aftercare is full of positive affirmations and sweet nothings
"I love you so much puppy"
"You were so good for me, you’re always so good for me"
"You're so beautiful"
"Thank you for letting me fuck you"
"I'm so happy that i get to see you like this"
"I've never met anyone as perfect as you"
He doesn't know if any of it helps, but he'll do his best to remind you of how wonderful you are and how much he loves you every day
"I love you, puppy. Not just who you are on the inside, but all of you. Every ounce of you is incredible and I'm so lucky to have you in my life. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and nothing is going to change that" 💕
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Operation Tiddies
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Summary:  Henry has really sensitive tits. That’s it. That’s the story.
MASTERLIST / AO3
Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader
Word count: 2,022
Warnings: smut, cockwarming, nipple play, Henry gets his fantastic tits played with til he cums.
A/N: I have no excuse, i just really love Henry’s tits, ok?
Uneta’d, we die like appliances.
-------------------------.oOo.-----------------------------
The first time you notice it, you almost miss the soft intake of breath that Henry makes when you smooth your hands over his chest after adjusting his bowtie for him.
The second time it happens, you definitely notice the hitch in Henry’s breath when you playfully grab his pecs as you reach over his shoulders whilst he’s sat in front of his PC.
Then there was the third, fourth, and fifth time, his parted lips, soft gasps, and the smattering of blush on his cheeks each time giving him away, and now you’re absolutely 100% sure.
Your boy has super sensitive tits.
And now you have a plan.
.oOo.
You wait for an evening when you’re both at home with nothing else to do but have a delicious dinner and then get comfortable on the sofa to watch some nonsense on the TV until it’s time to go to bed. At least, that’s what Henry thinks is happening, but you have a plan to put into action. You’re pleased that he’s wearing one of his blue training tank tops, and a loose pair of sweats. That’ll make what you have in mind easier, which is why you’re wearing nothing but one of Henry’s dress shirts and some of your favourite lingerie. While he took your wine glasses through to the lounge to set up the TV, you took the opportunity to discard your panties but leave on the rest, and wander innocently into the front room to plonk yourself down next to your huge boyfriend.  You both get comfy and Henry does exactly what you were hoping he would: pull you into his side so that your head is resting on one side of his chest.  
After you’ve let the sounds of the TV lull Henry into a half doze, it’s time to put Operation Henry’s Majestic Tits into action.
“Babe, what are you doing?”
“Shhh, I wanna try something,” You smirk as you turn sideways and swing a leg over Henry’s thick thighs to straddle his waist.  His hands immediately go to your hips and he looks up at you quizzically as you get yourself nice and settled, your cunt pushed snug against the bulge in Henry’s sweats.  “Just go with it, K?”
“Hmm, OK....” Henry frowns as you wiggle your hips a little, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips as he watches you and waits. You cock an eyebrow at him and reach for both his tits and give them a good, hard squeeze.  Henry gasps, his eyes going wide, and that’s all you need to to go to town rubbing and pinching his nipples through the material of his tank top.  And, as you suspected, the reaction is instant. As soon as your hands are on him, Henry is gasping as a gorgeous pink blush starts to sweep over his cheeks and down to his neck.  You had your suspicions that he had sensitive tits, but now you know just how much.  It’s not long before the combination of having you grinding in his lap and pinching at his nipples has got Henry hard in record time, and you can feel the delicious length of his cock desperately tenting the front of his sweats underneath you. You’re absolutely positive that you’re leaving a wet patch on those grey sweats to match the growing one that Henry is making as that beautiful cock starts to leak.
Time for phase two…
Rising up on your knees a little so that you can get your hands on the waistband of Henry’s sweats, you start to pull them down until his perfect dick can spring free and slap against his lower abdomen. Your mouth starts to water when you see how red and hard it is, like some sort of Pavlovian response whenever you see Henry’s perfect, pretty cock. But that’s not how this is going to go, not this time because you have a plan dammit.
“Oh, the poor thing,” You pout as you wrap a hand around Henry’s hot, silken length and give him a couple of languid strokes. “He looks cold. And I know just the thing to warm him right up.”  You rise up on your knees just enough to be able to nudge Henry’s cock head against your dripping cunt lips to mix pre-cum with your own juices, and then giving your clit a few little rubs with his cock head, the slide delicious. When you hear Henry’s first whimper, you slowly lower yourself onto his dick, sighing as he slides home and he’s buried to the hilt.  When he tries to thrust up, you tut him and shake your head.  “No baby, we’re just keeping him nice and warm, so sit still for me, OK?”
Henry gives you a frown and pout and absolutely does not whine, but he does as he’s told and tries to sit as still as he can. With a few last soft pinches to his nipples, you lean forward and get your mouth on Henry’s chest over the cotton of his top and he makes an aborted movement to bring his hands up to your face before fisting his hands in the sofa instead.  You reward him by humming against your mouthful, teeth grazing over the sensitive nub and Henry practically growls. Your grin is feral as you really go to town, sucking and biting at him with your mouth one side, and using your hand to pinch and pull on the other. 
.oOo.
It doesn’t take long before Henry is a writhing, shivering wreck underneath you. His blue tank top now has two wet patches over both his nipples where you’ve been sucking and biting at them through the fabric, and you know that he must be hypersensitive now because this huge mountain of a man is undulating underneath you like he’s trying to both get away from the heat of your mouth and push himself into you. It’s intoxicating to see him like this. Henry has always been incredibly responsive during sex but this? This is…..this is something else entirely. And the noises he’s making are exquisite: little whimpers and deep, guttural moans depending on what you’re doing and you think you might be drunk on the sound.
Time to go in for the kill.
You push his tank top up until its rucked up under his chin and his huge torso is finally bared to you. You can’t help clenching around his length inside you as you take in the acres of gorgeous skin, and you both groan in unison at how good it feels. You watch as full body flush spreads out over Henry’s body followed by a full body shudder as you clench around him again.  His nipples are standing proud and stiff, and the flesh around them is red under his chest hair where you’ve been torturing the little buds through the material of his singlet. You suddenly feel intensely powerful at being able to reduce your man to nothing more than a whimpering, blushing, wriggly mess. He can’t seem to keep his eyes open long enough to look at you, and his throat is bared as he pushes his head back into the back of the sofa. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands either, so he’s gripping the sofa cushions so hard that you’re convinced you’re going to hear a ripping sound any second now.  You’ve never seen Henry lose it like this before, not so completely or so fast, its exhilarating.
Giving one more clench around the fat cock that you’re keeping nice and warm inside you, you lean forward once again to get your hands on those magnificent tits and squeeze.  Henry chokes off a howl as you’re finally skin on skin without his clothing in the way and then he’s undulating his hips without realising what he’s doing. At this point, you’re pretty much just along for the ride and squeeze your thighs a little harder around Henry’s waist and bring your mouth down to blow cool air across the lovely, dusky pink nipple nearest to you. Henry moans out loud as you bring one of your hands up to pinch and pluck at his other one and then you stop blowing and start sucking and biting.  Henry’s hips jerk up causing you to groan around your mouthful and you drive your hips down into his to try and get him to sit still. It’s a losing battle you know, because despite you being almost as tall as Henry, he’s still got about 50lbs of muscle on you so if he wanted to, he could flip the situation in the blink of eye. He doesn’t though, his hands still trying to put holes in the sofa and his knuckles white.  There’s little whimpers and choked off sobs spilling from his throat faster now as you really start to work his chest over.  You know that he has to be starting to get sore, but it’s clear that it’s only increasing his pleasure. With that knowledge, you take one of his nipples between your teeth and pull back so that the sensitive skin is stretched outwards. Henry writhes under you, the deep, animal groan he lets out going straight to your core and you can’t help tightening your walls around him. Henry is usually the one making your body sing with pleasure, ever the giver, but now that you’re the one drawing all those sounds out of him make you feel absolutely feral.
Henry’s nipples are now red and puffy, and you should feel bad that whatever he wears tomorrow is going to rub against the soreness, but you can’t find it in you to care.  He’s so close now, you can feel it with each throb that his cock gives inside you, and his hardness is making your cunt drip, the hair at the base of his cock soaked with your juices. Everything is hot and wet and glorious, and you want Henry to fill you up.  All it takes is you biting down on one of Henry’s nipples while pinching and twisting the other and he’s shooting off inside you with a long, drawn out moan, head thrown back and whole body rigid as he empties himself inside you. You release his chest and sit up to milk him through it and his hands finally get a hold of your hips as he jerks through the last of his orgasm with you grinding down against him.  
“ ‘the fuck was that?!” Henry finally gasps, stilling your movement by gripping your hips harder before he tips over into being oversensitive.  You grin at him, leaning forward to give the end of his nose a sweet kiss.
“Science,” You shrug as you push his sweaty curls out of his eyes with a soft smile.
“Science?”
“Uh-huh. I had my suspicions about something, so naturally I had to carry out an experiment to find out if I was right or not,” You move from his nose to press little kisses to his cheeks and jaw.  “Turns out I was right. Although I may have to conduct further experiments just to be sure. Consider this the control data.”
Henry laughs, the shake of his huge bulk under you jostling you as you grin into the skin of his neck.
“And what do the results of your control test tell you then sweetheart?” Henry chuckles.
“Well, I'd say it was highly successful, aside from the chest hair currently stuck in my teeth,” You shrug, starting to circle your hips again as you sit up and realise that Henry hasn’t gone completely soft inside you yet.
“Hmm, then I think you should definitely do further research into this,” Henry grins up at you like a shark and you know that look. You shriek in delight as Henry gets an arm around your waist and pushes up off the sofa with his dick still buried inside you and starts off towards the stairs. “But in the meantime, I've got a few of my own theories I want to test.”
--------------------.oOo.-------------------------
Tag fam (strike throughs won’t let me tag): @drstyen @elinalfrida @snowbellexx @peakygroupie @iloveyouyen @speakerforthedead0 @mary-ann84 @of-love-and-of-the-sea @xuxszx @hanitrash @theonetheycallhannah @singeramg @littlefreya @viking-raider @agniavateira @thethirstyarchive @omgkatinka @sunflowersstan @boundtomyfate @hyperfixationfan @the-soot-sprite @xceafh @toomanystoriessolittletime  @ffreadings @hamianderson @moderapoppins @maggiemoo1892 @trippedmetaldetector @lunedelorient  @yespolkadotkitty @henrythickcavill @shhhhhskars @icansayraxacoricofallapatorius  @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @radaofrivia @cavillhoney @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @wondersofdreaming @chamomilebottom @constip8merm8 @thelastsock @doozywoozy @maximumninjavoid @pterodactylterrace @tuckersgirl @luna-aestas @foodieforthoughts @hell1129-blog  @kmuir1 @queenoftheworldisdead @sapphirescrolls​ @zealoushound @geek-eat-repeat  @artandotherdelights​  @samhasitall  @lillyprada @eldarwen333  @emyearns @kebabgirl67​
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shorkbrian · 7 months ago
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yandere Aizawa x male reader, reader has a wet dream and doesn't know what it is so he asks Aizawa {overstimulation dry humping}
(What to expect - Incest (please I am begging you, if that’s not your cup of tea, scroll past), NSFW, Dubcon, dry humping, groping, Aizawa in teacher mode.)
Aizawa wakes up as you trundle past his room, all of your blankets and sheets wrapped up in your arms, some of them dragging against the floor.
The man’s curiosity is piqued, and of course he wants to make sure his son is okay, so he leaves his bed, follows the noises of someone awake until he finds you in the laundry room.
You’re in nothing but your boxers, back bare as you’re facing away from him, legs spread for balance as you stuff your bedding into the washing machine, struggling with it.
“Everything alright?”
You freeze, a little gasp falling past your lips as you hear your dad behind you, voice rough and scratchy with sleep. “Uhm, yeah! I’m fine.”
But that doesn’t explain why you’re up in the middle of the night, washing your sheets.
Aizawa steps closer, peers at you curiously. “What happened?” His gaze is focused on your rear, how it looks as you shift in place, unscrewing the laundry soap and adding it to the load.
“I.... Well....uhm-” Reluctant, you avoid the question.
“Are you okay?” Dad asks, stepping ever closer, and you nod your head, cheeks burning with shame.
“IthinkIwetthebed.”
“What?”
You bend, rest your head against the washing machine as you groan in shame, forced to repeat yourself. You know how much dad hates mumbling. But it’s so embarrassing! “I... I wet the bed.... I think...”
Aizawa’s mind churns. You’re too old for that, haven’t wet the bed since you were a child. There’s moonlight coming through the laundry room window, and Aizawa can see the way your thighs rub together, the slight flush on your skin, can hear the breathy tremble in your voice.
“Mm, I don’t think that’s it.” He steps closer, and now he’s almost pressed to your back, heat radiating from his bare chest. “Were you dreaming?”
A hot blush rises to your cheeks as you straighten suddenly, press closer to the washing machine to avoid the press of your father’s body. “U-uhm, yeah-yeah.”
“About what?” Aizawa touches your shoulder, soft, warm. His other hand grazes against your hip.
“Just-just stuff, y’know.” You try, but you can almost hear dad’s frown.
“What were you dreaming about?” His hands slide against your back, tease at your shoulder blades, ease up and over until they’re eating against your clavicle.
“Izuku.” You rush out, tears rising in your eyes. This is embarrassing, wetting the sheets and getting interrogated after. 
“I see.” Dad slides his hands down further, down your chest, skims over your nipples. “What was he doing?”
You always try to be truthful, shy away from lies of half-truths, but right now, you really wish you could find a way to stop the truth from tumbling out of your mouth. “He... was touching me.” 
Aizawa leans closer, until he’s pressed against your back. Your whispered reply has him humming as his hands play with your chest, smooth over the skin, squeeze at the barely-there fat. “Was he touching you here? Or-”
One hand drops to your crotch, easily finds your half-hard dick, gropes it through your boxers and you squirm, gasping out a plea. “-Here?”
“There, there.” You confirm, both aching to back away from the touch and buck up into it. Dad’s hands are so big, and he knows how to touch just right, squeezing gently at your shaft.
Aizawa smiles a bit, rocks his hips against yours, and you feel his length press against your rear at the same time that his hips press you more firmly against his hand. “You like Midoriya? He’s a handsome man.”
“I.......uh.....” You can’t think anymore, not with dad plucking at your nipples with one. hand, teasing and stroking you over your boxers with the others. He’s so hot against your ass, and you can feel his length, bigger than your own, trying to slide between your cheeks.
“You didn’t wet the bed, you had a wet dream. There’s a difference.” Aizawa explains, slowly finding a comfortable rhythm of humping against your ass, which drives you forward against his hand where he rubs at your cock.
“A wet dream is when you ejaculate during your sleep. It’s more common during puberty, but not unheard of in adulthood.” He’s in teaching mode, but you’re barely listening, instead gasping and bucking your hips forward, rocking your ass back. You can’t decide which feels better. 
“Sometimes the dream contains erotic material, sometimes not. It seems you had some particularly pleasant imagery of Midoriya, and that caused you to ejaculate. There’s no shame in that. It means you’re a healthy young man.”
You nod your head, trying to convey that you’re trying your best to listen, but there’s a pleasant feeling building up in your stomach, and you know you’re about to cum.
Then dad leans even closer, grabs your bulge, uses his hold there to drag you back against his body where he rubs his clothed erection against your ass. “Do you ever dream of daddy?”
You don’t know what to say, can only manage a squeaky “Uhm-” before Aizawa cuts you off
“Daddy dreams of you.”
The thought has you spurting in your boxers, wetting dad’s hand, messing your clean boxers. The man keeps massaging you through it, and it feels so good, you can’t stop rocking your hips again and again and again.
You collapse against the washing machine, exhausted, cheek resting against the cool metal as you heave out breaths. Your crotch is sticky, and dad moves his hand away, to your thighs to rub the skin there soothingly.
“Dad-wha-what?”
Then you’re being pinned against the machine, Aizawa curling over your body as his hips never stop, working smoothly against your ass. It grinds your softened cock against the edge of the machine, and you can’t catch a breath, can’t formulate thoughts. You just came, you need a minute, you need-you need-
“I have dreams where I’m fucking you. You’d look so good all spread out, letting me fuck you nice and slow. I’d keep going, even after you cum. You’re young, your refractory period is much shorter than mine. You can probably get it up again in a few minutes.”
Your hands are scrabbling against the machine, back against your dad’s body. It’s too much, this is all too much, you can’t-
“”Dad please! ah-ahh! ‘M sens-sensitive!” You whimper, and only then does Aizawa chuckle, pull away from your body.
“You can sleep in my room tonight, yeah? We’ll get your bedding in the morning.”
You’re dazed, pliant and sleepy after your second orgasm of the night. You barely protest as dad leads you to his bedroom.
You’re going to have a lot more material for wet dreams now.
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bakhoe · 6 months ago
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Bed of Roses
warnings: use of ‘Angel’ as a pet name, vaginal sex, a little bit of a size kink if you squint, slight begging (is that a warning idk)
(a/n): a bed of roses is an english expression that represents a carefree life, so das why my title is that lol. i also have been having extreme writer’s block and reiner brain rot, so this was both a blessing and a struggle to write. lmk if there are any mistakes so i can fix them!
words: 1.7k
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summary: a morning with Reiner leads to some sex? (i know, horrible description lol) 
The warmth of her bed grew comfortable against her cold limbs as (Y/N) heard the little birds outside sing their morning song to greet the new day. She felt Reiner shift to lay his arm across her body and pull her against him, his breath fanning across her forehead. She peeked an eye open to not only see her husband’s broad chest but how the rays of light sneaking in through the curtain danced across the room elegantly. She hummed in content as she burrowed herself into his chest, his arm squeezing her in reciprocation.
“We should get up,” she whispered, making no effort to pull away from Reiner. He hummed in agreement, his hand trailing up and down her back affectionately. She relished at the sweet moment, eyes closed to fall back asleep. “I think we can spare a few more minutes in bed,” Reiner answered after a few seconds of silence.
“Yeah, just a few more minutes,” she said, pressing a little kiss near his collarbone. Though time passed (for, in fact, more than a few minutes), the two laid in bed intertwined— but neither of them fell back asleep. They both took pleasure in resting in each other’s grasp, allowing time to go by to appreciate this moment. It was rare when Reiner was able to sleep in, especially on the same days as (Y/N), so they would take advantage of the position they were in.
Reiner’s fingers drew mindless shapes and letters while she focused on the beat of his heart, counting each time he took a deep sigh. And though the innocent skin-to-skin contact and pure kisses were enough to fulfill both of them, it quickly turned sinful as (Y/N) sneakily snuck her hand to squeeze Reiner’s ass, giggling at his little huff of surprise.
She finally opened both of her eyes when she felt his hand squeeze her ass, squealing in delight. Reiner wore a small smile to match hers, she could feel his fingers trace her hairline, tugging gently at the little hairs. A sweet kiss was pressed against her lips, covering her sleepy smile with his.
“I love you (Y/N), so so much,” Reiner mumbled into her mouth. She pulled away slightly to nudge her nose against his cheekbone, resting her forehead against his. “I love you so much more,” (Y/N) challenged. The moment felt silly, it felt warm and loving, and it felt as if it was a new sensation
“Impossible,” he replied.
Nothing about this was new though, it wasn’t new for them to grow hotter and hotter by the second or get butterflies at each other’s advances. It wasn’t new how his hand would squeeze her sides or how she would trace his V-line with her index finger. It wasn’t new but every morning that allowed them to wake up like this made them feel excited, feel alive.
He had snuck his hand between her thighs, laying flatly against the inner fat. He rejoiced at the little hitch he heard from her as he pinched at her inner thigh. She fluttered her eyelashes up at him, wrapping her hand around his neck to bring him down to her lips. He took the chance to deepen the kiss, the warmth of his hand between her thighs leaving her to bring her leg over his hip.
“God, you’re perfect angel,” he mumbled as he squeezed the back of her thigh, kissing the side of her neck. “Just for you,” she breathed, feeling overwhelmed already at the minimal contact. “I’m a good little angel, just for you.”
“Yeah?” he taunted, gripping her wandering hand that was traveling south to pull her against him, grinding against her in wanton. The breeze of his fingers tickled her while they dipped past her waistband to pull her pants down. She happily complied, wiggling the rest of the fabric away from her. She tried to get some kind of pleasure from him by grinding back but only grew frustrated at the growing ache between her legs.
“Reiner, stop teasing!”
She heard him laugh light-heartedly, a laugh that (Y/N) missed throughout the day when he was gone, a laugh that caused her stomach to do flips and tricks. She took in how the light from outside emphasized his sharp features, witnessed how his blond hair was messier than usual due to her roaming fingers, how his golden eyes matched the golden hue inside the room. She reached out to place a hand on his cheek, caressing his cheek lovingly.
“Teasing?” he asked, a playful smile stretched over his face. Without further question, his index finger landed on top of her clothed clit, circling slowly around the bundle of nerves. “Oh?” he said in response to the little moan (Y/N) mewled out, lifting her thigh so he had more access to her. She felt how he pushed the flimsy fabric of her underwear to the side, sliding one of his long fingers against her folds to feel the wetness while his thumb continued the ministrations on her clit.
“Good little angel, you like it when I tease, don’t you? Don’t lie,” Reiner groaned out while watching how his wife covered her mouth to muffle her moans. (Y/N) could feel herself warm-up at the accusation, yelping at how he slipped a finger in to tease at the spongey button inside of her. His finger adopted a steady pace, pumping in and out for her to stretch enough for another of his fingers. “So warm and wet,” he cooed. (Y/N) couldn’t help the little noises that left her mouth, wrapping her fingers around his blond hair.
“Feels good!” she drawled out, his ring finger now teasing her entrance. “You think we can fit the next one?” Reiner asked, waiting to hear a vocal affirmation from the woman who kept nodding. “Yeah, another one,” she whispered out with closed eyes as she tried to focus on the pleasure he was giving her. He slipped another thick finger inside of her, (Y/N) letting out a low groan.
“Fuck,” she said, her hand traveling down to his bulge but his hand underneath his side reached out to her. “We’ll get to me soon angel.” She felt herself tighten up, little whimpers slipping out as she could feel her orgasm climb up and up until she finally felt like crumbling.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cried out, her orgasm causing her to bring her leg down to close around his fingers. She could feel Reiner continue to pump in and out while stroking her clit as much as he could, her hand reaching down to rest against his wrist to slow him down.
“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praised, placing gentle kisses across her face as he pulled his hand away from her cunt. “Such a good little angel.”
She hummed happily as she wrapped her leg around his thigh once again, using one of her hands to paw at his erection. He happily sat up straight to pull his own pants down, climbing over her to wrap both of her legs around his hips. She watched as Reiner brought the tip of his cock to her clit, rubbing gently.
“We ready?” he asked, slipping the head to her entrance. She gasped at the intrusion, already preparing herself for the overwhelming feeling of fullness she was about to experience. “Yes, so ready Reiner,” she answered, running her hand up and down his arm. Slowly, he pushed himself inside, leaning down to whisper little praises and words of encouragement until he reached the hilt.
“So tight, so beautiful, my little angel,” he complimented, “you take me so well.”
(Y/N) whimpered at his little experimental thrusts, watching how he closed his eyes in pleasure at the feeling of her clenching around him. He placed his thumb back against her sensitive clit, rubbing at the same pace as his thrusts. He adjusted slightly to angle his hips, his thrusts hitting against the sponge he teased earlier. “Hah! Please—fuck, Reiner?” she begged, and though there was nothing for her to beg for, Reiner took great pride at her pleading. He began to increase his pace to pump himself in and out, watching his lover cry out in pleasure.
“There we go, let me hear you.”
She placed both of her hands on his shoulders, bringing him down onto her to feel the weight of his body drop on top of her. He continued to rut himself inside of her, the room filled with lewd noises like the wet smacking of his balls and her moans. He continuously groaned into the crook of her neck, sending (Y/N) closer to the edge.
“So nice, so nice and tight,” he whispered into her ear. “All these years and I’m still too big for you,” he moaned out, her legs bouncing at each thrust. She could feel his groin rub against her clit, feeling a familiar sensation of build-up in her gut.
“Rei…” she cooed out. She couldn’t continue as her eyes rolled back, her body spasming as much as it could under the hold of his weight. “Rei-ner!” she gasped out, the man rejoicing at the feeling of her cunt clenching and unclenching around him repeatedly.
“Reiner, cum for me, please,” she begged, still riding out her orgasm as he drew it out with his thrusts. She felt his hand press against her lower belly to gain a hold of her and quickened his face, a loud moan of appreciation leaving her lips.
“Holy fuck, (Y/N),” he chanted like a prayer, finally reaching his end and stuttering as he came inside of her. (Y/N) groaned along with him, feeling him slow down until he could pull out. She pouted at the feeling of him being gone, his embrace replacing the loss of contact.
His fingers trailed over her arm gently, his kisses being spread across her shoulder. “You did so well, angel,” he lauded. She smiled at him, pushing his hair back affectionately. “You did too,” she joked.
“You think we can stay in bed a little longer?” he asked, snuggling his cheek against her. “Yeah, I think we can.”
taglist: @jeanbabygirl​ @jean-prettyboy-kirschtein​ @ladyquietus​ @maraschin0cherries​
you can find my taglist google form in my pinned post labeled as a ‘library card’!
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lesbofeels · 6 months ago
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Diluc NSFW Alphabet
This is a re-upload from a past blog!
Warnings: Characters are 18+. If you aren't comfortable with NSFW content please block lezzy actions. Unedited. NSFW underneath the cut!
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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
Diluc is a sweet guy after sex. He checks over his s/o and sees if they need anything. His fingers run along their skin as if they were feathers. He kisses their shoulder and pulls them into his chest. He whispers sweet nothings in their ear, praising how that was the most memorable moment in his life. He tells them he loves them dearly and hopes to stay with them for the rest of his life.
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His favorite body part of his s/o would possibly be their entire body. He won’t verbally admit that he finds their body like a shrine needing worship. His hands trace their figure and he leans down to kiss their delectable skin. He doesn’t leave a single piece of skin unattended, ensuring that the whole process is fair on every inch of their skin.
C = Cum (Bleh XD)
Diluc is respectful of his partner to ask if they wanted him to cum inside of them or not. If they didn’t mind him doing his business inside of him, then he would do it. If they were against it, he would pull out at the right time.
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He wouldn’t admit this until his s/o bugged until he couldn’t handle it anymore. He has a strong desire to fuck his s/o inside of his tavern. He had this vision since the first time they had sex. He was sitting at the bar, staring at the wood and the idea sprung into his mind. It took him by surprise that he thought of something like that, but he wants to do it.
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
Diluc might have had a partner or two in the past, but he isn’t that experience in the world of relationships. Not even a relationship that got sexual. He has questions on how some things should be going, but he catches on rather quickly. He might have overheard some drunks telling sex stories to one another, but he doesn’t implement them into his own relation with his s/o.
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
He loves the plain vanilla position of sex. He also loves when his s/o is pinned up against an object or wall. He could be between their legs or taking them against the wall. He doesn’t mind late night spooning, but it may turn sexual if they rile him up.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
There may be some points Diluc may get goofy in the moment, but they are very rare. He is more serious than anything. He makes sure that they are getting pleased and there isn’t any harm happening. If they aren’t writhing in pleasure, he is doing something wrong and needs to correct it.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
Despite not having many lovers, he is groomed down there. It isn’t hairless, but it’s taken care of.. He doesn’t want it to be a mess or disgusting to look at.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
Diluc is a very sweet and sentimental man in bed. He rubs their hips and sides, sending quiet praises toward them. He is the one to never shy away from kissing them either. He engulfs their lips into his own, melting away at the taste of them.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
He is alone most of the time, even with his s/o being around him. He doesn’t think for a moment to give himself some pleasure if he’s alone. His mind doesn’t often think about that. He would want to wait for his s/o to be by his side rather than have his hand do it.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
Diluc might be into wax play. He can warm up the cold wax and slowly drip it onto his s/o’s skin. Other than wax play, he is a simple man at sex. He is too awkward for role playing because he can’t take being called sir.
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
His bedroom is his favorite place. He would be interested in his tavern, but once him and his s/o try it. It would become one of his favorite locations to take them. There will be no one in the tavern because sex is a private encounter for him.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
Diluc gets turned on by his s/o’s confidence. If they have the ability to take care of themselves, that’s another bonus. It isn’t a obvious turn on, he’d be proud of them and he would certainly have the thought of sex.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Role playing. He would get awkward and it would instantly turn him off because he doesn’t know how to change the subject on that. If a kink he doesn’t agree with or is willing to try, he wouldn’t continue on. He strongly dislikes degrading and it would immediately turn him off.
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
Diluc would prefer to receive oral rather than give it. He isn’t against the thought of giving it to his s/o. He loves playing with his s/o’s hair and giving them small praises.
P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
He loves to have a passionate pace, one where him and his s/o can feel every movement. He can be rough at points, letting his sour mood dictate how he is with his s/o. After composing himself, the pace will soften and he’ll apologize.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
Diluc isn’t against quickies. There are points, he won’t admit, that he wanted to take his s/o in the tavern before opening it up for the day. He enjoys having quick rounds before he leaves on a personal mission or when he returns.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
The only risk he is willing to take is fucking his s/o in the tavern. If he’s horny enough and his s/o is with him, then there is a slight chance that he would fuck them out in the wilderness. Most of the time he waits until they are back at home, safe inside of his room.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
Diluc goes for one round most of the time. If his s/o is craving more, he goes for another round. There will be times he wants to push the limits between him and his s/o. It brings a sudden urge of confidence in him when his s/o is mewling underneath him.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
He would have a preference of not using toys. If his s/o wanted to try them, he would hesitate and it takes a lot of convincing.  He would eventually give in but he tells them it’s only one time.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Diluc doesn’t like to tease much. He isn’t one to try and turn the mood into a goofy one. He wants the moment to be serious and passionate.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
He doesn’t get that loud, but it’s loud enough so his s/o can hear the pleasure in his voice. He doesn’t want them to think he isn’t enjoying it. He is far from ashamed to let his s/o hear him.
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
Diluc has himself in high confidence as a fighter, but as a lover it isn’t as high. If his s/o builds up his confidence it will show in the way he acts during sex. His movements don’t have hesitance anymore, they are solid and full of confidence.
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
He would be of average size, but a little thicker than the average male. He keeps it to himself and doesn’t rub it in to anyone. The only person who needs to know what goes on in his pants is his s/o.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
Diluc doesn’t have the highest sex drive. It would be high enough to make love with his s/o when he misses them. It lets him convey feelings that his words normally denied him.
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He falls asleep after his s/o does, staying awake long enough to run his fingers down their body and whispering sweet words to them. He smiles to himself and cuddles up to their back or front, depending on the position they were in, allowing himself to be taken away by sleep.
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colossal-fallout · 7 months ago
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Giving them a lap dance - Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Reiner, Porco, Jean.
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NSFW 18+ only
Eren
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When it's just you and him against the slow, sensual music Eren's kinda finding it hard to breathe.
He sits in the arm chair, legs splayed and elbows resting on the arms, his hands laced together. His smouldering gaze is glued to you, but God is it hard to tell what he's thinking.
What's really going through that head of his, is trying to wrangle up all self control he has in his being. After all - you can't touch in a lap dance. (Or not supposed to anyway.)
Your head flicks with your rhythm, making your hair fly around you gorgeously, your hips roll as you nudge his hands apart with your knees, slowing you to straddle him.
His emerald greens widen, his heart race increasing and it's that... A bead of sweat forming on his head?
You push yourself up so your stomach is at his face level before rolling yourself down, grinding on him and slithering your head into the crook of his neck, your hot breath like kisses against his sensitive flesh.
Eren is definitely the annoying type of dance receiver once he can't hold back anymore. His hands will be finding their way to your hips, ass and a cheeky graze against your thigh. You'll have to keep batting him off. He's lucky he's your boyfriend, else he'd be walking out of that chair with a broken nose.
It's also lucky for you that he's your lover, because expect some of the best sex of your life. I'd say, once you're done but nah, Eren wont be able to wait that long; he'll take you then and there right in that chair.
Mikasa
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Mikasa is a blushing mess the entire time. Her face is almost adding to the dim lighting that dully glow in the room.
Although visibly nervous, she still can't tear away her beautiful eyes from your form as you bend down in just your lingerie, legs straight and hands against the wall.
Her rose tinted lips part as her breath catches in her throat - she's truly watching the works of the gods right now, as you twirl and press your back against the wall; sensually pressing your breasts together before giving your nipples a quick tug for her.
She came in with her entire body stiff, her arms folded neatly in her lap and her legs clamped closed. But now she'd quickly became more relaxed, her position slouching slightly and her legs now welcoming you to sit on her lap.
She almost grabs you when you do place yourself on to her, but she has a lot more self control than Eren. Instead she keeps her hands firmly by her side as you move to the music and gyrate against her.
Once you're done, expect to be pushed against the wall and her lips colliding with yours - the usually submissive Mikasa needing you so badly, it almost hurts.
Armin
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Although nervous at first, Armin is very, very into it.
His ocean blues do not once leave your shape as you move, his eyebrows raised in awe at your beautiful form.
He's leaning forward at first, his eyes boring into you like a tooth cavity. You can practically feel his hands on you, he's focusing so hard.
You gently push him back to climb aboard, your legs over his shoulders and leaning back your hands running all over your body, nice and slowly.
He lets out a deep sigh at this view, his hands flinching - about to touch his lover. He manages to stop himself though, instead eating you alive with his eyes.
You lightly scold him when he turns his head and kisses your calf sensually; his eyes closed yet pleading, yearning to feel your skin on his.
Once you're done, he makes sure to take his time with you that night, pleasing you for hours, the primal mating dance still fresh in his mind.
Reiner
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Someone hold this poor man's hand because he's trembling.
His face is crimson when you first start, his usually narrow eyes are large and his jaw is slack as he witnesses you work your magic.
You graze the floor with your fingers, your ass practically in his face. Keeping your legs straight, you place your hand on your crotch and give it a sensual rub before flicking your hair as you return to your normal standing position, back arching and hips swaying.
With Reiner it's like he's under a spell. The only thing in the world was you, him and the chair.
He can not believe his eyes.
His hands grab your hips as you rub your peachy ass up and down his crotch, his face pink and breath escaping him.
"You're so perfect..." He Marvel's as you turn to face him, your eyes that of a mischievous vixen.
You kneel up on the chair, rolling your hips inches from his face before sliding yourself all the way down him ever so slowly against his chest, making sure to breathe into his ear and bite his shirt on the way down, your eyes now blinking up at him from below his junk.
When you're done, Reiner has the shortest yet most intense ride of his life.
Porco
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This mf is smirking the entire time. Especially if you're at that stage of your relationship where he's a lot more comfortable around you and has come out of his shell, sexually.
"Fuck, yeah..." He breathes, his nails digging into the chair. It physically hurts him not to be touching you right now.
He's a little shit when it comes to these dances. He'll lurch forward and nip your nipple with his teeth, a growl vibrating his throat as he does so.
He's like a chained wild animal just begging for freedom.
You don't get to finish the dance. He pushes your panties to the side and bounces you up and down on his fat cock in the chair. He's extra fucking loud too, the satisfaction of finally having you being almost overwhelming for him.
Jean
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Another flustered mess we have here on our hands.
He'll flat out refuse to look at you. Not because he doesn't want to, bit he'll just start giggling nervously like a crush-stricken school girl.
But, once you're on his lap he relaxes, his mouth hanging open like an idiot, his hands on your waist.
Jean can't keep his hands to himself. He'll apologize and quickly remove them, but before he knows it, they've crept their way back onto you beyond his own control.
He always tries to catch you in a kiss when your face gets close to his, his gaze following yours but never quite able to get you as you laugh softly.
After a while he can't take it anymore and he'll throw you over his shoulder, carrying you up to your bedroom - or at the time, what feels like his mancave as he fucks you into the next world.
530 notes · View notes
wwwcapricorncom · 6 months ago
Text
How they would introduce anal play WITH IZUKU, KATSUKI, SHOTO, AND HITOSHI
Genre: SMUT/ 18+/ MINORS DNI
Warnings: Anal fingering, anal licking so um rimming?, anal penetration, vaginal fingering, rough sex, breeding kink, smacking, spit play, praising, degradation, slight Dom / sub play, slight exhibitionism, squirting, oral (fem receiving)  
A/N: I could write pages on the Bakugou and Hitoshi scenarios lawdddd 
Interaction post here!
unedited 
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡                                                    
                                                    Izuku
Will be timid asf, but has ALLLL the facts because he did extensive research.
“S-so I was wondering if you’d like to...
10 minutes later you finally understand what he’s saying and you stifle a laugh, not wanting to discourage him. 
You felt very comfortable with Izuku and he seemed to really want to so you said yes and he almost lost his soul. 
Immediately busts out lube that he had bought before getting to work on your pussy. 
He’s eating you out so well you almost forget that he was preparing your for anal. 
Until his tongue slides down a little further and he’s circling your other hole. 
Feels so good because he’s so gentle and soon your slick is running all down your ass. 
This is when he lathers his middle finger with lube, making sure it was warm.
Coaches you through breathing and pushing so his finger slips in without pain at all. 
Has you cumming so hard from your ass alone in seconds and you’re shook. 
~
“H-hey puppy?” Your sweet boyfriend timidly draws your attention away from your phone, “Hmm baby? What’s up?”
“S-so I was wondering if you wanted to try something new? I did a lot of research and…” he launched into a full tangent about what you realize is anal. Explaining how he's been curious, he’s done a lot of research, so on and so forth before looking at you with hopeful eyes.
You try not to laugh at his motioning to show you the book where he wrote everything down in, “You wanna try anal, babyboy?”
His face burns red, but he nods firmly, making you ponder the idea for a moment. It’s not something you’d thought about particularly, but you were so proud of him for being vocal even though it must’ve been hard. Plus you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious now, “Okay we can try it.”
Poor baby’s mouth would fall open in disbelief before he started frantically preparing, making sure to explain what you needed to do beforehand. In no time he has you spread naked on the bed while he laps at your sleek folds. Is kissing and sucking your clit so well you find yourself holding your own legs apart for him which he grows insatiably horny over.
His tongue travels down your folds and to your hole as he starts to tease there with zeal. Just when you think he’s going to insert his tongue, he moves it down further until he’s licking your asshole.
“A-ah!” You squeal in surprise and he’s flicking his eyes up to you while continuing his actions, licking in a circular motion that has your cunt clenching and unclenching. His touch is so feather light and gentle that you subconsciously find yourself whimpering for more while the arousal from your pussy drips down to your ass and on the bed under you.
He takes this as a sign to lube his middle finger up and rub it in circles around your puckering hole, “just breathe in and relax when I start pushing in okay, puppy?” He explains sweetly and you nod rapidly, oddly aroused by the whole ordeal. When he finally starts pushing his long middle finger inside and past the ring of your ass you can’t help but arch your back and gasp, “Izuku!”
“It’s all in baby, sh sh, you did so great, fuck.” He groans while dribbling a little more lube onto your clenching hole. He rubs your clit, making sure it’s with his clean hand, while retracting the finger in your ass and you’re moaning loudly.
“Fuck- feels good Zu!” You cry out, arousal seeping from your drooling cunt as he starts to finger your asshole, looking for the spot where he can stimulate your g spot through your ass.
He notices the way your eyes fly open and you choke on a moan when he roughly thrusts in a particular upward motion, “did you like that baby? Gonna do it again, g-gonna make you feel good.” He moans as he starts to rapidly finger that spot in your ass until you howl out and cum so hard your vision spots.
It takes minutes to stop shaking and he’s gaping at you to the point where you embarrassedly squeal at him to stop looking while hiding under a pillow. “You were so amazing, baby!” He coos excitedly, “shut up Izuku.” You blush at the whole situation, “don’t be shy just imagine how it’ll feel when you do it with my c-
A pillow to his face cuts him off, but you were intrigued to say the least.
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
                                               KATSUKI
Is bold and dirty asf about it.
Def has been thinking about it, but didn’t want to ask you straight up because he thought it would be awkward. 
Took the opportunity to voice it when he was fucking you into the mattress when he was angry one day. 
“Gonna fuck all your holes today!” 
Seems like he wasn’t giving you an option, but said it to see how you’d react. 
Your throat was already raw from his face fucking and he was currently drilling your pussy, so you quickly understood what he meant. 
“Answer me!” He growls as he angles his fat cockhead at your gspot and you gasp.
“Yes, yes please yes!” 
Wants to make sure you’re serious though so he asks more straight forward again. 
Would stick his thumb in your ass while in doggy and comment about how you are clenching so hard now. 
Is full on fucking you open while being two fingers deep in your ass, other hand stuffing his fingers in your mouth. 
Unlocks a kink about fucking all your holes
...Makes you squirt
Teases you about it endlessly and adds more anal play into your sexy time. 
~
Your moans bounced off the walls of Katsukis room even though they were struggling to come out because of your raw, fucked out throat. He was fucking you like he was a mad man, ravishnig your sopping cunt because HE got jealous about some dumb shit earlier. You didn’t even do anything, but here you are on the receiving end, loving every minute of it like a masochist.
“Gonna fuck all your sluttly holes today!” He snarls as his hips roughly continue to meet the flesh of your redden ass. You were focusing so hard on staying upright that you disregarded what he said. You understood what he meant, but you were so close to coming already, you couldn’t think to formulate sentences.
“Answer me!” He growls as he grabs the flesh of your hips and slams you onto his dick, making sure to angle his cockhead into your g-spot which makes tears spring to your eyes. You two had not done anal before, but you weren’t at all suprised by him wanting to or being down to.
“Yes, yes please yes.” You babble to appease him hoping that he would just do it already, wanting to cum so bad by now. He is stooping low now, pressing his hot sweaty chest against your back, so that he was right along your ear.
“Gonna seriously let me do it, teddy bear? Feeling up to it?” He pants softer than earlier as his hips slow to slight humping, awaiting your response. When you wag your hips against his body and whimper out, “please Katsu want you to.” He can't help the sadistic smirk that spreads across his face as he shoots back up to land a rough hand on the side of your ass before rubbing over it.
“Thats my good slut, fuck!” He praises while spreading your ass cheek apart, his pupils are blown out in lust while he eyes your untouched hole before letting a glob of spit trickle down his tongue and onto your asshole.
He begins rubbing it in with his thumb, watching as the hole twitches in anticipation, never easing his aggressive thrusts to your cunt. Not wanting you to feel any pain, he begins to ram his cock into your g spot and while you're quivering over that he decides to push his thumb in. It slips right in with a slight stretch due to his big finger and you let out a lewd cry.
“Fuckk youre clenching so tight on my cock now, you must really like this.” he groans as both your holes contract around him, he is dizzy with arousal as he starts to finger your ass in rhythm with his thrusts. The pleasure is much more than you could have imagined and you have to bury your face further into the bed to muffle your cries while your hips fall a bit.
“Nuh uh whore, c’mere. No running.” He scolds bending over you so that you’re forced to take all that he is giving you, “AH! AH Kat-
You start to yell, but in seconds the fingers from his only free hand are hooking into your mouth and your mind just about shatters at how thoroughly he is quite literally occupying all your holes. He watches them intently as they clench tightly, sucking him in and making him groan. The lewd act and pleasure of it all has you gushing all over the bedsheets, while biting through the skin on his fingers, ripping the orgasm out of him which he paints all over you. Doesn’t even wait until you're done shaking to tease you, but he is seriously surprised nonetheless.
“Didn't know I had such a slut for a girlfriend.”
“What did you expect to happen? You were acting like an animal.” You pant as your legs shake roughly.
“C’mere, wanna go again.”
꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎
                                       SHOTOOO
You have to initiate it, this man probably won’t do it on his own.
Is surprised when it comes out of your mouth one day as you lie on your back after he just creamed in you.
“Sho! Please want it in my ass too!”
Literally stops and just looks down at you.
“My cock?” 
You blush heavily, realizing what you just let slip out, but he’s intrigued now.
“Is that why your asshole always looks like it wants some attention when I’m having sex with you from the back? Do you play with it?”
My God he is mortifying you, but he is just curious because he wants to try and you’re a stuttering mess, trying to fix it.
“No wait don't take it back, babygirl.” He smoothly says as he places the tip of his cock at your asshole.
“It won’t hurt you right? You should have told me sooner, I would have helped you.” He explains as he rubs his already wet dick around your enthusiastic hole.
“I haven’t had anything your size in it, but fuck wanna try please!”
Loves when you ask sweetly, so he pushes his throbbing head in cautiously and you’re panting.
Only can fit it half way before he feels like he is hurting you so only fucks you with that which is honestly enough.
Realizes how much he likes it and how tight you are here too and cums faster than expected.
Loves that he has another place to feel you up at because he's a breeding man. 
~
Shoto pants heavily as he slightly pulls out of your cunt, groaning as he fills you up with his seed, “Sho please! Want it in my ass too!”
He is dumbfounded for a second as he looks down at your flushed face, disheveled hair, and sweaty hickey covered chest.
“My cock?” He asks to clarify and it is only then that you realize what you had said during the haze of being filled with his warm sticky cum.
It all seems to make sense to him now, how happily you shake your ass when he is fucking you from the back and the why your asshole always looks like it craves soemthing in it, “Is that why your asshole always looks like it wants some attention when I’m having sex with you from the back? Do you play with it?”
The man is just curious, but he sees that his line of questioning only makes you want to crawl in a hole as you start to retract your statement, “No wait, don't take it back babygirl.” He hums as he grabs his wet length and places the red, cockhead at your asshole entrance.
“It won’t hurt you right?” He asks as he begins to rub the head into your puckering hole, making you spread yourself wider and shake your head, “Never had anything as big as you, but still wanna try please.”
He loved whenever you asked him so adorably even when it was for something as lewd as this, actually liking that even more. This is why he pressed the tip into your entrance and watched as it disappeared between the flesh of your plump ass. Both of you moaning, when it slips past the ring of your asshole and further in, him stopping when halfway submerged.
Your face is a mix of indescribable pleasure and slight pain and he did not want to hurt you, so he decided on only using that much length as he starts to retract his hips. It was so tight and it clenched him like a glove making it hard to move. That along with the pleasure he got from having to slip between your soft ass checks to submerg back in your asshole had him panting harder than normal.
Your cunt was leaking the cum that he had spurted inside earlier along with new arousal from current actions. It began spilling onto where you two were joined at, adding all the lubrication you could need to have the room filled with wet noises. He began to use one of your legs as leverage to angle his hips just right and start a sensational rhythm.
Actually cums before you, but his bashful cursing about how he “-fucking has another hole to stuff with cum”, makes your orgasm follow.
You created a monster.
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
                                              HITOSHI
Now big daddy dom Toshi will have already introduced anal play with your consent into your sex life.
Wanted to see you in those cute little butt plugs yk the gems or cat tail ones. 
So it’s fairly normal between you too, but not something that happens often. 
Occasionally uses a finger to insert in your ass while fucking you, much like Katsuki, he has an obsession with filling all your holes. 
If you’re wearing the butt plug he will slap it or twist it while he is fucking you. 
Being a brat one day you huff about how you can take something bigger.
He was being particularly dommy that day which leads to your back against his chest as he slams your ass down on his cock by your hips. 
Was using anal as foreplay, but didn’t realize you’d love actual anal like all of his cock in you so much. 
Will finger fuck you as he thrusts into your ass mercilessly. 
Gets you to make an ahegao face and will now def be adding full anal to you sex life. 
~
“You’re being so bad today fuck, this is what you get.” He grumbles as he smacks the cute little lavender colored gem, butt plug that was fully in your ass. You’re on your stomach, lower half pushed upward by a pillow as he continues his assault, making you quiver.
“T-this is nothing! C-can take much more, much bigger.” You huff as you bite your lip, being your normal bratty self and it strikes Toshi the wrong way.
“Oh yea?” He teases as he pulls the object out of your hole, making you almost cum right there. He yanks your quivering body up and around, so that you’re placed in his lap with him under you.
He starts to unzip his pants, tugging them down along with his underwear so that his cock springs out. You’re barely composing yourself when he speaks, “can handle something bigger slut, hm?”
The sleepy man begins to use your hips to grind you up and down his pulsating length, making you whimper and turn around to look him over your shoulder. “Y-yes I can.” You say, but he can tell your bratty attitude is starting to wear down at the threat ahead.
Nodding, he lifts your leg up in the air before prodding into your desperate hole with his cock, causing a yelp to fall from your lips. He was much bigger than the plugs and the pain was turning you on. Albeit there wasn’t much, considering how much lube he used on you. And when he brings you the rest of the way down on his length you can feel him crashing right into your g spot as you feel so unrealistically full.
“Fuck, Toshi ‘m so full!” You squeal out and he can not stop the praise that falls from his lips.
“God look at that pretty ass taking me so well, guess you were right huh? Gotta give my good girl a reward.” He starts to say as he hooks one of his arms under your knee so that your leg is up in the air. He isn’t one to break from his domming until he sees fit, but the way you were accommodating him so willingly made his balls swell.
So he will use his free hand to finally rub your puffy neglected clit from all of the teasing he had been punishing you with earlier. Allows you the privilege of not doing shit, but to “take it” as he bucks into you with power while eventually submerging two fingers into your core. God you’re leaking so much, a pool of arousal puddles on his pants lap, causing loud wet slapping noises at every thrust.
Is quickly fucking your g spot from both holes and is glad they you’re facing the mirror because when you cum- it’s shattering and your cute little ahegao face is on full display.
He won’t stop though no, what kind of reward would that be? 
Continues to fuck you until he nuts and you’re a crying mess from the pleasure.
357 notes · View notes
razzle-berry · 7 months ago
Note
I have to get this off my chest cuz damn if no one wants to say it, I will! We all know how shitty Quirk society is when it comes to mutation quirks, being quirkless, subtle quirks, or quirks that are just perceived as evil. So I’d like to request hc’s of Shoji, Shinsou, Aizawa, and Fatgum with an s/o that hates people that judge quirks or try to let the bullshit slide.
For example, Shoji’s s/o dislikes Pony from Class 1-B for how she insulted Shoji’s appearance despite not knowing him at all, so she tends to keep a stone face or glare on anyone like that unless they apologize. Would deadass say “He’s not the monster here, you are.”
Shinsou’s s/o would openly call people cowards/idiots for antagonizing Shinsou’s quirk when it could be used for interrogating villains and subtletly get information from enemy sources, so she’s more than happy to defend him and others like him.
And Aizawa’s/Fatgum’s s/o just openly points out the bullshit ethics of the society for how no one should be discriminated or ranked for their quirk since they can’t help being born with whatever quirk they have and even calls out pro-hero’s that holds the whole “flashy quirk >” mindset *cough*Endeavor*cough* since it could demotivate and make others insecure about being a hero or even using their quirks at all.
This was long but quirk discrimination got me heated and I rarely see anyone talk about it or do hc’s about it.
I feel you. I hate this so much too especially because so many people have or may have suffered in the show because of this! I was actually just talking about this with one of my friends earlier lol.
There's going to be a bit if a stylistic change with this hc so bear with me please.
Warnings: Discrimination, swearing, Y/N is about to go off on someone, slight angst ig
Character(s): Shoji, Shinso, Aizawa, Fatgum
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Mezo Shoji
Let’s just start off by saying that anybody who has the audacity to call Shoji a monster can catch not just his your, but my hands as well. This man is so strong, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well to not let the blatant discrimination turn him away from wanting to be a hero. (Absolutely no hate to those who did go down that path because of it though, they still valid)
Shoji can, for the most part, handle himself in these situations. While they hurt, he grew up having to deal with it and is sadly used to it
But the first time you went off on someone for judging him, it made him fall deeper in love 
“How dare you!” The cafeteria chatter and traffic in the mall seemed to freeze in time as your voice carried out. In front of you was a rather tall man who could have been considered attractive if not for his ugly words. Mezo stood behind you, looking at you in shock at how angry you had become. 
“Mezo is an amazing hero, and even better person, and you have the absolute nerve to insult him because of how he looks?” 
The man started to sweat underneath your heavy gaze, as well as the whispers that started to grow around you two. Mezo decided to step in and placed a hand on your shoulder. 
“Darling, it’s okay.”
“No it’s not.” You sent him a brief smile before turning you glare onto the stranger. “You’re not the monster here, he is.” 
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Hitoshi Shinso 
He’s used to people referring to him as a villain the second they know what his quirk is and by the time we the audience meet him, he’s accepted it
He’s fallen into such a deep pit of insecurity, it’s a wonder he even managed to accept that you weren’t afraid of him, let alone have romantic interest him 
The first time he saw you jump to his, or any other person that's like him, defense he was in shock.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Hitoshi stopped and stared at you in shock.
A small villain had tried to keep the restaurant hostage for some reason or another and had a woman at gun point as he talked to the police outside. While currently not on duty, Hitoshi still had his licence and controlled the villain to safely return the woman to her family and turn himself in. He tried to go comfort the woman and see if he needed anything, only for her to scream at him for having such a villainous quirk. Naturally, he was upset but he was willing and ready to move on from the unfortunately common situation and just go back to his lunch date with you. Seemed like you had other plans.
"This man just saved you, and you want to call him a villain? How much of a child do you have to be to think that someone's quirk determines what they become. Hitoshi is a wonderful hero, and his so called 'villainous' quirk has helped save hundreds of people!"
Hitoshi took your hand and started pulling you away from the woman, as you were getting closer.
"Calm down, it's fine. I'm used to it."
"Well you shouldn't be! It's people like this that create the villains in this society. Not everyone is as stubborn as you, hearing that you're going to be a villain based on nothing but something you can't control would break someone enough and have then actually turn into a villain!"
You looked at the woman in absolute rage and disgust.
"I hope you're proud of yourself."
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Shota Aizawa
He someone who not only grew up with a non flashy quirk, but also is a hero without a flashy quirk. Barely anyone knows who he is because of that, as well as his underground career. While that's a good thing, all things considered, he was and is still a victim of hero society's discrimination
Shota doesn't like UA's entrance exam because it's impractical, and we know he knows that the bias allows for talented potential heroes to slip through because they're not flashy or physically strong. He would have first hand knowledge of this since it almost happened to him.
You, on the other hand, weren't a hero. At least not one like him. You helped people like him know that they're still able to become heroes, no matter what other may say about their quirks and he loved you for it.
"He might not have a strong physical quirk that allows for flashy moves to appeal to an audience, but that doesn't mean he isn't useful, or powerful."
You two were on a date when a fan, if you could even call him that, had walked up to Shota and started asking questions. All was okay until he asked if he ever felt bad for not being as powerful or useful as someone like All Might or Endeavor.
"Yeah, but he's-"
"His own person with his own accomplishments that you probably never even heard about because the media didn't care enough. He's worth so much more than a fancy quirk and a camera ready smile. Now, go back to whatever you were doing, we are busy."
Shota chuckled and allowed you to pull him along.
"You didn't have to do that, you know."
"Doesn't matter, you are an amazing hero and I don't appreciate anyone saying otherwise because of something so stupid as a flashy quirk. Especially when they compare you to fucking Endeavor of all people!"
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Fatgum/Toyomitsu Taishiro 
Toyomitsu has a quirk that, on the surface, doesn’t seem very useful for hero work. I imagine that he was made very aware of that growing up, and even as he debuted as a hero.
Not to mention that his quirk, when activated, makes body shape turn into an almost oval, vague snowman shape so that might have set some people off. For such a friendly guy, that would have been a cause for insecurity at one point seeing as he genuinely wants people to be happy.
You were someone who never saw him like that and held him through tougher nights when the media got too harsh on him. You were even someone not afraid to get in front of a reporter’s camera and tear them a new one.
“What kind of a ridiculous question is that?” 
It was a few weeks after his debut and some people were still mocking him for his quirk. On the surface, fat absorption didn’t seem like much and for someone who doesn’t know Toyo- excuse me- Fatgum (he’s a hero now, you thought proudly), it might even seem useless. But you knew better, and you thought that it was about time others did too. 
“Just because Fatgum’s quirk isn’t flashy and destructive, it doesn’t mean he should feel inadequate next to someone who does have one like that, and I don’t appreciate you insinuating that he should.” 
The reporter recoiled slightly, and tried to stutter out a response. 
“I'm- I'm not-!"
"Fatgum is already an amazing hero, and he's only going to get better. So you can take your prejudice and find a new job because clearly being a reporter is not a good field for you!"
"Sugar, it's okay!" Fatgum placed his hand on your shoulder and smiled. "I'm just going to have to prove them wrong!"
His cheery demeanor was enough to calm you down a bit, but still you couldn't resist shooting the chastised reporter a sharp glare, causing them to shrink back. You smirked at the sight.
"You already have."
530 notes · View notes
lazarettta · 5 months ago
Text
Misthios
Characters (Reader x Mother Miranda...?) 👀
Rating (T)
Word Count (2.8k)
Warnings (none, first half is has no dialogue, writing while high,)
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Once her little warrior, always her little warrior.
I'm sorry if it's hot 🗑💀
The fire was finally the way you wanted it and you could finally fucking rest. You'd been hiking all goddamn day through the rain and snow, and you just wanted a minute to rest and to eat. The sun was starting to set and you still needed to set up your tent, but for the moment you were content to just sit on the log and get warm.
“Who'd ever think a Spartan would be in Rome looking for answers, hm?” it was ironic, how you would've been accused of being a traitor or something like that back then. Ha...back then?
Truthfully you weren't sure anymore where your life really started it's been so long, centuries really if you were being honest. Sometimes even your own secrets were too overwhelming for you to admit, and as the years continued to pass you by it was getting harder and harder for you to hold onto the same principles you once believed in. The wars you've participated in, two of them by choice...and as a favor for the third.
It shouldn't have been possible but it was for you, it was both a blessing and a curse because you were nothing special...you grew up with Spartan blood running through your veins, pushed at a young age to hunt and to protect, it was a common tradition for families then, especially for the oldest or only children. Your didn't ever recall your father, he died in battle before you were born but your mother was there, always. Even if her face was blurry after all of the time that has passed you by—you still remember her teachings and her technique. Your mother was the best hunter in Sparta, proudly.
But after...after her passing, the streets taught you how to be a mercenary at a young age...and then an assassin, not by choice but by necessity because you weren't a good person then, not really, and you still weren't now...but you still had the will do what was right, and so you did.
And maybe that is why the Gods did not let you die in the battlefield when you'd been caught off guard, for what is no longer relevant as it is now long gone, but the scar left through your heart would forever stain you inside and out by some random Greek bastard. You don't remember much of the dying part as much as you remembered how badly it hurt and how livid you were watching him stand over you with his bloody sword raised to the heavens. But just like your pain, that emotion was ebbed away as you laid there dying.
And die you did. And your body laid there for who knows how long but when you woke up, oh you sprung up ready to fight but there wasn't a fight left to be had...the war was over...but you didn't know that until you woke up the second time. Not realizing that your body was next to be burned in the ditch as the battlefield was being cleared of all the corpses from both sides. A gruesome chore performed by the prisoners taken by Sparta.
You had no idea why the Gods healed you and brought you back from the dead, you didn't deserve a second chance (at the time you didn't realize that it was a power). You were blessed by the Gods and that's all that it was, people looked at you with both awe and envy. Some gave all of their iron and dearest family possessions as a gift to the Gods in hopes that their wishes were granted. They hated you and you did not care. You were unstoppable, everyone wanted your attention and your skills—it made you arrogant and stupid for years. And when you caught a pretty nasty gash across your back from a werewolf that ambushed you and your horse, your leathers had been torn and bloody by the time you speared your way through four of those beasts. But while there was blood, there was no wound...the only evidence were the scars it left behind.
Snap!
You turned your head slightly, a few strands of your hair falling in front of your ever sharp (y/e/c) eyes. You stayed perfectly still, eyes scanning the forest surrounding you but there was nothing after several moments. Just as well...with a loud sigh, you finally got up to put up your tent for the night and probably for the next few nights too. You slipped your hunting knife back into your boot but kept it unhooked just in case.
You lived in a time where guns existed but you were always better with a blade. You may not be an active misthios now (mercenary in today's world) but old habits were hard to kick. You were too old and too wise now, even if you didn't look a day over twenty-eight.
The next morning...
You woke with a start your grip around your obsidian hunting knife so tight your knuckles your skin strained against bone. You didn't have a dream but something woke you up, and it wasn't those damn birds chirping literally above your tint. With the help of the morning sun you could even see the spot where one of them pooped. Great. You laid there for a few more minutes, finally relaxed enough to move. You checked your surroundings again, walking around your camp but that feeling of unease didn't go away but it wasn't as strong.
Today was clearer than it was the day before though you still had to deal with the snow and the cold, not that either really bothered you too much. Leaving your camp behind, marking the trees so that you had a way to find your way back through these unfamiliar woods, you set off to find breakfast. You came to an edge, a cliff's peak and you went to stand on the edge of it—to maybe see the rest of the mountain you were exploring but something caught your immediate attention.
When was the last time you ever saw a castle? Not...not those tourist marks they have all over Europe but a castle. The place was eerie but most castles always felt that way to you...but this was different? It was as if the castle was looking right back at you, mocking you. From your vantage point you could make out the edges of a lake through the thick trees, you couldn't see it very well but you could tell it wasn't small nor was it man-made.
It was a pleasant surprise to discover this as you assumed that your trip would mostly be you exploring this cold ass mountain without a proper guide but you didn't need anyone to know why you were really up here, your reasons concerned no one but yourself. That and you knew you'd end up leading your guide. You were better off alone. Or at least that's what you kept telling yourself that but those words stopped being comforting a very long time ago. Not like fate was giving you much of a fucking choice though.
Your stomach growled, reminding you of your hunt...you glanced down at the village below the castle curiously before turning away from the ledge, the heavy aura of the castle still on your back.
~~
Fat and full, that's exactly how you'd describe yourself at the moment. There were more predators in the area than there were prey it seemed but the rabbit you caught seemed plentiful enough. With winter kicking in, the most worrisome predator in the woods would be hibernating leaving nothing but the wolves and maybe a mountain lion for you to deal with if you're lucky. You hefted your smaller backpack onto your back and left your camp, deciding to check out the village to see if you could learn more about the castle.
You were both excited and curious, you'd spent a majority of your modern life exploring the wonders of the Earth and using the currency you've collected throughout your lifetimes to fund whatever myth caught your eye. In other words, you were bored but the thought of war and fighting no longer made your blood sing or your heart race. You've done so much of that already, and lost so much because of it.
“Get back! Get back! Agh—GET THE FUCK BACK!”
Your legs stopped moving immediately and your gloved hand was already wrapped around the hilt of your hunting knife, ears trained. You heard growling and barking not too far from where you stood, maybe two or three hundred feet to your right just through those bushes and that fallen tree. It sounded as if someone was having a bit of trouble with a pack of wolves. Which struck you as odd, you were still pretty high up on the mountains and you hadn't seen anyone else up here in a week, so it couldn't have been a local...could it?
The growling grew more intense and there were sounds of a scuffle and grunts but the man still sounded alive.
And it wasn't your problem. Your days of coming to the rescue were over. You allowed your hand to fall from your knife. You got maybe seven steps away before the man spotted you, he caught a glimpse of your fur lined hood and started screaming for you to help him just as one of the wolves snapped the branch he was holding in half, forcing his back against a tree. His time was counting down now.
He was yelling so loud, you were sure even the villagers could hear him now. There was no way you could walk away now.
“Fucking hell.” with a heavy sigh, you dropped your backpack and stalked in the direction of the soon to be crime scene. You didn't feel the need to mask your presence, you wanted the wolves to know that you were there and that ultimately saved that man's life. The wolves were honed in on you the moment you stepped through the bush but three shots echoed through the small clearing before any of them could pounce in your direction. The echoes faded away quickly, and you sighed again watching the white snow stain red beneath the furry corpses.
The only other sound heard was the man's heavy breathing as he leaned against a tree. You looked down at your gun before putting it back in it's holster on your lower back, you may prefer blades but it was always better to have something and not need it, than to need it and not have it.
“Thank...thank you,”
You looked at the man with furrowed brows...just by looking at him, you knew that he wasn't a native but the moment he opened his mouth only confirmed it. He was American...you spotted all of his gear nearby, torn to shreds and you scoffed.
“I don't think camping is for you.”
“I don't think so either,” He tried for a smile but it was only a grimace, the blonde man pushed himself from the tree and approached you, carefully stepping around the wolves bodies, “I'm uh a bit lost, I guess.”
“And I'm leaving.”
“Wait!” he rushed around you, stopping you and you could've gone through the man if you wanted to...you were taller than him by an inch or two, and you definitely had more mass than he probably knew what to do with, “Listen, I'm obviously not from here, but I'm trying to find my daughter okay, she's—”
“I'm not from around here,” you held your hand to make him stop while simultaneously telling yourself that you're not about to get involved in someone else's mess and derail your own mission, “I'm sorry about your kid, but I can't help you.”
He frowned at you obviously not happy with your answer but he was quickly reaching into his pocket and any normal person, especially someone who is armed, would've taken a step back but you weren't some ordinary person. You simply raised an eyebrow, because you knew that he wasn't going to attack you even though he was probably fully capable of doing so. You assumed that he was about to dig out a baby picture or something but it was just a sheet of paper with writing on it. You took it before he could shove the damn thing in your face and you looked down at it carefully, keeping your face neutral.
“I can't read whatever language that is.”
You glared up at him from beneath your lashes, “And you think that I can?”
“Can you?” he shot back, and you rolled your eyes...your attention back to the paper before shoving it back in his hands, “Well?”
You nearly scowled at his impatience, “It's a mix of Romanian, Serbian and Tatar. Whoever sent that clearly doesn't want anyone else to know what's on it.”
“So you can read it then?”
“Bits and pieces,” You said with a shrug, “I'm not expert but someone named Beneviento is demanding a shorter route for wine delivery from that giant castle.”
He stared at you then down to the paper, which was full from top to bottom, then back to you, “What...that's all? Are you sure?? No, that can't be all...there has to be something about my daughter here! Here, please, just try again slower—”
“That's all I could read.” you shouldered past him, throwing your hood back up and ignoring his calls after you. Your backpack was exactly where you dropped it, you shook off the snow and threw it back on your back not caring about the cool wetness on your back now—you just wanted to get away from this area as quickly as possible. You should've used your knife as those gunshots gave away your position.
“Amateur hour everyone,” you grumbled under your breath...you veered off the path slightly, just in case he tried to follow you (wouldn't be the first time someone tried to force you to help them).
You'd maybe walked for a mile or two down the mountain before you noticed the hairs on the back of your neck standing, you chanced a casual glance over your shoulder but there was no one there, no man nor animal. Licking your dry lips you turned back around but as you were doing so, you caught something in your peripheral. A dark figure, twenty feet away and that's when you noticed how fucking quiet everything was around you...you forced yourself to keep walking even as a feeling of dread began crawling up your back, like two sharp fingers walking along the ridges of your spine.
Pushing the hood from your head, you whirled around with your knife drawn at your side gripping it with the intentions to kill but there was nothing there except two large obsidian feathers fluttering gently down onto the snow at your boots. Feathers?
Cool breath touched the base of your neck when you heard soft chuckling directly behind you. You turned around sharply, easily flipping your knife around but the mass of darkness in front of you disoriented you for a split second and that was all this creature needed. Before you could plunge your knife into it's feathery belly, a pale hand shot out and caught your wrist in a bruising grip as another hand curled itself around your throat, sharp nails oh so slightly pricking your skin.
You were about to kick away when the creature leaned forward, and it's face came from beneath the hood...only it wasn't an it, it was a she, though her entire face was hidden by the gold headgear you could see her lips and...and her eyes.
A pair of eyes you'd never forget in any of your lifetimes. It felt like a millennia ago when those eyes alone had you on your knees covered in fresh warm blood and exhausted from tearing through small armies.
Despite yourself, you were trembling in her ironclad grip, your hand that wasn't still trapped fruitlessly came up to wrap around her wrist as if that was going to help you. You both knew that it wouldn't. She brought you closer until your feet were no longer on the ground and you could feel the tip of your blade pressing against something...no, her...and your nose was nearly touching her helmet.
“ο μικρός μου πολεμιστής...” (my little warrior...) her cool breath washed over your face, her eyes still boring down into yours so intensely you swore you felt the heat, even as her hand tightened around your throat making you choke, but you were fighting against her... “επιτέλους ήρθες σπίτι μου...” her chuckle fell on deaf ears. (you've finally come home to me...)
~~
You were supposed to run into Alcina first 😭, but Miranda works too...(save the best for last obvi) I don't know I am playing Odyssey while waiting for this game to drop and I went The Old Guard route too so then I just ended up writing some shit, and I wanted to try something that's not so maiden-esque lol so I hope it's enjoyable at least...I honestly might make this a WIP...
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roll-da-credits · 5 months ago
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SC: Pro Heroes' S/o's Pet Not Liking Them
Characters: Keigo Takami (Hawks), Rumi Usagiyama (Mirko), Taishiro Toyamitsu (Fatgum)
A/n: this fic is brought to you by my rabbit who has unrivaled hate for any man except my dad. He would literally cuddle with my dad but the moment my friend comes who let me tell you ADORES my bunny, he would COMPLETELY ignore him and sometimes even bite him, not like nibbling like bunnies do when they're happy. No, full-on bites like incredibly hard, anyways hope you guys enjoy it. (Also, this was longer than I planned)
🖤❤️🖤
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Keigo Takami (Hawks)
You would think Hawks would have a good relationship with birds right? Wrong.
Hawks in the eyes of birds was a bird of prey, which only means one thing, he's dangerous. This unspoken rule amongst birds who are usually weaker doesn't exclude your own pigeon.
It all started when Rumi (Mirko) decided that the group's movie night would be at your house for the first time ever. Obviously, you were rather excited, of all the times you had these movie nights they were never in your home. Another exciting reason was you couldn't wait to introduce Keigo, your lovey lover, to your budgie.
"Hey, birdie." Once you opened the door to your apartment Hawks was leaning there in front of you with a small bouquet of flowers, wearing some casual clothing. Giving a quick to your forehead, you led Hawks into your humble abode.
Your budgie, as always, flew towards you to greet the guest, like he would usually. But instead of landing on your shoulder, he instead flew around Keigo and dove to bite his ears and the exposed skin everywhere.
"So this is the friendly bird you've been telling me about???" Keigo slightly confused and panicked tried to lightly shoo away the flying menace.
You at this point didn't know whether to panic or to laugh at the situation. Your budgie was incredibly kind to everyone, even strangers you just met, and yet here he was, squawking at Keigo trying to bite him.
After a few minutes, you were able to calm your bird down, letting him rest on the crook of your neck and reassure Keigo that he was usually really kind to guests, which Keigo doesn't believe at this point. It wasn't until Rumi came knocking that you stood up to greet her.
Keigo, watched from a distance, excited to see Rumi get attacked by your menace of a bird. "What?!" He exclaimed pointing a judgemental finger at your bird who was now on Rumi's shoulder nuzzling her cheek.
"Scared of a birdie smaller than you Keigo?" Rumi's laughter mocked Keigo, and you couldn't help but let out a few giggles yourself.
"Awww love don't be like that!" You walked over to Keigo and enveloped him in a reassuring hug, still slightly giggling, "I swear I don't know why he doesn't like you."
When the movie started, you and Keigo were cuddling as usual with Rumi slightly third-wheeling, not that she really cared. Weirdly enough you felt a weird tension around you, when you looked over at Keigo, you saw he was staring at your budgie who was on Rumi's shoulder.
Both looking at each other with so much menace it made you burst into laughter. "Is there some kind of bird rivalry?????" Rumi now realizing what was happening laughed extremely loud. "Are you jealous of Y/n's BIRD???"
She teased Keigo, who in retaliation threw a pillow at her. He groaned and pulled you closer. "Whatever, but we're never having movie nights in your house again." You laughed a little before snuggling more into him, "Sure you big baby."
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Rumi Usagiyama (Mirko)
"I'm telling you, that little piece of long-looking mouse stole my stuff!" Rumi yelled at you pointing an accusing finger at your ferret who was simply staring up at you her head slightly tilted as if confused about the whole ordeal.
This all started when Rumi decided to come to your apartment straight after patrol, something she's never done. She looked exhausted and in need of some comfort, so you let her in and gave her some clothes to change after showering,
When she walked in, she noticed your ferret staring at her. A weird sense of foreboding crept up onto her. She always had a slight suspicion that the creature didn't like her very much. Whether it was because she was taking up most of your play times with it, or something else, she couldn't care any less.
It was in the ferret's eyes, how they stared at her with intent and a glint of mischievousness. Though when she brought it up with you, you'd brush it off since ferrets are incredibly mischievous and smart.
But the icing on the cake was when she placed her clothes on top of a dresser, including her gloves, to take a shower. Only to come back with both of her gloves missing from the pile. The ferret looking up at her, as if challenging her.
"Rumi, love, why would she even know to hide BOTH gloves. She'd probably steal only one!!" Rumi's mouth fell agape at your statement. You were defending the THIEF???
"You said so yourself didn't you?!! Ferrets are SMART, SHE MUST'VE KNOWN." At this point it was borderline hilarious, so between your next words, you laughed and giggled.
"You probably just misplaced it, come on I'll help you search it. I'm sure we'll find it soon."
No
You both did not find it soon, it had actually been 30 minutes of nonstop searching. Searching your entire apartment close to twice already, you and Rumi both flopped on the couch, exhausted.
"Ok, maybe I should check her toys." Her being your ferret, you finally caved in and searched around her toys.
Low and behold.
"I TOLD YOU!!!" You found both Rumi's gloves tucked away in the long rubbery-plastic tunnel you made for your ferret.
Rumi crashed on the floor in a fit of laughter, with you holding the dirty gloves looking at your ferret rather disappointed at her. Your ferret looked up with its adorable eyes as if it had done nothing wrong.
"Your ferret's a demon I'm telling you!" Rumi wiped a tear from laughing too much.
"I'm sorry for not believing you." You said followed by an exasperated sigh. Rumi walked over to you and enveloped you in a bone-crushing hug, "It's fine, this was actually more fun than just watching random movies like we planned."
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Taishiro Toyamitsu
Taishiro loves animals and animals love him. Both skinny and fat form, he's just a lovable person for every single living being. Animals, humans, plants, all of them thrive when being cared for by him. Including you, but excluding your cat.
Taishiro knew the moment you said you had a cat that he would have to work a little bit harder to get her to like him. What he didn't expect was for your cat to completely ignore him no matter what he did.
"Trying to woo her again?" You smirked a little bit when you saw him in his skinny form holding a small bag of catnip smiling rather sheepishly.
"No cat can resist catnip." He paused shortly, "Right?"
You giggled at his adorable antics, reaching up to slightly ruffle his soft hair. Inviting him you watched from afar as Taishiro approached your cat who was sunbathing near a window and, as usual, ignoring him.
He slowly approached her, his big hands slowly opening the bag. When he did, her head immediately darted at him, you stood up straighter at this. Really curious at the first time your cat acknowledged his existence.
Taishiro couldn't feel more excited at the moment and slowly got closer to her, shaking the bag slightly. Your cat's irises expanded, showing that she might be rather happy.
But just as Taishiro was about to pet her, she stretched from her position and walked calmly away from him. Ignoring him once again.
You stifled a laugh at his dejected form, shoulders slumping down and a dark aura surrounding him.
You draped your body over his back, a small attempt in hugging him, "Hey you'll get more chances, I'm sure she'll warm up to you eventually."
Taishiro looked up at you with watery eyes and a small pout, making your heart melt at the sight. "How about this? You'll get even more chances if you live with me."
Your eyebrows wiggled at him, and his slumped figure immediately brightened up. Crushing you in a tight bear hug and shaking you around. "I'll make sure your cat loves me."
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iwaasfairy · a year ago
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Oikawa Tooru is a simple man. He plays volleyball, he enjoys friendly competition as much as he does being the center of attention, and he loves you. He really, really does. day 03 of kinktober
.warnings. somnophilia, noncon, yandere, oral (receiving) .wordc. 3k massive big fat thank you to the amazing @yanderexbabydoll​ for thinking of tooru with me ♡
You hadn’t made it easy on him. Well, he supposes that’s not entirely true. You are easy to get along with, almost to a fault, and he loves that about you. You’re very easy on the eyes, so that isn’t the problem either. Still Tooru has never quite wanted to pull his hair out as much as when he’s around you, and it’s all because you refuse to let him in easily like other women. No matter though, he knows it’ll be worth it in the end. And he’s sure you’re not doing it on purpose, so he can hardly be mad at you.
Despite all of that, he’s reminded how much he loves you every minute of every day when you twist and turn around in his vicinity and go about your life like an angel who’s given up her wings. Truly, Tooru has to admit to himself, he’s never loved anyone like he loves you.
Whole and full and like hell will find him tomorrow should he let go of you for too long. He loves looking at you, whether you are folding laundry or talking to him while stir frying the carrots and almost burning yourself in the process. And maybe he loves you most of all when he’s able to put his face right next to yours, watching the peaceful way you sleep for hours. You don’t normally let him get this close.
He lets out a deep breath, squeezed next to you on the couch where you no doubt fell asleep after class again. You’re a silly thing, really, because every time he has suggested carrying you to your bed you’ve declined with a smile. You don’t want to make life hard for your roommate.
The soft rise and fall of your chest steals his attention for an almost embarrassing amount of time as he thinks, pretty body squeezed into that top that almost made him moan out loud the first time he saw it. You accidentally hit him in the face while talking to your friend too enthusiastically, and if Iwa hadn’t held him back he might’ve shoved you in return. But then you had turned to him wide eyed and mortified under the obnoxious laughter of your friend and apologized so genuinely that his anger subsided almost instantly.
He hates thinking of that as the first moment he met you though, and you don’t remember it anyway.  That was almost two years ago. And even after almost six months as your roommate, he’s barely made any progress. Which brings him right back to not having it easy, since you’re totally oblivious to his affections. So much so it’s almost laughable. Tooru’s not used to this either, you know, but even becoming your roomie was a feat in itself. You wanted a girl, and though you never told him that when he came to your door with flushed cheeks, he knows. Your ad even said so. 
It wasn’t easy to get rid of all the potential people one by one, he really performed some miracles there. If only you knew, you should really give him the most blinding thank you for his hard work. You would— you will, he assures himself, brushing his fingers ever so softly along the bridge of your nose. He’s seen the way you light up when people do favors, even little ones. Your eyes basically started glittering when he’d helped you pick up your dropped bundle from under your chair, smiling at him, tempting him to kiss you stupid in the middle of the lecture. One chance encounter in the last year of high school and then another in college, of course he’d be sold and wanting to get to know someone so precious.
His fingers trail carefully over the dip above your lip, over them, then pulling away. The mimic of intimacy is enough for now, since you’ve just fallen asleep and he doesn’t want to risk waking you. No, Tooru has plans for tonight, a present just for you that he won’t let even his own greediness ruin. You’ll be so thankful, and you’ll finally understand just how much you’ve made his heart race since the start when you wake up. Still a bit cold to the touch, but he knows that’s mostly his own fever and the effect being this close to you has on him. His cheeks must be bright pink.
He waits for a half hour longer, until he’s absolutely sure you’re deep asleep, and then moves off the couch to pick you up and slotted against his chest. His heart seems to thump so hard he’s scared it’ll wake you up again, but then your mouth drops open a little and you snuggle closer into his arms and all worry is gone. You look so cute tucked right against him, so pretty. 
And because you love him too, even if you play so coy it makes him want to grab your wrists and tie you to his bed so you can never be this nice to anyone ever again, he knows you’ll be happy. That you can fall asleep around him so easily in the first place is proof that you trust him, love him. He wonders for a moment how long you’ve been in love with him. As long as he has been with you? Maybe not. But probably close.
As he puts you down on his bed, he takes a moment to stare at the way your shorts reveal more skin than normal. He can look up the entire length of your thigh and if he were to dip to his knees he’d probably be able to see your panties, wet, aching for him— the thought alone has him ready to spread your legs and finally taste you like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. But first, the cuffs. He really needs to control himself. Oikawa is a calculated person, he is, but you manage to unscrew him just enough to leave him rattling. He easily lifts your arms, one at a time, taking a moment to kiss your fingers before he clicks them into the cuff. You stir only a little, he knows you’re a deep sleeper.
When the other one is in place, he starts peeling off his clothing. Slowly, while looking at the way your back arched as if you’re presenting yourself to him. His shirt goes, then his pants. The small golden necklace with your initials dangling from them can stay on, and he leaves his boxers for now too. Maybe you’d like something to unpack, and if he didn’t, it’d be increasingly harder to keep his cool as planned. When he dips the bed, you make a little sound. A breath of air or maybe a moan, and he shudders as he runs his hands up and down your thighs to comfort you. 
He could probably cum from just watching you like this, though it’s just as embarrassing for him as it would be for you. He smiles when your body relaxes at his touch, moving to pull the waistband of your shorts wider and to gently slide it down your body. It takes your panties with it, revealing you earlier than he was really ready for. Like an overeager virgin his hips twitch, cock hardening even more inside his bowers. But he swallows, finishing off the little task, and then begins work on your top. If he lingers to notice just how perfect you are spread out for him, he’ll slot himself inside you and never come out. So instead he pulls the top down your chest, exposing your tits since he can’t get it off through the cuffs anyway.
With a deep breath he sits back on his heels, letting out a little moan. He’s spent the last six months thinking about you every single time his hand was wrapped around his cock, but this really is too much. You’re made to be here, in his bed, and in that moment he’s sure that he’d give you everything you could ever want. A date, a ring, a mansion, babies; nothing will ever be too large for you, because even in your sleep you are the most lovable thing he has. And once you are his forever, and he’ll make sure of that today, there’s nothing that will ever come in between you and him again. None of your handsy friends throwing an arm around your shoulder, no study buddies being invited to the apartment when he has to leave for practice.
He bends over your body to press a kiss to your lips, trying to make sure his arms don’t suddenly give out on him. You’re so warm, and taste like the tea that probably served to knock you out so early in the evening. Giddy excitement comes up when your lips move instinctively against his, and he’s quick to let his tongue swipe out between your lips. You shift under him, mouth opening a bit to allow the intrusion. It doesn’t bother him that you’re not kissing back just yet, after all, he’ll have all the time in the world for that later. But your mouth is so inviting, he can’t resist laying kisses on you and sucking at your tongue until you’re making noises under him. So soft, so vulnerable.
He doesn’t want to imagine what would happen if you put your trust in anyone but him. Because Tooru has your best interest at heart, he did from the start. But he still remembers the look that one classmate of yours sent you once, and he had to dig his nails into his thigh to keep from slamming his coffee mug across the back of his bleach blonde head. You tilt your head back with a whimper, and he pulls back enough to watch the thread of spit break between your two mouths, his dick twitching again. He aches to be inside you already, but once again his months of fantasizing stop him. Not just yet. He’ll get to fuck you stupid on his fat cock for the forseeable future. And you’ll thank him for it. The least he can do is bury his face between your legs until you’re creaming on his tongue.
So he shuffles down to your pretty, exposed waist and lifts you up to slide a pillow under. He’s a big guy after all, he needs some more room between your thighs if he’s going to drive you crazy. And he won’t stop until you cum and then some, don’t worry. The pillow one that he has cum on and rutted his cock on like a horny teen when you were away, grunting out your name loud enough for the flatmates upstairs to hear. Even they know that you belong to him, as it should be. He slides his fingertips through the little bit of wetness your body has already produced, grinning. He hasn’t even done anything yet. You’re so cute. As he spreads it around, you try to roll over on your side, so he holds your hip in place while dropping his lips to your wetness while rolling his hips.
His tongue swipes out to taste, and as he bucks his hips into the mattress he almost decides to abandon this all together. You taste like heaven. How is he ever going to do anything other than eat you out day and night? He has volleyball to play, you know. He licks up the entire length, then using his finger to circle your entrance and slowly sliding a finger in, your body wiggling a bit in response. As he licks his tongue over your folds, spreading you open and pressing the meaty part of it to your clit, you gush around him. Of course you do, you’ve probably been waiting so long for him to finally muster up the courage. “I’ll never make you wait again,” he promises, before sucking hard at the sensitive bud. Your hips twitch harder, and you moan.
A second finger is added, and a third, before you really start wiggling around his ministrations. You’re drenching his face and fingers and the pillow beneath you already, stretched around his digits so perfectly. And your breathing is slowly speeding up with each curl and thrust of his fingers and lap of his tongue. Fuck.
If you don’t wake up soon he really might just cum in his boxers and make you lick it all up as a punishment. When he sends another glance up, your mouth is slowly opening at his unrelenting sucking of your clit, and he decides now is the time if any, to haul your legs over his shoulders and go for it. He doubles his efforts on your gushing cunny, lapping up everything you have to offer as his fingers stretch you out and your eyes flutter. “Ah— hng,” your legs shudder as you get so close to your high he can see it wash over you.
Your lip pulling between your teeth, belly clenching and hands balling up, and then you’re cumming all over his tongue and fingers and moaning out incoherent sounds. “There she is,” Tooru giggles against your center after finger fucking you through it, settling his mouth at the top again just to watch you twitch under him. At the sound of his voice, your eyes twitch again, clearly still so drowsy from both sleep and your orgasm. He smiles as he gets up on his knees, pulling his boxers down his legs. The entire front is wet with precum from where he’s been rubbing against the bed waiting for you. 
He wishes your hands would be the ones taking him and lining him up, but as they are stuck chained to the bed, he takes solace in the fact that at least they will be some other time. Maybe later tonight, when he no doubt will wake up with his cock rock hard against the curve of your ass again. You open your eyes and look around the room with visible confusion, eyes a bit cross eyed when staring at him. It’s so cute, he leans down a kiss to your lips and you don’t pull away. Well, you can’t, but he knows you wouldn’t. His tip spreads you open just right, as your brows furrow. “T-Tooru,” you mumble, before he’s sliding into your wet heat all the way and your head is pressed back into the pillows. “Tooru, wha’re you doin’?”
Your sleepy mumbles are shut up by his lips on yours, tongue being shoved into your mouth as he pulls out and shoves himself even deeper, your soft walls stretching to make room for him. He’s bigger and thicker than most, so you’re probably really feeling it. He’ll be gentle until you can handle it though, he promises, as he rolls his hips over and over while melting your tongue to his. You murmur something, louder this time, until a sharp sting makes him pull back.
You bit him. You bit his tongue, not hard enough to actually cause damage but still. He stares at your wide-eyed expression for a moment, before shaking his head and cooing at you. “Aw, did I surprise you, baby?” Your rapid breathing is so cute, chest swelling against his pounding heart. His hips don’t quite still, but he does take a second to brush his fingers past your face. “I’m sorry, it’s just me. It’s alright.”
“Tooru, what are you doing?” you croak again, tilting your head away from him to look up at your hands. “Stop, please. Please don’t.”
You poor thing, you must’ve been way too caught off guard by his surprise. But he can’t help but smile and rest his nose against your neck, hiking up your legs to around his waist. Your legs tremble, and a slight hiccup comes. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.” When you look back down, he presses a kiss to your lips, and you cry against it. So noisy for him, it’s adorable. Your teary eyes as they look up at him with a beg is too. “I’ll fuck this slutty cunny until you forgive me for scaring you. I already made you cum once, but I’ll give you as many as you want. Anything for my baby.”
“No, Tooru, please. I—” you stop talking when he pushes back in again entirely, fucking your perfect body wide open on his cock. “Tooru, why are you doing this?” you cry, pulling at the restraints harder as the situation really crashes down on you. You’re overwhelmed, your cheeks hot and tears rolling down the sides of your face as he pounds you, your legs squeezing around him. He’s not quite sure if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him out because it feels so good, but when your hands start slipping through the tight cuffs he stops you with his hand.
“Stop that, baby, you’ll hurt yourself.” You don’t listen. Stubborn girl, what are you trying to accomplish? “Stop it,” he says amore sharply this time, lifting your body a bit higher up the bed so there’s less tension of your wrists. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he wants you to hurt yourself even less. When you squeeze your eyes closed, he starts littering kisses on your face.
“Just stop struggling, I promise I’ll take good care of you. I have done that all this time, haven’t I? Just let me do the hard work.” He grunts when your body seems to get rid of all tension, giving up the fight under him. “That’s it, pretty girl. You belong to me, so let me do this right.” The pace he sets is hard and so deep he has to hold onto the headboard himself to keep you from bouncing around.
He’s sure that if your eyes were open he would be able to see the love hearts in them.
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