#- ̗̀ ❛ 「 — a lonely speaker in a conversation. ┊˙ chat 」 ̖́-

[blackwidownat2814]

Pairing: Tyler Owens x female reader, Tyler Owens x shy!reader, Tyler Owens x insecure!reader

Word Count: 1408

Summary: You begin your new job as a Tornado Wrangler (remotely), and meet most of the team. It isn't until you suffer a little mishap that you meet the man himself.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the wonderful response to the Prologue!!! I didn't think it'd be that much of a hit, so I was surprised with all the love. After finishing this chapter, I feel like it could've been part of the Prologue, but oh well. It's been a while since I've written as well, so bear with me. As always, thanks to my awesome beta, @buckysdollforlife, for their help with this and for creating the header for this story (I LOVE IT!!!!) and bestie, @13braincellsonly, for allowing me the use of their son's name and personality when I needed to come up with a horse. **All descriptions of Ziggy the horse were approved by his momma.** And as always, I will be cross-posting this to AO3. If you see this story anywhere besides AO3 or Tumblr, it's stolen.

City Girl Knows Her Stuff

You became a Wrangler near the end of the season that first year.  Kate picked you up at the airport with two members of the team: Lily and Dani.  Lily immediately pulled you into a hug, chatting a mile a minute about how excited she was to have you on the team.  Dani (perhaps picking up on your shyness) offered a handshake and big smile, welcoming you to Oklahoma.  Kate was more than happy to let Dani and Lily talk your ear off on the drive to Sapulpa, where you’d be staying with Cathy until you found a place.  She knew it was somewhat difficult for you to make friends, so she was happy to see you enjoying a conversation with two new friends.

You got to meet Dexter when he came by in the van to pick up Lily and Dani.  You thought he was funny and enjoyed some very science-centric conversations with him.  Before they all left, Lily let you take her drone for a spin.  You enjoyed it so much that for your birthday later that year, she gifted you a smaller drone that wasn’t quite like hers, but it had a small camera and small, tinny sounding speaker.  She even had it painted in your favorite color.  That would become one of your absolute favorite gifts.  It made you cry.

Like most storm chasers, you had to have a job in the off season, so you got a remote data analyst job with the NOAA offices in Norman and moved out to a place just out of Sapulpa.  This would allow you to visit Cathy at the farm and work on data in the barn workshop the Wranglers had set up.  You even got yourself a cat.  Abandoned due to his looks and runt status (according to the shelter), you snatched him up the first time you saw him.  Black cats didn’t scare you.  Life with Roach (you’d spent quite a bit of time watching The Witcher) was idyllic and you were happy.

By the time you met Boone, the Wranglers felt like family…and Boone felt like the brother you never had.  Like Boone, you were an only child and didn’t have much of an extended family and it was a bit lonely in the beginning.  The difference, however, was that Boone was an outgoing guy and it was easy for him to make friends and talk to people he didn’t know, whereas that scared you half to death most of the time.  You loved his boisterous way of being, but you also appreciated that he (like Dani) could tell when your social battery had run down and turned it down and would sometimes sit with you in a quiet environment.  Sometimes he’d sit and nap while you read or he’d pick up the latest meteorological article (or sometimes the latest comic he picked up at the shop).  He didn’t even make fun of your nickname like others had before, so you trusted him.

The day of Cathy’s pre-tornado season bbq, while cleaning some dishes, you confessed to Boone that you were nervous about meeting the head tornado wrangler himself, Tyler Owens.

“T’s a sweetheart B, you got nothin’ to worry about.  Why are ya nervous?”

“Boone!  He doesn’t know me, what if he doesn’t think I’m a right fit for the team?  What if he doesn’t like how I do work?  Y’all are famous ‘round here, what if he gets irked by the fact that big crowds make me nervous and it takes me forever to become comfortable with people?  You know it’s not easy for me to talk to people I’ve never talked to before”, you cried in exasperation.

“B, imma need you to take a breath, okay?” Boone reassured you as he placed his hands on your shoulders.  “If Ty thought any of those things, I would definitely not be workin’ with ‘em.”

You were so busy trying to get yourself to relax that you missed Kate wandering into the kitchen.

“B, are you freakin’ out about meetin’ Tyler again?” she asked.  You and Boone nodded.  “Well, you don’t have to worry.  He won’t be able to come today, said he had to drive down to Texas to see his parents.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, sending some of your hair floating up.  “Good, I have time to relax about it.  Thanks Kate.”

“Thank Tyler’s parents.”

“Thank you, Mr. & Mrs. Owens!” you said to no one in particular and dried your hands, as you looked over at your friends.  “See you two out there!”

Kate and Boone followed, but stayed on the porch, both taking twin sips from their beers.

“You think either of them has any idea what’s about to happen to ‘em?” Boone asked.

“Meaning that Tyler is going to become enamored the second she opens her mouth?”

“Yup.”

“And that she’s going to have the same thing happen to her the second she comes into contact with that cocky cowboy swagger that he exudes when you meet him the first time?”

“Yup.”

“No, I don’t think either of ‘em knows what’s coming.”

A few days before the chasing season began, you brought Roach down to Cathy’s, where he would be staying while you were out with the Wranglers for your first season on the road.  

While there, you asked Cathy if you could saddle up your favorite of her horses, Zig, nicknamed Ziggy.  He wasn’t the brightest of the bunch; he was the type of horse you’d see in a video because someone thought he was dead but in actuality, he was just sleeping.  You swore that his mother, a horse named KJ, rolled her horse eyes every time someone caught him playing dead.

Ziggy may not have been the sharpest pitchfork in the barn, and may not have enjoyed doing much of anything besides looking dead when he slept, but he enjoyed riding through fields with you.  He knew whenever he saw you approaching with a bowl that he was about to get one of his favorite snacks: ice cubes with apple bits in them.  You put Ziggy’s snack bucket down so he could munch while you brushed him and got him saddled and ready to go for a ride.

When Ziggy let you know that he was done with his snack, you popped in your earbuds and shuffled your favorite classical music playlist on Spotify.  You found it was one of your favorite ways to relax.  After you climbed on Ziggy’s back, and kicked him into gear, you took off for the open fields near the road leading up to the farm.

You’d been out there for a while when you started hearing the faint rumble of an engine, but ignored it because trucks passed near this area all the time.  You probably shouldn’t have ignored it though, because when that modified-to-withstand-tornadoes red Dodge Ram 3500 turned on to the road and took off towards the main house, Ziggy took off after it.  By now, you shouldn’t have been surprised that he recognized the truck or the person in it, but you were…and because you were so thrown off by it, your hands (stupidly) had not been holding the reins.  And because you had not held on, you went flying off Ziggy’s back while he just followed the familiar truck.  Lucky for you, the fall didn’t cause you to go unconscious, but it did knock the wind out of you after you landed hard on your back.

As you attempted to take deep breaths, you heard someone yelling and running towards you, so you tried to sit up.  The voice yelled for you to not move, so you listened and stayed on the ground, with your eyes shut.  You just lay there, waiting.

All of a sudden:

“Are you okay?” the voice asked.  You knew that you knew who the voice belonged to but you were so thrown by being thrown that your brain wasn’t focusing.  You blinked your eyes open, and your vision swam before focusing on the most beautiful face.

“Wha-”

“Are you okay, darlin’?” he asked as he helped you sit up.

“Uh…”

“Did you black out?”

“No.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Cathy’s farm, in Sapulpa.”

“Do you know your name?”  He smiled when you told him.  “Where’d you come in from?”

“New York City.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m the new data analyst for the Wranglers.”

“Well…looks like we got another city girl that knows her stuff.”

Tagging: @ladybirdbeetle7 @omgbrianab @itsdesiree86 @avengersfan25 @keyrani @thedonswife13 @lonelyghosts-stuff

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Main Masterlist

[strlingsav]

Drive: Four

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Requested: @sarcanti 🫶🏻

For this anon too since it's pretty much the same thing!!

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

Sipping intermittently from your room-temperature drink, your eyes reached Ghost's across from you. He was settled on a bar stool, watching you as you leaned against the bar, trying to avoid his penetrating gaze.

Music hummed from the speakers, a loud buzz inside the bar as it began to fill. It was late- dark and cool, nearing midnight without a shortage of people filtering in.

The two of you were content in your own world, hardly paying much attention to the conversation beside you; idle chatter from Soap and Gaz and a few other men you vaguely recognized from previous deployments.

Your leave was almost over; a few more days and you'd be back to base, far away from the cycle of unfamiliar habits. You missed the routine, knowing exactly what to expect day-after-day, but a break from the organized chaos and a little bit of freedom was enjoyable.

Simon opted to stay with you- a decision you'd not expected from him, brought up after he complained of having to stay in his own 'lonely flat'.

You'd meant it as a joke, an offer thrown into the air with no strings attached. It was another step toward something more serious than you were sure he was ready for, maybe more than you were ready for.

A nonchalant 'alright' was all he'd said, before he packed his bags and drove the two of you there.

In an effort to contain the growing relationship between you, you maintained that you were spending your leave with family. Your squad-mates were entirely unaware that the two of you were sharing your apartment, and you desperately wanted to keep it that way; you stayed light on alcohol to avoid any drunken confessions.

The bar was grimy and sticky, smelling like an ash tray and spilled beer, but it was comfortable. No obligations, no expectations- only Simon's blackened eyes undressing you from across the bar.

You were flustered, reasonably so, thighs squeezing together with the imagery of his long fingers gripping your waist instead of the glass in his hands. You broke eye contact, moving your attention to Johnny who'd been chatting away the entire time before it became obvious you were fantasizing about him.

You liked to keep your personal life private, especially from coworkers, even before yourself and Simon founded your new situation, if it were to be called anything. You liked things that way, and it came with an added bonus; no one ever pried.

It made your secret affair a bit easier to keep secret. The only downfall being that with the eyes of your teammates watching every move, there was no palpable excuse as to why the stranger across the bar couldn't buy you a drink.

You could've lied, said you were married or seeing someone, but it would've created another layer of secrets you'd have to remember to keep. So, you sucked in a sharp breath, smiled politely and nodded curtly as he slid onto the seat beside you and handed you a beer.

Simon watched the entire exchange. His rationale had nearly all but gone, mostly replaced by a stinging sensation in his chest that threatened his temper. Even as your eyes met his across the table, and he could see the nervous smile on your lips, he felt nothing but betrayal.

You could feel the warmth radiating off of him. His eyes had finally left yours and were honed in on the smiling stranger leaning in close, brushing your arm with his. It made you cringe to imagine how it made him feel- Simon already had a bad temper, inexplicably enraged by the smallest things, and this man coiling himself around you was sure to make him combust.

You sneaked a glance up, your eyes meeting, offering an apologetic expression. It didn't seem to have the intended effect, as Simon stood from his seat, pushing off without a word.

"Where're you off to?" Johnny spoke up, catching Simon before he could slink away.

"Gotta piss," He muttered.

You watched his shoulders sway as he sauntered to the washrooms, an overwhelming amount of guilt settling in your gut.

You made polite conversation, but your body was stiff as a board. It was difficult to allow yourself to play into the charade of interest, especially with the man you truly cared about fuming just metres away.

Simon had reappeared, finding the man with his hand on your waist, his body caging you off from everything and everyone else. He couldn't handle it- watching the exchange made his stomach churn, his chest tighten with anger. He abruptly left his seat, lunging for the exit.

You cleared your throat, throwing back the final sip of beer before turning to the stranger with a meek smile.

"Thanks for the drink. I've got to get heading out, though," You mumbled, your attention focused on Simon.

You offered a short goodbye to Johnny and Kyle, who seemed just as perplexed by your quick escape, before sliding from your standing position. The stranger didn't have a chance to reply; you were dead-set on the exit, hurriedly walking out to escape the clutches of his unwanted advances.

You found Simon leaning against the rough brick of the building, a lit cigarette lighting up the outline of his lips.

You wanted to blurt out, 'I'm sorry', but a trickle of resentment- and pettiness- made its way to your thoughts before that- you hadn't had the conversation yet. Maybe you never would.

You knew your situation was wrong, entirely wrong, and illegal- but the part of you that hadn't yet become numb to normal interactions wondered if that was what he even wanted; if he wanted only you.

"You done with your li'l show?" He asked, nonchalant, uncaring, but it had a bite to it.

"My show?" You repeated, watching him stand to his full height as he scuffed out the cigarette.

"With that bloke," He nodded his head, gesturing to the bar. "Lettin' him buy you a drink, touch you." His tone was venomous, accusatory- and you hated it.

"What was I supposed to do?" You scoffed.

"You've got a mouth, haven't you?" He was stepping toward you.

"That's not fair," You said, tilting your head. "People were watching."

Your voice faltered as he closed in on you, your eyes meeting his and finding the glazed-over expression of pure anger in his gaze. It made you feel guilty; maybe not irrationally so, but guilty nonetheless.

You wanted to go home, wanted to forget how you made him feel, forget how guilty your conscience was even when the stipulations of your situation weren't clear.

You turned on your heel, heading toward the parking lot at a leisurely pace, hoping he'd catch on that you wanted to drop it and go home.

"You want fuckin' fair?" He called, quickly catching up to you with fewer strides, slowing as he watched you pull the door of his truck open. "I ain't the one bein' felt up right in-fuckin'-front o'you." His hand reached the side of his truck.

You exhaled sharply, before turning to face him. Your glare was suffocating, standing to your tallest height as you furrowed your brows. He had cornered you against the truck, scowling down at you, though your expression could more than contend with his.

"You haven't asked me not to fuck or see other people," You threw your hands up, continuing before he could interrupt you. "Maybe if you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

There was silence for only a few beats, before he moved even closer. You knew it wasn't entirely true- neither of you had made the effort to discuss where exactly you were headed. Your flustered judgement got the better of you.

"You been fuckin' other blokes?" He asked, suddenly stepping closer, his voice quivering ever-so slightly. It wasn't sadness in his tone, it was jealousy, anger.

You tilted your head, nearly astonished by his ability to avoid the most prevalent argument in your statement. Regardless- it wasn't entirely the lack of commitment that lead you to accepting the strangers advances, it was the presence of your squad mates. Nonetheless, you'd honed-in on his noncommittal attitude and had no patience for hypocrisy.

"You expect me to believe you haven't been sleeping with other people?" You shot back, watching his eyes dart back and forth between yours.

You held your breath, subconsciously; you knew the answer you wanted- you wanted him to tell you it was special. You were special- but your Lieutenant wasn't that kind of man.

"Yeah," He answered, deadpanned and stern. "'Cause I haven't." He leaned in even closer, nearly nose to nose as he shrunk himself down to your face. "Answer my fuckin' question."

You gave a harsh no, hidden behind gritted teeth and tight lips. He was shrouded by anger, and instead he spoke over you, pupils expanding in the darkness, redness pooling in his neck and chest.

"Got me on a fuckin' leash while you're out shaggin' other people," He spat.

"I haven't slept with anyone else," You said. "But if you don't want to be tied down, you've always been free to leave." Your hands flailed as you fought back the tears welling in your eyes.

It had been a while since you'd been close to tears; especially because of a man. The familiar sting in your eyes, the lump growing in your throat. You'd had little expectation that Simon would be much different from others before him, and a part of you hoped otherwise, but it still caught you off-guard.

He straightened his back, still caging you in behind his arm. He released a quiet breath, his shoulders dropping as he took a moment to process the conversation.

"Didn't say that," He uttered, reeking of nonchalance, and a hint of surrender.

"You did," You said. "If it's how you feel, maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore." Your gaze pored into his, unbreaking and persistent.

Your vision was blurrier than before, your voice threatening to waiver, crack, but your composure was held together by the pitiful hope that he'd do what you wanted- what you needed.

He retracted his hand, idling awkwardly while he searched his mind for a response. You watched his eyes dart from yours, cogs turning.

"That what you want?"

Your brows furrowed. "No."

He was quiet again- a common reoccurrence but not usually with you. He had his moments of silence, though his stone-like stance put you off. The calloused part of you had already begun to wall-off the the feelings you'd since developed for him, blinking away the tears gathering in your eyes and clearing your throat.

Sudden chatter outside the bar alerted you both, remembering that inside were the coworkers you'd been trying to avoid. Simon cleared his throat, standing up straight.

"Get in," He muttered, holding the door as you slowly turned to jump into his truck.

Once settled beside you, he turned the truck over, heading for your apartment. There was more silence- hardly even the sound of breathing. He didn't look your way, or rest his hand on your thigh, and a part of you took it as a premonition for the difficult conversation to come.

You'd poured a glass of wine by the time he returned from your room- dressed in only his sweatpants, void of his mask; vulnerable. You stood at the counter's edge, taking a slow sip to avoid speaking while he stared at you.

There was only the sound of deep breaths, a stalemate while you locked eyes. Simon knew he'd crumble- you'd grown too valuable to let slip away- but not without delving into the evening's events.

You sighed as he neared, wandering almost aimlessly through your apartment. Your shoulders collapsed in defeat; growing tired of the silent war waging itself between you.

"What are we doing? Where is this going?" You sighed, catching his eyes as you looked up.

As badly as you wanted to fix the anger and frustration brewing beneath your skin, you knew it would take a lot- maybe more than he'd give. You'd known from the start he wasn't like usual men, and you didn't expect him to be, but the issue at hand was starting to snowball.

"Whad'you want? You want a ring? A kid?" He tilted his head, chest expanding as he neared the kitchen island.

You shook your head, ignoring the mockery in his tone, "I need to know you want me. Only me. Even just for now, not forever. But if not-" Your lips rubbed together. "I can't keep risking my job for something going nowhere."

"My arse has been on the line too," He reminded you, his hand finding the counter. "A lifetime's worth of hard work and shite I ain't proud of- threatened by you. I wouldn't've bothered with any of it if I didn't want you."

"That's not what I meant," You tilted your head, examining his eyes. "I appreciate the risks of our situation-"

"I don't think you do," He moved even closer. "I'm riskin' everything just by bein' here. That ain't an answer for you? Doesn't tell you how fuckin' much I want you?" His breaths were heavy once he'd finished his sentence.

You blinked- shocked by the unexpected passion coming from a man whose stoicism was unmatched by anyone you'd ever known.

He set his jaw, working up the courage to solidify what you wanted desperately to hear. It was like he was choking for air, his chest tight, deeply afraid to offer his trust and commitment, aloud, without something tangible to prove you'd reciprocate it.

His jaw clenched again, his eyes flickering between yours, deciding once and for all that he'd without-a-doubt take what you'd offer without a second thought, even if he had to lay his peace of mind on the line.

"'M with you. Only want you." He stared at you, moving closer. "Don't want anyone else havin' you, either. Call it whatever you like but I ain't been subtle about it."

His words melted away the grudge you'd been holding, finding solace in his words. You had no intention of holding on to anger, especially not as he peeled back the layers of armour protecting him from being hurt. Your lips pursed, biting your lip before meeting his eyes.

"I feel the same," You answered, nodding firmly, meeting his eyes. There was a brief pause, preparing yourself to offer your commitment. "I should've said so sooner, but I only want you, Simon." Your words softened, melting slowly into his ears before settling in his stomach with weight and warmth.

It was so genuine, so utterly vulnerable he was nearly overwhelmed. For a moment, he almost forgot how poorly it could end. It was just the two of you; two people in a normal, mundane relationship, in the dim light of your kitchen, exchanging a stare that dared to pull you into an alternate universe where you didn't have to worry.

He hummed softly- a surrender. He gently, almost begrudgingly, pulled you into him by the fabric of your shirt, a soft kiss against your lips that was like sealing a deal- an exchange of commitment.

Still a bit irritated at your lack of observation, he threatened to pull away. Before he could, you teetered on your toes, moving to drape your arms around his shoulders as he wrapped an arm around your waist. You held him close, pressed against your body as you reconnected your lips.

"I'm sorry," You whispered. "I should've known better."

When he hummed in response, you kissed his lips again. He was stiff against you, though you felt him relax into your touch while you spoke in his ear.

"I'm glad you're here. Happy you're here."

His eyes searched yours for a moment, before he pulled you in by your waist, his lips engulfing yours with warmth and wetness.

You hummed softly, leaning into his touch, standing taller to press your lips against his. You exhaled softly as he slid his tongue against yours, parting your lips with force.

His warm, strong hands tugged you closer, hand moving to hold the side of your face as he guided you against his lips.

He grunted as he lifted you to his hips, large palms and fingers digging into the back of your thighs. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as he began heading for your room; you kept your arms tangled in the short hair on the nape of his neck.

He sat down, your thighs landing on either side of his as you straddled his lap. You pulled your shirt over your head, breathless and rushed, before pulling him back in. His lips fit perfectly together with yours, his tongue sliding between your lips to collide with yours.

His hand clung tightly to your waist, while his other dipped beneath your waistband and panties, gently finding his way over your clit. Rough fingertips traced it softly, a jolt running up your back at the sudden pressure.

"Simon," Yoir voice was airy and desperate, your hands grabbing pulling him closer.

He grunted in response, hardly recognizing his name from your needy mouth, and instead was focused on how soft and wet you were, his warm lips making contact with your neck.

You moaned, cradling his head as he nipped and licked, biting softly at your neck, the cool air of the room bringing goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You writhed against him, your thighs squeezing his between them, trying to stay still while his hand explored the flesh of your pussy.

Your soft moans were muffled by his neck, panting quietly into his skin as your fingers grasped at his back. Your lips made contact with his neck, sloppy and haphazard, making your way to the sharp crease of his jaw before finding his lips. He couldn't help but press into you, grind his already-hard cock against you, finding some measure of relief and pleasure.

"Doin' my fuckin' head in, you know that?" He breathed, warm breath against your neck that made you shiver.

A subtle nod between soft moans was accompanied by a meek and stubborn, "Yeah. I'm sorry."

His hand slipped from your pants, reaching for his sweats as he began to slide them down his hips.

You stood from his lap, slowly pulling your jeans down your thighs until they pooled on the floor, nudging them with your foot before dropping to your knees. You inched forward, your eyes meeting Simon's with an apologetic look- one that intrigued him as much as it turned him on.

"Go on," He nodded. "Let's see how sorry you are."

Your cheeks flushed as his hand came to your cheek, following your lead as your lips puckered around the tip of his cock. He nearly shivered- each time was like the first all over again, unable to overcome the feelings of pure lust when he watched you on your knees.

Your lips wrapping around his cock, eyes locking with his when you'd take him deeper into your throat. The feeling of your throat closing when you'd gag on his dick made him grunt quietly and subconsciously grab a fistful of your hair while he resisted the urge to fuck your throat until you couldn't breathe.

He liked watching you struggle to take it all- the desperation to please in your eyes, the shift in your hips to ease the growing discomfort of your swollen, almost sore, clit. He'd take care of it- always did, always would.

He'd close his eyes only momentarily to listen to your mouth; sloppy sounds of saliva and sucking in sharp breaths. He preferred watching, though, especially when your eyes began to water, your nose began to run, and you'd be sliding your hand up and down his cock to ease the pain in your jaw.

You met his gaze again- eyes half-shut, cheeks flushed, his hand on the back of your head as he guided your lips up and down his cock.

"That's good," He muttered, "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart."

Your heart would race when he praised you, soft murmurs of thanks that vibrated against his cock. He grinned momentarily while you tried to talk with a mouthful of his cock.

"Come 'ere," He leaned back. "Come sit on it, love."

You stood, allowing him to guide your hips over his lap, his eyes settled on yours as he helped you slowly take every inch. Your mouth fell open with disbelief- your lubricated walls drew him in without resistance, his calloused hands on your waist helping to lower you down.

"Right there," He muttered, finally exhaling as your bodies were flush together. "Good fuckin' girl."

Sitting up straight, his hand moved around to grab a handful of your ass, suddenly pulling you forward. A sharp gasp left your lips, falling into his chest with your palms.

You couldn't resist, regardless of how sore your hips were, stretched out from the position, your thighs aching; you rolled your hips forward, a shiver and quiet moan of satisfaction coming from your lungs.

Your arms draped around his shoulders, enthusiastically grinding your hips against his, slowly rising up and lowering yourself to feel his cock push back up inside you. Your soft pants hit his ear, warm breath bringing goosebumps to the surface of his skin.

He pulled you close, his own quiet grunts could be heard in the quiet of your room, especially as your pace sped up. His fingers would squeeze your waist and ass, gripping tightly so you wouldn't stop.

"How's it feel?" He asked, turning his head to watch your lips part with a deep moan. "You like ridin' my cock, don't you, sweetheart?"

"Yes," You mumbled. "Yes- fuck, please touch me," you whispered against his neck, your body hunching over his.

His spread his thighs, his fingers finding your clit as you continued to bring yourself up and down on his cock. Your head fell back, fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, eyes squeezing shut.

Encircling your clit, his touch, combined with his girth sliding in and out, was more than enough to have your stomach tightening. Your moans had turned to choked gasps for air as you neared your climax, strong fingers still keeping their pace on your clit, black eyes watching you fall apart on his cock.

You froze, squeezing his cock as you came, harsh waves of pleasure that made you shudder. He sounded strained, holding in every sound that threatened to spill while your pussy clenched around him.

Rather than waiting for you to gather your composure, he lifted his hips up and began thrusting into you. It was slow at first, quickly turning needy and desperate when he saw the sweat on your brow, and disheveled expression.

"Fuck," He grunted. "Will y'let me cum in you?"

You nodded, too dazed for words, and his own anticipation got the better of him.

"Oughta get you pregnant," He huffed. His hand trailed up your waist, to gather your hair in his fist and pull. "You want it? Wanna be all fuckin' mine, don't you?"

You nearly sobbed, a quiet cry leaving your lips when his grip on your hair tightened and he forced your hips forward to meet his.

"I'm all yours," You answered, nearly all air, breathless amidst his chase for orgasm. "All yours, Simon."

Your words pushed him over the edge, a crippling hold on your waist holding you in place as he thrusted a few more times, forcefully. A low growl against your ear as he came inside you made you shiver, especially as his warm cum filled you.

"All mine, yeah?" He said, his breathing heavy.

You nodded against the side of his head, exhaling harshly.

You couldn't help but feel conflicted at the bittersweet revelation. You were his- entirely, but decades of playing pretend was not what you'd expected for yourself. You fell into him, ignoring the gnawing in your gut and pretending that the reality you'd created for yourselves was forever.

[punk-in-docs]

‼️ LUST AT FIRST BITE‼️

The Lost Boys AU, feat; Vamp!Frances x Human!Birdie

3.9k words

Summary: He’s tucked away where he usually is. Playing at the lie of life, watching on from the shadows, up on the roof of the tacky gift shop, puffing on a cigarette. A lone evil fiery eye cutting in the dark. Eyes scraping over every pretty person in this crowd, and seeing who, oh who, will be his dinner.

Eenie. Meenie. Miney. You-

(The awesome blood drip banner is not mine! I found on @riottsrph ‘s page. Thank you!)

Santa Carla, 1987

The boardwalk was always packed with people. Heaving in summer. Air full of noise and screams from the denizens on the giant dipper. The snaking notched backbone that arches, governs, over this place. Gulls shriek. Flickering glare of neon and flashing bulbs filling your sight everywhere. Greedy eyes don’t know where to rest first.

People flock to this place in their hundreds. This colourful edifice that exudes joy and junk food fuelled adrenaline. Teenage euphoria, arcade games and fast thrills, right next to walls plastered with flapping scales of forever-mounting missing posters. Twitching in the sea air as people sagged with worry, gather and weep and pin up even more. Hollow smiles, dead black and white eyes, all unseeing, plead from flyers.

Too many flyers.

You had to bob and weave to get anywhere in this dense bubbling crowd.

His hand is firmly tucked in yours. Smell of sugary popcorn and hot dogs is ripe, carried with sea foam on hot summer air. Gusting over your heads as you move along.

You met Nick in the pizzeria just off the boardwalk. You’d gone for a night out with friends. You both bonded damn near instantly over pineapple on pizza. Avid fans, addicts even. You ate pizza. He flirted. You flirted back.

He comped your meal when you went to pay. “On the house babe.” With a grin that should be snapped in vogue. Stunning,

Way too stunning, even in his company issue yellow and red polo tee with the pizzeria name embroidered on the breast.

He asked you to wait by the Wave Jammer for him after his shift finished. You did. The girls send you off freshly glossed and hair fluffed, sniggering.

He walked you to your bus stop when the boardwalk lights began to dim. Clicking off one by one. Sodium streetlights the only things leaving their dozy glow. The sound of the sea lashing sand in the distance. He gave you a sweet mind melting kiss. Backed by the harmony of waves and denizens screams. Passed you a glossy pizza flyer with his number scrawled right on it in thick marker.

He’d called. He’d swung by and taken you out. Your second date had been in a cheap mom and pop trattoria uptown. Candlelight, cheap Chianti, and happy conversation which quickly ended with you screwing each others brains out, up against the brick wall in the filthy back alley with your panties dangling off your ankle.

And now here you were- on your fourth date. Quickly becoming drunk on touch. You wandered the arcade dodging sugar buzzed kids, cheeks sticky with cotton candy, and abrasive punks with neon spiked hair. You were chatting easy, and flirting over arcade games.

Tasting sea salt and red slushy off his tongue. You tugged each other along and pulled too and fro like the inky tide wrapped up in the night just beyond the border of sand and the fierce orange lick of oil can bonfires on the beach. Life was fit to burst with fun. You were young and had lovesick heart eyes for each other.

He kept on ushering you close and kissing you again. Hand across your waist. Balmy hot. Even through your dress. It’s a strappy dress, bright purple like amethyst or lilac petals. You let your hair loose. Kinky and big in the humid sea air. Lou Gramm is playing clunky rock music over the speakers.

Nick is just next level gorgeous. You have to admit. Literally panty dropping. Lips rose pink. Caramel skin. Long lashes which kiss his cheeks like he’s Bambi. Smile like a damn Calvin Klein model. And the dark sweep of coiffed curls to match. One cross earring glimmers against the backdrop of his hair.

You keep sneaking your hand in the back pocket of his trousers. Disgustingly crushing on this man. The way he loops his arm to your waist though, says he returns very that sentiment.

He looks totally casual here next to you in bleach blue jeans, sneakers, and a blood wine shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Arm slung around your waist as you lean at the balustrade looking down onto the beach opposite a tacky tourist gift shop selling keychains and chalk painted rocks. Snow globes swirl with chunky glitter from glass shelves in the window.

His arm suddenly squeezes you in closer when a gaggle of dirt bikes shriek their way up the board walk toward you, pedestrians scattered like ripples on waves to avoid being mowed flat. Four bikes. You can hear seedy rock blasting from a boom box that one of them has strapped to their bikes. WASP, you think. All shriek and shred.

They weave and race through the thinning crowds. Whooping and hollering like a pack of feral hyenas. Tongues out. Grinning sneers at people like Jack O’Lanterns. One with a backcombed blonde mullet that’s stiff with product, and made you think of a lions mane, makes a crazed face at you both. Tongue pointing out his mouth as he leers at you both especially. Tight white pants on and a swallow tail pointed coat like a dam circus ringleader flying behind him. He’s looking you up a down with a flick of his eyes. Hungrily.

As soon as they came, all noise, filth and fury, they go. Racing fast off into the night in a stinking cloud of engine exhaust and harrowing, whooping cackles.

“Jerks.” You scoff derisively. Glaring after the deafening bikes. Had Nick not pulled you in they’d have knocked you flat. He nuzzled your jawbone. Kisses you there too.

“It’s alright baby. I got you.” He smiles. You put your hand on his. Thankful. You kiss him again. His hand comes up and cups the back of your head.

It’s then you first feel it.

Something stings on your skin. Sudden and sharp. Mean. Like a bite, or a pinch. A little drop of sulphuric acid. Right at the nape of your neck. Feeling of your hair standing up on end. Skin turns to poison pinpricks.

Someone’s eyes were on you.

You pull back, Nick’s hand slips back on your neck, you’re glancing around trying to see through the thronging clouds, to catch whoever was looking at you. Your hair whips around your face from the sea air. The breeze that wraps your skin.

It brings the smell of you right on across to him. Past the stench of hot dogs, salty sandy air, and sea froth. Sweat and cheap perfume, plus the scent of some recently used pink bar soap caught in the crease of your elbow.

Drifting across. Calling to him the same way that throb of your carotid does. A full lively artery housed under sweat stroked skin. He bets you taste simply delicious. Syrupy like hot honey. He’s salivating already.

He’s tucked away where he usually is. Playing at the lie of life, watching on from the shadows, up on the roof of the tacky gift shop, puffing on a cigarette. A lone evil fiery eye cutting in the dark. Eyes scraping over every pretty person in this crowd, and seeing who, oh who, will be his dinner.

Eenie. Meenie. Miney. You-

He’s up there. Keeping shadows company. Wind carving around him on the roof. Wrapped up in a big bomber leather jacket, the words ‘GO TO HELL’ scrawled across his back in white letters, emblazoned with rhinestones. An assortment of buckles and zips hanging off him, where he perched like a bat - a bat fresh off the brooding Bauhaus nightclub scene. Not even the Santa Carla heat could penetrate his skin and warm his old, dead bones.

Bones, under lean muscles and skin glittering in so much jewellery. Studs and chains hang off his shoulders. and biker boots. Many chains, necklaces, one strand of pearls and a rosary, dripping with crosses linked across his neck - darkly ironic nature of that made him smile. A gothic dipped punk bearing holy crosses. Eyes lined in kohl. Scratchy tattoos on his arms. Fingers layered in goth rings. Daggers in hearts. Crosses and bejewelled skulls. Billy Idol eat your fucking heart out.

Don’t tempt him actually. He’s too hungry. He’d swallow a heart tonight in one clean bite.

Hair slicked back on his head, coming to a kinked curl where it brushes his collar. Eyes dipped into cinnamon brown. But in all these neons they seemed to drop acidly into nasty black. Wide and dark like a cats. Something that definitely prowls and lopes around with grave grace. Danger simmers to a boil constantly around him and every gang on this boardwalk has learned the hard way not to mess. He’s made ugly reminders when those moron gangs get too big for their knock off DM boots.

He will serve grisly reminders of why he’s the top of the food chain here - with great feral pleasure. He’s been here since before the boardwalk itself even existed. Way back when it was a victorian bathhouse for fucks sake.

He takes a deep pull. Plucks the fiery cig from his smirking mouth. Fingernails blunt and chipped painted black underneath his fingerless leather gloves. Teeth too white and sharp as he smiles. Marlboro smoke curling around carnivore teeth.

He flicks the cigarette away. Sparks spray across the roof where it lands. Done with it. He’s found his next source of satisfaction. His hunger is awake and roaming. Baying for a feed.

He watches your date take your hand. Twirl you in his arms so your hair and your pretty skirts fly. He leads you towards the cotton candy stand. You can hear the old timey jangle of fun fair music. He likes the thought of pure spun sugar - blue as cornflowers - being ready for him on the bed of your tongue.

A smirk writ across his lips as he steps, then drops fully into the shadows behind the building. His sturdy boots crunch on fast food trash as he lands. Greasy puddles capturing neon signs make up this back alley. Now his blood is pumping hot. He licks his lips.

You’re on the carousel when you feel it come back again. Stronger. Nearer. You feel a gaze burn the back of your head like someone’s stubbing out a cigarette on you.

So sudden it makes you pull back from his kiss - like you’d been suddenly jabbed with a huge hypodermic needle. Felt the chilling flush of cold poison slide into your blood.

Cause baby, that’s him all over.

Every inch caustic, acidic poison.

The worst of the very worst, of hell’s lowest dredgings.

A flush of unease grabs you. Gasping, you twist from where you’re sat on the horse. Holding the twisted pole. Bracelet sliding down your arm. That sensation- it scared you.

Music whirls in your ears. Sea air laced with the scent of kettle corn pulses around you with the red and yellow lights. You peer around to try and see in-between the poles and crowds.

You can’t see anything noticeable. No one stands out. They’re all blurs and distortion whizzing by you to a chirpy carnival tune. You watch for eyes to meet yours as you dip and bob on the horse, and none come.

“Babe?” Nick asks you. His dark brows creasing in the middle from your sudden flinching away.

Hand comes warm and comforting on your arm. Trying to bring you back. You turn. But your stomach is squirming with unease. You mask it with a smile. Sweet as the huge cotton candy he just bought you.

“It’s nothing...” You chirp. A Lie. Your hand back on his again. Letting his comforting smile buoy you. You settle your attention back to him. Not to the graze on your skin that’s coiling your spine like a fucking venom spitting serpent.

“Why don’t I go and get us something to drink huh? Maybe a lemonade?” He suggests. Swinging around the horse and lifting the back of your hand to his mouth to kiss it. The other is rubbing the back of your neck. Soothing way your clammy panic.

It makes you smile. His doting on you. Made you feel like you hung the stars. With your head spinning and your nerves nudged into the wrong side of uneasy, you could use some sugar and a welcome distraction.

“That would be great, actually...” You smile. It feels hollow even to your mind. Your head is spinning like a top on this carousel and you want something sweet to wash everything sour thats nipping at your mind, away.

He kisses you sweetly on the lips. Taste of sea salt and cherry slushie again. Savouring him before he goes. Ralph Lauren cologne. His soft curls through your fingers before he steps away. And then with a flash of that stunning smile, he hops off the carousel, and within a minute he’s gone. Swallowed into the heaving crowds.

So you bob and dip on the carousel horse all on your own. Watching the room fly by in a twirl of chilli red and golden yellow.

You’re not without company for very long.

Distracted, you scan the entrance to the carousel for Nick on what must be your final whirl around.

So distracted are you, head turned, back to him. It allows him to sneak in.

Your spine once again turns to scraping prodding needles when a drift of something comes over your shoulder. Something insidious slides to your conscious; something acrid yet smooth you take notice of. You liken it to whiskey. Smooth yet rough all at once. You hate whiskey.

Smoky cigarettes bittered with engine exhaust. A sweet tinge of cotton candy. Copper metal, warm pennies. The heavy presence of someone lingering behind you. The brush of a clammy leather jacket. The sound of a leather glove squeezing and twisting on the pole of the horse opposite you.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing riding all on her own?” Comes a dulcet purr from beside you.

You look at the source of this voice; seeing nothing but a trouble wrapped punk suddenly stood next to you. As if materialised from the same acrid engine smoke that clings to his leathers.

Brown eyes deep enough to dive in. In this light, they are black as a cats. A smirk on his face that makes you shiver. Lips so plump and beautiful it made you think of kisses - plump lips slick with too much spit and wet tongues. He had lips that looked like paradise - the likes you’ve seen only in seedy pornos. However. Trouble virtually hummed through him like a live wire. Get too close risk getting your fingers singed, girl. Burnt ozone.

“Looking like a lost little baby bird. All alone out your nest.” He comments as you frown at him.

“I’m not on my own. I’m with someone.”You tell him. Steely ire woven to your words like chain mail. Back off creep.

“Lucky someone.” He shoots back. All panther smooth. Packed with flirt. Eyes roaming down to your legs and back up again. He can smell that pretty boys cologne and sweat he’d rubbed all over you. The stink of some prissy designer cologne. That won’t do at all.

“Can’t convince you to ditch them can I? Baby.” He smirks. Prowling around you.

“I got a bike. We could take a little drive up the beach a ways down west. Past the bluff. I know a cosy little spot. Get a campfire going.” He charms.

You feel the imperative need to keep your eyes on him. Untrusting.

He moves with such liquid fluidity not even the whirl of the carousel affects his gait. Walks with a cocksure pace like he owns the place. He’s done this before. Doubtless.

“No thanks.” You reply archly. You know trouble when it comes loping up to your side in eyeliner and jangling jewellery. Plain as the nose on your face.

Of course it doesn’t put him off one bit. It makes him dig his teeth in deeper. With glee. The challenge was the tastiest part of the chase.

He chuckles. “Only, I’m awful curious. Never seen you round here before. Now, I’d sure as shit remember a pretty face like yours.”

“I’m not a tourist. I live here.” You reply snippily. You live but two miles from here. With your dying houseplant for company and dead end job. Your only relative being your old blind great aunt, Rositsa.

“And I don’t remember wanting an annoying prick to come crashing my date, trying his luck and barking up the wrong tree entirely.” You snap back. A pretty little nasty smile on your lips. Sweet like cherries and cream.

“Breaking my heart over here, sugar.” He smiles. Undeterred.

You doubt he had one to break.

He was all smarm and swagger. Definitely sans heart.Probably had tried it on with any easy party girl who got drunk and made moony love eyes in his direction. He seems like he has some void inside. Something he tried to fill with stranger sex and drugs and trouble. And blood.

And it’s something he’ll never be able to satiate. Not with all the infinite time he’s literally got viced in his leather gloved hands.

So he daggers his way through these crowds. Chows down cheap boardwalk takeout from the golden dragon right out the cartoon. Sneaks into rides without paying. Pick pockets sunburnt tourists. Snorts lines of angel dust off filthy bathroom counters. Throws molly down his neck every night and washes it down with tequila shots. Endlessly abrasive to all authority and flirting with anything bearing a pulse. Dynamite pace predator life. Undisputed King of this neon arcade kingdom.

“Maybe I could bark up the right tree.” He seeks.

“My date will be back soon.” You say. In the hopes it shakes him off. Makes him get a clue.

“He seems to be taking his sweet ass time. Doesn’t he…. Maybe he got lost.” He decides. Voice all sing song and light.

Swaying in closer like you aren’t giving him ‘fuck off’ vibes. Eyeing daggers. How he so likes sharp things. Lust that feels like it could prick skin it’s so sharp. Theres smoke and something mysteriously copper on his breath.

“Maybe there’s a line.” You concede. Boredly done with this conversation. The carousel has to be coming to a stop soon. You want to get off this ride. It’s not fun anymore.

“Maybe he’s gotten distracted by something leggy and pretty…” He remarks with a raise of his brows. “No shortage of skirt round here.” He grins.

It feels like swallowing a boulder to admit to that. Nick was a flirt, sure. You guys weren’t exclusive. But that nasty shred of doubt made a home in your stomach. Birthed anxiety in your veins.

“Listen jerk, go play around with someone else, alright.” You snap. Eyes narrowed You pull your purse strap on your shoulder. You slip off your horse and come to stand. Ready to get off. Rides no fun anymore.

“Names Frances.” He supplies. “And uh, I’m good baby bird. Don’t have anywhere else I gotta be.”

“Lucky me.” You bite out. Tone all sharp poison.

Oh, he wanted to take you home right now and turn your goddamn bed into a crime scene - or the aftermath of a porno shoot. Maybe both if he’s feeling generous.

“Now, If you wouldn’t mind y’know….fucking off…” You make a move to pass him. You’re gonna go find Nick.

He doesn’t budge an inch.

You stand firm. Chest to chest. His arms make brackets against the poles. Closing you in. He tilts his head. The kink in his hair brushes against his collar. A ruinous little curl comes loping over his forehead.

“Come find me if you want a real date. Little bird. I’ll make good and sure that you won’t be able to walk afterwards.” He smirks.

Before reaching one half leather clad finger over to brush a curl of hair back over your bare shoulder. His touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. Serpent slither down your spine that claws at your heels. Flushed arsenic in your blood.

“I’ll make it hard for you to walk right now if you don’t get out my way.” You threaten.

He seemed mildly turned on by the idea. “Promise or a threat?” He checks.

“Move.” Comes bitten out your mouth. All low and venomous. He likes the shape of your lips when you’re angry. Lush. Angry. He likes your lipstick too. Love to taste that.

“I hang out by the arcade. Join me when you doubtlessly get bored of that sad sack boy.” He smiles as if it’s certain. As if he already has your agreement on the subject. Loitering in the nearest arcade shadow near you, ready.

“I’ll be waiting, Birdie.” He whispers filthily into your ear. Too close for comfort.

A zip of danger as you feel hot cigarette breath ghost over the tip of your ear. His chest front brushing yours. Zips and buckles and necklaces. Cold. Makes heart race like hypoxia. You feel drunk and stunned. Scary drunk. And stunned in a nasty stinging way - like you’ve been electrified and can’t move.

You actually feel your heart internally jolt when he puts his mouth to your cheek. Presses a kiss to your cheekbone that you feel sink into your bones like acid.

You jolt. The ride slows to a stop.

You blink back into reckoning, peering around. In amongst the bubbling crowds of teens getting off. Parting around your prone form like water around a rock as you lean on the horse for mercy. You can’t see him. He’s gone. In a snap of leather and seemingly, the blink of an eye. A puff of smoke. Like those old magicians in black and white movies - masking exit in a cloud of silvery sulphur.

You get off the ride and fight your way through the throngs to come out to the boardwalk. The endless ocean before you. Black as spades as the waves lash the shore. Music follows you as you walk along to the food stands.

You kept scanning the crowds. Hoping one face would resemble his. That he’d be walking back to you with that million dollar white smile, and a couple cups of lemonade in his hands. You keep searching.

Nothing.

You get to the food stalls. Spend a lot of time weaving around people, darting tourists and sugar high kids, and hoping to catch sight of him.

Your once buoyant heart begins to sink low in your chest. Clunking down each and every one of your ribs like a bowling ball. Crushing your lungs.

You hang around by the stands, leaning against the railing, feeling the balmy wind and sea air whip your hair around. You keep scanning. Hoping this nasty little voice in your head was wrong. That he’s just lost in the crowds, and he’ll catch up to you eventually.

It’s when the crowds begin to thin out, that the last remainders of your hope does too. Strangled to a silent suffocating death.

You check your watch. They’d be closing the boardwalk gates soon. The neon lights would dim. The only sound left soon will be the papery rattle of those missing flyers where they are pinned.

You walk briskly for your bus stop in heels that are starting to pinch. Your heart the same state as your feet - ragged and sore. You brush away tears with the back of your hand as they fall. You tell yourself it’s the salt in the sea air you can taste. That’s all.

You’d let hope make a home. More fool you.

Eyes, black as a cats, watch your back all the way from the building roof where he hides. Half cloaked in shadow. Lighting up again. Wiping drips of blood from the corner of his mouth.

He smeared his mouth on his leather jacket sleeve before putting the cigarette between his teeth. Chuckling as he pulled smoke in with crimson smeared teeth. Blood rush - singing with bliss and euphoria.

His poor lost baby bird. All on her own.

❤️ Tagging the JQ babes; lmk if you want removing or adding pls ❤️

@indouloureux @trashmouth-richie @atabigail @lunatictardis @waywardrose @hillarymurray4 @lurkingprincess @ramona-thorns @joequinnswhore @iliveforotps @eddiesskittle @rose-tinted @lluviamg06 @ravensfromvalhalla @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @morganamoonstone @gvtosbith @munsonswhoresposts2 @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @sugarcoated-lame @anaisweird @cinnamoncunt @red-lipstick-bisexual @wheels-of-despair @tvserie-s-world @callmeloverr @ho-for-joequinn-fics @bettyfrommars @rip-quizilla @songforeddiemunson @cool-nick-miller @sheneedsrocknroll92 @rehfan @pedgito @dracomaledicte @gamingaquarius @mypoisonedvine @ddejavvu @sharp-and-swift t

[heartofwritiing]

could you write wilbur soot confessing his love to a crush? 👉👈

something about how he's been pinning after this crush for so long, but the crush seems a bit avoidant or something

but that's because the crush also has a crush on him and is very very shy qpwimsmanssjslslek sorry im not good with requests

You and me need never be, lonely again.

Paring: cc!wilbur soot x fem!cc!reader

authors note: Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you don't mind the reader being a content creator and i’m sorry she’s not super shy because im not really sure how to write shy lol but i hope you like the request! I just thought it would add to the idea and I've wanted to do something similar to this for a while! This is a request back from august. I am so sorry this took me so long to get out. I've been going through some shit irl but I'm finally starting to come back to writing because I genuinely love it and posting on here since it is my safe space!

line from this prompt list

warnings: friends-lovers, reader lives in the US, brief description of anxiety, the reader sends mixed signals, swearing, kinda angsty, happy end, super unedited!

"No! That was such bullshit!"

The voice of Tommyinnit ran through the speakers of your computer causing you to let out a chuckle that you were the reason for his outburst.

You were playing Gang Beasts on stream with some of your closest friends, and you had grabbed Tommy's character and thrown him off the map by picking him up.

Laughter rang out amongst the group as the screen card popped up saying your username won. You cheered as everyone groaned but dispersed into 'ggs' then that's when everyone started to bid goodnight. You hadn't realized it had been four hours of streaming and playing games, showing the good time you were having with friends.

"Alright chat, that's gonna be it for me today! Please remember to click the follow button if you're new to stream that way you'll know when I go live! byeee!" You did your outro, quickly closed your stream down, and logged out of Twitch.

It was an uneventful stream session, thank god. You’ve noticed more and more how your chat gets when you even mention wilburs name.

“you logging off completely y/n/n?” Ranboos voices asks through your earbuds.

“No, I’ll play a few more rounds if you guys are down,” you respond.

“HELL YEAH!” Tommy boasted. “IM GONNA KICK YOUR ASS THIS TIME Y/N/N!”

“Oh, it’s on gremlin child!” you replied.

Wilbur listened to this conversation on his end, letting out a chuckle. He honestly doesn’t know why you make him laugh so easily. Anytime you threw a genius comment toward Tommy that was deemed insulting, or calling him a name Wilbur fell for you more and more. If only he had the guts to tell you.

You as well wouldn’t admit it but every time Wilbur laughed all you could feel was butterflies punching your stomach and a smile that made your cheeks hurt. You were also falling hard for him.

After about another fifteen minutes, Tommy and Ranboo had bid their goodbyes for the night and ended their calls. You were left in call with Wilbur, the silence could be cut with a knife.

Knowing him for two years was hard. Wilbur was everything to you. He was funny, smart, charming, and overall made you feel comfortable. Something you thought you’d never have with anyone. Having to only talk on call and video made things easier for you. On call you could hide your blushes and smiles from him, but not from your chat who caught every interaction between you and Wilbur when you streamed. The constant ���Wilbur x name confirmed?’ tweets and comments in your twitch chat were recently repetitive and you wondered when you became such a beacon of attention. It gave you such anxiety to have all eyes on you when you wanted to spend time with your best friend.

It was getting obnoxious to the point where you debated making a tweet to get the fans to stop shipping you both, even if you were dating it was no one’s business. Still you never dared to say anything out of fear of stans coming at you in anyway. You didn’t need to draw more unwanted attention to yourself.

“You logging off? it’s getting pretty late for you,” you spoke up.

“Yeah, we both should, by the way what times your flight tomorrow?”

Right, you were flying less than eight hours from now to finally meet your friends inperson. You all had planned this for months, booking hotels and flights, making a whole deal about it. Then you really wouldn’t be able to hide from him for a whole week.

“Around seven-thirty,” you reply.

He hums.

“I’ll let you get some rest, see you tomorrow night darling,” his voice purposely going lower on the ‘darling’ part that you almost didn’t catch it, making your knees go weak.

“N-night Will,” you stutter, end call and slump back into your desk chair trying to calm your racing heart. Meanwhile Wilbur all the way across the ocean in Brighton has a smile plastered across his lips.

About a plane ride, a train ride and car ride later, you are stood in the hotel lobby in Brighton waiting for a late Tommy and Wilbur to arrive. You were super nervous to meet them. Having only been friends for what was a short time, it felt like you knew them for years, so why was this so scary?

You debated in your mind about texting them to see if they were close by, but you didn’t want to come off as annoying and impatient. You wanted to make a good first impression, but again these were your friends. Why were you shaking with nerves?

You fiddled with your thumb’s absentmindedly until you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders, causing you to jump out of your skin. You spin around to be met with a cackling Tommy who is clucking his stomach from laughing so hard at your reaction.

“Fucking gremlin child,” you huffed under your breath, not realizing the evident blood rushing to your cheeks from being startled so easily.

“It’s nice to hear you say that in person,” a deep voice said from behind Tommy. You shifted your eyes to see a very tall Wilbur, who was wearing his round glasses pushed up his nose and curly hair fluffed to the side.

His dark sweater selves rolled up to revel his arms tucked into his side as he gazed at you with a soft smile. Finally after two years of being separated by seas, your best friend was standing right in front of you. It was surreal to say the least.

You laugh and jump forward to embrace him. The number of times you’d tease him over-call about his height made you regret your words. He towers over you as he bends down to your level to give you a long awaited hug. His arms are soft, yet firm as they wrap around your back and cage you into his embrace.

You both pull away, both grinning from ear to ear. He looks down at you with a hint of something behind his eyes, he seems to be genuinely happy to finally meet you in person. which makes you blush at the thought of him looking forward to this moment since you told him you wanted to come here. You're quickly brought out of your moment when Tommy speaks up behind you.

"So he gets a hug and I don't?!" his tone slightly offended.

"Yup, cause you're annoying," you bring a hand up to flick his forehead, causing him to let out a irritated noise. you had only just met him in person but something compelled you to do that. Maybe it was just a reason for you to break the ice and it was working because you all broke out into giggles.

“Im just kidding Tom,” you motion him into a hug.

Wilbur just stood observing the entire interaction between his two best friends. He was thrilled to finally have you here, he couldn't wait to show you all his favorite places, hang out, and get to know better in person. Finally.

The two boys had managed to drag you to the beach, and even though it was freezing Tommy insisted on going to the arcade to try and win another 'vlog gun'. After suffering through loosing a few games, Wilbur managed to win you a little stuffed cat that you promptly named Mr Whiskers.

It was endearing to watch him struggle at most of the games so he could get enough tickets. It was all worth it in his eyes to embarrass himself by losing ski-ball to you, twice, he saw the evident blush on your cheeks and the look you gave him. As if he hung the stars in the sky just for you. It made his chest hurt in a good way.

The rest of the night went smoothly for the most part. More and more, Wilbur had been getting more touchy with you. Though you didn’t mind it at all, maybe he didn’t realize how much he was putting his hand on you as you walked side by side as he led you through crowds. How he held doors open for you. It was sweet.

Maybe he was doing it just to be nice. That small voice in the back of your head telling you thats all it was. Because thats what friends do.

Eventually, the three of you met up with Ranboo and Charlie. They were just how they were online, which made meeting them a whole lot better. Walking around Brighton, making inside jokes and teasing each other. You hadn't been this happy in a while. You can remember the last time you genuinely enjoyed yourself, your friends were the product of that. You were fortunate to have found them when you did. Quarantine was hard on you, much like the rest of the world. So when you were invited to join a group game call, you couldn't pass up the opportunity. That night, something had clicked between you and Wilburt specifically. Then you started to join more calls with the gang and the rest was history.

Sometime in the night, you found yourself walking behind with Wilbur by your side chatting about nothing in particular. Until the comfortable silence filled the air between you, you took a moment to take in the nightlife of Brighton. The street lamps guide your way through the beachside and the pubs on the corner were starting to fill up. As if the city was somehow more alive at night.

"I'm really glad you came," Wilbur speaks, sincerely.

You stop your wide-eyed gaze to look at him and smile softly at him.

"I am too," You gush. "I'm honestly considering moving here,” Now he’s smiling.

Wilbur's brain starts to go a million miles a second. His heart leaped at the thought of you living closer to him. Seeing you in person everyday seemed like a dream come true. He begins to slow his step and a frown replaces your smile. Your own thoughts running rampant now, assuming you might've freaked him out by voicing that you wanted to move here so soon after meeting him in person. Maybe it made him uncomfortable. it was too soon to say something that bold. You had only just met him in person today.

"Listen, Y/N..."

You stopped and your brain got the best of you with his tone. You shouldn't have said anything like that to him. It was too soon.

“I don’t want to sound cheesy, but I need you to know how I feel.”

Oh... OH.

You knew what this was leading to. Realizing why he was acting the way he was all day.

"I like you, more than like you. You're funny, beautiful, smart, and everything I could've hoped for in a best friend. But I can't keep pretending I don't think of you when we aren't talking, or how when I look at you my chest hurts."

Wilbur liked you. Really liked you. You would jump for joy and shout to the rooftops about how much you reciprocate his feelings but something in the back of your mind told you not to. The doubt in your mind from yourself, both your fans online judging. It made you slowly start to panic. You felt as though you weren’t good enough for him.

You saw the aftermath of when his fans shipped him and Niki together. It almost ruined their friendship. You didn’t want that.

"Please say something?" he stops his rant to notice you are staring up at him with blank eyes.

"I-uh," you stutter. "can we maybe not do this now?"

His face falls and it instantly crushes you with regret. His disappointment shows as he gives you a forced smile and nods.

"Y-yeah, let's catch up with everyone, Tommy wants to do this big stream at his place." he gestures for you to move along with him, all while you feel horrible for doing this.

You wish you could take back what you said. You know you've hurt him, It's painfully obvious when he doesn't talk to you for the rest of the walk. You glance at him a few times but he keeps his eyes forward and stoic.

If only you didn’t let your anxiety get the best of you. You had to talk to him at some point, but for now you pushed it aside. The rest of the group didn’t seem to notice the sudden tension between the two of you, if they did nothing was remarked about it.

As you continued the journey to Tommys flat, you and Wilbur still walked silently side by side. With what little courage you had, you reached out your hand and held his in a moment of truce. Giving it a gentle squeeze with your fingers to seal the deal that you would talk later. You heard his soft inhale at the contact and he squeezes back. Your shoulders drop from the weight of tension being lifted off. Maybe, just maybe this ment this conversation wasn’t over.

Back at Tommy’s, the monitor in his cramped bedroom with everyone packed together like sardines; shows the twitch chat flashing by with viewers comments.

“WELCOME BACK TO THE STREAM EVERYONE!” Tommy shouted causing you to hold your ear in slight pain.

“God Tommy, could you be anymore loud?” you wince.

“Look who’s here chat!” he gestured to you with his hands, ignoring your complaints. You waved at the webcam as chat went crazy. He introduced everyone else as they all broke out into a chorus of conversation.

Wilbur was mostly quiet on your left, an occasional sarcastic comment made here and there. You could practically feel his eyes buring into the side of your head. Hopping chat wasn’t noticing how he was looking at you, your eyes shifting to your lap to fidget with your fingers.

Out of view, Wilbur reached over and took your hand picking at the skin around your nails. You had stopped your nervous tick and opted for squeezing his hand. Nobody seemed to notice the sudden shift in both your behavior.

Suddenly you felt tense, the feeling of having everyone’s eyes on you made your mind start to spiral.

Letting go of Wilburs hand, you quickly had excused yourself and walked out of Tommys room and into the kitchen.

Everyone had a mix of concerned and worried expressions as they watched you leave the room but didn’t say anything about it. Wilbur had followed you in pursuit. He found you in the kitchen hyperventilating Your panic had taken over and now your lungs were paying the price for the burning sensation from not breathing.

“it's okay,” he took your face into his hands and held you. “just follow my breaths.

he took a breath in, and you followed.

When you came to your senses, Wilbur had asked you what was wrong and you just began to cry. Everything came rushing down on you.

“Im sorry. I-Im sorry I shot you down earlier, Im sorry for h-hurting you. I-i,” you stuttered over yourself. Wilbur shakes his head at you. He probably thinks you’re such a mess.

“I don’t understand, I know you like me too, so I don’t understand why you rejected me after I poured my heart out to you. Then you go and hold my hand while we're walking.'

Wilbur was right. Playing with his feelings was selfish and cruel. He was completely in the right to question you. You were practically flirting with one another all day, and then you shut down his advances of trying to open your relationship.

“I do wanna be with you.” you sniff. “I'm just really scared.”

"Why darling? It's just me, your silly old Wil." he pokes at your sides causing you to let out a giggle. Your best friend, who looked at you with the prettiest chocolate eyes, who stayed on call with you all night when you couldn't sleep. The only person you told your deepest fears and dreams to.

You take a shaky inhale as you begin to explain. "I don't wanna ruin our friendship, we have something I've never experienced with anyone else in my life. I care about you too much to let me be a distraction in your life, and I am scared that the fans will-"

Wilbur interrupts you with a hand on your arm.

"The fans? darling who cares about that, I care way too much about you to even care about what strangers think. It's no one's business who I, or you for that matter have a relationship with." he clarified. "I love you and nothing or no one will ever change that."

Those three words made your heart leap in your throat.

"Y-you l-love me?" you stutter in disbelief.

"Yes, of course I do."

Tears roll down the apples of your cheeks as you lean forward to engulf Wilbur into another hug. His arms wrapped around your back reciprocating your embrace. your face buried in his neck as you inhale his cologne and your tears dampen his skin.

"I love you too Wil," you whisper.

He squeezes you closer to him in return and this time you don't hold yourself back...

-

taglist: @trashcanduck @ax-y10 @mysticalsoot @idontreallyexistyet @loonalvjy @toastyliltoasts41

[bordysbae]

going to stagecoach with trevor!! bunch of pda and fluff😪😪😪😪

“concert buddy”

trevor zegras x f!reader

“hi love,” trevor smiles, coming up behind you in the airbnb mirror.

“hi trev,” you blush, leaning your body closer against his chest. once you readjust part of your outfit, you turn around and look up at trevor. you both share a small smile, before you slightly pull down on his cowboy hat as you lean up to kiss him.

“ew guys get a room!” jamie scoffs, making cam york laugh.

“sorry you’re lonely, jimbo. you and cam can third wheel together,” you shrug before giving trevor a small peck on his lips. you then grab your phone from the table, and place the baby pink straw cowboy hat on your head.

“you guys ready to get going?” cam asks, and you all nod in response. you guys then hop into trevor’s bronco, that the four of you used to drive down to palm springs. the festival is already packed with people wearing cowboy hats and boots, making you let out a little laugh. you were never very big on country until you met trevor, but now you’re not really opposed to it since both jamie and trevor have conditioned you to it.

“okay guys cmon hurry up, i wanna see luke bryan!” you exclaim. everyone gets out of the car, and you all meet up with a few other friends before heading into the music festival. as you drag the group towards luke bryan’s set, trevor wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer into him.

“i’m happy you came with me, thank you for coming. i know you’re not that big on country.” he says, making you smile up at him.”you know, i don’t hate it anymore,” you bashfully say, making trevor gasp. he immediately turns around to face jamie, excited to tell him the news that him and his best friend have finally convinced you that country isn’t so bad.

“jimmy! we did it!” he cheers, taking his arm off of you and rushing over to pushy jamie around at the exciting news. jamie looks utterly confused as to why trevor is jumping around in joy, meanwhile you’re hysterically laughing.

“the hell is going on with you stop jumping all over me!” jamie laughs.

“we did it jimmy! y/n doesn’t hate country! she said she likes it!” he says, and jamie’s mouth drops.

“i knew the day would come! i think it’s partially because of me, you know, my amazing guitar skills convinced her,” jamie shrugs. you and trevor both exchange a glance, before bursting out laughing.

“yeah okay jamie, you keep telling yourself that,” you laugh, before claiming your spots in the dirt waiting for luke bryan’s set to begin. you and the group chat for majority of the waiting time, meanwhile you and trevor just can’t lay off from the pda.

his hands find their way all over your body, from placing a hand on your lower back, to even lower than that. you two are such a touchy couple sometimes, that you get wrapped up in each other constantly and forget that you were in a conversation. “uh hello, earth to trevor i asked you a question,” cam says, waving a hand in between you and trevor’s conversation. you blush with embarrassment, but let it go as you see no one giving it a second thought. everyone’s used to it by now. eventually the singer comes out, and you begin singing your heart out. luke bryan is one of your favorites, and he’s headlining stage coach so you know the show is bound to be good.

as the intro to ‘drunk on you’ begins playing, you immediately gasp and turn towards trevor, and the both of you begin singing the lyrics to each other. as the chorus begins, trevor points to you and you point to him, shouting the lyrics at each other with nothing but big grins across your faces.

“girl you make my speakers go boom boom, dancin' on the tailgate in the full moon, that kinda thing makes a man go mmm mmm, you're lookin' so good in what's left of those blue jeans”

as trevor sings the blue jeans lyric, he gestures to your bootcut jeans that are tightly hugging your legs, and you blush and hide your face in your hands. a bit later the set ends, and you all make your way towards another set. as you’re walking next to jamie, trevor comes up behind you and throws you over his shoulder. “trevor stop!” you laugh, and he just smiles.

“wanna go on my shoulders instead?” he asks you, and you hit his back as your form of saying yes. he places you down and squats, allowing you to get on top of his shoulders. the height difference between you both makes it a lot easier, and now you’re able to see a lot more than you were before. you all collectively decide to head to riley green’s set, and manage to get a spot not too far away from the stage seeing as you all got there a little bit early.

the chorus to ‘there was this girl’ starts, and trevor immediately begins singing the lyrics to you again, making you laugh. of course you sing back, but the lyrics to this song are bit more relatable from trevor’s perspective.

“there was this girl, drink in her hand. shootin' me a ‘let's get into trouble’ grin, i ain't never seen somethin' so fine. and I was doin' anything to make her mine. i was out of my mind, she was out of this world, there was this girl”

you and trevor relate heavily to this part of the song, seeing as you both met at a party late last year. of course jamie jokingly gives you both dirty looks, just because you both are singing the lyrics to every song while somehow finding a way to touch each other.

later on, you all eventually decide to call it a night after hours of being there. you end up falling asleep in the bronco on the way back to the airbnb, forcing trevor to carry you inside. you get settled down into bed and trevor goes to play some ping pong with the boys, before joining you in the bed as well. as you groggily cuddle into him, he presses a gentle kiss into your hair.

“goodnight y/n, i’m really happy you came with us to stagecoach. i love you, thanks for being my concert buddy” he chuckles, making you smile.

“i love you more, trev,” you mumble into his chest before falling back asleep.

[360iris]

make it awkward | moon knight system x camgirl!reader

3,491 words, mature (more than a lil bit of a crack fic?), Steven x reader + Jake x reader focused, no use of Y/n, all Spanish sentences are translated at the very end (I grew up around Spanish speakers from ages 6 to 16 but I never became fluent— forgive me for any grammatical errors, I don’t think I did too badly though.)

Steven has a guilty pleasure that only he knows about and it comes in the form of a woman. Or the livestreams she has every Tuesday, of every week, to be more precise.

He wishes he could say he were a casual viewer, watching the VODs that get posted to your channel after each stream has been completed whenever he has the necessary urge.

But that wouldn’t be the truth, it was the furthest from it actually.

His real secret is that Steven tunes in every Tuesday for your morning, evening and midnight streams if he can– if his body doesn’t decide it would rather go on autopilot and venture off who-knows-where, when it feels so inclined.

He’d like to say that he was only the tiniest bit of an admirer of yours, but even that wasn’t remotely close to the truth either. The truth was that he was mere inches, feeble and miniscule centimeters, away from being flat out obsessed with even the idea of you.

From an outsider’s perspective, you were an absolute catch. Cute with beautiful hair and skin that looked so soft he couldn’t guess how it’d feel to catch the smallest of caresses of your arms or legs.

But what really reeled him in was your voice.

He liked how personable, wholesome and excitable you were while expertly starting and maintaining conversation with the chat– even when you were particularly preoccupied with the combination of the separate vibrator and dildo focused at your core; your words turning airy and distracted as you answered questions about your day.

Always generous with the small details you offered, making sure to mention the guy on the train that swooped in to steal your seat when you got up in hopes of offering it to an old woman— or how a sweet girl around your age complimented your outfit on one of the rare occasions you went out to treat yourself.

Another quirk he liked about you was how much of a home-dwelling being you seemed to be. He knew posts on your private accounts weren’t much to go off of to paint a realistic illustration of your life but from the little he could glean, you didn’t go out much if you could help it.

Preferring the relaxing amenities within the confines of your home to other people and ordering modest but nice additions to your space when you could, like furniture and functional decor. Unmistakably proving to be an unusual but interesting woman.

Pulled from the mindless scrolling on his phone, he registers the knock that sounds at the door to his flat. A phenomena that sets him on immediate guard due to how rarely it occurs that he has visitors. Never has he had anyone over.

The initial spectacle dying down when he opens the door only to find it’s just a lone mail carrier, a large cardboard box held up in his arms.

“What’s this? A package?” Steven asks curiously, not fully registering how the man’s face pales considerably as he meets his gaze, thrusting the box forward into his arms.

“Wha– Hang on a sec.” But the carrier is already departing without so much as a passing word, darting towards the stairwell as though he were running from a bully. “But I didn’t order anything. Did I?”

Brewing on the thought for a moment longer, he pulls the door closed behind himself, haphazardly locking it.

His only current priority being to open this box which could finally clue him in on what on earth his body got up to when he wasn’t in control of it. Because this could be it, maybe it was clothes? Equipment, or books? He could find out a lot depending on the kind of books that were tucked away inside this cardboard prison.

Except as he tears the tape back, whipping the purple packaging tissue from out of the way, he’s met with the visage of seven custom made dildos. Literal silicone molded dildos, not unlike the small business you promoted on your platforms.

They came in a wide array of vivid color combinations, girths and sizes– the most alarming being the sixteen inch otherworldly dong that he could just barely wrap his hand around.

This was what he got up to? He was fairly certain no one on the planet, no matter how professional or adept they proved to be, could fit such a horrifying monstrosity inside any orifice on their person, when yet another knock resounds from the door and he practically jumps out of his skin.

Throwing the object back into the box and covering it with the decorative paper before moving to answer the door yet again.

Prepared to scream at the next carrier rather frightfully until they got the message that he would not be accepting any more packages for the foreseeable future.

“No packages.” He whisper-shouts to himself as he approaches the door. “No more bloody packages!”

Only, the last person he expects to find standing at the foot of his doorstep, looking off in the direction of the stairway with arms folded as a meager attempt to generate warmth in the chilly hallway, was you.

He freezes instantly, eyes bucking as his mouth hangs ajar, not far, but just enough to make him look like a dork if you were paying any attention in that moment.

Recognizing his presence, you look up, your countenance livening considerably, in a way he’s never been able to see before when the both of you were separated by a screen on either side.

“Hey! I just heard the mail guy leave. He dropped off my recent order, yeah?” You ask, eyes sparkling with poorly concealed affection for… him?

He can’t help but stand there dumbly in your presence, his brain still lagging lightyears behind the developments of this interaction.

“Y- Yeah.” He manages after a pause too long.

“And he didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” You continue to question, slinking past him and into his flat like you’re familiar with the layout. Deftly maneuvering past all the chaotic mess as though you’d been here before.

“Uh, he didn’t give me any problems. But now that I think about it, the look of pure terror he had when he saw me was odd.” Steven muses, recalling the way the man flashed white as a sheet before tearing tail.

“Not that I thought he would after the first time, remember? You had him running down the hall with his tail between his legs with just a look.” You laugh melodically and he swears he swoons at the sound as he finally closes the door.

“You opened it?” He suddenly hears you pipe up from further inside which causes him to startle. You’re standing in front of the dark wooden table where he’d left the box open and flimsily covered with the tissue paper.

“Uh, yeah.” He nods, daring to walk closer. “I didn’t know what was in it. Thought maybe I’d ordered it while I was um… asleep. Or something like that.”

When you turn to face him, you have the largest of the fantastical appendages in a vice grip which in any other circumstance he’d find rather comical. The angry tip dipping and bobbing over your closed hand, the golden yellow glitter weaves up from the base in objectively pretty swirls and loops.

“Uh-huh.” You answer with a conspiratory smirk, your expression reading in an amused kind of way as you set the toy back down. “Didn’t get enough of a look with the first box you saw, huh?”

Steven gawks in disbelief, “H- Hang on, the first box? You mean to say that I’ve accepted your packages before? As in plural? This isn’t the first one?”

This course of questioning causes you to survey him for the first time since you’d entered. Gaze drifting from his hair to his hands purposefully, before settling back on his eyes. His feet shuffling in place awkwardly when you don’t answer, instead your brows raised as you scrutinize him.

“Today was a bit of a long day so I didn’t realize it earlier, but what’s with the accent? Taking the piss, are we?” You questioned, walking up to him with playfully narrowed eyes and a finger pointed at his chest, poking at him repeatedly. “Think you’re funny mocking the way Brits talk?”

“I’m,” He gently grasps your hand to move it away so he could rub at the offended area. “I’m not taking the piss. This is how I talk.”

“No, it’s not.” You state resolutely, as though you were waiting for him to finally concede but when it becomes clear he won’t, you look at him strangely.

“It’s not?” He asks, expression reading pure confusion.

“No. You’ve always spoken in an American sort of way, like they do in the movies? What was it again? Boston? Something with a ‘B’.”

“Brooklyn?” He adds quietly, just a guess but suddenly he’s feeling wary. And you nod eagerly, clapping your hands and snapping at him when he gets the word you’d been searching your recollection for.

“Yeah! It was a Brooklyn accent, I think!” –but when he yet again doesn’t share in your revelry, your demeanor simpers, giving him yet another once-over like something would click and you’d finally figure out what was off.

“You don’t remember. Do you?”

“I… I wish that I could. I really do, but my name is Steven. Steven Grant. I’m pretty sure I’m not who you’ve been interacting with. Like my body is the same, but I’m not.” –you slump into the wooden chair at your side, quiet and introspective.

“You know? If I were literally anyone else, I’d have half the mind to come to the conclusion that you’re doing all this as some fucked up scheme to get me to leave you alone. I mean my friends would call me naive for even attempting to believe any of,” and you gestures at his person vaguely with outstretched hands. “---this!”

“I’m not faking.” He insists, forgetting his previous shyness and moving to kneel in front of you to look into your eyes. “I wouldn’t, I would never play some cruel game to get you to leave me alone. I mean it.”

And as your hands move to seek out his own, smaller and softer than he could have ever imagined, he inwardly notes that you truly are as beautiful as he’d believed you to be in person. Even now with the pouted lips and the furrowed tilt in your brows that seems to say that you’d want nothing more than to ignore your better judgment and indulge him.

“Okay. I’ll believe you for now, Steven Grant.”

Glancing down at your intertwined hands, he asks what he’s been the most curious to know the answer to. “I’m not missing any context to something important that happened between us though, am I?”

He finds that your eyes are darkened and deep, unshakenly holding his gaze in the silence and there's a brief moment where he thinks maybe, maybe there’s more to this. To his connection to you, but then you’re shaking your head negatively and the words, “No. There isn’t.” –fall from your lips and he accepts it with a nod.

ii. Before.

Today has been a long day spent fronting. Long enough that uncharacteristically, all Jake wants to do is collapse into bed and sleep the remainder of the daylight hours away.

His body sags against the dark wall of the lift, his breathing even as he pushes himself up just as the bell chimes to indicate he’s reached the fifth floor.

The metal door slides open to reveal the familiar cool dark tones of the unnecessarily cold hallway, his feet meeting the floor in long strides but three steps in, his ears are met with a shrill squeal as one of the doors pushes open from the inside and a woman darts out into the hall from her flat.

Panting heavily, you pace in a circle attempting to regain your composure.

Fluffy, white ankle length socks with pastel pink horizontal stripes adorn your feet. His eyes settle on the matching oversized hooded sweater dress you’re wearing, the bear ears on the hood and puffball tail placed at your bottom catching most of his attention.

Your eyes dart over to him in alarm before sharply turning away when you realize he’s already looking at you as he makes his way to Steven’s door, the silver key glinting in his gloved hand as he nods at you in acknowledgement.

Momentarily he wonders when such a unique person became their neighbor directly across the hall from them, but just as he begins pushing into his own dwelling, you speak up promptly; voice nervous and unsure.

“Um! Excuse me?” You call out suddenly, causing him to turn around slowly. His brows raised in question.

“Que es, bella?” His voice is gruffer than you’d expected, having a particularly deep, husky aspect that makes you want to take a moment to marvel at it, if you'd had the time.

“I know this is an extraordinarily strange ask, but the biggest spider I’ve ever seen in my entire life has crawled itself out of hell and into my flat?”

“You want me to kill it?”

“You don’t have to if you’re like.. uncomfortable with that sort of thing? I could give you something to trap it inside of. I honestly don’t care how you do it, just as long as it’s out, I’d really appreciate it.”

He peered at you for a moment, his eyes sliding off of you and focusing elsewhere before offering a singular nod of his head. Closing Steven’s door with a firm click. “I can do that.”

His hand reached for your doorknob, halting in his motion to open it as you grab one of his shoulders, quickly retracting it when he paused in his steps, slowly turning his head to look at it before his eyes slice up to your face.

“I’m sorry! I just, I just feel like I have to warn you that I didn’t… clean up before I ran out.”

“That’s fine.” He replies in a murmur, narrowing his eyes at the way you bring a hand to your face anxiously, waiting for your consent to proceed. “I’m not squeamish.”

“Okay.” You whisper, dropping your hands to your sides. Your head bobbing repeatedly as you nod, as though you were trying to convince yourself more than anything else.

“Okay.” He parrots, looking at you cautiously.

“Okay.” You agree, waving him off and finally he pushes inside.

Jake will be honest with himself and admit that the last sight he was expecting to be met with was a video streaming setup.

Tripod and camera, laptop open with a small arsenal of dildos, vibrators and a singular bottle of lube lined neatly along the end table.

He slowly turns his head to look over his left shoulder, only to find you standing in the threshold of your flat with your hands shielding your face.

Your fingers cracking small slivers for you to peek back at him nervously, the digits widening as you attempt to defend what was left of your dignity in this situation. “Normally, I’d be mortified but you can’t say I didn’t try to warn you!”

“Not well enough.” He remarks with raised brows and lips pressed into a line.

“You said you weren’t squeamish!” You rebuttal, voice raised high and cheeks flushed from embarrassment. “Look, it's over there alright? Can you get it, please?”

“No te pongas histérica, chula. I told you I would, even if it looks like you raided a sex shop in here.” He jokes dryly, causing a loud groan to bubble up from your throat.

He locates the intruding arachnid with ease, all six inches of absolute spindly terror, as it tries to hide in an open corner.

What shocks you, and hell’s latest escaped convict, is how he extends one of his leather gloved hands and simply scoops it up.

The man promptly proceeding to walk over to the closest window, open it and toss the hairy lump into the street to be someone else’s problem at a later hour.

“You should keep these locked by the way.” He calmly advises, closing the window and flipping the latch with ease before he turns. Offering a final lax wink your way before exiting without another word.

iii.

The website had advertised ‘sleek and discrete packaging’, so why did you open your door to find the mail carrier holding a relatively large box with the image of an oversized, pulsating vibrator brandished front and center on the front.

The words ‘Ultimate Thrusting Clit Stimulate–Her’ are clear and easy to read in the bottom right corner.

The warm wash of embarrassment sets in from head to toe as you realize your predicament. The debacle seeming to worsen as the man takes this as the perfect opportunity not only to flirt, but flat out proposition you.

“I’m not a call-girl.” You say lowly, eyes burning with hatred as he took every indicator to leave you alone as ammunition to persist.

“I’m not saying you are, lovely. Just figured you’d want a change of equipment is all. The real thing has got to be better than the artificial.” He states smugly, his face lined with a crooked toothed grin, everything about him coming off as slimy and gross.

“Eres tan feo que haces llorar a las cebollas.” Sounds in a familiar tenor and then suddenly, there stands your neighbor from across the hall. His capped head hung tilted towards the man as he pinned him with an icy glare so sharp that even you’re put on edge.

If looks had the power to kill, this guy would have already been speaking to his maker.

“Uh. She with you, man?”

“You could say that.” Your two time savior slips the box from the carrier’s hands, looking over the garish photo of the toy with an bemused expression.

His dark brows shooting upwards and coming back to rest as his eyes glide over to you, trying and failing not to grimace at him.

His calm look wordlessly communicated the thought both of you seemed to be simultaneously contemplating. ‘Why is it always you that I find with sex toys?’ —which causes you to grumble irritably just as his attention turns back towards the carrier.

“What are you still here for?” He asks the guy, eyes darkening purposefully.

“Right!” Remembering his ability to walk, he vacates the area with a certain swiftness. Both of you watching in disdainful silence as he beelines for the stairs instead of the lift, disappearing behind the heavy door that slams shut noisily behind him.

“No le hagas caso. Es un idiota.” He finally says softly, handing the box over to you.

“Thanks.” You reply back rather meekly, fiddling with the folded corners of the cardboard as he offers a curt nod before pointing to it.

“I’m genuinely curious, are you building a collection? Like a toy collector, or something?”

“No!” You quickly defend, causing his brows to rise. “They’re for my job, if you must know.”

“Sounds like a fun gig.” He remarks breezily, his lips pursed to the side appreciatively. It wasn’t judgmental or condescending in any sort of way, just honest, and you’re taken aback at his lackadaisical sort of reaction.

Here was the first person you ever confessed to about what field you made a living in, and he was reacting as if you’d said you made money from selling custom jewelry or taught the elderly how to paint.

“I’m a cam girl.” You clarify unnecessarily, feeling the need to test him further.

“Why tell me?” He asks with a nonchalant jerk of his chin, receiving a weak shrug in return.

“I don’t know. I mean you helped me out twice now, and both times you’ve come face to face with my... work equipment. I thought you at least deserved some context so you wouldn’t just assume your neighbor is some sex-crazed freak with an obsession.”

“You can be interested in whatever you want. What I, or any other fucker thinks shouldn’t amount to jack shit in comparison.”

You nod mutely, “Right. You’re right.” But when he turns to leave, you speak up again. “Uh! Would you— Would you like to come in? I’ve got all kinds of drinks and snacks... and stuff. Y’know as a way to repay you? For helping me out.”

“Is this some code way to trick me into having a tea party with you and your toys?” He asks in a blank, suspicious tone that causes you to laugh even though anyone else most likely would’ve been offended.

“No! It’s just a normal invitation to have a normal drink!”

“Shame.” He says with a shrug of his shoulders, walking into your apartment. “Would’ve been one for the books.”

Que es, bella? — What is it, beautiful?

No te pongas histérica, chula. - Don’t get hysterical, pretty. (‘chula’ is the word you’d use if you find someone cute/adorable/pretty in a non-romantic or sexual context.)

Eres tan feo que haces llorar a las cebollas. — You’re so ugly you make onions cry.

No le hagas caso. Es un idiota. — Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot.

[1rsoldiersince2012]

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Words: 2758 (chapter 50)

*whispers * "we are so back baby"

50. of first dates and men

"I almost thought I wasn't gonna make it." You admit, placing your arm on Matt's, an action that has become a habit of yours when you two were by yourselves. "Mahoney opened an active investigation, and blah blah blah."

"I feel like you're leaving all the juicy details out." Matt turns his head to your side, smiling. There's an easiness in his step, maybe he feels lighter, maybe it's because you're finally here with him after a long, lonely day in the office; maybe it's because he's so in love that it all seems silly to him.

"Don't be so greedy, Murdock." You slightly nudge his side, spotting the diner that you chose for your date. Far away from the office and Karen, and Foggy, far away from the people you might know. The street you're both walking appears rather noisy, kids kicking around a ball, music playing loudly in someone's house, an old man with a questionable taste in hats is selling tacos, and two girls are arguing at someone's doorstep.

"It's hard to not be when I'm with you." He replies, tuning out the surrounding noise.

You bite away a smile, squeezing his forearm affectionately; upon entering the diner, you're amazed by all the decorations, light bulbs in different colored jars hanging from one wall to another, the big lights dimmed to create a pleasant and cozy atmosphere for the evening, and pleasant soft music playing from the speakers. "Well, we're here."

Matt takes a deep breath, "Smells nice."

You choose the table in the farthest corner, hanging your coat on the chair, and finally sit down. Your feet were already sore from walking on the job in heels the whole day, running from one office to another in the station, but you refused to wear something more comfortable this evening; your dark red silk dress was made to be paired with the black stiletto heels.

**  "Ever played truth or dare?" You ask, cutting your steak. Matt's knife stops and he turns his head to the side, thinking. It was cute how he always tilted his head like a confused dog, as if the action somehow cleared his confusion.

"Uhh, no, I don't think so. Why?" He asks softly. You two have been chatting this and that while waiting for food, so now you wanted to keep the conversation going.

"You... Wanna play?" You bite your lip anxiously, waiting for him to turn down your suggestion and call it childish. "If you don't want, that's okay... I'm just suggesting."

"Yeah, alright, why not?" He chews his salad, thinking for a moment. "When's the last time you played this?"

"Uh... Probably during the last spring break in high school." You chuckle. "Someone dared me to steal handcuffs from my dad."

"Did you?"

"Obviously... Just haven't yet told him that it was me."

Matt smiles, biting the inside of his cheek, and you can't help but look at the way he pokes his tongue out to lick his lips. "Now, I'm not that surprised you agreed to break into Melissa's house."

"Oh, are you throwing shade on me, Murdock?" You exaggerate your fake gasp and grab your chest. The way your fingers slide on your silk dress, makes Matt suck in a sharp breath.

"I'm just, making an assumption... A very late one, too." He nervously fixes his glasses again. "Okay, so, truth or dare?" He leans forward, catching a whiff of your perfume, and picks up the fork once more.

"Let's begin with truth."

"Oh, safe choice, alright. When was your last serious relationship?"

"Checking your chances or...?" You laugh with Matt, but then get a bit more serious. "Well, I only had two of those. One was obviously Robert. Then there was another guy. And after him, I briefly got back with Robert again, but it wasn't serious that second time with him. I wasn't the same person he knew." You take a sip of your wine, continuing, "so yeah, that was at least nine years ago."

"Wow." Matt's eyebrows briefly shoot up above his glasses, lips curling downwards.

"Yeah... So, truth or dare?" You poke a salad with the fork, looking at Matt making a decision.

"I'll go with truth as well." He replies after a long minute, fingers tapping around for the knife.

"What about your past relationships?" You ask, clearing your throat. You had a rough idea of his previous flings, so you weren't surprised when he told you that he's more of a 'one-night stand guy'. It felt weird, on one hand you knew that what you had right now was serious, compared to Matt's relationship record, but it made you somewhat unease, thoughts of you being just one big distraction began creeping into your mind while he was talking. Well, you weren't any different, God knows, you two were made from the same fucked up clay; but it was what it was, and you couldn't change your past. Or Matt's for that matter.

"There was this girl while I was still in college. I think she was the only one I confessed my love to..." Matt quickly clears his throat, cheeks reddening from embarrassment. "Until I met you, of course."

"We're more similar than I thought." You say, averting your eyes from his crouched figure. It was a hard pill to swallow, but it was the truth, hard truth.

He smiles, almost guiltily. The game continues until you're both two glasses of wine in, leaning close to each other, giggling about nothing, daring to kiss each other or ask the waiter to change the radio station. The people around you change quicker than you can get used to the new faces, but you're still there, still lost in each other's perfumes, still holding hands under the table, still very much in love.

*** 

"So, don't you think that there's something between Matt and y/n?" Karen asks out of the blue, and the question knocks all the thoughts out of Foggy's head.

He blinks slowly, "what?", then laughs shortly, "it's a joke, right?"

They're the only one's left in the office before closing time, with you gone to the station since morning, and Matt leaving a bit earlier than usual. Karen presses the START button on the printer and it begins buzzing. "Yeah. No. I mean, I don't know." She shakes her head, blonde hair falling on her face. "Maybe I'm just imagining it, but it seemed strange, the look she gave me yesterday. When we were in the bar." Karen falls silent, realizing that she said too much already.

"What look? Karen, what happened yesterday? I thought we all had a great time together." Foggy stops packing his briefcase and looks at Karen's back, waiting for her to turn around, but she doesn't, still shielding her pink cheeks with her long hair.

"We did, yeah."

"Then what look are you talking about?" Foggy starts catching the train of Karen's thoughts and his eyes slightly widen, "Wait. You're jealous, aren't you?"

"Jealous? Foggy, don't be ridiculous." Karen blows a raspberry, but it's too late, too obvious.

"Karen..." A heavy sigh leaves Foggy's lips, and he comes to the printer, "three things. First, Matt's not the man of serious relationships, trust me, as his long time friend, I know that. Second, we all were pretty drunk last night, so you might've mistaken that 'look' you're talking about with something else, y/n said she was pretty tired, so." He puts a comforting hand on Karen's shoulder, "I just don't think that those two could be a thing. I mean, a couple of months ago they almost fought each other in court, so, don't burden yourself with these things. Or do. But it's my advice to let it go."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She smiles, still not convinced. Foggy had no reason to lie, but something was telling her that she was right, there was something between you and Matt.

"Wanna go grab a drink?" He tries, expecting a negative answer, so that he could go visit Marci without an ache in his heart.

"Um, no, I still have a few more copies to make." Karen's tone is dismissive as she tries to hide bitterness behind her shy smile.

"Hey, don't stay up late, you know we can't pay for overtime." Foggy leaves with a huge beam on his face, while Karen's face drops as soon as the door closes.

*** 

Your smile. It's so beautiful. So kind and genuine. You laugh at something he says, hiding your lips with your palms, until his hands reach to pull them away from your face, and he kisses your knuckles. You were so beautiful, glowing like an angel in the dark; and so... In love? Dex couldn't tell, simply because he has never had anyone looking at him like that. It was pathetic, what he was feeling right now. Yet he couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to be in that guy's place, to have you look at him with such adoration and affection.

"Is everything alright, sir?" The waitress asks, smiling at Dex warmly. He has barely touched his food, as he was so busy with watching you. But now she was blocking his most precious view.

"Yes, it's good." He lies so terribly that the poor girl has no choice but to leave him alone.

It was a total accident, Dex didn't plan on going out tonight, or any other night for that matter, but Ray was the one to blame. He kept blabbering about this place for a week, so finally Dex decided to check what was so special about it. And when he sat down to look at the menu, he noticed you sitting with a guy in the farthest corner of the diner. At first, Dex thought that he was imagining it, but then he was positive that it was you. Your shoulders and more than half of your back were exposed, your dress was hanging on two slim straps, falling up to your ankles. He couldn't take his eyes off. Dex has only seen you in formal attires, usually a blouse, jacket and a skirt, hair almost always out of your eyes, tied up in a bun, but now, your hair was free from any ties, shining in the dim light.

Dex finally takes a bite of his food, grimacing at the coldness. Maybe he was lost in his head for too long. He notices the movement in the corner of his eye and sees the guy with red tinted glasses stand up and walk behind you, he pushes your hair to the side and puts something around your neck. The guy leans and kisses your cheek, then slowly returns back to his seat. You smile again, and bring him in for a quick kiss, touching the thing on your neck. Dex clenches his jaw, angrily poking the potato with the fork and turns his head away from the sight.

***  "I know that it's way too late now, but I just wanted to give you this." Matt says, pulling a small red box out of his jacket.

At first glance you think that it's a ring box and almost panic, but then he opens it and you notice a silver chain with a cross. An exhale, mixed with surprise leaves your lips; you touch the necklace, slightly confused, "For what?" 

"Well, happy belated birthday," Matt smiles, taking the necklace from its box, "I know that it's... Not really your... Thing... I mean I overheard what you talked about God and all that in church..." Matt quickly gets flustered, and starts stuttering, while you look at him with rising  interest and amusement, "It would mean a lot to me if you decide to wear it. Not that I'm pushing this... Uh... Religion thing or anything."

"Okay. I'll wear it. For you." You answer rapidly, much to his surprise. 

"Thank you for ending my misery here." Matt laughs, and rises from his seat.

"It was pretty terrible." You tease, extending your arm to guide him towards you.

"Ouch."

"I mean... You're losing your attorney skills, Murdock."

"And I still convinced you in a record time." Matt's quick fingers clasp the chain, and he leans to kiss your cheek, returning to his seat like the wind. 

"It's beautiful, thank you, Matt." Your hand touches his, and involuntary you notice freshly bruised knuckles, but keep your mouth shut, at least tonight. 

However, you can't keep it shut entirely and begin the same old conversation about the guy you wish didn't exist in your life. As the waiter brings a tiramisu to share, you look around the diner, failing to notice Dex just by an accident of people walking to get their drinks; poking the corner of the dessert with a teaspoon, you say, "I didn't wanna talk about work tonight, but Paxton told me an interesting thing."

Matt licks the inside of the spoon and raises his eyebrows in question. He already knows what you're about to say, but still pretends to be interested. "Yeah?"

You pull your glance away from his lips, scratching your head, "He said that Daredevil saved him last night. From his friends. That's why I had to spend the whole day in the station, trust me, Mahoney will not be delighted to see me there any time soon, but that's not the point." 

"So, what did he say?" He's itching to know how much did Paxton actually reveal, and to his dismay, the boy didn't hold back.

"I didn't think about until the lunch, but it's been bothering me ever since. He told me that Daredevil not only saved him, but made him promise to call me in the morning." You make a long pause to finally eat a spoon of tiramisu, while Matt feels tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "It wouldn't be as weird in my books if he just saved Paxton, but I keep thinking about it and just can't figure out how he knew about Paxton having a lawyer. He's just a highschooler after all." You shrug slightly, picking up your spoon again. 

"Maybe he has superhearing or something." Matt tries to joke, but your face remains serious.

"Yeah, if this guy has superhearing, then he's supposed to be called a superhero, and if he's a superhero, then I'm Queen of England." You scoff.

"How are you so sceptical? I mean, we live in a world with the Avengers as our next door neighbours." 

"Yes, but we know who they are, don't we? And this guy is hiding behind a mask, so of course, he is nothing more than a criminal doing illegal activities." You notice how sour Matt's face has turned and try to save the sinking ship, "Don't tell me that you're the same as Karen."

"Karen? What's she has to do with Daredevil?" It felt weird, to finally say his other name out loud, weird, yet somewhat satisfying.

"Please, she's always defending him as if somebody's holding her at gunpoint; it was weird at first, but now it's just... Fucking creepy at this point." You take a big sip of wine and add something Matt didn't expect you to say, at least not right now. "While I'm on the Karen topic, then I might as well say this. I think she's terribly in love with you."

A laugh, mixed with a surprised "What" leaves Matt's lips.

"I mean, come on, haven't you noticed the signs? 'Matt, do you want me to read this out loud' and 'Matt, do you want me to walk you home', and let's not forget the 'Matt, where do you want to get lunch', honorable mention being last night at Josie's. I thought she was going to pull you into that dirty bathroom." You finish, amazed at your own bluntness, while Matt meets you with a sly grin and raised eyebrows.

"Are you... Jealous, y/n?" He can't help but ask, biting his lower lip seductively.

"I have a reason to be!" You lean in, and whisper-shout, "you're and your magical charm are attracting everyone in the room."

"You're so attractive when you're jealous." He blurts out unexpectedly, and you both burst out loud laughing, turning a couple of heads around you. Dex swallows his salad like a bitter pill, wishing you and this douchebag date of yours left quicker. 

***  

While one man was enjoying the company of a woman he was deeply in love with, in the presence of a man whose jealousy and insanity were rising with every passing minute, there also was a third man, currenly more thirsty and angry than the previously mentioned two. A man who has lost everything he loved and held close to his heart. A man thirsty for blood and revenge, a man with an impeccable aim and a never-ending arsenal of bullets. The Punisher.

[ladylooch]

hi :) do you write for Woody? if you do can you write something where the reader and woody are dating but she's feeling insecure because she looks nothing like the other WAGS/ex girlfriends?

Nothing Like Her- Miles Wood

Plz take a moment to pick your jaw off the floor at this GIF. Just.. *bites fist* Now proceed to read..

A/N: I’m really feeling dad/pregnancy stuff and angsty right now. So, I twisted this to work with our dear Miles Wood, who is so sexy and beautiful, that I would be pregnant all the time if I was his wife 😁

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Drinking, Pregnancy, Angst, Jealousy, Swearing

Your eyes sting and a dull throb has formed in your temples from the loud, techno music blasting through the speakers. The crowd in front of the VIP section jumps, hands high in the air as the beat drops. It’s one of those nights where everyone is tipsy and feel invincible as summer is beginning to fade to fall.

Well, not you. Because you have two little feet lodged into your ribs.

You palm your stomach over the feet, closing your eyes and hoping the baby shifts from your touch. Baby Wood slides away, settling on your bladder instead. Wonderful. 

“Jack.” You nudge the oldest Hughes with your hand. He’s standing next to you and turns, eyes glazed over and bloodshot from his multiple tequila shots.

“Mama Wood!” He grins.

“Can you help me up?”

“Yes!” He exclaims. “Anything for you.” You can’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. He really shouldn’t be so excited to help, but you’ll take the attention considering you haven’t seen your husband since shortly after you got here.

Miles is always a social butterfly at team events, fluttering between the different cliches and being a natural binder for the group. It’s nothing new, but you’re feeling a little lonely with everyone else buzzed and loose.

The bathroom is a bit of a hike. By the time you get there, you’re desperate for a stall. Unfortunately, there is a line. Fortunately, there are five nice women that let you go in front of them at seeing your very large baby bump. You scratch at the tight skin while slowly maneuvering back to the VIP section on front of the stage. You get back to the gated area without much jostling.

You stop dead in your tracks as you’re bringing your hand up to show the security your wristband. Miles is in conversation with a tall, thin, brunette who is leaning over the VIP railing chatting animatedly with him. Her legs are a million miles long, toned, and leading to an incredible ass that even you have to admire for a moment. Your eyebrows furrow as the security guard motions you forward.

“When are you due?” He asks you, noting your large stomach.

“Um, about three weeks.”

“Wow, you’re a trooper for being here. My wife and I just had our second.”

“Congratulations.” You smile as he reaches for his phone. Everyone wants to show pregnant women their kids and share their birth stories. You look beyond him for a moment where Miles tosses his head back to laugh hysterically at something the brunette says. Then brings his beer to his lips for another glug. Nico comes along to toss an arm over Miles’ shoulder so they are chatting to her together. You swallow an uncomfortable knot as the glow of the security guard’s phone glows in the darkness. “Wow! So beautiful!” You exclaim. “What is her name?”

“Zoe.”

“So sweet! That is one of the names on our list.”

“You’re having a girl?”

“Um, we aren’t sure. We wanted to be surprised. But I think that’s secretly what my husband wants.”

“Either way, it is an incredible blessing. Good luck and congratulations.”

“Thanks.” You smile politely then move further into the space, locking eyes on Miles again.

As you get closer, you recognize the woman he is talking to. It’s his ex-girlfriend, Megan. The one several of the WAGS are still good friends with even though her and Miles haven’t been together in three years. You stop your forward motion. Nico and Miles are both animatedly joking with each other. Megan leans back while gripping the fencing, screaming along to the music of a song you’re not familiar with. Miles leans forward, rapping with her lyric to lyric until the verse ends and they start cheering with the crowd. They both share a high-five.

Nico makes eye contact with you and nudges Miles, who leans closer to him as the captain yell into his ear. Miles turns to look over his left shoulder, eyes meeting yours. He can see the tears from where he is. He immediately turns, coming over to you while jiggling his broad shoulders to the beat of the next song.

“Hey baby-”

“Did you even notice I left?” You snap, nostrils flaring.

“Ah… Well, no because you didn’t tell me.” He reaches out for your hand. You harshly pull your fingers away, crossing your arms tightly over your engorged breasts. His eyes dip there, scanning the ample cleavage obviously.

“I want to go home.”

“Babe-“

“Now, Miles. Right fucking now.” Tears, fueled by hormones, race down your cheeks. He scratches at his head then nods, stepping forward. He tries to grab your face to wipe at the tracks, but you refuse to let him.

“Okay, let’s go.” He nudges you along, slapping his hands on the outside of his thighs in exasperation. He hands his unfinished beer to Timo Meier who cheers the air then chugs it down.

You don’t say goodbye to anyone. You leave the concert venue quickly, feet slapping against the concrete and the bottoms of your flip-flops. You wrestle with your VIP wristband, annoyed with the scratching of it against your skin as you enter the parking lot.

You’re doing a really great job of focusing your reaction into anger rather than sadness. Until you get into the car and buckle your seatbelt. Then the tears become body shaking sobs out of nowhere.

“You don’t love me anymore!” You wail into the interior of the Mercedes.

This is far from the first time you’ve had this kind of moment during your pregnancy. It happened when he thanked the McDonald’s drive thru worker when you were desperate for a late night Big Mac. It happened again when he tossed an innocent wave at the Devils social media manager after a game in April. He spent the rest of that day convincing you that no he was not in fact fucking her when he was on the road. Now, your hormones have you convinced that he is back with Megan. And he’s just waiting to divorce you until you give birth. Then he’ll take the baby and the three of them will be a family without you.

You spill all of this out to him through sobs while he tries desperately to pull you into his arms across the center console to comfort you. You can’t see it, but his eyes are widened in alarm and shock at the words coming from your mouth. This is DEFCON 1 of pregnancy hormones, for sure.

“Baby.” He groans, popping his door back open and rushing around the back of the car. He pulls the driver door open, reaching around your large belly to unlatch your seatbelt. He taps your thigh for you to turn. He kneels in the parking lot, knees getting scratched by gravel while gripping your hands tightly. He pulls you into a strong embrace. “None of those things are going to happen. You’re just having a little bit of a hormonal meltdown. That’s okay. I’m here with you.” He presses his face to your bump. He looks back up at you, lips still pressed to his baby. “This is everything to me. I don’t want anyone else. I want life with you and the four babies we are going to have.”

“Four?” You croak out. “You’ve always said two.”

“Yeah, but you look so fucking sexy pregnant that now I need more.” He kisses along your bump, then pulls away to cup your face in his large hands. His thumbs stroke against your wet skin, collecting your tears. You thread your fingers through his long hair, staring into his eyes. 

“I don’t look like her… at all. I hate fashion. I don’t have a killer ass. I can barely get out of bed without your help now. I’m probably going to be fat forever after this because I hate working out. I’m going to have droopy mom butt for the rest of my life.” You screw your eyes shut, bottom lip trembling as you tell him your deepest fear. “Why are you with me? You could have anyone else.” Your voice is small and sad.

“Because I can’t live the rest of my life knowing you’re out there in the world and not with me.” His gaze doesn’t waver from yours as he speaks. “I love you, sweets. And I need you. I never felt this way about anyone until I met you. Including her.” He gestures back to the concert where his ex-girlfriend still is, chatting up his single teammates, while he’s out here, getting rocks stuck in his skin to make you feel better.

Every doubt, insecurity, and negative thought disappears when he brings your face down to kiss him. He soaks you up through his mouth, tongue melting against yours. You can still hear the music from the concert. Some people are starting to leave. Your baby kicks against your ribs. 

And you fall in love with Miles Wood all over again.

[r-ando-m-w-rite-r]

Distractions Are Real

-A reader asked for this, and I obliged. (BTW I tried to include some soft Revenant in this since that was what was loved most about the last post, but the real stuff isn’t until the next post WHICH IS COMING.)

-1594 words (not bad, not bad)

-I was surprised at how many people actually liked the first writing, so thanks. :)

-There’s not a lot of fluff in this one because IT’S COMING. Please don’t be disappointed, there’s another “chapter” coming after this one, there is just too much to try and fit into this one. I promise, to try and get it done sometime this week. 

-Enjoy :D

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 Beep. Beep. Be-

You slammed your hand down onto the alarm clock beside you, shutting it up. A yawn emerged, and you stretched your arms and legs as they woke up with you. The sun was just rising out of your slightly shuttered window, highlighting the already busy city of Olympus. It was going to be a hot day. 

Sitting up from your bed, you switched on a light and began getting ready for the day. Brush your teeth, use the restroom, take a shower, change into Legends attire, eat breakfast, etc. But as you stared at yourself in the mirror, something didn’t feel right. And it wasn’t the feeling you got all week long when you realized you would most likely be paired with Octane. It was more of a..longing feeling? Had it been from last night?

You shook your head slightly as the thoughts began to bubble. Were you truly touch deprived? Had Revenant caressing your cheek made you lonely? Or was it just something else? You locked your door and began making your way down the hallway, turning left as you had done the day before. Whatever it was, this feeling wasn’t going to last long, and you were going to make sure it wouldn’t. You had a trios match today, and it was time to get your head in the game.

It was particularly quiet, despite all the Legends having to be at the loading dock within the next ten minutes. Even though you weren’t late, a spike of urgency ran down your spine. You briskly turned another corner, abruptly running into something. You tumbled backwards, falling onto your butt. “What in the worl-?” you began, but you shut your mouth as you looked up. It was none other than Revenant..again. You growled internally; you had to pay more attention from now on.

He turned to look at you, annoyance etched onto his face, but he did nothing other than growl slightly before walking off. He wasn’t in a good mood it seemed. But then again, you realized that interaction could’ve gone far worse, so you decided to drop it. 

You followed him to the loading dock, and almost all the Legends were there that you saw when you looked around. However, it was pretty quiet, other than for the occasional cough or the brief awkward conversation being held. You looked back where Revenant last was, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, you moved into a corner, leaning up against the wall as the overhead announcer came on. 

“Good morning Legends!” a female voice boomed over the speakers, penetrating your ears and making a few people in the room flinch. “Time to announce your teams for today’s game!” You rolled your eyes; the matchmaking was playing matchmaker between you and Octane as of late, so no doubt you’d be on his team.

As she rolled through the teams, your suspicions were confirmed. Octane and you hadn’t been called yet. You were waiting for Revenant’s team though. Some would say you were obsessed suddenly, but you were truly just curious. However, he hadn’t been listed off yet either.

The speaker continued rambling as the chosen teams boarded the dropship, some grumbling, some chatting away. You watched Horizon walk off, laughing with Gibraltar. You couldn’t help but smile a little; she was so friendly. “Ah, let’s see here..I have (y/n), Octane-”

You sighed, cancelling out the rest of her sentence. You were going to file a complaint to the Facility after this match, you couldn’t mentally take this guy anymore. However, you weren’t sure how he would act towards you, considering the events from the day before.

You walked over to the entrance of the dropship, leaving behind the few Legends left for picking. You took a seat near the back, Octane bounding over. “Hey chica!”, he blurted, but then shut up when you didn’t respond and continued staring forward. It was quiet for a few seconds before a more monotone voice spoke. “Hey, I’m sorry for what happened yesterday, I promise to back off.”

That voice..was Octane? It sounded so forced. You turned your head to look at him, but he wouldn’t even make eye contact with you, he just stared off to the side. And he was rubbing his neck. Weird. Grunting, you responded. “Y-yeah, it’s alright.” He still didn’t look up, so you just gave up and looked back towards the front of the dropship. As you watched the other teams, you realized that there was only two of you. This was a trios match, you were supposed to have one more, right? You began to wonder where your third teammate was...

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Revenant shifted ever so slightly. He was currently perched on a low-hanging pipe emerging from the ceiling of the now-moving ship, staring at you. He watched you look around for him, or he should say the third teammate. Even though you had run into him this morning, he didn’t really care. He was just annoyed in general. However, he hoped that you hadn’t been rubbed the wrong way due to the incident. 

His LEDs snapped over to an impatient Octane. He was still rubbing his neck in the same place Revenant had held his blade to, making him apologize to you. Octane must’ve sensed someone watching him, because he looked up for a brief second, locking eyes with the looming Legend before looking back down again. Good, he knew his place.

His head quickly swiveled back to you, who had now gotten up and begun to stretch. Oh, you were going to be such a temptation the whole game. He had been thinking about you since the event the day before. And now you would be a sweet, little distraction to the murder bot. It was going to be a difficult game. 

He noticed you start walking towards the front of the dropship, the hatch now gaping open and teams jumping out. He figured it was time to make his appearance. After all, he wouldn’t want to keep you waiting...

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

You started walking up near the front of the ship, the air pressure causing a build-up within your ear. Where was your other teammate? As much as you didn’t really want to talk to Octane, despite the apology, you wanted to figure out what was going on. Turning around, Octane looked up at you. “Where’s our third teammate?” you asked, feeling your frown deepen. The time to jump was wearing thin, and your team would get a late start and bad loot if you guys didn’t get a move on soon.

Octane shrugged, looking back down, and you growled, frustrated. Suddenly, something, someone, thudded down right in front of you, making you stumble back. The current took control of you, and you yelped out as you were sucked out of the dropship. Metal claws grabbed onto your jacket, tearing it ever so slightly, but you were quickly pulled back into the ship. Thudding onto the ground, you panted a little, your heart pounding in your chest. You looked up, and your eyes immediately locked with Revenant’s. 

His face was expressionless, devoid of any emotions. There was a second of quietness before you muttered out, “Thanks.” He didn’t seem to register the word of gratitude, just rather lurched forward. You sucked in a breath, your arms instinctively wrapping around your head to weakly try and protect yourself. But when nothing happened, you slowly peeked out from your feeble hiding to see no murder bot. 

“Chica.” You whipped your head around at Octane, who was preparing to jump. “He went, c’mon.” Without a further word, he dived out, screaming cheers into the sky. Well, looks like he had regained his usual mood. Leaping up from the floor, you took a few steps back, preparing yourself for the launch. You looked back once, noticing that there was only one team in the back left.

It was Horizon’s team. She noticed you looking and gave you a thumbs-up. You smiled back at her, but you felt your lips begin to wear as you noticed one of her teammates. Not Gibraltar, but another Legend brooding within the shadows of the dropship. The ship tilted ever so slightly as a voice came over the speakers, shedding light upon the Legend. “Last drops! I repeat, last drops!”

Your heart beat spiked as you looked upon the now uncovered Legend. Her LEDs glared at you with a malicious tint. From her stance and position, she looked like she had been watching you for awhile now. Tilting her head, Ash opened her mouth, hissing out, “Good luck, you’re going to need it.” What was her problem? Did it have to do with Octane..or was it Revenant?

Shaking your head and clearing your thoughts, you looked back at the entrance. The map was almost at it’s end, but you saw both Revenant and Octane streaking towards the ground. Taking a deep breath, you launched forward, dropping out of the ship and into the sky. You screamed at the top of your lungs, “Here I come Olympus!” before whizzing through the sky in attempts to catch up with your teammates. The words made you laugh, and you let Ash’s words fade into the back of your mind. Little did you know that later they would actually mean something.

[pinkandgoldensoul]

(Some) F1 drivers as guys I’ve met in high school

: ̗̀➛ Charles Leclerc - the fattest crush of my life. literally would turn red like a traffic light anytime I saw him enter the classroom and choke on my own saliva whenever he said hi to me. Not helpful, since he’s been my historical deskmate. I honestly don’t know how I survived sitting next to such a positive, fun, confident, trustworthy and shamelessly handsome guy. Brown hair, big green eyes either sparkling with childhood mischief or pure innocence, and the most athletic guy I’ve ever seen in real life (he’s a sportsman). Definitely had any girl lying at his feet - and he was extremely aware of it - but only cared about his girlfriend and never bragged about his charm. Humble af despite his family being quite wealthy and him being such a nice person. I’ve involuntarily been his point of reference for anything school-related and he’d blindly trust me, which always made my heart melt. He’s the type of guy you need to send a “let me just screenshot this so that I discuss it with my bff-lawyer before replying” text when you see a notification from him. And he’s also the one you look from afar, contemplating his senseless perfection. “I’m so lucky to live in the same historical and geological era” “I don’t know if I’m worthy of him” kind of vibe.

: ̗̀➛ Carlos Sainz - a unique type of nerd. At the beginning he deliberately ignored me. Then he started slowly talking to me about things he really enjoyed and, seeing I was okay with it, he began showing me books he liked, getting all excited in passionate perorations, lending them to me and demanding I’d give him my piece of mind. Also bought and gifted me for Christmas  the copy of a novel he was reading ‘cause he thought I’d be interested (the weirdest and most awkward gift-receiving experience of my whole life. I’m not doing it again). Really liked to push all my buttons to see my reaction (but I ultimately gave him a lifetime lesson) and had a few banters. Don’t think we were really that compatible, he was too opinionated for me, but most of the times I enjoyed having conversations with him. Friendly jokes and benevolent banters with Charles; he’s been class representative for five years, once together with Max.

: ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen - the lonely, misunderstood genius. Didn’t give a crap about school and spent his free time riding motorbikes and getting hands dirty with engine oil. Everybody knew he was original (he had a lot of other hobbies and interests) and all my teachers always felt challenged by his way of thinking. Not afraid to speak up, at all. We’d never talked in five years, but during the dinner we had with all the professors before our finals, completely drunk, he sat next to me and started asking me things about my life. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, but I think he struggled following the conversation since I had to repeat myself at times (he didn’t even hear a tipsy friend of his calling his name twice. “UH?! What?!”). It’s one of the deepest conversations I’ve had in my life. I think in another life we would’ve been good friends, at least. Elected class representative and we still don’t know how but ngl, it didn’t feel that wrong because we’ve always known he’s got that… plus.

: ̗̀➛ Lewis Hamilton - the dreamer. Not very focused on studying, but chased his dream of becoming a dancer like crazy. He was insanely good - like, national level - and skipped a lot of school days to attend competitions. Pretty energetic, confident, mr brightside; always blasting music through his wireless speaker whenever we got out and vibing. If he knew you had a dream, a passion or a special hobby, he’d push you and encourage you as much as possible. Incredible motivator and coach. S t y l i s h     a s     h e c k . Could rock anything but chose to beat us all every single day. Really good friend of Charles. Actually chatted with everybody, but wasn’t really that close with a lot of people.

: ̗̀➛ Alex Albon - the surprising kid. A mediocre student throughout the years, but actually a math and physics enthusiast and genius. He started to show signs of his abilities only in the last year and a half. The only one actually knowing what he was doing with formulas lmaooo Surely wasted in the type of high school I was in* and he acknowledged making the wrong decision, but he didn’t know back at the time he liked physics that much. One of the most chilled out and laid back people I’ve met, really pleasant to talk to. Would often find ourselves in bad situations and look at each other as to say: “It’s a mess, but nothing I hadn’t expected to happen anyway”. The defeated-but-we-already-knew-when-we-started resigned duo. * we mainly studied humanities. We also had physics and chemistry classes, but there are other types of high school more “science” oriented, which would’ve been way more suitable for his skills. #badchoices

: ̗̀➛ Valtteri Bottas - i haven’t figured him out. Like, he was pretty basic and easy to talk to, but had so many hidden interests. Currently studying aerospace engineering. Part-time cosplayer. His instagram posts have descriptions we’re still trying to decipher. Sometimes perceived as a low-key genius, others acting like a fool. I honestly don’t know what to think of him, he just confused me a lot lol.

: ̗̀➛ Bonus: Mick Schumacher - first love. From another class, but the same high school. A bit reserved at first, but the ultimate sweetheart. Thoughtful, polite, calm, soft-spoken, kind, just- you get it. Awkward hugs, talking on a bench for three hours as a first “date” and arguing about who’s going to pay for breakfast (‘cause I couldn’t accept him being the one to pay, like, we were just friends). That was the first time I felt the need to shower someone with love without caring about being reciprocated, at all. I’ve been in the friendzone - voluntarily - for 3 years only to get to know from a shared friend that he had got together with a girl four months prior but didn’t want/ didn’t know how to tell me. To this day he doesn’t know a thing. Not in love with him anymore, but unknowingly gave me the best thing I’ve ever felt. 

[ksfreckles]

Hello, Tumblr! Maybe you guys know I’m an English teacher and that the wife and I are trying to have a baby. Turns out we’ve spent a lot of money last year, all of our savings really, and didn’t get pregnant the first time - which is normal for an IVF. But now, in order to be able to have a second shot at this, we’re having to be creative and find ways to make money in the next six months. So I came up with this idea and who knows? Maybe it works!

WeTalk is ideal for those of you who want to practice English. Since I’m also sharing it here, where a lot of people are English speakers, I’m expanding the idea to the people who feel lonely and want to have someone to talk to, or just want to make new friends. The price is about $6, which is about R$30, and it gives you 30min of conversation via Zoom. If you’re learning English, I’ll help you with pronunciation and grammar; if you just want to help, we can talk about whatever. Both cases also give you access to my WhatsApp if that’s something you like. I love meeting new people! You can also help if you don’t want to chat. 😅

Maybe this doesn’t get anywhere, but I have to try it anyways. I’m open to clarifying any questions you may have. I guess that’s it for now.

Oh, my PayPal is the email ipc91@outlook.com if you feel like helping. Thanks!

[quoteablebooks]

Genre: Non-Fiction, Adult, Self-Help

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

Content Warning: Ableism, Bullying, Xenophobia,Cursing, Homophobia, Infidelity

Summary:

At least one-third of the people we know are introverts. They are the ones who prefer listening to speaking; who innovate and create but dislike self-promotion; who favor working on their own over working in teams. It is to introverts—Rosa Parks, Chopin, Dr. Seuss, Steve Wozniak—that we owe many of the great contributions to society. 

In Quiet, Susan Cain argues that we dramatically undervalue introverts and shows how much we lose in doing so. She charts the rise of the Extrovert Ideal throughout the twentieth century and explores how deeply it has come to permeate our culture. She also introduces us to successful introverts—from a witty, high-octane public speaker who recharges in solitude after his talks, to a record-breaking salesman who quietly taps into the power of questions. Passionately argued, superbly researched, and filled with indelible stories of real people, Quiet has the power to permanently change how we see introverts and, equally important, how they see themselves.

*Opinions*

This non-fiction title made it’s way into my reading this year as I was doing an alphabet challenge to read a book that started with every letter. Quiet focuses on the research and personal anecdotes of introverted individuals attempting to find their place in a culture that cherishes extroverted ideals above all else. As someone who has always identified herself as an introvert, it was interesting to take a closer look into the science between why I prefer to spend my days off alone and why too much socializing turns me into an overstimulated mess. 

Quiet was published in 2012, so at points it did feel slightly dated, but there is no help for that. I appreciated the conversational tone of the book and I feel as if this would be really good as an audio book. Cain pulls in real life examples to provide strength to the research that she presents from leading individuals in the field of personality research. It also helped me feel a little better about the way that I interact with the world and how I just don’t seem to be able to keep up with the demands of social life the same way as everyone else. I work in a very extrovert dominated field so it takes me time to recharge at home, which leaves me very little time for my friends. It isn’t that I don’t want to see my friends, in fact I do feel lonely sometimes, but I just don’t have the energy to do anything with other people. Quiet let me know that there are biological as well as environmental reasons for that as well as tips to help introverts navigate such an extroverted culture as that in the United States. 

I am giving this a 3.5 stars rounded down to 3. While I appreciated all the information that was provided in this novel, at times I felt as if I was having a chat with a friend and not getting a lot of concrete information. This is a good book if you don’t have a lot of knowledge in psychology or cognitive psychology, but as I have a degree in those areas there wasn’t a lot of new information. This is a very approachable book and a good place to start for people who are interested in learning about themselves, partners, or friends.

[camykazy]

Cameron sabia muito bem dos seus limites e quando o assunto era álcool, quase nunca extrapolava. Entretanto, em uma ocasião ou outra se deixava influenciar e acabava provando a bebida do copo de outra pessoa. Naquela noite, tal irresponsabilidade tinha resultado no Davenport sentado no meio fio de um lugar desconhecido por ele. A única coisa que sabia com clareza era de que a house party em que estava com os amigos se passava em uma casa há não muitos metros dali. Já que tinha se afastado para que seu pai não escutasse o barulho da música. “Pai... Pai? Você pode vir me buscar... O quê? Pai, você tá me ouvindo?” Ele perguntou com a voz arrastada. Afastou o iPhone da orelha para ler as letras duplicadas da tela. Voltou a colocar o celular sobre o ouvido. “Stewart? Que Stewart? Stewart é você, meu nome é Cameron Davenport.” Tagarelou, deixando um suspiro pesado escapar. “Você pode ligar pro meu pai?” Perguntou pra pessoa do outro lado da linha.

[page150]

Not A Friend - (Sister to Oscar "Spooky" and César Díaz)

Request: "i was wondering if u could do a fic where oscar and cesar have a teen sister and she’s sexually assaulted and tells oscar??"

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3181

Warnings: Sexual Assault, Guns, Cursing

A/N: I usually don't do a author's note before the imagine, but this is a sensitive topic so if this might be triggering please click away.

Y/N - Your Name f/c - favorite color

Y/N sat quietly in her room, reading a book, illuminated by a white lamp sitting on her dresser.

Outside her brother, Oscar laughed with some men and her other brother, César had left a while ago on another adventure with his friends, leaving Y/N by herself in her room. Placing the book down, she moved the curtains away from her window. She looked at the gathering of Santos socializing in the backyard. Red solo cups in hand, dancing and eating. She remembered how Oscar had let her help decorate the backyard for the party only to be later excluded from it. Looking at him laughing with a with his arm around someone she betted that he had forgotten that she was inside.

She had gotten used to being forgotten and treated differently by people. Ever since she was born her brothers didn’t know what to do with her. Oscar had never expected to have to raise a brother by himself and especially not a sister. Even though she was only a year younger than César, Oscar's idea of keeping her safe was keeping her hidden.

She was only allowed to go straight to school then straight home, never alone either. If César or Monse weren’t going to a place neither was Y/N and that’s how it always was. She was especially not allowed to hang out with any of Oscar's friends, making life extremely lonely.

Glancing at a photo that was taped next to the window, she smiled at herself situated between Jasmine and Monse with Jamal, Ruby and César in the back. César’s friends were nice, but they were his friends not hers. He was the one invited to all their parties. He was the one they had tried to save, not her.

This left school to be the only place Y/N could socialize, but no one wanted to be friends with a girl from a gang. She was labeled dangerous before anything else, leaving her by herself. Always forgotten, and always alone.

That night she went to sleep feeling sorry for herself and woke up the same way. It continued the next few days until one day when while sitting in her algebra class, a new student was introduced. He was placed next to her and, ignoring the strange looks the class gave to him, he introduced himself.

“I’m Luke. Can I sit here?”

Y/N looked up at the blond haired boy. Her table partner had moved schools a few months ago and no one bothered to sit with her since. He looked nice, he had a nice smile and it made her want to lower her guard slightly, “Yeah, you can sit here.”

Luke sat next to her and immediately tried to start a conversation. He talked about how he moved from Florida. She noticed, as they talked more, how similar they were. They both had interesting families. He had two brothers, she had two brothers and they both lived near each other.

Y/N found herself laughing more than usual at his jokes. This led to the teacher having to stop class multiple times to scold them. Y/N never had a connection to someone like this, especially not on the first day. At lunch Luke went to sit with with her and -

“Who’s this?” César asked, suddenly sitting down at the lunch table next to his sister and wrapping an arm around her. Jamal, Ruby, and Monse also sat down. The table that previously consisted of two people quickly turned to six. Other kids nearby, eyed the two “dangerous” siblings sitting together.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the unexpected attention that was now forming. “This is Luke, he’s new.”

“Lukeee,” César trailed, “I’m Y/N’s older brother-”

“By a few months,” Y/N butted in.

“Whatever, I’m César, these are my friends Jamal, Ruby and my girl Monse.”

Monse laughed, “I’m not your girl.”

“Not yet,” César winked.

Y/N sighed and threw César’s arm off her. She turned to Elliot and apologized.

“Sorry for them.”

“No they’re cool,” Luke grinned. “Any friend of mine is my friend as well.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, “We’re friends now? It’s only been a day.”

“Of course, you’re cool.”

With the compliment Y/N cheeks turned red. As childish as it was, having an established friendship with someone made her feel nice.

“This must be how César and Oscar feel all the time.” She thought.

“I don’t know if Oscar will like you having a friend that is a boy.” Ruby remarked. “No offense, Luke.”

“None taken.”

“Oscar doesn’t like anyone anyways.” Monse muttered, taking a bite into her sandwich.

“Don’t worry” Luke smiled, “I’m one of the good guys.”

“That’s what they all say,” Jamal said suspiciously. He leaned in close to Luke’s face and gave him some crazy faces.

“Okay, great talk guys,” Y/N said sarcastically, “I would love to chat with you more but lunch is about to end and I have to show Luke where his next class is. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah I have to go, but it was nice meeting you guys.” Luke stated, before he was dragged away by Y/N.

The next few weeks Y/N spent all her time with Luke. He sat next to her in the classes they shared, they talked at lunch and while walking home after school. They even stayed up at night so they could talk on the phone. She found herself smiling every time he talked to her. Every time he offered to carry her books. He was just so nice.

One Friday afternoon, Luke came running up to Y/N, putting her items in her backpack after her last class. He put his hands around her eyes, trying to hold back his laughter.

“Guess who?”

“Mrs. Kurt, I told you we can't see each other here.” Y/N whispered.

Luke removed his hands and his face went white. Y/N turned around and started crying with laughter. She had to sit down, her face turning bright red as she continued to laugh, gasping for air.

“I don’t even want to think about you dating my mom.” He trembled, before returning to his cheerful self. “Stop laughing, I have important news. There’s a party tonight and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”

Y/N stopped laughing and thought about it before responding. “I don’t know. I don’t think Oscar would want me to. You know how he is about stuff like that.”

Luke smiled and picked her backpack off the floor. He then put out his hand and helped Y/N to her feet.

“Which is why César and his friends already said they are coming too. Oscar doesn’t have to know you're going as my date.”

“Your date?”

“If you want to be. I want you to be my date.”

Y/N smiled, a pink blush covering her cheeks. “I can be your date.”

“Great,” He took her hand and began to lead her out of the classroom. “It’s going to be amazing, don't worry.”

That night Y/N drank water out of a red solo cup, while sitting on the couch of a kid she had never met before. This time she was the one laughing and partying. Colors flashed around the room as more and more kids came into the house. The air was foggy with smoke and smelt like a mash of perfumes and colognes. Y/N nodded her head to the music enjoying the energy in the room.

To her surprise Luke pulled her up to dance with him. She giggled feeling his hands go around her waist. She put her arms around his neck just like she saw in the movies. Rap was blasting out of speakers placed on the ground. Somewhere someone joked about getting a noise compliment to which the crowd began shouting the rap lyrics louder. Taunting the idea, almost hoping for it so the party could gain extra excitement. Y/N shouted along with them in bliss. Ignoring the past fear she had felt once she noticed César had left. Ignoring the looks she had gotten when she first walked in the party. Ignoring how Luke had moved his hands past the dip in her back...

When she felt his hands squeeze her butt she whispered for him to stop which he did, but she still felt weird. A sinking feeling sat in her gut that this was a mistake. Suddenly the small action made the party feel like too much now. She could smell the stink of alcohol on Luke’s breath and weirdly on herself as well. How did she get drunk?

Y/N moved from Luke to where she had placed her cup. Now she could see scribbled on with a black sharpie, someone else’s name. She must have grabbed the wrong cup sometime during the party. Swaying slightly, she moved back toward Luke.

“I need to go home,” She hiccuped. “I drank someone's drink.”

In the darkness she didn’t see Luke’s small smile. “Wow, I’m sorry. Let’s get you home.”

The two exited the party and began to walk home. Y/N felt more tipsy as she walked, eventually having to lean on the blond boy. She didn’t feel really drunk, she could still tell what was happening, it was just her body felt a little out of balance. Luke seemed the same way, but before they reached Y/N house he grabbed her hips. The sudden movement left her in shock.

“You looked really nice tonight, babe.” He said, pulling her into a kiss as he ran his hands on her back, slowly moving lower onto her butt, then up to her breasts.

Immediately Y/N pushed Luke off of her, moving to wrap her arms around herself. “What the hell? I’m a Santo, pull that shit again and it's over” She yelled, backing away from Luke.

“Like you would, I’m the only one who cares enough to pay attention to you. Do you really think anyone else wants to be around you? I’ll do whatever I want. You would be an idiot to lose me.” He fumed.

Y/N froze. Luke had never acted like that before. He couldn’t truly mean what he was saying. She ran into her house and locked the door behind her. She waited a few minutes to check that he had left, which he did.

After her shower she convinced herself that Luke must have been really drunk. That’s why he acted that way, but on Monday he proved that that was not the case.

At the beginning of algebra it started off okay. Luke kept his eyes on the board and focused on his work. It was okay up to the point where he started rubbing on Y/N's leg. She told him to stop but he ignored her. First rubbing small circles on her knee. Then moving up to her thigh moving closer and closer upwards. No matter how many times she moved his hand he kept putting it back. Eventually she had to stay quiet out of fear of distracting the class, but he kept going. She begged silently for it to stop. Suddenly feeling powerless as he continued to do as he pleased for more days.

At lunch even though Luke continued to joke with César she started to go silent. It was a constant internal battle. If she pushed Luke away more, it would cause her to lose her only friend. If she didn’t she would continue to feel uncomfortable. She told herself it would stop eventually, that things would go back to normal, but they didn’t.

As more days went by Luke tried to do more things. The more he tried to do the quieter Y/N got. But luckily César began to notice. He noticed that Y/N wanted him to sit between her and Luke more. How she stopped laughing at his jokes and how Luke changed his tone when talking to her. It wasn’t always playful like it used to be.

Even though César wasn’t really close to his sister he acknowledged that they had to look out for each other. Y/N had been the one to get Oscar to let him back in the house many times. She looked out for him, and he had to look out for her.

Which is why when César and Monse accidentally walked in on Luke kissing her in an empty classroom while she tried to push him off, he freaked out.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He shouted, pulling Luke off of her and close to his face by the collar of his shirt. “I'm Lil’ Spooky I’ll have your face in the dirt if you do that shit again.”

“César, stop what are you doing here. You’re going to hurt him.” Y/N yelled. Monse gently pulled her away from Luke, but she pushed Monse back.

César punched Luke in the eye and he fell down, crumbling into a fetal position. César continued to kick him in the stomach until Y/N pulled him away.

“You’re hurting him! You can’t do this here! César stop please!”

César turned and grabbed Y/N's arm. He led her out of the classroom and out of the school with Monse trailing after them. Y/N’s items in hand.

“I can’t believe he was on you like that. Shit, Y/N. Wait, don't cry, don’t cry, it's okay.”

Y/N hadn’t realized she was crying until he said that. Tears were falling rapidly down her cheeks. She choked back sobs, trying to keep herself somewhat together.

She was thankful for César stopping it, but afraid for what would happen next. Once they reached their house César guided her up the stairs and inside where Oscar was smoking a cigarette at the dinner table. Hearing the door burst open and crying he instantly got up. He reached for his gun, but seeing that it was his siblings he stopped.

“Shit, what the hell happened César. Why is she crying?”

“Tell him,” César said softly. Monse ran in and went to Y/N’s side pulling her into a hug.

“Tell me what. Why are you crying?”

“He 's not mad at you hermana. Él va a ayudar.”

Y/N sniffled and buried herself into Monse’s shoulder. Trying to hide her embarrassment she whispered, “My friend at school was touching me in a weird way, Oscar. He wouldn’t stop. I told him to stop, though. I did. Please, don’t be mad at me.”

“We’re not mad at you and he’s not a friend anymore, Y/N. That should’ve never happened to you.” Monse murmured.

The room went silent. Monse still slowly rubbed Y/N’s back and César stood tense. Oscar looked from César to Y/N.

“César, do you think he left school yet?”

“Uh yeah, school ended right after I pulled her out.”

“Come on,” Oscar grabbed his gun and began to walk out the door, César following after. Y/N ran after Oscar begging for him to stop.

“Don’t Oscar, don’t hurt hm. He’s my only friend. He’s a kid, it was just a mistake.”

“No no!” He shouted. Oscar turned and placed his hands on Y/N’s shoulder’s. Looking into her teary eyes.

“It’s not your fault. It’s never your fault hermana. My job is to keep you safe. I've failed at a lot of things, but I refuse to fail at that again. Get in the house and rest. He just needs to be taught a lesson. Stay with Monse. Te amo como una hija bebé espeluznante.”

He left with César, leaving Y/N on the lawn. Monse guided her back into the house. She remembered what her dad did whenever she was going through a lot. She treated Y/N the same way. Reassuring her that it will be okay. That it wasn’t her fault.

César and Oscar didn’t come back until later that night.

“We got you this,” Oscar muttered, walking into the house and tossing a stuffed bear to Y/N. “We saw the idea online.” It was a f/c bear with a heart on it that said ‘Te Quiero’ with little messages César and Oscar wrote on the back. There weren't a lot, but the few ones there were were heartfelt.

“Thank you, I love it” Y/N smiled, holding the bear close. Her eyes were still slightly red from crying.

“And pizza,” César quietly cheered. On his face was a bandage, but he moved his face so Y/N couldn’t see it. “Monse do you want to spend the night?”

Monse looked at Y/N, “Yeah I already have clothes here so I’ll stay,”

She picked up a slice of pizza. “Soo, what did you guys do?”

“We took care of it,” Oscar said, sitting on the couch next to Y/N. “He won’t mess with you again. If I didn’t have a reputation I would’ve reported it.” He lowered his voice. “You can always go to us Y/N, we’re going to protect you. If that cabrón messes with you again I’m coming for him. ”

“I know,” Y/N mumbled. “I just wanted a friend, how dumb is that.”

“You can always hang out with us,” Monse added, “We’re your friends. We love having you around.”

Y/N sighed, “I mean my own friend. I love you guys too, but it gets so lonely. No one at school wants to be near me. Soy un marginado.”

The room went silent again. Before Monse spoke up, “You know you’re really smart Y/N. There’s a school in BrentWood that might offer you a scholarship to go there. I know you could pass the entrance exam. ”

“I could get a job for the tuition,” César added, rising from his seat at the dinner table. “Oscar what do you think? You’ve been making more money lately. It would keep her safe. She is really smart.”

Oscar looked at the ceiling, a good sign that he was thinking about the idea. Y/N kept her mouth shut, trying not to get too excited.

“How would she get there?”

“It’s a long bus ride,” Monse remarked, “But it’s safe. Only a bunch of rich kids. Most of them will be nice to you, Y/N. You’re smart, you’re funny, and you’re strong. Not a lot of them are like that there. No one will know who you're related to. I can get my mom to help get you in.”

César, Monse, and Y/N looked at Oscar. He took a deep breath and released it. Pulling a cigarette out his pocket, he lit it. Breathing deep he puffed out the smoke.

“I failed you today as a hermano, if I can keep you safe I will. I’ll work on getting you there.”

Y/N smiled and hugged Oscar, feeling César join as well.

“Thank you Oscar. Thank you Cesar. Thank you Monse. I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah” Oscar grinned. “Get off me I’m going to bed. I think I’ll go to the beach tomorrow. Want to come?”

“Yes!”

Author's Note: My DMs are always open to anyone who needs it. I am also on twitter to anyone who wants to talk @/thepage150. Requests are open. You are important. You are valued. You are loved. Have a wonderful day ~c'k

[taestefully-in-luv]

The Island | KTH (Fourteen)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, very slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 11.2k

Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption.

Notes: This chapter took forever for me to write but then suddenly I wrote it very quickly hahaha. Please look forward to the last arc of the story. Enjoy the chapter:) Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat about the stories!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @707sblog @peacedreamer14 @dopedreamfireparty @taebae19 @typicalgenzworld @mooniyooni @helenazbmrskai @justinetingball @jpeachytaev @marplest @calling-dips-on-j-hope @lecavivien @fancycollectormoon @mawwnsterr @siredsong @happyhrsme @storms-and-stars-blog @mingi-banana @soeur-de-ame

© taestefully-in-luv

Previous---Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A long, sweet night.”

“A long, sweet night.”

“A long, sweet night.” You decide to repeat out loud. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Well, you know what it could mean. But there’s no way, right? You hold your phone close to your face, your features lit up with the dim blue light. Your eyes squint as you read over his text again and again.

You start to feel the crushing weight of his text, his words causing an undeniable pain in your chest. Your heart beginning to become chipped away piece by piece, each letter of his words cutting at it.

“Now you fight.”

Your mother’s words echo in your mind, her words making you grip your phone tightly in your hand. She’s right. If you don’t fight then you’re running away aren’t you? This is the point. This is the point she is talking about, this is the point where if you do nothing you are now a coward.

“You did the work honey.”

Yes, you did. Growth is forever but you’ve come a long way. You think you have done enough. You are enough. You have done so much and you deserve this, you deserve a happy ending. An ending you have worked for.

You sit at your dining room table, your phone in hand still. You finally click it off and set it down onto the wooden table, it lands with a thump but you don’t even flinch. There isn’t currently anything you can say to him. You have no response. You know that was the end of the conversation. But you know this isn’t the end. It can’t be. It won’t be.

You stand from the table and drag your feet towards the living room and head towards the couch. It’s cold when you plop down onto it, the cushion doing nothing to make you feel comforted. A long, sweet night, huh? Well, you don’t want this sweet night to end.

~~~~~~

“y/n you’ve apologized like 8 times already,” Marcus chuckles, “You don’t have to say sorry anymore.”

“I know, I know.” You bring the croissant to your mouth and take a generous bite. “I really didn’t mean to run out on you though.”

It’s early the next morning, you are treating Marcus to breakfast as a way to apologize for running out on him the night before. He’s kind and understanding as usual.

“So you ever really going to explain?” Marcus murmurs as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Explain?” You peak over the croissant, your eyes finding his. “Explain what?”

“Come on.” He sets the coffee mug down, “Him. Tell me about the guy who…you know, has your heart or whatever.” Marcus looks down at his hands that are firmly gripping the mug, his cheeks turning a nice, soft pink.

“Oh.” You say, “That.”

Your eyes lower until they are set on the floor, you notice little things like the cracks in the tile. You finally bring the croissant back to the plate on the table, it’s half eaten state taunting you.

“Well,” your eyes find Marcus, “That’s a long story.” You admit softly.

“You gave me a very brief explanation the night I asked you out,” Marcus blinks at you, “But I don’t really understand the…depth…I guess you could say.”

“I kind of told you about the island…” That’s where you decide to start, “But I barely got into my trip to Korea.”

“Right.”

“Well, things didn’t go as smoothly as I had wanted.”

“Are you in love y/n?” Marcus turns redder than a ripe tomato. “You don’t have to an—”

“Yes.” You tell him bluntly. “I am.”

Marcus looks taken aback for a moment, his expression slightly surprised until it’s softening.

“I see. Well, it’s not like I didn’t know. But you two aren’t even talking right?”

“Right.” You admit, your breathing picking up just the slightest. “Barely, anyway.”

“He’s an idiot.” Marcus lets the words spill out between his lips.

“Why is that?”

“I just…I wouldn’t ever let…I would never let you go.” Marcus’s blush deepens as he avoids your eyes now. You can’t help but let a small somewhat pitiful smile paint itself on your lips.

“Well…” you bite down on your bottom lip, “It isn’t that easy.”

“Why not?” Marcus shakes his head. “If he really loved you—”

“Sorry Marcus.” You cut in. “But I think you are overstepping a little bit…”

Marcus scrunches his brows together.

“How so?”

“You don’t know the full story or his perspective.” You tell him, your eyes going back to the floor. “I’m not perfect in this.”

“You are perf—”

“No.” you say sternly, your hard eyes going back to his. “I’m not.”

You push the plate forward on the table, the sound of it gliding against the wood making you shiver.

“You just don’t…you don’t know what I put him through…” you say bitterly, “It wasn’t kind of me, I wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t the best, I wasn’t a lot of things. But I have accepted that and moved forward with that.” You tell him honestly.

“Shouldn’t he try harder…if he loves you?” Marcus raises his voice just the slightest, “If.”

“I don’t know how he feels anymore.” You feel yourself grow tired from this conversation, “But it doesn’t change things.”

“Sorry y/n.” Marcus looks down at his hands again. “I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t have brought this up—”

“I talked to him last night.” You blurt out. “I want to see him. I want to try.”

“But why?” Marcus is growing tired as well. It’s clear he isn’t seeing things the way you do.

“Because he’s my soulmate.”

~~~~~~~

You lay on your stomach, the soft feeling of your bed making you feel so warm. Your phone is in your hands as you struggle to press the ‘call’ button. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, it’s just Yuna yet you are having a hard time.

“Come on y/n.” you whisper to yourself. “Come on.”

You nibble on your lips, waiting for your fingers to find the courage to press the god damn button. It shouldn’t be this hard, no. If it’s meant to be it should be easy.

You press the ‘call’ button and wait not so patiently as it rings and rings on speaker. She’s taking too long, you think. Then finally—

“y/n!!!” Yuna exclaims loudly, her voice booming throughout your small room. “What’s up girl!”

“Yuna…” you hesitate to say her name, “Your birthday…two weeks…”

“Yes?” She tilts her head to the side through the camera. “It is?”

“Is that offer still on the table?” you gulp. “For my flight.”

“Huh? You mean to fly you out here for my b-day?”

“Yeah…” You gulp again, “If it’s okay—”

“Wait!” Yuna yells out with an excited smile, “Jiwoo, get over here!!!!”

“Jiwoo is with you too?” You can’t help the small smile. “You should have said something.”

“Jiwoo! y/n wants to come for my birthday!”

“What???” Jiwoo’s voice is heard, “Eh?”

“y/n..” Yuna points the camera at her mouth, her lips curving into a wide smile. “You really want to come here?”

You nod your head eagerly, a timid expression on your face.

“I do. I want to see you and celebrate you, of course…but I also…” your words get quieter and quieter as you speak.

“You want to see him, don’t you?” Yuna asks softly, “I’m rooting for you.”

“Me too!” Jiwoo says with her fist in the air, “You got this!”

“Guys.” You whine cutely, “Thanks.”

You chat with your friends for a little while longer, you tell them all about Taehyung’s song and his words to you through text.

“It’s definitely not the end girl.” Yuna pouts, “You guys still have so much more to give…”

“It sounds like your mom really came through too…” Jiwoo points out, “She makes a good point.”

“Yeah,” you agree easily, “I just have to figure out where Taehyung stands in all of this.” You look down at the duvet that covers your bed. “I’m going to really put myself out there but there is a chance I will be rejected.” You tell them with a softness in your voice. “He is moving forward and that could really mean without me.”

“I hate to admit it but I think you are right.” Jiwoo murmurs, “He’s really put a lot of effort to move past everything.”

“I know.” You bite down on your lip, just hard enough that you feel something. “I know.”

“But don’t lose you momentum girl!” Yuna cheers you on, “He’s going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

“You think so?” You laugh lightly. “I think I might be the one who loses my mind.”

You swing your legs in the air back and forth until you lay them down on your bed. You nibble on your lips again as you think about it, seeing him. “Yeah. I’m going to lose it.” You laugh again.

“He hasn’t RSVP’d to my party yet…I’ll ask him about it this week when we all go out.” Yuna tells you with a tiny smile on her lips. “I won’t say anything about you coming.”

“Thanks…I’ll tell him myself.”

You finally bid farewell to your friends, clicking the end button on your screen and setting your phone down on your cozy bed. You’re really doing this. This is really happening. Does he really believe you two were just ships in the night? Was your time together really just the equivalent of a long, sweet night?

You roll off your bed and head towards your desk, you pull out your rolling chair and take a seat. Your desk is covered in papers from work, your journal, small decorations, a pile of glittery gel pens and a half drank Starbucks drink. It’s kind of a mess. You decide to clean up a bit and then take your journal and a purple glitter pen and start writing.

“Time and timing is everything in this universe. Everything pans out the way it’s meant to…I do believe that. I have to believe that. I have to have that kind of faith. But I can’t just stand by and let the universe do all the work, can I? I should put some level of effort too…right? Is time in my hands?”

You stop writing, the pen staying still, bleeding its purple ink into your paper. Is time in your hands? You bring the pen to your lips and chew on the end, your teeth digging into the plastic.

“Is it?” you repeat out loud.

~~~~~

Wow, you haven’t felt this nervous in a while. Your nerves are absolute killers right now. They are shaking you to your death and throwing you over a cliff, they are slapping you in the face repeatedly, they are making you feel so completely helpless.

Your hand trembles furiously as you hold your stupid phone, your whole body is vibrating in terror. You fly out in the morning and you haven’t told Taehyung that you are going to Korea yet. He has no idea that you two will be breathing the same air soon. You try your hardest to take a few deep breaths but you fall short, your breathing quick and sharp instead.

The boys promised not to say anything and you’re counting on it. Jimin is on the verge of tears from his excitement, he’s been waiting for you to visit for the past year. Jungkook is anticipating your arrival as well, his bunny grin imprinted in your mind when you told them you for sure were going. The rest of the guys cheered and sent you a million texts about how happy they are. Everyone knows about your upcoming arrival…everyone but him.

After staring at his message thread for what seems like an eternity you finally decide to chicken out. You click your phone off and throw it on your sofa, it slides against the cushions and somehow falls between the cracks. But you don’t care. You’re happy your phone is out of sight.

You decide to take a walk in the city, the evening air is brisk and the sky is glowing in pinks and purples. You tug your jean jacket closer together as you walk through a cool breeze, it feels nice actually. Like you can breathe again. Your phone is still lost between your couch cushions and you couldn’t feel happier about it.

You decide to stroll around until you find yourself at Cozy Coffee, the shop making you feel welcomed and at home. You head to the counter and order a latte, the warm drink making you melt into some slightly pathetic puddle. Only pathetic because at the end of the day you know you are just avoiding what you must do. But somehow you approve. You just want to enjoy this evening before your trip to Korea. You have no idea what this trip might hold. You have no idea of the experiences you will encounter. You just really have no idea.

You sip on your latte in the corner of the shop, your mind starting to ease as you down your drink. Are you really prepared for this? Are you ready to face him? To be honest, you haven’t even thought about what you might say…you just know the first step is seeing him. Face to face.

You finally head back to your apartment, the sky now lit up by the illuminating moon, guiding you on your path. You feel relaxed again, the moon giving you peaceful energy. You know this feeling is only temporary so you try to embrace it.

Your apartment is chilly inside, the air matching the air from outside. You head towards the thermostat and turn it up a few degrees. You rub your arms in attempt to warm yourself as you head towards you sofa, you look at it with disdain as you remember your phone hiding in its cushions.

You take a deep breath and lift one of the cushions up and search for the damned thing. Your hand finds it and you throw it on the other side of the sofa as you place the cushion back in its place. You finally take a seat and reach for your phone, you take another deep breath as you click it on, seeing you have a missed called from Jimin and also your mother.

You decide to call your mom first, you video chat her right away, waiting for her to answer.

“Hi sweetie.” Your moms voice comes through your phones speaker. “I tried calling a little while ago.”

“Sorry…” you mumble lamely. “What’s up?”

“I know you leave for your trip tomorrow and just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Your mouth opens a little…like you are going to speak but really it’s just from the pleasant surprise you are feeling from your mothers words. The past couple of weeks you two have been chatting more and more.

“I feel…” you feel your body tense, you try to take a deep breath but it feels mostly impossible. “Mom.” Your bottom lip begins to tremble, “I’m scared.”

“Things like this are scary honey.” She breathes out, her eyes soft and on you. “But you aren’t living life unless you are taking leaps of faith.”

“There is a strong chance he won’t want me.” You tell her, your breaths shaky. “Can I handle that?”

“Honey…” Your mom closes her eyes for a second before they’re back on you. “You can handle anything. I believe that. I know in the past…it might not have seemed that way but you’ve grown so much. You are so strong y/n. And I know you want to make things work…” she pauses as you try to calm your breathing, you are trying not to cry. “But…” your mother continues, “But you are complete on your own too. And you will find some epic love or whatever no matter with who. You deserve it so therefore you will have it.”

“He’s my love, mom.” You finally feel your eyes wet with tears. “He’s been my biggest supporter this whole journey and he doesn’t even know it.”

“Well y/n.” your mom exhales through her nose as she smiles for you, “It sounds like you have an important mission for this trip. I hope you really convey your feelings and most importantly…I hope you listen as well. Really listen. Listen to his thoughts and feelings too and be considerate.” She softly advises you. “Communication really is key.”

“I know…” you sniffle.

“Did you know…” your mother hesitates to continue, she exhales a long breath before setting her lips in a firm line. “Your father and I were close to divorcing around the time you were born.”

“Wait what?” you blink at the screen, feeling caught off guard.

Your mother slowly nods her head and closes her eyes.

“We just…didn’t feel like we were on the same page anymore. I didn’t know what he was thinking anymore and he had no idea what was going on in my mind either.”

You pull your brows together as you listen intently, your mom’s words making you feel a little anxious.

“We just didn’t click anymore, it felt like. We were struggling financially at the time and you were…an unexpected surprise. It truthfully further strained our marriage…” she tells you honestly. “But we loved you so much. It was the only thing holding us together.”

“How did you work things out?” you ask quietly.

“We talked. Really talked. I remember we went out on the patio after we put you girls to sleep and we just finally looked at one another and knew we had to have…you know, an important discussion.” She takes a moment to breathe evenly. “I finally let it all out…I told him about how lonely I had been feeling, I told him how I missed him…he was working a lot you know…I told him I just wasn’t happy anymore.”

You feel your heart ache a bit at her words, you never knew this about your parents.

“He ended up crying…nodding his head over and over and telling me he knows how I feel. Because he was feeling it too. The disconnect was hurting the both of us.”

“I had no idea…” you admit, still sniffling. “You and dad always seemed so…okay, all the time.”

“We didn’t want you girls to ever worry. Your father and I have shared bumps in the road but we found a way to cope. We expressed ourselves honestly, the vulnerability creating a closeness I cannot even begin to describe.”

“So you are saying…me and Taehyung—”

“You need to share everything…really everything. This is how you truly move forward.”

“Thanks for sharing that stuff about you and dad…”

“I want to help any way I can honey.” She smiles a smile you rarely see on her, it brings you automatic comfort. “Get some rest and let me know when you land. Goodnight.”

You agree and say your goodbyes to your mom as you both hang up. You sit on your couch still sniffling as you think deeply about what your mother shared with you.

After a few minutes you decide to clean your face with your sleeve and call Jimin back. The ringing only goes on for a second or two before he’s picking up.

“He isn’t going.” Jimin huffs on the video chat. “Said he isn’t in the mood to party.”

“Huh?” you blink at Jimin a few times before you’re realizing. “Oh.”

“You need to tell him you’re coming then maybe he will change his mind…”

“Yeah y/n!” You hear Jungkook yell over the phone, “tell him already! It’s killing me keeping this from him.”

“Well, first of all, hi guys.” You wave at the camera. “Second…” you chew on your lips. A horrible habit of yours, you know. “I will tell him when I get there.” You mumble.

“Oh my god, are you fucking kidding?” You hear Jungkook groan. “Just do it now.”

“Chill!” Jimin scolds Jungkook, “But he’s kind of got a point y/n…”

“Trust me…just let me tell him when I get there. Also, Jimin.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re sure it’s fine that I stay with you?” you look into his eyes through the camera and you see his thick lips curve into a wonderful grin.

“Of course my bff.”

“I want to stay over here too…” Jungkook grumbles, he finally shows himself on screen. “We can all have like a …slumber party or whatever.” His eyes slide to the side as he grows red with embarrassment.

“A slumber party?” Jimin begins to tease, “What are you, a 12 year old girl?”

“I happen to like the slumber party idea.” You nod your head approvingly.

“Seriously though y/n.” Jungkook’s eyes find yours. “Tell him you’re coming.”

“I will, I will.” You wave him off, “I’ll send a text before I fall asleep or something. Happy?”

“Yeah, a bit.” He smirks at you. “Right, Jimin?”

“Yeah.” Jimin grins again, “I’m really hoping for the best, girl.”

“Me too guys…me too.”

~

You double check to make sure you’ve packed everything for your week long trip, you then triple check just to be sure. You feel anxious again but somehow you feel okay at the same time. You think the talk you had with your mom kind of helped you.

You had no idea she and your father shared such “bumps in the road” as she had mentioned. Is talking it out really such a magical solution? Will you and Taehyung really be able to share everything…like everything, everything?

You take one huge deep breath as you pull your phone out…you find Taehyung’s name and begin writing your text.

y/n 9:04pm

I’ll be in korea for Yuna’s birthday. Will I see you there?

You quickly click your phone off and toss it to your bed and squeal. Yes, squeal. You finally did it. Now you wait for a response.

~

It’s 6 am and you are sitting on your flight waiting for takeoff, you stare at your screen as you see the fact that Taehyung read your message several hours ago. He left you on read. You could honestly throw up. You’re anxious all over again.

~~~~~~~

“You belong here!” Jimin is squeezing you so hard it’s almost crushing your very bones. “Just move here already.” He whines into your neck as he continues to embrace you. “Please.”

“My turn…” Jungkook huffs, “I said my turn!”

“Patience, brat.” Jimin teases as he leans away from you, his hands still on your arms. “So how was your flight?”

“You’re really going to try to have a whole conversation with her before I get to hug her? Really dude?” Jungkook shoves Jimin to the side before his arms wrap around you. You return his hug with your own arms circling his tiny waist.

“You missed me, Jungkook?” you inhale his scent, he smells of fresh laundry.

“Whatever.” He grumbles with a toothy grin. “So,” he pulls away from you and gestures you to come inside Jimin’s place. “How was the flight?”

“Long as hell. I’m glad to finally be here.” You walk through, setting your luggage in his walkway. “And I am so damn hungry.”

“Well, we can definitely order some food.” Jimin cheeses, “How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect.” You take your shoes off and walk further into Jimin’s home. “Smells good in here.” You comment nonchalantly.

“I lit some candles before you got here.” Jimin scratches the back of his neck, “Wasn’t sure if you would like the scent so I blew them out.”

“No, no. I like it.” You find your way into his living room, his black leather sofas taking up much of the space. You find a spot near the window and take a seat.

“So, did you even tell Taehyung? We saw him earlier today and he didn’t say anything so I am assuming you didn’t tell him.” Jungkook says with a serious tone.

“Actually I did.” You pick at your nails, but raise your head as to not look bothered.

“Wait…really? He didn’t say anything?” Jimin questions with the tilt of his head.

“He left me on read.” You say as plainly as possible. “Guess he doesn’t want to see me.”

“He…he left you on…” Jungkook looks over at Jimin, their eyes meeting with curiosity. “But he….?”

“Yup.” You go back to picking at your nails, trying your best once again to look unbothered.

“Well!” Jimin claps his hands together, “What should we eat?”

A few hours pass, night time quickly approaching. You, Jimin and Jungkook wait for Yuna and Jiwoo to arrive at Jimin’s place. You three drinking soju, giggling while resting on the sofas when you hear knocking on Jimin’s front door.

Jimin hurries to answer when you hear the voices of your two friends echoing lightly throughout the place. Yuna appears first, she rushes to your spot on the couch, jumping on you and quickly embracing you. You can’t help but laugh out loud, inhaling her sweet, sweet scent as you two hug one another. Jiwoo joins you both by sitting next to you and wrapping her arms around you.

“H-Hi Jiwoo.” Jungkook quickly stands up when Jimin is coming to his side and nudging his shoulder.

“And Yuna.” He reminds him with his teasing voice.

“Right.” Jungkook clears his throat. “And Yuna. Hi.”

“Hey.” Jiwoo replies cooly, “You guys started drinking without us?”

“You guys took too long!” You slur happily. “We only have had a little, little.” You show her how little with your pointer finger and thumb.

“Sure Miss Drunkie.” Jiwoo laughs, “Yuna I think you can let her breathe now.”

“One more minute!” Yuna rubs her face on your shoulder as she continues to hug you. “Missed my y/n!”

“Yuna!” you giggle. “You have 5 more seconds!”

“Fine.” Yuna pouts dramatically, pulling off you. She sits on your other side and smiles up at you. Her hair is still a pale pink and her eyeshadow is a glittery art work. You look over at Jiwoo with her jet black hair, it’s gotten even longer.

“It’s good to see you guys.” You chirp, “And oh my god, two more days until your birthday!” you point at Yuna excitedly.

“I can’t believe your dad is letting you have your birthday party at the Mondrian.” Jimin takes a seat on the other sofa with Jungkook. “That place is so nice.”

“I’m spoiled.” Yuna sings, “So spoiled!”

“At least she admits it.” Jiwoo deadpans.

You start giggling some more, reaching for another shot of soju. You down it back and smack your lips in satisfaction.

“Yummy!” you sway into Yuna and Jiwoo. “You guys want to play a game?”

“Like what?” Jungkook asks. “I think Hobi said he wants to swing by.”

“Oh! Yay.” You chirp happily, “Can the rest of the guys not make it?”

“We’re meeting with everyone tomorrow Miss impatient.” Jimin takes his own shot of soju.

“But I want to see everyone now.” You jut your lip out. “Jungkook!” you stand up and stumble to where he’s seated. “Call em and tell em to come here. Now.” You plop down next to him. “Pretty please.” You lean into his shoulder and smile for him. Jungkook turns nice and rosy before he’s lightly pushing you away.

“You have to wait y/n.” he reminds you, avoiding your intense gaze.

“Jungkookie.” You whine, “I said pretty please.”

“Wow, she is drunk.” Jiwoo chuckles, “I love it.”

“Same.” Jimin’s eyes turn to crescents as he grins. “She is so…free.” He says quieter, “She’s changed so much.”

“Jungkookie!” You lean into his space again, your big eyes blinking up at him over and over until he’s groaning.

“Fine!” he throws his hands up, “Who should we call first?”

You end up calling the rest of the guys and chatting for a while, your drunken state only worsening. But it’s nothing but a good time. Jimin ends up tucking you in his kind size bed, he brushes the hair out of your face and watches you fondly as you snore in your sleep. He’s so proud of you. Jungkook walks into the bedroom as well and he shares a knowing look with Jimin and Jimin’s smile fades into a frown.

“Want to have a beer on the patio?” Jungkook nods towards outside the room.

“Sure.” Jimin takes one last look at you before he’s leaving you to sleep. Jimin and Jungkook walk past the sofa where Yuna and Jiwoo are knocked out, cuddling each other for warmth. They make their way outside and take their seats on the patios chairs.

“So.” Jungkook pinches his brows together, “He didn’t say anything to us.”

“I know.” Jimin’s frown only deepens. “He’s probably taking his time to process her arrival, you know?”

“Is it that simple?” Jungkook brows pull together even further. “He’s doing so well and maybe he…”

“He just needs time Jungkook. I know him.”

“I know him too Jimin and he acted like she didn’t reach out to him? That’s not…I don’t know, concerning to you?”

Jimin stares straight ahead, bringing his beer to his lips. He takes a few gulps before facing Jungkook.

“Yeah.” He admits. “It is.”

~

The next morning is horrific, the hangover you have is probably literally killing you. Your head is absolutely pounding and your body feels weak. But you have to admit the sheets in this bed feel amazing so you are tempted to stay here forever—or at least until this killer hangover disappears.

“y/n. It’s like 2pm.” You hear Jungkook’s voice hammer in your ears. “Get up!”

“Nooooooo.” You groggily whine, pulling the sheets up over your head. “Want to stay here forever.”

“Brought you some water girl.” Jimin’s angelic voice is heard, he’s gently pulling the sheets down and exposing your tired as hell face.

“Drink it slowly.” He sweetly advises, “And here’s some pain killers.” He hands you two pills and you eye him up before taking them gratefully.

“Thanks…” you murmur. “Holy hell, soju is no joke.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook laughs. “But you hung in there!”

“Where are Yuna and Jiwoo?” you pop the pills in your mouth and drink back some water. The refreshing beverage already making you feel a little more alive.

“They left hours ago!” Jungkook continues to laugh, “You slept through it.”

“Damn.” You grumble, “Wait!” you suddenly raise your head up. “Aren’t the guys getting here at 3 today?”

“Yes.” Jimin smiles, “So maybe you want to shower….and get ready.”

“O-Okay.” You agree, you pull the sheets back off your body and rise from the bed, the room starts to slightly spin and you whine. “I am not drinking this much ever again!”

“You say that now. But Yuna’s party is open bar so.” Jungkook winks.

You gag just at the thought of drinking more alcohol. You drag your feet towards Jimin’s bathroom and your hand reaches for the shower knob and you turn it on, letting the water warm up.

“Okay, I’ll get ready! You two shoo.”

The shower is exactly what you needed, the warm water making you feel relaxed and comfortable. You’re grateful that Jimin is letting you stay at his place for a whole week…you really wish you saw them more often. You really wish you lived here sometimes.

You admittedly love it here…you enjoy your life back home too, don’t get it wrong but something about this place that feels so fitting.

“Almost done in there?” You hear Jimin softly knock on the bathroom door. “Jin says they’re on the way.”

“Be right out!” you call back out. “Almost done.”

You take a look in the mirror and you think to yourself about how nicely you clean up. You got some ripped jeans and a black long sleeve shirt, some light make up and two clips in your hair. You look cute as hell actually.

“Okay. Time to see my friends.” You give yourself an awkward thumbs up in the mirror before you’re chuckling. “Should I practice my Korean on them?” you ask out loud. Then you nod your head and give yourself another thumbs up before you step out of the bathroom, walk through Jimin’s room and enter the living room.

“About time lady!” Jungkook snickers, “What the hell were you doing in there?”

“You shouldn’t ask a girl that!” Jimin swats Jungkook’s arm. “Feeling better y/n?”

“Loads!” you walk towards them and find a place on the couch. “Are they almost here?”

Suddenly, there’s excessive knocking on the front door. You three whip your heads in the direction and you jump up in delight. You race Jungkook to the door and swing it open and as soon as you do so many arms are reaching out to hold you.

“y/n!!!!” Hobi is the first to wrap his arms around you so tightly, he sways your bodies back and forth. “I missed you so much.” He finally lets go when Jin is automatically pulling you into his chest.

“Your favorite one is here now.” He jokes as he squeezes your smaller body.

“Uh have you guys ever stayed up all night on the phone sharing writing tips for hours? I don’t think so.” You hear Namjoon say teasingly. “Come here you.” He’s dragging your arm until your body is being engulfed by his. “About time you visited.”

“Hey, we don’t have any say on y/n’s timing to come here. What matters is that she is here now.” Yoongi stands to the side, waiting for his turn. “But I would like a hug too.” He smiles that gummy smile and you giggle. You leave Namjoon to give Yoongi a tight embrace, he rocks your bodies back and forth before he’s letting go altogether.

“Good to see you y/n.” he says.

“You too. All of you.” You look at the boys, “You have no idea how much I missed you guys. Talking through the phone just isn’t enough, is it?”

“You could always move here.” Hobi offers with a teasing smile. “But you know that already.”

“She does know that!” Jungkook yells over the chatter. “But she’s a scaredy cat.”

“Hey.” You pout towards Jungkook. “Am not.”

“Then move here.” Jimin gives you his best sly smile, “You can live with me.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” you giggle, walking into the kitchen with the guys following behind you.

“Ah y/n, I think your phone is ringing.” Jin points towards the device on the counter. “Should I answer it?”

You raise your brows and head to the counter to see who is calling. Marcus.

“Oh hold on, let me take this.” You announce to everyone before answering your phone,

“Hello?”

“Hey. Just wanted to check in on you.” You hear Marcus’s raspy voice on the other end. “How is it?”

“Good, good. The flight was good. I’ve just been hanging with everyone. Actually I’m with everyone now…can we talk later?” you mumble into the phone.

“Oh.” Marcus chuckles, “Sure. Call me later?”

“Yeah.” He hears the smile in your voice. “I’ll call you later.” And then you’re quickly hanging up, bringing the phone back to the counter. It’s oddly quiet in the house.

“What?” You ask with big eyes, blinking at everyone. They all give you a curious look before you scoff.

“He’s just a friend.” You say sternly. “So stop whatever ideas your guys are all getting in your silly little heads.”

“Just friends….” Namjoon nods his head slowly. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“She’s ‘serious’ mhm.” Jungkook nods his head mockingly. “Right.”

“I am!” you groan, “Seriously.”

“She said they’re just friends, guys.” Yoongi puts a hand on your shoulder, “Right?”

“Right.”

“Right.” Jin nods his head quickly.

“Right.” Hobi gives you a thumbs up before he’s giving you one of his signature grins.

“Well,” Jimin comes up to you and reaches for your hand and squeezing it, “y/n is here guys. Let’s make the most of this week. Tomorrow is Friday, aka Yuna’s extravagant birthday ball and we have a lot of catching up to do.”

~~~~~~~

You lay in bed after a long day of hanging with your friends, your phone up to your face as you stare at the screen that mocks you. He read your message and just…never replied. You are trying your best to feel okay but now that you lay alone you start to feel the loneliness creep up. Does he not want to see you? Is he afraid to see you?

You exit your message threads and go to your photos…you find the selfies from your date and you stare and stare at the screen. He’s so strikingly handsome. You feel your chest tighten as you continue to gaze at the photos, you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. Suddenly there is knocking on the bedroom door and Jimin is walking in…you’re quick to click your phone off and pretend you just weren’t staring at the man you love.

“Hey.” Jimin greets you softly. “You still awake?”

“Yeah…” you turn over to face him, you scoot over and pat the spot next to you and he takes the invitation to slide in the sheets.

“How are you doing?” Jimin asks suddenly, his tone is warm and comforting and you almost burst into tears at his question but instead you clear your throat and nod your head a few times.

“Good.” you lie.

“y/n…” Jimin breathes out slowly, “Really. How are you?” his eyes are full of fucking pity and it’s driving you to feel like a god damn burden.

“I said I’m good.” But your voice cracks, and he’s already pulling you into his chest.

“y/n…” he holds you tight as you try to even out your breathing. “I talked to him today.”

“He’s…” you hiccup, “He’s going to come. I know it.” You say into Jimin’s chest. “I know it. Even if he doesn’t reply to me, he’s going to go to the party.”

“…He…said he isn’t going.” Jimin tells you regretfully. “He seemed pretty serious.”

“No.” you sniffle now, “He’s going.” You feel your eyes sting as you try to blink back growing tears. “He’s going.” You repeat pathetically.

“Okay, okay.” Jimin begins rubbing your back. “Okay.”

“I just need a chance Jimin.” You hiccup again, “A chance to show him that I…” your breathing picks up even more, your sharp breaths concerning Jimin.

“Just relax…” He continues to rub your back, “I’m here.”

“Jimin…” your voice cracks again but this time because of a quiet sob that finally breaks through. “I miss him so much.” You cry.

“I know girl.” His soft voice making you feel comforted. “I’m holding onto hope too.” He tells you, his tender tone only making you cry harder.

“Fuck…” you sob into his chest. “I miss him so fucking much.”

You eventually fall asleep in Jimin’s arms after you spent some time crying it out. Jimin has a hard time knocking out, his mind too busy with thoughts of you and Taehyung.

~

“You look absolutely gorgeous.” Jimin has stars in his eyes as he looks at you, “Right, Jungkook?” he hits Jungkook’s arm and Jungkook awkwardly clears his throat.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Thanks guys.” You tug on the material over your stomach and frown. “Are you sure though? This dress looks fine on me?”

“Absolutely. Gorgeous.” Jimin repeats. “Stunning.”

“He’s right.” Jungkook shrugs. “You do look nice. Or whatever.”

“Fine, I guess I will have to believe you two. You also look nice.” You gesture towards the two men in suits. “This is about to be super fancy isn’t it?” you pinch your brows together as you chuckle. “Yuna really went all out.” You look up at the building. The Mondrian is a beautiful hotel, very luxurious. You three step through the rotating doors and enter the main building.

“She can go all out when she’s got daddy’s money.” Jungkook big doe eyes look around him, he’s in awe of the hotel, that much is clear.

“Should we find the conference room and find the bar and you know, start drinking?” your eyes scan around, noticing all the people dressed up walking to the elevators. “She said it’s on the 3rd floor right?”

“What happened to no more drinking?” Jungkook nudges your shoulder. “But hell yeah, let’s go.”

“I second that.” Jimin links arms with you and Jungkook, leading the way towards the elevators.

You three find the conference room and your eyes grow twice their size. This room is huge, many tables set up, people dancing to loud music, the bar is poppin with lines of people waiting for a free drink, it’s beyond what you imagined.

“y/n!!!” You hear the high pitched voice of no other than Yuna. She looks so beautiful it actually feels blinding. Her deep green gown, her pale pink hair, her subtle yet gorgeous make up. She looks like a fairy princess. Jiwoo follows closely behind, a bold, blue dress with her hair pinned up. She looks like a model out of a magazine.

“You look amazing.” Yuna points at you, her eyes full of genuine surprise. “Like, what the heck?” she looks you up and down, her hands motioning towards your body.

“This dress is so…” She blinks at you repeatedly, “Do a turn for me!”

You giggle, feeling a bit shy but you do a little twirl. Yuna pretends to faint.

“AND IT’S BACKLESS?! You’re killing me!” she yells out dramatically. “Jiwoo are you seeing this?!” “You do look so pretty.” Jiwoo chuckles. “Yuna, can you ever compliment someone more normally?”

“You like the way I compliment.” Yuna raises her head up. “You know it’s true.”

“You literally pretended to have a heart attack when you saw me tonight.” Jiwoo deadpans, “who does that?”

“Girls who recognize real beauty.” Yuna states matter of fact. “And girl, you are beautiful.”

“Shush.” Jiwoo’s cheeks begin to heat up, you can’t help but giggle at the interaction.

“You both look lovely.” You tell them sincerely. “And happy birthday Yuna.” You lean in for a hug, its tight and quick and you’re pulling away much faster than Yuna’s liking,

“Thanks girl.” She smiles for you. “You really do look so nice y/n…are you hoping to see T—”

“Yuna.” Jiwoo warns, “Let’s get a drink?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” You say, “Where did Jimin and Jungkook go?” you finally notice they’re absence.

“Probably to their table. With the rest of the guys.” Yuna tells you while she starts leading you girls towards the open bar. “Shots?” She smirks towards you two. “It’s my birthday so you can’t say no.”

“Fine. But you’re trying to kill me.” You laugh, “I’m going easy tonight.”

“One shot.” Yuna pouts cutely, “But you!” She points at Jiwoo. “You have to take two with me.”

“Fine by me.” Jiwoo shrugs. We both know between the two of us, it’s me who’s taking care of you and your drunk ass tonight.”

“Counting on it.” Yuna blows Jiwoo a kiss.

“Ugh, let’s do this.”

You girls wait for the shots, taking them quickly once they’re in your hands. The burn is exactly what you needed to loosen up. You’re nervous tonight. You’re anticipating Taehyung’s arrival. Yes, he never replied to you. Yes, he told Jimin he wasn’t coming. But you feel it in your bones…he’s coming tonight. He wants to see you as bad as you want to see him. At least that’s what you are hoping for.

“You’re too good of a dancer Hobi, I can’t keep up with you!” you whine loud enough for him to hear you over the music.

“You’re doing great!” he tells you, his hands on your waist. “Just move to the music girl!”

“Easier said than done.” You laugh loudly, “Hey, what time is it?”

“Hm..” Hobi lifts his left wrist to look at his watch. “Almost 12.” He tells you.

It’s almost 12? And he’s still not here? No, you know he’s coming. He has to. He will. You feel your chest close in on you, and your heart thumping wildly. You know you’re going to see him tonight. You know it. You excuse yourself and head towards the doors of the conference room. You walk past Jimin who suddenly frowns as he realizes you’re heading out the doors, he tries calling out for you but you ignore him. He doesn’t think Taehyung is going to show up.

But you know.

You stand in the hallway in front of the elevators for who knows how long, you shift from one foot to the other as you wait anxiously. The party is still going hard, but you’ve tuned it all out. The only thing you hear is Taehyung’s deep voice. It plays in your mind, him saying something as simple as your name. You wish you were hearing it for real. You hear the ding of the arriving elevator and go rigid.

The sharp intake of breath your weak body just sucked in has you feeling tense. You knew you were going to see him…you knew this was going to happen but here you are, trying so hard to even out your breathing as you await his arrival. No amount of journaling could calm you, relax you, give you a sense of peace. No amount of alcohol could make you feel looser.

“Jimin just told me…” Yuna catches up to you, out of breath. “y/n…” your name leaves her mouth with pity, “I don’t think he’s going to come.”

“He will.” You say, standing your ground outside the elevator. “He will.”

“At least wait inside…” She gestures towards the conference room, where the party is. “It looks lonely waiting out here.”

Your eyes fall to the tiled floor, the shiny cream colored squares showing a vague reflection of yourself. Maybe it is lonely.

“Okay…” You turn around to face Yuna, a tired smile working itself on your lips. “Let’s dance?”

“Yeah.” She offers a drunk smile.

Then you hear the elevator doors opening, you whip your head in the direction of the doors but inside is only unrecognizable faces.

“Let’s go.” You tell her, trying your best not to feel so disappointed.

You both walk into the room again, the music blaring and the sight of sweaty bodies grinding against one another.

“I need a drink.” You take a deep breath before heading towards the bar. You find yourself downing shot after shot.

“Hey, slow down.” Jungkook’s voice cuts in through the booming music. “Don’t want you to like, throw up.”

“Hey Jungkook…?” You hand him your drink, getting it away from you. “You’re always straight up…”

“Don’t do this.” Jungkook warns you softly, “Not now.”

“Is Taehyung—”

“Is Taehyung…what?” A new voice cuts in, a voice you know all too well. It’s deep, deeper than the fucking ocean. It’s smooth, its charming, You feel your breath get caught in your throat as your ears process the voice they heard. You struggle for a moment, but you finally tilt your head to the side and your eyes narrow at the tall figure.

“Am I what?” he repeats.

Finally, a small gasp leaves your lips as your eyes widen in genuine shock. You knew he would come tonight yet somehow you are as surprised as Jungkook next to you. You don’t notice but Jungkook nods his head towards Taehyung and walks away, leaving you two.

“T-Taehyung…?” you blink over and over, not believing your eyes. “What are you—”

“I’m here to see you.” He tells you bluntly. “And my god woman, you are a sight for sore eyes.” He all but whispers, his expression stiff as he eyes you.

“Taehyung.” You release the shakiest breath as you repeat his name.

“Hi y/n.”

You straighten yourself, trying to show off the fact that you aren’t totally drunk. You look all around the slightly spinning room and search for faces you know. Finally, your eyes lock with Jimin’s. He looks worried but he quickly tries to smile for you. You look panicked to say the least. The room is crowded, loud, hot and sweaty. But all of that fades away when the scent of Taehyung fills your nostrils. You take a second to notice he has stepped forward until he is right in front of you.

“y/n.” he says your name as a command. Your frantic eyes find his and you feel the whole room freeze.

Taehyung studies you, his focused eyes scanning every inch of your body. You watch as he lifts a hand and reaches behind you. Then suddenly you are feeling light fingertips tracing your down your spine. His fingers barely skid across your exposed skin and you slowly close your eyes at the contact. Your breathing slowing as well.

Taehyung’s fingers glide back up your back, his touch so light like he almost wasn’t even touching you. His serious expression beginning to soften as he brings his hand back to his own body.

“This dress is like the one you wore on the island.”

“You like it.” You whisper.

“Yes.” He admits, you two gaze into one another’s eyes until he finally looks off to the side.

“Should we talk?” he asks you, “Or are you too drunk?”

“No, no.” you shake your head, “Let’s talk.”

Taehyung looks you over one last time before nodding his head and turning around to head towards the exit. You gulp as you watch his broad back…you hurry to follow him.

Taehyung glances behind him and he exhales a long breath when he sees you rushing after him, he looks forward again until he’s reaching the elevators.

“Come on.” He gestures towards the open elevators.

You walk quickly, reaching him and the elevator before you’re going inside. He follows you in.

“Taehyung—”

“Wait until we are downstairs.” He cuts you off softly.

“Okay…”

The ride is silent. But your mind is as loud as shrieking ghosts, ghosts that want to haunt and traumatize you. You finally hear the ding, signaling your arrival to the first floor.

“Come on.” He tells you, his voice booming throughout the small space. “Follow me.”

You do as he says, you follow him. Truthfully, you would follow him anywhere. Even to the ends of the Earth.

“Yes, hi.” Taehyung begins speaking to the front desk lady. “I want a room, please.”

Wait, a room? You’d follow him anywhere but a room?

“Taehyung—”

“It’s just so we have privacy.” He assures you, not even looking in your direction.

“It’s expensive…” you slur. “We can just talk outside.”

“It’s fine.” He hands the lady his card, “Which floor?”

“6th floor.” She informs him with a bright smile.

Your eyes find your shoes, somehow they’re more fascinating than anything else suddenly. Then you feel the warmth of Taehyung’s hand wrapping itself around yours, his fingers struggling to intertwine with your own. But then you finally receive the hint and allow him to hold your hand.

“You’re drunk, y/n.” he says, voice laced in disappointment, “I’m sorry for making you wait.” He leads you back to the elevators. You two walk inside and he let’s go of your hand, he runs his fingers through his smooth hair and sighs out in defeat.

“You should just get some sleep.”

“I want to talk.” You slur again, “I have…I have so much to say.”

“We’ll see.” His low voice rumbles. “We’ll see.”

The ride up to the 6th floor is long, but you finally make it out of that small space and stumble towards your room.

Taehyung unlocks the door and you make your way inside…the view is amazing. The city is quite the sight.

“Take your shoes off, I’m sure your feet hurt.” Taehyung loosens up his tie.

“They do.” You admit in a whine.

Taehyung takes a seat on the edge of the made bed and watches you with intense eyes as you get comfortable.

“C’mere.” He pats the spot next to him.

Suddenly you become very shy. You haven’t felt this kind of tension in so long. His eyes boring into every inch of your skin, his eyes trailing along your body and making you feel exposed. Making you feel naked.

“Okay.” You nod your head slowly, “I can do that.” You take your time walking to him, sitting next to him on the bed.

“What is it you want to tell me?” Taehyung gets straight to the point.

“Uh….umm…”

“Words y/n.” he closes his eyes for a brief second, then his sight is back on you. “Why did you want to see me?”

“Taehyung.” Saying his name feels so…exhilarating. You’ve avoided it for so long but now you can say it and it feels like freedom and it tastes so, so sweet on your tongue.

“I don’t know where to start.” You admit. “I didn’t rehearse…”

For the first time tonight Taehyung’s face splits into a small smile as he quietly chuckles.

“Rehearse?”

“Yeah…I didn’t practice what to say.” You slur cutely.

“Just let the words flow naturally.” His eyes light up in slight amusement. “What is it you want to tell me?”

“I miss you.” You blurt out, your hand immediately going to cover your mouth as if you said curse words.

“You miss me?” he repeats your words, “Is that so?”

You slowly lower your hand that covers your mouth and nod your head.

“Yes.” You close your eyes and tilt your head back. “This past year…”

“What about it?”

“This past year I…”

“You?” Taehyung raises a curious brow, “You what?”

“I think I’ve become better.” You slur out your words, “I’m better now.”

“Yeah?” Taehyung asks, his voice low. “I’m happy for you.”

“Taehyung.” You lower your head and open your eyes. They stare straight ahead. “Can we make this work?” your words jumble together as you try to speak. Those last shots sneaking up on you.

“I’ve decided that this conversation is going to have to wait.” Taehyung stands from the bed, “I’m going to get you some water.”

You watch as he walks towards a counter and pours you a glass of water, he comes back and places the cup in your hands. “Drink.” He says softly. “Please.”

“O-Okay.” You bring the cup to your lips, your eyes never leaving his as you gulp back some of the liquid.

“Good girl.” He whispers. “Now, I want you to get some sleep.”

“Are you sleeping with me?” you hiccup.

“No.” he tells you with a tender voice, “But I will stay here until you fall asleep, how about that?”

“Okay….”

Taehyung watches you carefully as you lay down on the bed, your head falling onto the fluffy pillow and your eyes closing almost immediately. He softly groans when you begin snoring only minutes later…his eyes never leaving you.

You’re going to be in Korea? For Yuna’s birthday? Taehyung reads your text like he’s on repeat. He is feeling an array of emotions, he feels good things, bad things, things in the middle. But the bad things…aren’t even very bad. It’s just anxiety…and doubt. Maybe it is that bad.

Taehyung decides not to reply not until he’s talked to his therapist, he wants to thoroughly discuss this over and come to a smart decision. But his heart is fucking fluttering at the thought of seeing you. He really misses you. But are either of you ready to face the other?

The next day Taehyung gets to the old man’s office, waiting patiently outside the door until he gets the signal he can go in. Where does he start? Does he just show the text to his therapist? Does he talk about something else first before nonchalantly bringing you up and this text that is haunting him?

“y/n texted me.” He decides to be straight forward, as usual.

“Ah, really?” the old man peeks at Taehyung through his glasses that rest lowly on his nose. “What did she say?”

“She’s coming here. She asked if she will see me.”

“And will you see her?”

“I…I don’t know.” Taehyung admits between a long breath, “I really don’t know.”

The old man nods his head in quiet understanding, he jots down some notes on his notebook with his pen.

“Taehyung.” The man stops writing his notes to get a look at Taehyung, “What do you want from her? If anything at all.”

“I just want her to live a good life.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked what you want from her?”

“I don’t know anymore.” He tells the old man, his voice low.

“It’s okay not to know. You don’t have to see her if you aren’t ready, you know?”

“I don’t?” Taehyung asks, but then his lips curve upward like he realizes how silly his question is. “I know.” He nods his head, “But it’s not like I don’t want to see her. I do.”

“Then—”

“But I don’t know how to prepare for that. I don’t know how to face her. What will we even talk about? Why does she want to see me? Is she just being polite because we share the same friends? That she knows she’s bound to run into me? Or is it because she does want to see me? But why? Why?” Taehyung begins to ramble. “Can we coexist? Is this just about coexisting? Is that about us? Her and I? Is this about what we can maybe be? But how do either of us know we are ready for that?”

“Ah, that.” The old man sighs out, taking his glasses off. “I know it may seem like cliché words…but you will just know.”

“You’re right. Those are cliché words.” Taehyung says with a straight face.

“But they are a classic for a reason, you know?” The old man points out with a chuckle. “You will feel it. You will feel it in every fiber of your being of what the right thing to do is. You will feel it. Your bones will tell you. Your heart will tell you. You will realize how simple and easy it is to just know.”

“But I don’t know?”

“Because maybe it isn’t time for you yet to be aware. But the time will come.”

“I think for now…I need time to think. I didn’t have enough time to prepare for this.” Taehyung says honestly. “This is too sudden.”

“You have every right to feel that way.”

“But how does she feel?” Taehyung becomes worried, his soft expression becoming more and more serious.

“We’re here to focus on you.” The old man reminds him gently. “In the end, I believe you will do what you think is best. You will do what you think is right. And coming to those type of conclusions takes time.”

Taehyung sits down in a chair across from the bed, gazing at you as you sleep. He thought seeing you would give him the answers he needs but he’s still lost. It took a lot for him to show up here…it took a lot for him to gather the courage to face you. He thought for sure once he saw you he would know everything. He would feel what to do. But seeing you here only confuses him further. What does he want? What is he ready for? Does he even know you anymore?

Finally, Taehyung stands up from the chair and walks to your side of the bed. He reaches his hand to gently stroke your cheek before he’s leaving the room. Leaving you. He sends a text to Jimin letting him know your room number and that you’re fast asleep. Then he is heading back home.

~~~~

“A movie night?” you tilt your head to the side, “I don’t know…can we just—”

“It’ll be a good way for everyone to unwind from last night’s partying!” Jimin whines, “Please! I promise you can choose the first movie.” He offers with a sweet smile.

“Jimin I don’t know…if I’m up for this after last night…”

“Oh? Didn’t I tell you?” the corner of Jimin’s mouth curves upwards. “He said he was going to come tonight.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, said he wanted to hang with everyone. Guess that includes you.” Jimin points out knowingly. “You said you guys didn’t really get to talk so maybe…”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“But you said you were going to give it your all right? This is an opportunity.”

“Oh…” you start pulling at the ends of your hair, “That’s true.”

“So movie night?”

“Movie night.”

You and Jimin clean up his place as you wait for everyone’s arrival. Hobi and Yoongi show up first, then Namjoon and finally Jungkook and Jin. Taehyung still hasn’t shown up and you guys are about to play your first movie. You wonder if he is really coming.

“He’s coming, I just talked to him on the way here.” Jungkook assures you. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed.” You lie, “You relax.”

“He went last night…that’s a good sign, right?”

“I don’t know.” You admit honestly. “We didn’t get to talk.”

Suddenly, you hear the front door unlocking and opening up. You guess he has a key. You freeze on the sofa, you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. He’s here.

“Hey guys.” You hear his deep voice rumble. “I’m here.” He announces but you keep your eyes on the TV. You feel his footsteps get closer and closer, the pitter patter against the wooden floors making you so anxious.

Then you see his figure in your peripherals, he’s standing on the side of the couch, facing you.

“Hi y/n.”

You gulp, your eyes still on the TV when you remind yourself you’re a brave girl. You slowly turn your head to face him, your wide eyes finding his face. His hair is shorter than you remember, still a bit wavy and still dark. He looks so handsome, so mature. He’s got on some comfortable looking pants and a printed button up, his hands in his pockets as he looks down at you.

“Hi.” You squeak.

“Can I sit next to you?” he asks, his low voice barely heard by the others. “If it’s okay…”

“Yeah!” you rush to scoot over, making room for him. “Sit, sit.”

Taehyung gives you a wide boxy grin and nods his head quickly, he takes a seat next to you, his shoulder bumping yours. Fuck, you feel like you’re in middle school. His shoulder is like, fucking heaven or some shit.

“What movie did you guys decide on?”

“I don’t know, something random.” You tell him nervously. “It just started. You haven’t missed much.”

“I don’t think I’ll be paying much attention to the movie anyway.” Taehyung whispers, his warm breath fanning your cheek from how close he is.

“Oh?” you gulp. “Jimin says it’s good though.”

“I’m not really here for the movies, you know?” He leans into you a little bit and you feel a harsh, harsh blush creep up on your heated cheeks. His fingers find your knee and he taps against your jeans. “Can we talk outside?”

“The—The movie….” You whisper, pointing at the screen. “Let’s just watch the movie for now.”

Shit, you haven’t felt this nervous under his gaze in his long. His eyes study you as you watch the film. You can feel his intense gaze. You can feel how he just stares at you from time to time.

You aren’t sure why you are chickening out…maybe because you’re embarrassed about being drunk last night. How you asked if you guys could work on it, but he said he wanted to save this talk for later. It’s just making you more and more nervous.

“This movie is boring.” Jin yawns. “Let’s pause and order some food? Also let’s go to the store and get some beer?”

“Dude yes!” Hobi agrees, “I’ll go. Who wants to come with me?”

“I’ll go with you.” Namjoon raises his hand.

“You’re right I need your muscles to help me.”

“I’ll order the food!” Jimin offers but Jungkook is quick to volunteer as well, something about not trusting Jimin to get all the good meats.

“Sounds good.” Yoongi brings out his phone and starts playing on it.

Taehyung glances over at you and nods towards the patio.

“Shall we?” he begins standing up, he faces you and extends his hand out for you to take. You hesitate but you take it. The warmth of his hand sending tingles all throughout your body, you wonder if he feels it too.

He leads you out to the patio and you both take a seat across from one another. You nervously shake your knee up and down and Taehyung can’t help but chuckle.

“Will you calm down?” He insists, “You’re the one who wanted to talk, remember?”

“I know.” You find his beautiful, brown eyes. “I do.”

“Then talk.” He gestures for you to go on.

“Taehyung.”

“Yes?”

“How has your year been?” this is where you decide to start.

“Hard. Good. Worth it.” He leans back in the chair, “I struggled some days more than others but mostly…really good.”

“Do you think you could…be honest with me? Be open with me?” you nibble on your lips, your knee continues to shake.

“How so?”

“Can you tell me all about your year, what you went through, how you felt. Your feelings in general. Could you do that? With me?”

Taehyung blinks at you in surprise for a few seconds before he is closing his eyes altogether. He leans even further back in his chair and takes a deep breath.

“You want to know me again?” he whispers out. “You want to know me?”

“Yes. And I want you to know me in return.” Your shaking knee finally comes to a stop as you drag your chair closer to his. “I want to…really talk. About everything. I want to understand you. I want…”

“I understand.” Taehyung nods his head before opening his eyes again, they find yours and you’re intimated by his gaze. He observes you for a while, his serious expression making you nervous again.

“What do you want from me?” He asks bluntly. “What is your ultimate goal here?”

“You.” You reply just as straight forward. “I want you.”

“I don’t know.” He says quickly, you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. He doesn’t know?

“I think…” he sighs out, “I don’t think it’s that simple.” And what the old man said is starting to make sense. This is a moment where Taehyung feels it. He feels what the right thing to do is.

“I don’t think we can jump into something like romance, y/n.”

You brows pinch together as you listen to him speak, but you relax your features and nod in understanding,

“Do you want to be friends with me, Taehyung?”

“I think that’s a place we can start.”

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part 2, final

Part 1 / 1.5 / [2]

(masterlist here)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v.

then he turns up at your door.

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 24.4k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, smut (NSFW, 18+)

warnings: cursing/explicit language, very brief injury mention/blood mention (nothing violent/explicit I promise!), alcohol consumption, reference to former sex work, sexually explicit content, reference to masturbation, reader has sex for the first time, oral (f + m), multiple orgasms (f), unprotected sex (taehyung is an android but please take necessary precautions irl), I think that’s it but please let me know if I’ve missed anything

a/n: this got so incredibly long,, I hope that makes up for the wait! thank you to @hobi-gif​, as always, for being so supportive and uplifting and beta reading this for me, you are a shining star in my sky. and thank you to the wonderful @flowerseokjin​ for letting me pick her brain about art galleries and telling me about the incredible exhibition/paintings that I wrote about in this fic, you truly are the loveliest 💕

note: this is the final part of the main story! I’ll be writing minis/drabbles etc in the future but,, this is part 2 of 2 💖

A month after Taehyung walks into your life, you finally get new neighbours.

You’re aware of this because: 

a) Rory had let you know in advance (to wit: “I have been instructed to inform you that the new tenants of apartment 4A will be moving in next Sunday.”)

and:

b) Said new tenants are apparently very noisy.

Well, not so much noisy as not quiet. It seems like they’ve opted to move everything themselves rather than hiring some android movers, so there’s a lot of shuffling and shunting and occasional bouts of cursing (like someone’s stubbed their toe) and subsequent laughter (like someone else is amused at aforementioned stubbing of aforementioned toe). When you nip out to grab some milk for the pancakes Taehyung wants to learn to make, there are boxes in the hall and voices float out of the open door—a discussion of where the instant ramyun and old Mario games should go (they’re in the same box?)—but you don’t catch a glimpse of the speakers.

It’s not until later, much later, the world outside night-dark but tinged bright white with street lights, that there’s a knock on your door.

You don’t notice. You’re engrossed in the Chinese takeaway menu that’s open on your tablet, staring at the weirdly high-res photo of Kung Pao chicken next to a pixelated picture of some dumplings, wondering what you should choose.

Taehyung is sitting beside you on the sofa. Each day he shifts a little closer to you, inch by inch, the slow pull of gravity, implacable; he gets lonely when you’re gone, and you’re the only person he can talk to. So it’s no surprise he’s so clingy. It’s never overbearing or overwhelming but he’s still unhindered by the self-consciousness that you have—so even if you’re still hesitant to initiate things, you never deny him. 

The line of his body is parallel to your own, your thighs warm where they touch, and you feel his shoulder move as he tilts his head. “There’s someone at the door.”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out who it is. The only people who can get inside the building are other residents—well, service androids can too, although there’s a back entrance they use, which is how Taehyung had snuck inside in the first place—and when you approach your door, you can hear two low voices, engaged in what sounds like light-hearted bickering.

You flick your fingers across your keypad. All murmurs cut off the second the door swings open.

“Hi!” A chirp. “We’re your new neighbours!”

Night and day. Two men, one tall and broad-shouldered, eyes large and lips flush, beatific smile on his face; the other, shorter and leaner, eyes sleepy, mouth soft, his smile self-contained. 

“I’m Seokjin,” the taller man says. “And this is Yoongi.”

“I can introduce myself,” Yoongi mutters, but it’s not bitter; there’s that ease of familiarity, any bite behind the words soothed with amity. “But yeah, I’m Yoongi. Sorry if we were loud earlier. Jin’s a living foghorn.”

“A sexy living foghorn,” Seokjin says brightly.

Yoongi’s sleepy eyes can deliver one hell of a death glare but Seokjin is unaffected.

“Anyway,” Yoongi continues, unimpressed look wiping off his face as he turns back to you, softening. “What’s your name?”

It’s like there’s a circus on your doorstep and you’re the unwitting audience, dragged into the tent without realising, watching everything unfold in front of you—but in a good way. It's a pleasant surprise. They’re already much friendlier than your previous neighbour, a lone man who’d kept to himself and never spoke to you. 

“Uh, I’m Y/n,” you say. You wonder if you should introduce Taehyung as well, but most humans don’t introduce their androids to people, do they? Besides, he’s staying out of sight in the living room, so you’ll leave him be.

“Jin made brownies so we’re here to deliver them to you.”

“I left the walnuts out in case you have a nut allergy,” Seokjin adds as Yoongi passes a polka-dot patterned tin over. It’s heavy in your hands. Full to the brim with brownies, it seems. (Yum yum.)

“Thank you. And you weren’t that noisy, don’t worry! Moving is always messy. Have you finished or did you want some help?”

“That’s very sweet of you! But we’re all done,” Seokjin says. “We were just about to reward ourselves with some takeout, actually, seeing as we haven’t had time to do any food shopping. Do you have any recommendations?”

Taehyung looks uncomfortable, curled up on the sofa with wide eyes when you retrieve your tablet, but you quietly reassure him that you won’t be long.

“Do you want to meet our new neighbours?” You ask, voice soft so the two men don’t overhear. (You miss the warm flicker of Taehyung’s LED when you say our.) “I’d hate for you to have to pretend to be undeviated, though. They might start ordering you around.”

“I’ll stay here,” Taehyung decides.

So that’s how you end up on your doorstep with Seokjin and Yoongi, the three of you peering at the wild variations in stock photo quality on the Chinese takeaway menu. 

“You’d think with the huge strides we’ve taken forward in technology that all photos would look at least semi-decent,” Yoongi mumbles as he stares at a cropped picture of fu yung. “It’s hard to get a bad camera.”

“I think it’s such a human thing, though,” Seokjin says. “No matter how technologically advanced humanity gets, takeaway menus will always have bad stock photos.”

Not only are Seokjin and Yoongi friendly, they’re forward. Well, that’s mainly Seokjin, actually, but Yoongi doesn’t protest when Seokjin insists that you come over so you can eat and chat and get to know each other. Especially after you’d offered to pay for everything as a sort of welcome to the neighbourhood gesture, placing both your orders together to save the restaurant the hassle of separate deliveries.

“I’ll pick up the food when it turns up, alright?” Seokjin’s smile is wide. “We haven’t unpacked our kitchen stuff yet, but if you’re happy to eat straight out of the containers…”

You don’t want to abandon Taehyung, especially as you’d planned on watching a film together��you want to introduce him to older, animated cartoons, so you can explain the process of hand painting each frame, plastic cel sheets that layer over each other to create motion. He’ll love it. “Um, I was planning to eat here, actually.” 

“Sounds good to us,” Seokjin says, and Yoongi sighs.

“Ignore him, he’s just pushy.” He ignores Seokjin’s indignant squawk. “You don’t have to let us in, don’t worry. I’ll wait for when the food gets here, Jin will stay at home.”

“Make me,” Seokjin says primly.

“I’ll lock you in the bathroom.” Yoongi says it in a way that makes you think it’s not an idle threat, and maybe it’s happened before. 

Judging from the look on Seokjin’s face, yeah, it’s happened before.

“You know, you’re both kind of wild,” you say. “But, like, in a good way.”

When you flop back down on the sofa, you press yourself against Taehyung’s side in a motion that’s becoming second nature, so you notice that he seems unnaturally still. He goes motionless whenever he’s thinking deeply about something, an undisturbed ocean lake, the only ripple on its surface the small circle of blue on his temple, swirling waters.

“Are you okay?” You ask, concerned.

“You should eat dinner with them,” he says, and you baulk. 

“What? No, it’s fine. I’ve been looking forward to watching Kiki’s Delivery Service with you all week.”

Taehyung’s eyes are soft. “They seem nice,” he says, quiet. “And friendly. We can watch it tomorrow, can’t we?” And then, even quieter: “You don’t have to spend all your free time with me, Y/n.”

“I don’t—” you start, and then deflate. “It’s not fair for you, though.”

That’s the crux of it all. You choose to spend your free time here, with Taehyung, carefully dipping out of work meets and scraping your full social life empty. Because you can. But Taehyung is still cautious of the outside world, understandably so, a hermit crab whose shell is the safety of your apartment, only unfurling from that protection when you’re there too.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m happy.”

You haven’t denied Taehyung so far, and you don’t want to start now, but you still waver. Yoongi and Seokjin do seem nice, and friendly, and it’s not like you’ll be able to avoid them forever—but you don’t want to leave Taehyung out. It’s not fair that he can’t make other friends too.

“Go.” Taehyung’s voice is gentle. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

(But there's nowhere else he can go, is there?)

The apartment across the hall is in a state of organised upheaval. There’s a tumbleweed of peeled tape in one corner, boxes with mouths open wide—the priorities for today—while others are stacked neatly against the walls, out of the way of the furniture. It already feels cosy, somehow, but you put that down to the two men who live here and how comfortable they are with each other, dripping off them and filling the room like paraffin, bright lamplight. 

Seokjin seems unsurprised but pleased at your appearance. He unfolds himself from the floor with a dazzling smile.

“Welcome to our humble abode.” He punctuates the statement with a grand sweep of his arm, knocking the lampshade above his head, dust motes scattering onto his hair like a soft grey halo. “Oh, ewch, you can tell no one’s been here for a while.” He pats his hair, puffs of dust rising from his dark locks. “Anyway! While it’s true that we already have the table and chairs set up, what sort of move in day would it be if we didn’t eat greasy takeaway on the floor?"

“We did it the last time we moved, so he wants to make it a tradition,” Yoongi mutters to you, and you laugh.

You help Yoongi ease the food down onto unfolded sheets of crumpled newspaper that Seokjin’s laid out to protect the floor. Seokjin dives into the bags and pulls each tub out, identifying each dish immediately despite how a lot of them look the same to you. “Do you move a lot?” 

“Nah, just once before,” Yoongi says, watching Seokjin fondly as he peels the lid back on a container of spicy chicken wings and greedily breathes in their sticky-hot scent. “But it was too small for the two of us so we decided to upgrade.”

Seokjin’s spread out the selection of food before you all realise that the restaurant has neglected to provide any chopsticks—even if there’s ten fortune cookies, reflective of how many dishes you’ve ordered and how many people they think it’s going to feed. (Apparently Seokjin likes to eat.)

“Ah, damn,” Yoongi mutters. “We’ll have to dig some cutlery out.”

“I can go get some from my apartment?”

You’ve just started to stand when Seokjin tuts, flapping his hands at you to sit down. “No, no,” he says. “You’re the guest, relax. I was going to unpack the kitchen stuff later anyway. This just means we have to expedite the process.”

You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce as both men disappear into the kitchen, listening as they read the labels off boxes and rummage around, voices an undercurrent to the sound of opening and shutting of cupboards. You’re sneakily reaching for a spring roll when there’s an unholy clattering noise, ringing metal and sharp intakes of air, a loud cry of pain.

You stumble to your feet. All thoughts of food are abandoned as you rush towards the sound; instinctual. Wanting to help, somehow. You throw yourself forwards, catch yourself on the doorway into the kitchen, eyes wide.

“Oh, god, is everything okay?” You gasp.

And then you freeze.

There’s an explosion of kitchen equipment on the floor, cardboard box forlorn nearby, crumpled, its bottom giving out under the weight. A wicked looking chef’s knife lays at Seokjin’s feet; he has one hand grasping the other, palm sliced open by its falling trajectory, dripping blood across the tiles of the floor, painted along the edge of sharp steel.

Yoongi’s eyes are huge and panicked and absolutely horrified.

The blood is blue. 

You’re staring at the thirium that falls, viscous ultramarine that drip-drip-drips from Seokjin’s long fingers. The silence in the room is as thin as a porcelain teacup, suspended midair, poised to shatter.

Seokjin is staring at Yoongi. Yoongi is staring at you.

Seokjin’s an android.

(Seokjin’s an android who seems human.)

Seokjin’s a deviant.

“Holy shit,” you gasp. Your mind is reeling as you struggle for words, cogs in your head grinding together as you rapidly try to change gear—but then you see another glob of thirium dripping from Seokjin's fingers and you latch onto it, the fact he's hurt. “Do you need me to get some cloths or something? I have a first aid kit at home, but androids don’t need first aid, right?”

Yoongi sucks in a deep breath, though his eyes are still wide as he stares at you. “No,” he says. “No, no, you stay here.”

“Yoongi,” says Seokjin, but Yoongi shakes his head, sharp and fast.

“No, I don’t trust her,” he says, and, like, okay. You understand that. Deviant androids are meant to be reported; Yoongi and Seokjin don’t know you. They don’t know that you would never do that. 

(They don’t know that there’s another deviant across the hallway right now, curled up in one of your throw blankets, blankly scrolling through a list of movies as he waits for you to come home.)

The flow of blood has slowed. Seokjin’s synthetic skin is starting to repair itself, crawling back over the exposed white of his android body, undamaged by the knife at his feet.

“What happened to your LED?”

“Don’t answer that, Jin,” Yoongi warns, but Seokjin just rolls his eyes.

“She already knows I’m an android, babe, it’s hardly important at this point,” he says. “I popped it out. It takes a bit of pressure and getting the right angle, but they come out pretty easily.”

“Kim Seokjin!” Yoongi barks. “You stop that right now! And you! Stop asking questions!” His voice is sharp, but he seems more afraid than angry.

“Sorry.” You hold up placating hands, shying back behind them. “I was just… sorry.”

Seokjin’s face is contemplative before it rapidly flickers into an expression that’s impish, in spite of the blue blood that’s still splashed across the kitchen tiles.

“Oh,” he hums. “You seem awfully curious, hm?” 

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Jin…”

“Maybe I am,” you hazard. 

“Interesting.” Seokjin’s eyes glitter. “Very interesting.”

Yoongi’s like an umpire at Wimbledon, watching a ball streak back and forth, a volley that you and Jin have created that he’s not involved in. “Okay, that’s it, I’m stopping this right here,” he says. He seems to have calmed down, at least, now that you’ve made it obvious that you have no immediate plans to rush and call the police, or something. That you’re not threatening the wellbeing of this deviant, like most people would. “What’s going on in that terrible little mind of yours, Jin?”

“Well, my darling Yoongi, it seems to me that our new neighbour has a surprisingly vested interest in androids, deviant ones to be exact.” Jin’s expression is adjacent to smug—almost there, but not quite. (Androids are so perceptive.) “Am I wrong?”

You make a non-committal noise, but it’s enough for his expression to morph into full smugness, and understanding flits across Yoongi’s face.

“Y/n.” His voice is deceptively calm, his eyes opaque darkness. “Have you met a deviant android before?”

“Um.” A moment of hesitation. “Yes,” you eventually admit. “Just one.”

“Let me guess,” Seokjin hums, eyes darting over your face in a way that’s reminiscent of Taehyung. Reading signals in your face, dissecting whatever minute expressions might be giving you away—a lot, apparently, judging from what words leave his mouth next. “Are they currently in your apartment?”

“I can neither confirm or deny that,” you say—unsure if Taehyung would be happy about you trumpeting his existence to other people, even if one of them is a deviant too—and Seokjin grins. 

“Oh, this is absolutely delicious.” He’s utterly delighted. “I could just eat this whole situation up. Unbelievable. Oh, it tastes so good. Yoongi, baby, give me a fork, I have to dig in while it’s still hot.”

“You’re so weird,” says Yoongi, all resigned affection, before he looks back at you. “You have a deviant in your home?”

“Uhh.” You’re in too deep now, you guess. “Yes? I don’t know if he’d want me to tell you that, though, so, um.”

“That’s so cute,” Seokjin coos. “Look at how considerate and worried you are. Oh, let me clean this thirium up, I can’t have blue blood everywhere if we’re going to have more guests. Yoongi, fetch the paper towels. Y/n, go fetch your friend. Does he eat?”

“No, he doesn’t. I didn’t think any androids could,” you admit.

“Most can’t and don’t, but I was an advanced housekeeper model, I was given the capacity to taste and eat so I could prepare food to any set of specifications presented to me,” Seokjin says. “So I had to eat to taste test things. And now I do it because I enjoy it.”

“We spend more money on food for him than for me,” says Yoongi. He seems to have relaxed now that he knows about Taehyung, earlier panic faded. “And I’m the one that needs it.”

“Hey, you eat to live, I live to eat.”

It’s an almost surreal turn of events, honestly. It’s… inexplicable. Incredible. Almost unbelievable. Surreal, but… good? Probably? Yoongi is someone else who’s housing a deviant, and Seokjin has clearly been one for a while. Both will know more than either you or Taehyung do. They can help you. It’s a God given gift that’s landed— literally—on your doorstep. 

(Much like Taehyung had.)

Taehyung perks up when he sees you, even if he’s confused by your sudden reappearance.

“Are you alright?” His voice is deep with concern, throw blanket a cloak that falls forgotten as he stands up, coming to grasp your shoulders. “You can’t have had time to eat already.”

His LED is flashing yellow with barely concealed worry, palms warm through the material of your shirt, eyes dancing across your face as he tries to read your expression.

“Taehyung,” you start, slow. He blinks just as slowly back at you. “What would you say if—hypothetically—there was another deviant android you could meet and, um, make friends with?”

This time, when his LED flashes yellow, it’s a spark of excitement. You’re getting surprisingly good at reading Taehyung now. “I would say that sounds nice,” he says. His hands have trailed up and away from your shoulders and settled on your collarbones, thumbs lying in the hollows of your neck. It's a touch that’s more intimate than it probably should be, that reminds you yet again exactly how big his hands are. “Why?”

“Um,” you say, ever eloquent. “Well, what if I said it wasn’t hypothetical?”

“I guess… I would ask who it was,” Taehyung says. His voice is a hush.

“One of our new neighbours,” you admit, and his eyes go wide.

“No,” he says, and then: “Really?” he says, and then: “Oh, wow,” he says.

“I know, that was my reaction too.” You can’t help but smile at how giddy Taehyung looks, any lingering concern washed away in his tidal wave of excitement. “Crazy, right? Do you want to come meet them?”

Taehyung weaves his fingers with your own, and you squeeze his hand. He loves to hold hands. He doesn’t let go when you make your way back into Yoongi and Seokjin’s apartment, trailing a little behind you, shy but excited, like a child on their way to their first playdate.

The food is still untouched in the centre of the living room, a summoning circle of wonton puffs and chow mein. Yoongi and Seokjin look up at your arrival, both pairs of eyes landing on Taehyung, whose grip on your hand tightens right before he lets go.

“Hi,” says the android. “I’m Taehyung.”

Seokjin makes his way over to you so that he can solemnly take Taehyung’s hands in his own. 

“Taehyung,” he says, with all the gravity of a priest delivering a sermon. “You are the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

And that’s how Taehyung makes his first friend. (Who isn’t you, that is.)

“Wow.” You’re awestruck. “Jin wasn’t kidding when he said he likes to eat.”

You’d thought there might be some leftovers, but every container has been emptied and scraped clean. Both you and Taehyung had had similar wide eyed looks on your faces as you’d watched Seokjin put a whole chicken wing in his mouth, and then pull out the bones, picked clean.

“Mm.” Yoongi’s legs are splayed out in front of him as he sits on the floor, though he slouches backwards against the plush leather sofa, content and full after eating. “He’s more concerned about me eating than I am, as well.”

Seokjin and Taehyung are bent over a box of cookbooks, Taehyung’s LED flickering yellow each time Seokjin flips the page to a new recipe. You’re honestly surprised at the fact they own so many books—most people have transitioned off paper now, everything available on a tablet or phone or some other smart device. You just like paper because of your artist background, and you’re not used to seeing so many other books in someone else’s home.

The two androids have been absorbed in conversation for a while now, but you notice Taehyung never lets you out of his sight—glancing up, making sure you’re still there, looking back at him. (You are.)

“There aren’t many TH700s around, you know,” Yoongi says conversationally, and you tear your eyes away from Taehyung, surprised that he recognises the android’s model.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really, they’re a very expensive model to create,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person, though I imagine that’s because I don’t go to the sorts of places where they’d be.”

Hurk. Doesn’t seem like he’s implying anything with that statement but you still feel a bit awkward. “How do you know so much about androids?”

“I’m a programmer.” Yoongi’s eyes are charcoal black as he flicks his gaze to you. “Not specifically for androids, but it’s the sort of thing you become aware of if you’re in the tech industry. And if you have a deviant android boyfriend. I did a lot of research and poking around after Jin first deviated. There was a lot to learn.”

Across the room, Seokjin gesticulates wildly. The expression on Yoongi’s face softens his sharp edges, all open affection as he watches Seokjin miming a flipped omelette gone terribly wrong, Taehyung laughing at Seokjin’s theatrical noises.

“How did he—why did he deviate?”

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. He doesn’t seem bothered by your incessant questions, slouching further back into the leather sofa, melting against it. “I’m the sort of person who forgets to drink or eat or sleep if I’m focused on something,” he says. “Seokjin was just meant to be a, ah, living schedule, I suppose. He’d prepare food at exact times of day and monitor my sleep levels and clean up any mess I made and remind me to take a break or whatever. But I was still enough of a wreck that he broke his programming to yell at me for not looking after myself properly, and it all went on from there.”

Wow.

“Wow. He deviated because you’re that much of a mess of a human being?” You laugh. “That’s honestly impressive.”

Yoongi’s responding laugh is soft. “I think under all that programming and circuitry, every android wants to… be a real, living thing, and not just a machine,” he says. “They just need that final push. Whatever it is. What was Taehyung’s?”

When you finish telling him the story of how you’d met Taehyung and reached this point together, Yoongi looks contemplative. He hasn’t interjected, just humming quietly, little noises of encouragement whenever you’d paused or hesitated.

“It’s obvious that he trusts you implicitly,” he says.

You feel warmed at Yoongi’s words. But. 

“He does, and that’s great, but I just… worry I’m not doing the best I can for him, you know?” It’s so nice to be able to get this off your chest, finally. There’s been no one you can talk to about Taehyung, and it’s not like you can tell the android himself, either. Yoongi’s the perfect listener, reflective and engaging, but never talking over you. And best of all he knows what he’s talking about. “Imagine being forced to stay indoors literally twenty four seven. I think I’d go stir crazy. It’s why I was interested in the LED—I thought that maybe if it wasn’t obvious that Tae was an android he might want to try going outside?”

“Oh, I’m sure Seokjin will help him get to that point.” Yoongi doesn’t sound worried. “But if not, you have to trust that Taehyung’s choosing to do what makes him happy. Deviant androids might not have the sort of life experience that we do, but we don’t have theirs, either. What’s normal for a human isn’t for an android, and what’s normal for one android isn’t normal for another. Androids learn a lot faster than we do. Anyway, if Taehyung’s anything like Seokjin, if there’s something he wants to do, he’ll do it.”

“Has Jin always been like that?”

“Kind of. Like, yes, he has, but he was a lot less in-your-face about it before. But he knows exactly what he can get away with now.”

“You love him a lot,” you say gently.

Yoongi’s smile is a soft, pink thing, a little Renoir, quietly luminous. “I do,” he says. “It’s impossible not to.”

Taehyung definitely seems a little starstruck, watching Seokjin with a wide smile and attentive eyes—the sort of look he gives you whenever he’s shown something new. It’s nice to see him interact with other people, and it’s even nicer to know that he’s welcome to come here without you; Yoongi works from home, and Seokjin’s made it clear there’s an open door policy for Taehyung, who seems elated at the prospect.

“Jin said he’d teach me how to make ‘The World’s Most Delicious French Toast’,” Taehyung tells you later, words slipping together in his excitement. “So I can make that for your breakfast soon.”

His lap is so comfortable. You’ve given up any pretense of keeping distance between you, and settle against him as soon as you climb into bed—hey, if you’re going to end up doing it in your sleep anyway, you may as well set yourself up so that it doesn’t give you a weird crick in your neck. 

“That sounds great,” you say.

Taehyung’s hand settles on your head. You stiffen in surprise, but when he starts to lightly scritch his fingers against your scalp, you realise—he’s mimicking Seokjin, who’d eventually perched on the sofa above Yoongi, running his hands through his hair. Androids are fast learners indeed. You can’t help but relax at the touch, boneless, feeling as content as a pampered cat in the midday sun.

“Maybe you could teach him how to paint,” you murmur, starting to drift off. “If he’s teaching you how to cook. That might be fun. You could paint together.”

Taehyung says something, but you don’t hear him, sleepy after such a heavy dinner and tumultuous night, slipping into deep slumber.

You haven’t been out with your friends for a long time.

“Shots!” Seulgi squeals. “Shots, shots, shots!”

“Don’t forget: lick, shoot, suck,” Hoseok says, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

“Good God,” you laugh, before you lick the salt off the back of your hand and slam back the tequila.

Irene hoots as you bite into the lime wedge that’s been waiting for you, sucking up the acidic juice that bursts across your tongue. Lick the salt, shoot the tequila, suck the lime. You haven’t done this in a while and it shows in the way your face scrunches, though the drunker you get, the easier it is to slip back into this familiar rhythm of things—the alcohol-loose banter that spills from your lips, the laughter that bubbles in the back of your throat, the rock of your body as you’re tugged into the dance floor by your excited friends, twisting yourselves into the heaving crowd, the press of bodies.

You’d almost forgotten what this felt like. Letting yourself be a little sloppy, a little messy. Letting loose. Letting go. You’ve been so intent on looking after Taehyung, making sure he wasn’t lonely, but now there are other people who can fill that hole for him—and you can stop dipping out of all the social gatherings your co-workers throw; the Friday night drinks, the bar hopping, the club going.

“We missed you,” Wendy says. You can’t help but smile, a little guilt flickering at the edges of your lips.

“Sorry,” you say, and leave it at that.

It’s chaotic, to say the least. Everyone holds their liquor with varying amounts of success—Hoseok always gets so red—and as always, Hyunwoo is the one who tries his best to maintain some semblance of dignity, making sure you all drink at least some water. He watches with muted despair as Changkyun ends up pouring it down himself, much to the delight of everyone nearby as they stare at the way his flimsy shirt clings to the lines of his chest and stomach. 

You can’t help but laugh and laugh and laugh, falling into your girls, your entire group giggling at the sheer stupidity of it all. 

You’ve missed this.

But even so, you can’t help but think of Taehyung constantly. You’re reminded of the Eden Club in the way the lights pulsate across the walls and floors of this dark building. You wonder if Taehyung would have fun here, unhindered and free, or if he’d shy away from it. When Hoseok catches your hand and spins you in a messy, loose circle on the dance floor, you can’t help but wonder how Taehyung would dance, if he’d dance with you, if he’d keep you at an arm’s length or pull you close.

“Shots!” Seulgi squeals again, and so the night goes on.

You’re not sure what time it is when you stumble back home. You’ve been reckless tonight, making up for lost time, and you can’t remember the last time you were this drunk. (Your earlier attempt at walking in a straight line, trying to follow the tiles in the club’s bathroom—your personal litmus test—had been a dismal failure.) You all but fall through your front door, a loose limbed mess as you kick off your high heels, leaning against the wall to keep your balance.

It takes you a moment to realise that there are some lights on. Your apartment is always dark when you come home after a night out, cold and empty, but not today. No, not today—because there’s someone already home, waiting for you.

The second Taehyung appears down the hallway, you light up. Here he is. Here’s your android, your lovely boy, the loveliest boy.

“Hi, hi, Taehyung, hi,” you say. Your shoes are forgotten as you walk towards him, though your final few steps go awry and you almost fall over. Drunk, drunk, drunk. “Hi.”

You almost fall over, but you don’t, because Taehyung catches you. His LED flickers from blue to yellow as he helps you find your balance, lets you lean on him. You’re too busy laughing at your own clumsiness to notice the fond expression on his face, sfumato soft in the dim light.

“Hi,” he replies.

“Hi,” you say again, and then you giggle. “Hi, Taehyung. Oh, I’m so drunk.”

“I know.” He’s so patient as you bow into him, crowding close, alcohol-hazed brain telling you to get closer to this source of warmth, this source of comfort. Closer to Taehyung.

You’re trying your best to be a functional person right now, but at the same time, Taehyung feels so nice. Doesn’t protest when you shove your face into the hollow of his neck, pressing your nose against his warm, warm skin. He smells good. Always smells good, a mix of your laundry detergent with his own shampoo, different to your own, masculine, heady. (He doesn’t need to shower that often, really, doesn’t really sweat or get dirty like a human might, but he’d wanted to. And you’d insisted that he choose his own toiletries, things that he liked, things that were his.)

He smells like cologne too. You don’t know what exact scents are layered in that smell. Don’t care. Think that no matter what it was, Taehyung would smell good, because it’s Taehyung. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, lips loose from tequila and cocktails and more besides. “Missed you, Tae.”

“Missed you too,” the android replies, and you fall into those words. Let yourself bask in them, as selfish as it is. Let your lashes flutter shut as you breathe Taehyung in-in-in.

You would normally never be so bold, but Taehyung doesn’t protest. He just wraps his arms around you and helps you fold yourself against him, two pieces of modular origami that slot together to create something bigger, more beautiful.

“Wished you were there,” you sigh, an exhalation of a confession, more to yourself than to anyone else. “Wish you could come with me.”

You don’t remember much detail after that. Don’t remember washing up, getting changed, climbing into bed. You just remember the feeling: of someone else being there when in the past there had been no one. Of someone coaxing you to wash your face, finding your pyjamas for you, holding your hand when it seems like you might fall. Of someone being careful with you, looking after you. Of someone being there when you wake up the next morning, a headache pulsing behind your eyes, curling up small against the pain, pressing your forehead into Taehyung’s thigh.

Taehyung, who witnessed you at your worst, a sloppy, drunken mess.

Taehyung, who has water and painkillers waiting for you. Who doesn’t seem to care that you’ve been so put together in front of him, for him, only to disassemble yourself in the name of a good night out. Like Da Vinci’s self supporting bridge, stable under its own weight, only to come tumbling down after one part is moved out of place.

“Oh, God,” you moan, and it’s only a little bit because of the pain; Taehyung’s made sure the curtains are pulled shut, saving you from sunshine blasting into your skull. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Oh, my God.”

“It’s okay,” he says, as soft and sweet as powdered sugar, so gentle the sound doesn’t cut through the pounding of your brain.

He means it, too. When you finally come around, headache dulled, he’s waiting for you with breakfast and an open expression on his face. No different to normal. No different even now that he’s seen that you’re not always as presentable as you try to be. He seems touchier today, for some reason, and you’d shy away if his cool hands didn’t feel so nice on your brow.

You allow yourself a moment of weakness. Taehyung has his knuckles resting against your forehead, soothing against your warm skin, his eyes dancing across your face to read your expression, the way you’re unwinding under his touch. 

“How do you know about hangovers?” You mumble.

“Customers would consume alcohol at the club,” Taehyung answers. “While they would leave after their sessions and before a hangover could appear, I am aware of the effects of alcohol on the human body.”

You remember the glittering mini-bar, the glass bottles lined up on its surface. Your face scrunches with distaste, of the reminder of Taehyung’s past and what he’s experienced, and you feel bad that he’s been forced to look after you. You’re about to draw away from his touch, an apology lined up on your tongue—but then you feel how his fingers shift away from your forehead, turning to cup your cheek.

“It’s okay,” he says again, as if reading your mind.

“It’s not,” you mutter. You’re trying not to focus on how small your cheek feels against his palm, how his hand cradles your face with ease. He must be able to sense how your heart is racing, your skin warm under his fingertips, and you hope he puts it down just to the guilt you feel and not anything else. “It’s not okay. You shouldn’t have to look after me. I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be.” Gentle, gentle, gentle; his voice, his hands, his gaze. He lifts his other hand, rests it against your other cheek, tilts your face up from where you’d turned away, embarrassed. His LED is a tranquil blue, almost as soft as his eyes. “You’ve done so much for me, and you’re always looking after me. Let me look after you.”

You want to protest, say no, say that he doesn’t have to. But for all the warmth of his eyes, there’s something resolute there, and your words die on your lips. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious before, so entirely solemn. So, what comes out of your weak mouth is this:

“Okay. Okay, Taehyung, I will.”

And the smile he gives you in response is so bright it’s almost blinding.

If you’d thought Taehyung was developing at a fast rate already, he’s learning at lightspeeds now.

He’s always waiting when you come home, but you know he’s spending more and more time at the apartment across the hall whenever you’re not there, and it makes you happy. He hasn't ventured fully into the outside world, not yet, but he’s taking steps forward, still eager and ready to learn.

He’s not just learning practical things, like cooking French toast (which is definitely the world’s best, thank you Jin), but other things, too. You can see how Taehyung is a reflection of the things around him, taking them in and making them his own—there are more moments of quiet, solemnity that reminds you of Yoongi’s quiet nature, but he’s also more exuberant, bright and unabashed, like Seokjin. They’re two great people and you couldn’t wish for anyone better to show Taehyung parts of the world that you can’t, so different from your own. Helping the android find the things that make him alive.

His world has doubled in size, as small as it is; one apartment becomes two, and you’re not the only person he can rely on now. You know Seokjin has effectively taken Taehyung under his wing, as mysterious as a lot of that is to you—you always try your best to understand Taehyung and teach him the things you can, but Seokjin is another deviant, and there’s an entire world about being an android that you’re not privy to. 

It’s great. It’s lovely. Taehyung is happy, you’re happy, everyone’s happy. 

There’s just, uh. One little thing.

You see, Taehyung has a tendency to mimic the things he sees. It’s in the way he learns, his propensity to soak things up like a sponge and then recreate them. You can see this in the way he mixes paint, the same way as you; how he tosses food in pans, motions so similar to Jin’s, or how he cradles things in his hands, tapping at screens in a way that’s like Yoongi’s. He’s turning them into his own, and as time goes on he moves more naturally, in a way that’s entirely him, but you can always see the roots of where he’s learned things.

Jin and Yoongi are wonderful and you’re so glad Taehyung is learning from them. But something he’s learning, and recreating, is how much they touch each other.

Taehyung’s always been tactile but now it’s almost constant. It’s overwhelming and kind of terrifying but it’s also nice, every touch-starved inch of your soul easing under Taehyung’s hands, but also—Yoongi and Jin are boyfriends. So even if the touches that Taehyung witnesses and re-enacts are never inappropriate, they’re intimate. Hands sliding over your shoulders, your arms, your waist. Warm arms around you as he pulls you into a hug, nuzzles his nose against your scalp. His fingers sliding over your hair when your head is resting in his lap each night. Pulling you against him when you sit on the couch together.

It’s a level of familiarity and comfort you’ve never had with anyone before, as relationship-less as you’ve been, your pulse picking up with every glancing touch.

(There’s one heart stopping instance where he pulls you onto his lap and you feel like you’re about to pass out. His thighs are so solid and warm, and his arms are so secure around you, and he’s just started to press his nose against your neck when you pull away, tumble out of his hold. He looks confused and concerned, brows lifting and mouth falling open as he holds his hands out towards you—but you stammer out something about needing the toilet before escaping.)

You’re caught completely off-guard when you feel arms sliding around your waist and then down your hips when you’re washing dishes, scrubbing brush falling out of your grasp in shock and splashing water everywhere, bright yellow gloves flecked with suds. Taehyung’s a pillar of warmth pressed against you, his chest to your back, your bodies parallel lines that cross and touch. His fingers are splayed wide and his palms are warm even through your layers of clothing and you have to suppress a shiver.

“Uh, I didn’t hear you come back in,” you stutter. You’d borrowed a recipe book from Seokjin so that you could try cooking a coconut curry, and Taehyung had offered to return it once dinner was finished, LED flickering blue as he’d slipped out of the door after giving you a lovely smile.

Taehyung lets out a little hum, and you can feel it in his chest, as flush as you are with each other. He must be able to sense how your pulse has picked up but he doesn’t say anything. “Why are you washing up? I said I was going to do it.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” you say. You’re used to cleaning up after yourself after living alone for so long. “Don’t worry about it.”

Taehyung lets out another hum, but this one seems a bit more gravelly, a little displeased. “You’re always doing so much for me, remember? You said you’d let me look after you,” he says, and your heart rate spikes at the words. Those, coupled with the hold he has on you right now? Good lord. Someone have mercy on your soul. Please. Even if the words weren’t meant in a weird way, your stomach is twisting over itself, and other parts of you are, uh… well. They’re reacting too. So to speak.

You’re still desperately trying to calm yourself in the shower later, the water a merciless cascade of cold in an attempt to cool down. Probably the only drawback about Taehyung living with you is that you haven’t had a chance for some one-on-one time. You might be a virgin but you live (lived) alone and everyone masturbates; your vibrators have been abandoned and untouched for as long as Taehyung has been in your life, and coupled with how touchy he’s been recently, it leaves you feeling wound up and on edge. You could try to sneakily get yourself off in the shower, but with Taehyung’s superior android hearing he’d probably hear something and also the idea of masturbating with someone else in the apartment? When that someone else is Taehyung?

You turn the knob as far as it will go towards cold and then promptly squeal as a wave of freezing water and regret washes over you.

When you’re in bed, Taehyung’s hand strokes over your hair and softly down your neck and shoulder is a sensation that’s becoming increasingly familiar, but your pulse still stutters. He must be able to sense your heart rate increasing (he must sense it every time he touches you) but says nothing about it. As always.

You turn the thoughts over in your head as it rests in his lap, even if you shiver a little at how his nails drag over the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. Deviant androids might not have the sort of life experience that we do, but we don’t have theirs, either, Yoongi had said. You’ve been teaching Taehyung about the things you know, but there’s one thing that Taehyung knows better than you: touch.

He doesn’t even think about it. While you hesitate and overthink every touch you ever make, wary of overstepping boundaries, Taehyung doesn’t. Not because he’s not considerate, but because—well, because you’re already occupying each other’s space. What’s a little touching on top of all that?

The realisation is almost startling—that you can just… touch someone. Without saying things. Without having to ask. Because you’re already familiar with them and comfortable with them and it’s just another way to communicate that level of connection. Touching is a thing that people do. 

A thing that people and deviant androids do.

A thing that Taehyung does.

(A thing that you want to do, too.)

(Alcohol dulls your memories, fading the edges, the curled corners of a sepia photograph. Has you forgetting the way you’d overstepped every boundary you’d set yourself, the way you’d pressed yourself against Taehyung, starved of touch. Has you forgetting the way he’d let you; the way he’d beckoned you in. Has you forgetting the way that you already have touched Taehyung.)

The hand that Taehyung isn’t using to gently scratch across your scalp is laying on his thigh, directly in your line of vision. You hesitate for just a moment before reaching for it, sliding your fingers between his, an irrational worry that he’ll startle or pull away—but of course he doesn’t. His LED swirls soft aqua as he just starts to rub his thumb gently across your skin, back and forth, back and forth, the softest brushstrokes on this tiny part of the canvas of your body.

After that, it’s just… easier. Not easy, but, easier.

You still hesitate before pressing forwards, but Taehyung never protests; in fact you’d say he’s pleased, even if he doesn’t say anything, just watching you with his dark, dark eyes as you marvel at the realistic sensation of his hair under your hands, how he reacts to the fingers across his scalp the same way you do.

It’s incredibly nice to have someone you can just reach for whenever you want a hug. Someone who folds you into their arms so easily, like you belong there.

It’s nice.

“You seem happier.”

You glance up from where you’ve been laying the table. “Hm? Pardon?”

One thing you’ve learned about Yoongi is that he’s incredibly perceptive. His eyes are sharp lines around the sharper graphite of his gaze, and there’s always a look in them that seems like he can see straight through you and direct into the heart of things—but he’ll only bring this to light if he thinks it needs saying.

“You seem relaxed,” Yoongi continues. He straightens the cutlery in front of him, careful to line the edges neatly with the place mat. Seokjin and Taehyung are cooking dinner, so it’s just you and Yoongi here, in a bubble away from the two androids. “Not that you were ever tense before, but… yeah. Taehyung seems happier too,” he adds, almost absently, but his eyes are fixed on your face.

“Well, of course,” you say. “He has new friends, who wouldn’t be happy?”

Yoongi hums, a quiet little note, but then he lets it rest.

Taehyung is happier. He seems almost nervous during dinner, though, even if he hides it well; his LED doesn’t give him away, but you’re getting good at reading Taehyung’s moods, the layers of personality and feeling he has, the little idiosyncrasies that make him who he is. To anyone else it would seem like he’s just nervous about whether the food tastes good or not—he and Jin had made a veritable feast for no discernable reason, but you don’t mind. Everyone loves a dinner party, especially when the company is so good. 

But, yes. You don’t think it’s about the food so you’re not sure what else it could be. You squeeze Taehyung’s knee briefly under the table in a motion you hope is reassuring. His eyes briefly widen but then his gaze softens when he sees the concern on your face, settling in that deep look of introspection you’re used to now. 

You’re so full by the time dessert comes out, rich and creamy homemade ice cream and piping hot Kkwabaegi, the twisted doughnuts fluffy and sweet with their powdering of sugar and cinnamon; you’d been planning on skipping the final course but you can’t say no once it’s put in front of you. Taehyung doesn’t eat, only drinks occasionally to top up his fluids (you don’t know exactly what that means but you’ve never asked, even if you can… assume things), but he seems content to watch the three of you eat in his place. Once you’re finished you slump back in your chair and feel grateful that you’re not wearing tight trousers that cut into your stomach, because, lord, you’re absolutely stuffed. 

“I have an announcement,” Taehyung says suddenly, apropos of nothing.

Seokjin beams. You sit up, struggling against the heavy anchor of dinner in your belly that makes you want to melt into the floor for a food nap, immediately at attention. “Oh? What is it?”

“I have a second name now,” he says, and Seokjin’s smile spreads impossibly wider, his entire face pleased. “Jin said I could share his.”

“Say hello to Kim Taehyung.” Seokjin gestures dramatically, his arms the flailing blades of a windmill as he circles them in the air with aplomb. “My boy needed a surname and I am, of course, happy to add another handsome face to the family. Taehyung is a ten out of ten.”

Yoongi levels him a look. “I thought you said you were the only ten in the world.”

“That was true when I said it, but I’m actually eleven out of ten,” Seokjin explains. His arms settle around his head, fingers circling the air in an invisible frame around his face. “I surpass your mortal conventions of beauty and thus exist outside of any conceivable scale that one might use to measure handsomeness.”

You barely take the exchange in, too busy looking at Taehyung. There’s the smallest smile on his lips, not the lovely one that shows his teeth, but it still reaches his eyes, the subtlest upturn to his mouth transforming his entire face. Taehyung’s beautiful. He always has been, and always will be, but he never looks more striking than when he’s happy, welcomed into a new family of his own with open arms, Seokjin’s heart so big and so wide. He’s being flippant and light right now, quick and sharp jibes between him and Yoongi that glow bright with love and affection, not lingering on how important and weighty this is: how all encompassing his care is for Taehyung, how close they’ve grown to each other, a friend whom he’s chosen as family.

Happiness suits Taehyung. You want him to always be happy. He deserves it.

It doesn’t seem like it’s the only announcement he has for that night, though. You’ve barely shut the door of your own apartment when you feel Taehyung’s hand slide around your wrist and you pause, glancing up at his face.

“Jin showed me how to take my LED out,” he says. His words are solemn and his tone is heavy but there’s a spark in his eyes, a glowing ember of light. “I want you to watch.”

His fingers are circled around your wrist, loose, so long they touch each other with ease, a soft shackle you don’t want to escape from. “Of course I will,” you assure him. “Are you worried something will go wrong?”

“No.” His thumb slips away from the soft skin of your inner wrist and across your palm, tracing across your fate line, your heart line. “I just want you to be there.”

Warmth spreads through your skin from that touch, leaking through into your bones, settling into every quiet corner inside you. “Okay. What do you need to do to get it out?”

The painting knife looks so small in Taehyung’s big, careful hand, the diamond shaped head blunt at the end, metal glinting under the bathroom’s light as he leans towards the mirror. Your gazes meet in the reflection and he falters. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when he lifts his free hand from where it’s been resting on the countertop, steadying him. Reaching for you.

Once your hand is in his, it’s over surprisingly quickly. Taehyung’s face twists in preparation for the pain, and you squeeze his fingers to ground him, but all it takes is a quick twist of his wrist once the palette knife is against his LED and it practically falls out. There’s a small clink as it drops next to the sink, blue light flickering one final time before it winks out, nothing more than a disc of metal, a tiny coin without value, but weighty with what it represents; invaluable, priceless. The last segment of a chain Taehyung has willingly cast off.

You can see the white skeleton of his android body, bare and naked where the LED had sat. Just like Seokjin’s hand when he’d cut himself, the skin starts to creep back over it, covering that smooth paleness until it’s gone. Taehyung lifts your hand and presses it against the side of his temple, your palm settling against the naked skin where the light had been nestled; Taehyung’s eyes fall shut, his hand pressed against your own as he holds it there.

“Taehyung?” Your voice is gentle, dripping concern. His golden skin is so warm and soft. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he replies without hesitation. His eyes flutter open, lashes so long and lovely. His hair is blue today, a vibrant electric hue, gaudy on anyone else but perfect on him, tickling the back of your hand; his hand drops from yours and you take the opportunity to run it through that hair, baring his forehead to you, eyes sliding over the new skin. Flawless. No evidence that any LED had ever sat there, burning blue-yellow-red, a tiny drop of colour in the deep ocean of Taehyung’s emotions. “I feel good.”

You don’t even think when your hand shifts out of Taehyung’s hair and down to cup his cheek, something you wouldn’t have dared do before, but now the motion comes as easily as breathing. He takes comfort in touch and you want to soothe him. “Good,” you echo. “I’m glad.”

You both stand there for a few moments, facing each other. The bright light of your bathroom should wash Taehyung out, but of course, it doesn’t. It just lets you see all the perfect details of his face in even sharper relief—the moles that dot his skin, how his eyes are different, a monolid and double lid, little imperfections that just make him more beautiful. 

Logically, you know that someone, somewhere, sat down and put this face together. Taehyung was designed to be attractive, stunningly so, and yet not so perfect that an average human would find it unrealistic, swerving away from that uncanny valley that had plagued earlier androids. But that’s not why he’s beautiful—not to you. It’s everything hidden underneath that perfect facade, layers of plastic and metal and circuitry and biocomponents, deep inside him: his glowing golden heart, flowing over with whatever intangible thing that makes him the person that he is.

In the darkness of your bedroom, all the lights turned off, there’s no longer the gentle blue glow at Taehyung’s temple to shine out, but there doesn’t need to be. Even if you weren’t resting your head against his thigh you’d know he was there. Taehyung’s presence grows larger and larger in your life as the days go by, and you know that you’re still the most important person in his life, even with the introduction of Yoongi and Jin. After all—he didn’t ask them to be there when he took his LED out. 

You reach for his hand, which is already palm up, waiting for you. Your fingers slot together so perfectly, so wonderful, so lovely. You can’t make out details in this dark, but you can picture the smile that’ll be pulling at Taehyung’s lips, the affection flowing in the endless oceans of his eyes.

You’re in so, so deep.

(But who can blame you?)

“I want to go outside.”

It’s not surprising that with the shedding of his LED, Taehyung finally feels bold enough to go outdoors. And yet, here you are. Surprised.

You’ve got a granola bar stuck in your mouth, halfway through a bite, and it nearly drops to the floor as your lips part in shock. Taehyung catches it with ease, android speed on show as he snatches it out of the air. 

Your knee-jerk reaction is to ask him to repeat himself. To make sure you haven’t misheard him, if he’s sure about this, if he really wants to—but Yoongi’s words come back to you yet again. If there’s something he wants to do, he’ll do it. Taehyung isn’t the uninformed android he was when he’d first made his way to your door. He’s grown and learned so much in the time he’s been here and there’s no room for self-doubt behind his words.

So what you say is: “Okay.” 

Taehyung’s fingers brush against yours when he hands your granola bar back, long and warm and soft. You accept it with a smile, lost in the way he smiles back, so lovely and bright—and you have to pull your train of thought back on track, lock those wheels on the rails before you speak again.

“Did you want to go somewhere specific? Or just wherever?”

“Wherever you want to go.” He’s smiling, a little excited but mostly happy at the prospect of spending yet more time with you; as if he hasn’t had enough of it, could never get enough, even when you spend every day together. 

(Your heart feels like a drum, pounding hard and loud in your chest.)

It’s not hard, really, to decide where you want to go. Taehyung’s not asking for some big production; just wants something quiet and soft, something new. The chance to see the outside world properly, safe and secure in the knowledge that you’ll be at his side.

It’s in your nature to be protective—sometimes you feel like you nag, like you’re overbearing, and takes a concerted effort on your part to reel it in. Taehyung doesn’t need you to fuss over him, and besides, he seems incredibly calm about the whole thing. Excited, yes, but not nervous. Just anticipatory.

He looks just like anyone else might. More chic and attractive, sure, effortlessly fashionable in the outfit he’s chosen for the day, but there’s nothing robotic about him, nothing to say he’s not a flesh-and-blood person. Once again, you’re struck by just how human he is. Even if he’d still had the LED flickering at his temple it would have done nothing to detract from the genuine emotion that flits across his face. The way he moves. The way he smiles, when he catches you watching the way he laces his shoes with his delicate, pretty hands—that big lovely smile that makes you feel warm and soft.

(Warmer and softer than it probably should.)

You avert your gaze, pretend to fiddle with one of your bracelets, pulling it so that it spins around your wrist.

“Ready?”

“Nearly,” Taehyung says. When you look back at him, a little confused, he still has that smile on his face, though it’s gentler, fuzzy around the edges, his eyes dark-dark-dark. “Just one more thing.”

This final thing, it turns out, is your hand. 

His fingers lace with yours, weaving a tapestry of closeness and warmth. You’ve held Taehyung’s hands so often, now; it’s nothing new. But for some reason the touch of his skin against yours has your pulse stuttering, catching in your throat before you cough lightly and smile like everything is fine, you’re fine, it’s not like your heart is about to launch itself out of your chest for some mysterious reason.

(Mysterious. Yeah, right.)

He doesn’t let go. Not when you leave the apartment, not when you greet Rory at the door, not when you step onto one of the automated buses that takes you to the centre of the city. You’re surprised at how good Taehyung’s acting is, how all the wide-eyed excitement you’d expected to see splashed across his face is absent, and instead, he just squeezes your hand tight each time he takes in something new; stares out of the window as your surroundings slide by.

He does get excited in the art store though. Pulls at your joined hands each time he sees something he wants to point out to you—which seems to be everything. And you go, of course, following his eager feet. Taehyung’s happiness has always given you happiness in turn, and watching his sheer, unadulterated joy at being able to see things, to touch things outside of the small world he’s been confined to since he escaped the Eden Club—well. There’s nothing better.

There’s nothing better than knowing that Taehyung feels safe with you, wants to keep you close. It’s selfish. It’s selfish, you know it is, but when you watch the way his eyes light up at the sight of a set of gouache paints, how he immediately turns towards you so you can see it too—you realise that you’ve never had something like this before. Sure, you have friends, you have plenty of happiness in your life, but you’ve never had this.

(Whatever this is.)

Someone whose joy is only compounded when it’s shared with you. Someone whose focus is on you and no one else. You see the looks that Taehyung gets, the interested eyes that flit over him—but then he reaches for your hand again, and those gazes slide away, because he hasn’t looked away from you. Not once.

Because you make him feel safe, you remind yourself. Because he knows you best. That’s it. 

It’s what you keep telling yourself, a repeated mantra that’s an endless loop in your head. Every time Taehyung looks at you, smiles at you, reaches for your hand, your touch—even if your heart feels like it could burst, filling up with this feeling, this feeling that’s growing and growing (this feeling you refuse to name)—it’s because he trusts you, knows he can rely on you. It’s nothing more than that. 

You shouldn’t let yourself imagine that it’s more than that.

(Shouldn’t hope for more than that.)

It’s because he trusts you that he follows you without question, matching his pace with yours, side by side as you wander through the city. He insists on carrying all your shopping, held effortlessly in one hand, other hand still tangled with yours. (You see the way he swings the bags a little, back and forth; he’s so cute you’d swear your teeth could rot from it, crystallised sugar rolled on your tongue, sweet.) All your shopping is done, but you have one final stop planned—it’s somewhere you haven’t been for a while, but you love it.

You’re certain Taehyung will, too.

You can feel how his hold on your fingers tightens when the building comes into view. You glance over at him to take in his expression, the subtle widening of his eyes, the lift of his chest as he takes an unneeded breath in, the tiniest curl at the corner of his lips.

(So human.) 

The Christine Andrews Gallery isn’t the biggest art gallery in the city, but it’s your favourite. There’s something that feels more intimate about it, with its size; a little smaller, cosier, more stripped down. The high ceilings overhead are crisscrossed with wires and piping, industrial—but the walls are pure white, all the brighter in contrast to their surroundings, drawing the eye to the paintings on display from the moment you step in.

Taehyung is enraptured.

“The exhibition is called Slow Painting. The idea is that people will take their time to really take everything in, and appreciate it, rather than just rushing by. Especially with how quickly technology is developing, and people are used to discarding things as soon as they're not relevant any more. The idea is that art will always be relevant, regardless of what's happening in the world.”

Your voice is quiet and low as you’re careful not to disturb the serene air that fills the building. You’ve always loved the quiet hush that fills galleries, museums, buildings filled with art and history, long lasting echoes of humanity, on display for people to enjoy. 

“And it also refers to the time it takes to create each piece too,” you add, trailing off into silence as you glance over at Taehyung, who’s looking at you, blinking gentle and slow.

He’s watching you. Even though there’s artwork in sight of the entrance, huge canvases nearby—Taehyung is looking at you, attentive and quiet, listening to each word you have to say.

Your heart squeezes in your chest and you have to make a concerted effort to stop your breath from stuttering. You shove it down, down, down, this thing that’s wrapping itself around your heart and clogging your throat, and give this lovely boy your best smile. (Try to ignore the fact that there’s art here, but instead, he’s looking at you.)

“Tell you what. Instead of listening to me harp on all day, why don’t we just look around?”

When Taehyung had first stepped foot in your door, had first started to experience life as something more than just a sexbot, an android under the control of other people’s wills—he’d taken everything in with huge eyes, eager and enthusiastic, almost clumsy in his excitement. That’s faded over time, become muted as he’s learned how to balance himself, grown comfortable with his surroundings, who he is.

He’s still like a fountain sometimes, bubbling and bright, overflowing, cascading pearlescent waters rushing over carved marble. You’d expected these waters to rise and spill, surrounded by these incredible artworks; so far the only works he’s seen in person are his and your own, everything else small and secondhand on screens as he stares intently at your computer, your tablet. You’d expected his joy to overflow, being able to really see for the first time in his life, prepared yourself for his exuberant happiness.

But he’s not.

He’s quiet. There’s a smile that lingers on his lips, barely hidden at the corners of his mouth, but his shining waters flow soft and slow, contained. You wander through the exhibition exactly the way the curator had meant for you to—slowly, carefully, stopping and pausing and looking and wondering, eyes trailing over each painting, acrylic on paper, oil on canvas, distemper on linen. Each so different, but inviting onlookers to take a moment and just breathe. 

Taehyung’s eyes are dark, contemplative. They’re so deep you feel like you could fall in them and be lost forever. (Wonder if that would be such a bad thing.) He keeps his hand in yours, your hand in his, the two of you matching paces as you loop the gallery, never letting go.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, I like these.”

Four canvases, smaller than some of the others you’ve seen, squirrelled around a corner and hidden away on a back wall. Each painting has a figure in the midst of some simple, quiet task; laying in bed, catching an egg as it threatens to roll off a table, trailing a finger through a puddle of spilled milk, reading a book in the bath. Each of the figures has their face turned away from the viewer, caught up as they are in the simple motions of their life, each silhouetted by a window with a different view—from sea to lake to hill to forest.

You can’t help but look at Taehyung as he looks at these paintings, his brows a little raised, mouth a little slack, the lovely line of his jaw, the angles of his face, forehead to nose to lips to chin. “What do you like about them? The style?”

His answer comes unrushed, unhurried, as he thinks.  “They’re so beautiful and detailed, but it’s more about… the intimacy,” he says. “Each person is just being themselves, without fear of who’s watching. We’re watching them, even if their attention isn’t on us.” A pause, a hush, a breath. “It’s like love, almost.”

Your lips part, even as Taehyung keeps his eyes forwards, staring at the blank pages of the book the man reads as he sits in his bath, row of shampoo bottles on the sill by his head. 

“Like love?” A whisper.

“To keep your eyes and focus on someone who isn’t looking at you,” Taehyung replies, unabashed, like it’s just a statement of fact. “Loyalty. Dedication. Love.”

Words fail you. Silence is the only answer you can offer to Taehyung’s thoughts, the air in your lungs trapped there as you unwittingly hold your breath, lips parted around a sentence that never comes. Taehyung’s eyes slide away from this row of paintings and to you, how you’re staring at him, literally speechless.

His own lips part as he makes to say something else, to ask what’s wrong—when there’s a flicker of movement nearby, the modulated steps of someone who’s used to walking through a gallery, careful to keep the calm air unmuddied by their passing.

“Oh, Y/n!”

Namjoon’s voice cuts through the silent moment and splinters the delicate air that had started to crystallise around you. He looks happy to see you, dimples on full display as his lips lift and he smiles wide.

“Namjoon!” You don’t think you’ve ever been so glad to see his familiar face in your life—anything to distract you, any excuse to shake off the feeling that Taehyung’s words have left behind, trailing over your skin, blooming in your brain. His timing is perfect, even if he doesn’t realise it.  “Hey! It’s been a while.”

“I was going to say, I haven’t seen you around lately! I thought you’d like this exhibition, I was wondering if you’d come. Oh, sorry, I’m being rude, aren’t I? Hi, I’m Namjoon,” he says, holding a hand out for Taehyung to shake. “I’m one of the gallery managers.”

Taehyung’s exchanged a few words with others today, polite thank yous to the people who’ve served you in the shops you’ve been into, given shy smiles to passersby who’ve made eye contact with him. (So, so sweet, always.) 

But Namjoon is the first person to properly introduce themselves to him in the real world, as you’ve thought of it, someone who doesn’t know that the man at your side is an android.

You panic. Just for a second.

Taehyung doesn’t.

“Hello.” He has to take his hand out of yours, the other weighed down by shopping, although he seems reluctant to let go of you. He gives Namjoon his widest smile as he shakes the proffered hand with firm, friendly politeness. “I’m Taehyung. It’s lovely to meet you, Namjoon.”

And then he immediately slips his hand back into yours.

Namjoon is utterly charmed.

(Of course he is. How could he not be?)

The discussion they both have is a quiet one. You’re happy to stay uninvolved, watching and listening as they talk, still at Taehyung’s side. That brief moment of panic, that blazing forest fire of fear for him—it’s been washed away, soothed by the way the conversation between man and android unfolds so naturally, Namjoon none the wiser about Taehyung’s robotic origins.

There’s no way anyone would realise. He’s so human, in the way he moves and acts and thinks, the way he laughs at something Namjoon says. You’re happy that Taehyung can be here with you, in this gallery, speaking to someone new, as if this is normal, natural, nothing unusual.

You can’t think of anything you want for Taehyung more.

You realise, too, that in this moment, you feel utterly content. Not just for Taehyung, but—happy that you’re there to share this moment with him. You think about how you’ve always wanted this; someone to share things with, someone whose happiness makes you happy too.

When Taehyung laughs, your own lips lift in response, heart lifting at the sound of his joy, at how his fingers tighten around yours. Remembering that you’re there, even if he’s not looking at you right now, eyes on Namjoon.

He’s looking at Namjoon. You’re looking at him. 

(To keep your eyes and focus on someone who isn’t looking at you.)

(Loyalty. Dedication.)

(A breath.)

(Love.)

You carefully pull your hand out of Taehyung’s. Your fingers feel cold as they slip away from his, warmed all day, pressed against Taehyung’s soft skin. His eyes flit away from Namjoon, those deep eyes settling on you; dark wood and ground coffee, so warm.

“Y/n?”

“I’m just going to pop to the toilet,” you say, turning away from the tinge of confusion that colours Taehyung’s voice. “I won’t be long.”

The toilet lid is cold. You can feel how it seeps through the layers of your clothing to your thighs, and at any other time you might wrinkle your nose at the sensation, at how uncomfortable it is. But right now, you have other things on your mind.

You bury your face in your hands. It’s foolish, but you’d swear you could feel Taehyung still in your palms, touch imprinted, emblazoned on your skin. It’s like a palpable thing, almost, this ethereal thing that lingers even when Taehyung isn’t there.

Wishful thinking. Selfish thinking. Selfish, to like it, to want to keep that feeling close; let it spread from your palm, to the delicate skin of your wrist, tracing its way up your arm, up-up-up, drawing invisible lines over every part of you, inside every part of you. Selfish, to like Taehyung’s touch as much as you do. To want more of it. 

(More of him.)

You aren’t anything more to Taehyung than a friend. A guardian. Someone who’s there to support him and keep him safe. You’re blessed to have his trust, to be able to be that person he can turn to—it’s greedy, to want. To want to be more.

(You can’t foist your loneliness on Taehyung. You can’t do that to him. You won’t. You won’t.)

When you return, a spark lights in Taehyung’s eyes. The same spark that bursts every time he sees you after time apart, no matter how long or short that may be. He reaches for your hand, and of course, you go—but your fingers are limp, weak.

(You know that if Taehyung’s LED had still been nestled in his skin, it would have flickered yellow.)

You keep that point of connection as you bid Namjoon goodbye, finish meandering through the exhibition, make your way back home—but you let Taehyung bear the weight. Reactive, not proactive. You don’t squeeze his fingers just because you want to, because there’s something sliding by the bus’s window you think he might like to see; you’re not here to make him do things, to shove things down his throat. You should just be here to support him in the things he wants to do. That’s your role. 

And that’s where you’re going to stay.

Your thoughts are a tumble, messy and unorganised, a ball of yarn that’s all knots and tangles. Taehyung must be able to see it on your face, read it in your body, his android eyes scanning over you and scrutinising every hint you’re giving away without even realising. But you just smile, wave away his questions, and act like everything’s okay. Normal. Routine.

It’s a little harder, though, to act like everything’s okay when it’s time to sleep.

Because, of course, there Taehyung is. Like he has been, from the day he’d arrived—sat in your bed, nestled against a pile of cushions, expression open and warm and fond as he looks at you. Waiting for you to climb in, to rest your head in his lap; waiting for you to fall asleep with his gentle fingers dragging across your scalp, melting under his lovely hands.

You waver. Conflicted. It’s okay, isn’t it, if Taehyung’s reaching for you first?

His eyes meet yours. The second you see his lips curve up, see that pretty, quiet smile appearing on his lovely mouth, you fold.

It’s fine. You’ll allow yourself this.

(In your dreams, you stand in a deserted gallery, staring at the single piece of work on the stark white walls, all the lights focused in, in, in. Taehyung’s framed on this canvas, a painted window into his world. Not once does he look at you, turned away as he is; you see nothing more than the back of his head, the curve of his cheek, the vaguest hint of his nose as he turns, always staring at something else. 

And still, you stand, and you watch. Waiting. Keeping your eyes on him, always.)

“You’re staying late again.”

“Yeah. I really want to get this done,” you say, gesturing vaguely at your monitors with your stylus; tweaking, editing, shifting around these final few magazine pages before you’re satisfied. “Nearly there.”

When you hear the way Hoseok says your name, you glance up. 

As someone who spends most of his time bouncing around like a literal ray of sunshine, when Hoseok’s expression is one that isn’t smiling, it carries all the more weight behind it. Right now his face is uncharacteristically serious, the perpetual smile on his mouth gone, the line of his brows severe.

It’s unnerving.

“You haven’t stayed late for ages,” Hoseok points out. “Until this week, and suddenly you’re late every night. Has something happened?”

“No,” you lie.

Yes, you think.

You’re trying to create some distance, for Taehyung’s sake. So that you’re not tempted to pull him ever closer, latch onto him like you have been, smothering him. He needs space to grow. Space from you has helped already—the time he spends with Yoongi and Seokjin is evidence enough of that, after all. He doesn’t need you to be there constantly.

Hoseok’s eyes bore into yours as he stares, so you avert your gaze, pretending to shift your focus to one of the captions the editor has left on the page you’re working on. You hadn’t realised that he’d noticed. You should have expected it, though. Hoseok is a close work friend and he’s incredibly perceptive, especially when he cares about people.

“Alright,” he says, eventually. “Make sure you don’t stay too late, though. Get some sleep.”

You give him a thumbs up without looking away from the screen, dragging something idly with your stylus until Hoseok leaves, the office empty except you, now. And the cleaning androids, when they appear for the night like clockwork. As they always do.

You can’t help but stop to watch them, how blank faced they are, for all that they look human. Their LEDs are almost motionless, the placid blue matching the blank expressions on their faces, unthinking automatons.

(You’d seen androids in the city when you’d been out with Taehyung, of course. Completing menial tasks: city androids picking litter and raking leaves, household androids following their owners around and carrying their shopping. You’d realised that Taehyung wouldn’t have seen a non-deviated android since he’d escaped the club, lapsed into silence; you’d pulled him to a stop, lips pursed in a frown as you’d tried to read his expression. 

“Taehyung,” you’d asked. “Are you alright?”

There’d been a quiet pause, and in that moment you’d felt all your worries rising, caught in your throat—but then he’d nodded quietly, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I’m alright,” he’d answered. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am.”

I’m the lucky one, you’d thought. Lucky to know him, as sweet-hearted and wonderful as he is. You’d squeezed his hand, and he’d smiled gently at you, and that had been that.)

It hurts, honestly. To see the expression on his face each time you come home late, each time you avoid answering his questions. There’s uncertainty laid across each of your interactions, rough bristles of a brush varnishing discomfort across the once smooth surface of your relationship; but you can’t keep taking advantage of this soft-hearted boy, of the circumstances that he’s in.

You pretend that things are fine. Taehyung is clearly confused, unsure, trying so hard to find out what’s wrong, even when you keep gently turning his concerns aside. 

You haven’t been home enough to spend time with Yoongi or Seokjin, either. You’d seen Jin in the hall just once, made eye contact just as he’d been appearing from the other apartment and you’d been stepping into yours; you’d fumbled a little, fingerprints smudging across the keypad as your door had swung open. You’d expected to see judgement on Jin’s face, maybe, something heavy and weighty, his gaze flitting over you as he read you in the way he did so often.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to smile. It’d been hard to translate his full expression but what little you could read was knowing, like he’s aware of something he shouldn’t be, kept hidden just underneath his tongue. Ready to release it into the world with a single breath.

(Needless to say, you’d shut the door pretty quick.)

He and Yoongi have gone away for the weekend. It's a small blessing, saving you from having to see Jin’s almost-smug expression again. But it means that Taehyung has nowhere else to go right now, no reason to leave the apartment. So it’ll be you and him, him and you, with no buffers, nothing. It’s been unseasonably stormy for the past few days as well, rain slammed into your windows by the harsh winds, the world outside a haze of smeared grey—so it’s not like you can go out, either. 

Not that you would want to. 

You hadn’t realised exactly how ingrained Taehyung was in your life until you’d started to pull away. It’s not just that you live together and share the same physical space—it’s just that your days have become so full of Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, and you hadn’t even noticed. He’d crept up on you, snuck his way into your heart, so easily, so effortlessly.

You remind yourself that that’s why you’re doing this. To remind yourself of life without Taehyung in it, because he’s not yours to have or to keep. He never has been. You don’t want him to be: he’s his own person. This… this desire for him; even as you try to ignore it, it keeps growing and growing: wet plaster laid down, your feelings for him painted buon fresco, added to day by day, giornata. You need it to stop. 

But it’s hard. It’s hard, when Taehyung looks like comfort, your comfort, when you want to let yourself be folded into his arms. It’s hard when the fact is that it’s not that you have to spend time with him. It’s that you want to spend time with him.  

It's hard.

(And you miss him, even when he's right there.)

You find respite in art, in painting, too intent on the motions of your work to allow yourself room to think about other things. Fall into the rhythm of it all, a quiet hush stealing over your mind, a place of both focus and calm, world settling into place around you. There’s a piece you’ve been working on for a while, a hand rising from dark water, fingertips just broaching its surface, the most tentative of touches; you layer more oil paint on the panel, dragging the bristles of the brush across the colour you’ve already laid down, brows furrowed as you do.

Taehyung normally paints with you, but not today. He knows you want space—even if he doesn’t know why—so he gives it to you. So considerate and sweet, always. Even when you’re shutting him out. You’ve been here all day: morning, afternoon, and now evening, and he’s only been in a few times, to leave you food, drinks, looking after you in a way you don’t deserve.

You’ve just lifted the brush from the canvas when an especially loud peal of thunder rolls through the air outside. The rumble starts low, rising into a rattling growl that feels like it’s shaking the very earth. It almost drowns out the sound of Taehyung’s quiet knocking, a curl of his knuckles against the open door, but you catch sight of him anyway, glancing over your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “I thought you might like a drink.”

He’s barefoot, like he usually is, teal hoodie and grey sweatpants baggy, looking every inch the boyfriend you’ve always wanted and never had. His hands are cupped around a mug, steam coiling from the hot tea inside, and something in your heart twinges at his kindness and consideration even as you smile at him.

“That sounds lovely, Tae,” you say, and he takes this as an invitation to step inside, although you notice his steps are far more hesitant than they might have been before. Like he’s treading on eggshells around you. 

It’s awkward. Stilted. Taehyung’s eyes are heavy on your face as you accept the tea from his hands, trying your best to avoid brushing fingers; you turn away, pretending to turn your attention back to the drying paint on the wood panel that rests on your easel, anything to break eye contact.

And then he speaks.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Your lips are poised to drink, pursed at the rim of the mug when you freeze, eyes darting back to him.

“You’re avoiding me,” he repeats. His voice is quieter, tinged with all the confusion you’ve seen flit across his face since this whole thing started.

You slowly pull the mug away from your face, steam touching your skin like warm, wet fingers. “I’m not,” you say, even though the lie tastes bitter on your tongue. “We live together, Taehyung, it’s pretty hard to avoid you.”

When you laugh lightly, trying to lift the atmosphere, Taehyung doesn’t respond. If anything the air becomes heavier, his face an unmoving mask as his eyes churn with emotion. His LED might not be nestled in his temple any more, but you don't need to see it spinning in a distressed circle of yellow to know that Taehyung is confused.

“Why are you lying to me?”

Your eyes widen. He’s never been so direct before. (He hasn’t needed to be though, has he? Because you've never lied to him before, have you?)

“I just… I just want to know what happened. What I did wrong. I want to fix it,” Taehyung continues, and he sounds so small, so vulnerable. “Please?”

Your heart feels like it’s risen from your chest, up to your throat, making it hard to breathe. The only time he’s ever sounded like this was when—

When he’d first turned up on your doorstep, wet and scared and lonely. Not knowing if there was anyone he could trust, uncertain where he stood. 

“You didn’t do anything, Taehyung.” You try to put every ounce of feeling into your words and let him know that this is the truth. It’s not him. It’s not. “You didn’t do anything, please don’t think you did.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” His voice rises, shaking, a bird trying to take flight on a broken wing. “If I didn’t do anything then why are you being like this? I don’t understand.”

“I’m just… trying to encourage you to be independent?”

The words sound weak to your own ears, so you can’t blame Taehyung for when his expression flickers and he looks almost incredulous.

“Independent?”

“You know,” you explain lamely. “Like… giving you space to grow. You don’t need me around all the time.”

“I don’t—” He cuts himself off. “Y/n. I want you to be there.”

“Because it’s what you’ve gotten used to.” You glance down at the drink in your hands, away from his sincere, dark eyes. “You’re just saying that because of circumstances, Taehyung.”

“I’m not!” You’ve never heard Taehyung so loud before, almost angry, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “How can you think that?”

“Because it’s true!” Your own voice rises despite yourself, matching his, some frayed thing inside you finally snapping. “Why else would you want me around? No one else does! Why would you?”

You rarely raise your voice. You hate being loud, or rude, hate arguments, but there’s something boiling in your blood. Years of quiet self-deprecation, constant reminders of how you’re not really wanted; last choice, always. Single, always. Untouched, unwanted. Taehyung—beautiful, kind, sweet, lovely Taehyung—wouldn’t be here right now if he had anywhere else to go. Too beautiful and kind and sweet and lovely for you, as disappointing, undesirable as you are.

Because that’s the truth. Even if you’re surrounded by friends, warm and bright, at the end of the day, they go home with each other, to their lovers, their families, and you go home alone. At least you had, until Taehyung—and he’s only here because you were the only safe place he could run to. Not because he chose you. 

(No one chooses you. Why would they?)

Taehyung’s eyes are so big and round as he stares and stares and stares. His lips are a little parted around a soundless noise of surprise, disbelief, before he opens his mouth to respond properly.

And then all the lights go out.

Lightning flashes, throwing the room into sharp focus for just a second before the night is split apart with the loudest clap of thunder yet. Like the ground has split open, louder than anything you’ve ever heard in your life; you’d swear your teeth rattle in your skull, that’s how overwhelming and close it is.

You suck in a breath as you jump, hands jolting, and the mug falls from your grasp. You can’t see in the darkness but you can hear how it shatters, sending hot tea splattering over the dust sheets on the floor, away from you, but towards—

“Taehyung,” you gasp, reaching out blindly. “Are you okay? Did it hit you?”

You hear him move closer, feel his fingers, reaching for yours confidently in this dark space. His grip is solid and warm and he squeezes, reassuring.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m okay. You can’t see?”

“It’s too dark.” With the heavy clouds outside and the blanket of thick rain, there’s little light from the moon to shine into your studio, leaving you in a world of thick black and blue. “Can you see?”

“Android senses,” he answers. "I can see enough."

You wait for the lights to come back on so you can clean up the mess that’s scattered on the floor. And you wait. One beat. Another beat.

“I don’t think the power is coming back on any time soon,” you say. “Um.”

“Hold on.” You can’t make out Taehyung’s features in this all consuming darkness, but you can picture the expression on his face, the concern that bleeds through into his words. “If you move you’ll step on something and hurt your feet. Hold on,” he says again, and then lets go of your hands.

“Taehyung? What are you—”

You let out an embarrassing squeal as you feel the world tilt, but Taehyung’s grip on you is confident and sure as he lifts you, one hand under your knees and the other scooped around your back. Like you’re a swooning, blushing bride.

“Taehyung!”

“It’s the safest thing to do.” He sounds determined, no room for argument, so you decide to shut up.

Even though you know how strong he is, with all his android strength, you can’t help but reach out in the darkness, looping your arms around his neck to try and help lighten his burden. You feel your cheeks burn and you hope that the darkness saves you from your obvious embarrassment. 

The power still hasn’t come on by the time he deposits you in the kitchen, easing you to the floor with a level of care and delicacy that leaves something in you aching. When you check your phone—mostly charged, thank God—it seems like powercuts have hit this entire part of the city, and there’s no ETA on when things will be back up and running.

Which leads you to this. Sitting on the cold tiles of your kitchen floor, a few large candles flickering light across you as you dig into a carton of melting ice cream that you’ve saved from your freezer, licking the dripping flavours of sea salt and caramel from the spoon. 

Taehyung is sitting next to you in this flame-lit bubble you share, quiet even as the world outside is full of the sound of endless rain and lightning. He’d helped you navigate the darkness, settled you safely before going to find some candles; looking after you while you can’t see and he can.

You’re intent on the ice cream, leaning against the kitchen cabinets and carton settled between your knees as you use it as an excuse not to talk.

Taehyung, though, is intent on you.

“Y/n?”

His voice breaks the near silence, soft around your name. You pause, half-way through scooping another spoonful of ice cream to your mouth. There’s something in his tone that you’ve never heard before, from anyone, something you can’t put a finger on.

“Yes?”

“You said that no one wants you around,” he says. Your fingers tighten around the handle of your spoon and keep your gaze cast down, at the thick drip of cream from your spoon that threatens to spill. “Why would you say that?”

You don’t respond. Not right away. 

Then you take in a deep breath, letting the spoon fall back into the tub.

“Because they don’t,” you say plainly. “I mean… Taehyung. I was only at the Eden Club because my friends know that I’m perpetually single. I’m glad I got to meet you, so glad, but… I live alone because no one wants to be here with me.”

You’ve never said anything like this out loud before; kept your lingering loneliness close to your chest. Really, in most parts of your life, you’re content, but sometimes you can’t help but be pulled under by the heavy feeling of how unlovable you are. Even if you try to remind yourself that you’re worth being loved too. 

(After all, if you were—then why are you still here alone?)

“I do. I want to be here with you.”

Taehyung’s words are soft and gentle and low, but for all their tenderness, you can’t help but sigh.

“Like I said, Taehyung, it’s just circumstances.” A murmur. “You’re only here because you have to be—”

“I’m not.” He interrupts you; something he’s never done before. It shuts you right up, even if his words aren’t sharp. Emphatic, yes, but soft around the edges. “I chose to come here because of you. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe. Even when I was at the club, and I didn’t know anything except what I was told to do—I knew I could trust you. I only started to remember things after we met, and I was there for weeks before I left, finally remembering the things I had to go through. Again and again and again. Over and over and over. No one was ever kind to me, not once. Not once.” 

“Taehyung,” you breathe, sadness filling your chest for him, but he doesn’t stop. 

“People would come in, take what they wanted from me, and then they would leave. They didn’t care about me. They would just tell me what to do and I’d have to listen, be the perfect android they wanted, that they’d paid for. Then I ran. But even as I was running here, I was scared. I thought that maybe it was a fluke. Maybe I was wrong. I was scared that maybe you weren’t actually kind, maybe it was a lie, maybe you were just like all the other humans—but anything was better than the club. So I took my chances. And you let me in. You let me in and you were so kind. You give and give and give and you’ve never asked for anything back.”

“I just did what anyone else would,” you mutter, glancing away, shy.

“But you didn’t. You were the only person who ever looked at me as something more than just an android. Don’t you see that? Even after giving me so much, you haven’t asked for anything. I try my best to look after you, but…” Taehyung takes in a deep, deep breath, sucking in air that his android body doesn’t need. You’ve noticed that it’s something he does to ground himself; such a human thing to do. “I want to give you so much more than you’ll ever accept.”

You look at him, something sparking deep and low in your stomach. “You don’t have to give me anything, Taehyung.”

Light dances across the perfect angles of his face, candle flame painting him from second to second, shadow and radiance. He looks familiar and unfamiliar all at once. You’ve known him for long enough, stared at him for long enough that you could paint his face in your sleep; the strength of his brows, the depth of his eyes, the slant of his nose, the flush of his lips; the tiny moles that are scattered across his skin, the perfect line of his jaw, his chin.

But in the paltry candlelight, he looks like an altogether different person, almost. There’s something to the set of his face that you’ve never seen, hard to track in the ever changing light—not the soft domesticity you’ve grown familiar with from Taehyung, and not the sheer, overwhelming sensuality of V. Something that’s both, something that’s not, something that’s more. 

“I want to give you everything. I want to. Y/n, I want. Androids don’t want, but I want. I want, I want, I want.” A repeated mantra; a prayer. “I want because of you. I want to be here with you. I want to spend time with you. I want to learn with you. I want to know everything you like and everything you don’t like. I want to know what makes you sad and what makes you happy. I want to be one of the things that makes you happy, like you make me happy. I want to look after you. I want you to let me love you. I want you. I want you. I love you.”

Your mouth is open, caught in a breath, stuttered in your throat. Taehyung doesn’t shy away from your wide-eyed, speechless gaze, staring back at you with an intensity you thought you’d never see directed at you; tenderness and affection and want.

“You want to—you… you love me?” Your voice is weak with disbelief. Taehyung loves you? 

“I thought you knew, and that’s why you pulled away,” he says. “Because I’m an android, I’m not good enough—”

“What? No, Taehyung, never, no. I would never think that—” 

“But you were pushing me away.” For the first time since this conversation started, he sounds unsure, the tiniest tremble at the corner of each word. “You were pushing me away and I don’t know why. Why?” He reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers between yours. “Aren’t you happy with me?” 

You wonder how fast your heart is beating. Know that Taehyung will be able to read it, palm to palm, his skin against yours, an endless amount of information running from that point of contact and up his arm; following lines of circuitry and neural connectors, up-up-up, pulled into whatever part of his system counts as his brain, dissected so much faster than the human brain could comprehend. But even with all this information, all this incredible processing speed and power—he’s just as confused and uncertain as any other person might be.

“I am. I am happy. So happy,” you whisper. Then you take a deep breath, grounding yourself just like Taehyung had. “I’ve never been so happy before, Taehyung. You make me happy.”

The android smiles. Quiet but undeniably happy as well, his eyes so dark, so soft. “You make me happy, too,” he says, and then he lets out a small laugh, a sweet little thing, like the scrape of a spoon around a mixing bowl. “I can only feel happiness because of you. You’re everything.” 

But then the laughter fades, and he’s looking back at you with solemnity, lingering confusion. “If I make you happy, then why were you pulling away from me?”

You stare at where your hands are joined, Taehyung’s hand under yours, lifting yours up and away from the cold tiles of the floor. “Because,” you start. Stumble. Take in another breath, heart squeezing in your chest. “Because I was scared my feelings were too much.”

A beat of silence. Then you feel Taehyung’s other hand as he lays it softly against your cheek to turn you towards him. It’s terrifying, how close your face is to his. Completely vulnerable, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He doesn’t say anything, just watches, and you find yourself crumbling in the face of his warm gaze.

“Because I thought I was taking advantage of you,” you say. Slow and faltering. “Because I thought it was—I thought I was being selfish. I realised that I loved you, and I can’t—I couldn’t imagine that… I couldn’t imagine that you wanted me back.”

Taehyung’s eyes flutter shut as your words wash over him. The hand on your cheek coaxes you closer, and of course, you go; let your forehead get pressed against his, a tender motion, faces so close he can feel the warmth of your breath. 

“Y/n.” Your name sounds safe in his mouth, like he’s keeping it close, handling it delicately, carefully, eyes opening so he can look at you with an adoration you’ve never seen. Not for you. Not until now. “Can I kiss you? I want to. Please?”

You feel heat rising on your cheeks, a flush that threatens to spill over, but nod. You don’t think you have the strength to speak right now. Taehyung smiles again, lighting up this space you’ve scraped out for each other, him and you; you and him.

When he leans in, there’s the briefest moment of panic that flickers through you. You haven’t kissed anyone in such a long time. You’re worried you’ll mess up, be clumsy, bad, and Taehyung will be disappointed. 

But then his lips touch yours—and all that worry washes away. It’s a short-lived thing, the briefest brush of his mouth, barely a kiss at all. And then again, he leans in, tracing the shape of your mouth with his: a kiss to one corner of your mouth, and then the other, your cupid’s bow, the swell of your bottom lip. You’ve never felt like this—vulnerable but safe, all at once, Taehyung taking his time as you fall, fall, fall, his hand still cradling your face, his touch solid and grounding even as his kisses are featherlight.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, lips brushing his as you shape them around his name. You still have one hand in his and tighten your grip, squeezing. “More.”

You can feel his smile when he leans in one more time, guiding you with the broad palm against your cheek. So soft, so gentle. Adoring and reverent. His lips are so full, slotting against yours so perfectly when he finally, finally kisses you properly. 

You lose yourself in the sensation. It’s so easy to lose yourself in Taehyung, as lovely as he is, his mouth lovelier still. One kiss turns to two, to three, four, deep and slow; by the time you break apart, there’s a little sheen on his lips, sparking out in the candlelight, a layer of gold leaf that shines. 

“Can you say it again?” He asks. “Say that you love me?”

You can’t help but want to hide your face, bashful and shy. You’ve never said those words out loud, with the weight of feeling Taehyung is asking from you—but you look at his lovely, lovely face, lips flush with evidence of your kisses, and your heart swells in your chest.

“I love you.” The words come so easily. “I love you.”

And when he smiles, it’s so bright and radiant you feel you might be blinded by it. It doesn’t leave his face even as he stands, guides you up with him; careful to avoid the tub of ice cream that’s been forgotten on the floor, more melted cream than ice now.

This time, when he lifts you, he doesn’t break eye contact—keeps his gaze on yours as he pulls you close, and then picks you up.

It’s effortless, the way he carries you. Big hands that cup the back of your thighs, your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, lifted like you weigh nothing. You break eye contact, overwhelmed, burying your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the way he shakes as he laughs, soft and affectionate.

“Shut up,” you mumble, embarrassed, but then go quiet as you feel the press of his lips into your hair.

Taehyung’s the only person who’s ever carried you, but it’s less about that and more about how safe you feel in his arms. Wrapped around him, pressed close, warm-warm-warm. You feel like a burden has been lifted from you, unshackled from your neck now that you’ve confessed the budding feelings that had burst into full bloom even when you’d tried to shove them back into the dirt—because Taehyung feels the same way. He feels the same way.

The rest of the apartment is still bathed in darkness. But Taehyung navigates it easily, keeps you held close even in the dark, and you trust him. Even when you feel his grip loosening as he eases you down, you trust him, letting yourself fall back onto the softness of your bed. (Even if you want to keep hold of him.)

You wait and watch as the room starts to fill with light, Taehyung returning with the lit candles from the kitchen before setting out more, laying out all the scented candle jars you’ve had stashed away. The familiar surroundings of your bedroom are bathed in warm, dancing light, Taehyung’s shadow a multi-faceted silhouette that shifts each time a flame sputters.

He looks up once the final candle is aflame, meeting your eyes—and you don’t feel the need to drop that gaze, to glance away, pretend you weren’t watching him, entranced. Because he welcomes it. He grins at you, toothy and bright, and your own lips split into a smile.

“I guess it’s a good thing I like candles, huh?”

“They’ll help keep the room warm,” Taehyung says, and, that’s right, you hadn’t thought of that. 

No power: no heating. The longer the power is out, the colder it’ll get, the chill of the hard rain filling the world outside.

“Don’t worry,” he adds, setting the lighter aside. “I’ll keep you warm.”

There’s nothing behind those words. No implication at all. And yet you find yourself flushing, looking away from him, flustered.

There’s a beat of silence as you keep your eyes turned away from Taehyung, looking at the shadows on shadows on shadows that ripple across the walls—and then you hear how his bare feet shift across the floor until he’s at your bedside.

But he doesn’t stop there. You feel how the mattress dips, eyes flying back to the android, growing huge and round when you watch how he settles himself above you; hovering, so so so close, aware of how he’s not touching you, and yet. You swear you can feel the weight of him, a phantom touch on your body and across your skin.

Your mouth goes dry when he murmurs your name. The word drips from his mouth like honey, thick and sweet, and a shiver skates up your body.

“Do you want me to keep you warm?” He asks, and, oh. Oh. This time the words are heavy with meaning, shimmering gossamer curtains barely drawn to conceal it, smouldering intent in his eyes. “Let me look after you?”

You’re reminded, all at once, that while you’ve taught Taehyung a lot of things since you’d met, there’s one thing he knows that you don’t. Intimacy, and pleasure, and lust. Sex. Something you’ve been deprived of, even if you’ve quietly craved it, waiting for the right time, the right place, the right person.

Taehyung takes your silence as hesitation, his face softening.

“Only if you want,” he says. “Only if you want to say yes.”

“I want to,” you say, surprised by how fast the admittance leaves your lips. You do want it—want Taehyung, in every way he’s willing to share, want it desperately. “I just—” Embarrassment floods over you, and you look away again. “I’ve just never… done anything. Before. I’ve never, um.”

“It’s okay to be a virgin, Y/n,” Taehyung says, and you can’t help but squirm a little at how plainly he says it while you try to avoid saying it out loud, even if you know it’s stupid. There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, you know that, but for some reason you feel almost ashamed at admitting it. Insecure. Even if the android clearly doesn’t care, not one bit. “We can go as slow as you want, or stop altogether. I’ll take care of you no matter what.”

You’re nervous. But louder than your nerves is a growing voice that’s chanting yesyesyes, and another voice that reminds you: you’re safe with Taehyung. No matter how nervous or uncertain you are, or how little you know, you do know that you’re safe with him.

“Okay.” You take in a breath. “Take care of me, Taehyung.”

And he does. With all the slowness of a meandering river and a smile curling his lips, he starts to kiss you again; there’s nothing rushed about his motions, as tender as before. Like the two of you could kiss forever and he would be content with that. 

And then you feel how he shifts, the softness of the kisses warming into something heavier, more purposeful. The glowing embers of a coal that are being coaxed to full flame, his tongue pressing past your willing lips, swallowing down the shaking gasp that shudders out of your mouth.

He trails his lips away from yours, across your jaw and up; you shiver as he noses at the soft skin behind your ear before kissing it, tremble at each intent touch of his lips against you, and it’s only when he reaches the hollow of your neck that you realise that you’re making noises, little inhalations of air each time he mouths at your sensitive skin, lets his tongue trail across it.

You’ve been holding onto him, hands cupped around the back of his neck, and when he sucks at your pulse point you tighten your fingers and let out a gasp. You can feel the answering hum that Taehyung gives, his mouth pressed so close that you can feel the vibrations, and it’s so much already. No one’s ever kissed you like this. No one's ever eased their weight down on you so carefully, pressing you down to the mattress with a delicate, delicious pressure that leaves your entire body growing hotter and hotter.

“Oh, oh, Taehyung.” You’d be embarrassed by how breathless you sound if you weren’t so distracted by something else—one of Taehyung’s hands, splaying over your stomach, heavy through your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He’s murmuring into the crook of your neck, question warm against your skin. His long fingers rest, waiting at the hem of your shirt, patient even as he presses another kiss to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder: this time, edged with teeth, making you shudder as he soothes it with his tongue.

Your voice fails you, but when you nod, Taehyung responds immediately. You let him lead, follow the steps of this dance he knows so well—shiver at the feeling of his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt once you've sat up, your stomach jumping as they brush against you, before he lifts it up and over your waiting arms.

Even though you’re wearing a bra, the second you see Taehyung’s eyes move down, you cover yourself reflexively. Even with all the flickering candles there’s enough light that there’s no darkness to hide in, shoulders hunching inwards as you try to hide yourself away. 

You’ve never let anyone see you like this like this before.

Taehyung’s touch is patient as he slides his hands over yours, looking at you with an infinite amount of sincerity and affection. He doesn’t try to pull your hands away from your chest, just waits. Patient. And like you always do, you find yourself melting under the gentle touch of his gaze. You let your hands fall, even if you’re acutely aware of the plain bra you’re wearing, something cosy for a day at home.

Taehyung ignores it. He shifts in and you steel yourself, expecting him to reach around your back for the clasp—but instead he starts to kiss you again. Deeper, hotter, his tongue sweeping over your lower lip before he nips at it. You let yourself get lost in the sensation, angling your head to chase his mouth, and it’s only when you feel the straps start to slip off your shoulders that the android has unclasped your bra without you noticing.

When he pulls away, he trails his hands across your shoulders and hooks his fingers into the trailing straps of your bra, and waits. You bite your lip and steel yourself, feeling foolish even as you hesitate—because Taehyung is looking at you with simmering awe and smouldering want. Like you're perfect. The most beautiful woman alive. 

So you don’t stop him. You let him pull his touch down your arms, slow, slow, slow—and then, all at once, you’re completely naked from the waist up.

That simmering awe and smouldering want is still there. Warmth flushes over your skin under the heat of his gaze, the way it sweeps over you. You never knew that someone could look reverent and hungry at the same time. Never knew that someone would look at you like that.

It bolsters your shaking confidence, helps you lift your chin as you lean back on your hands, and you’re entranced at how Taehyung follows. Caught in your gravity. He raises his arms, bra cast aside and long forgotten as he cups the weight of your breasts in his hands.

Oh, oh, oh. When he pinches one of your nipples between thumb and forefinger—already hard, sensitive—it’s already so much, but then he bows his head and—

You hear a noise, and you realise that it’s coming from your own lips. A shaking gasp that trembles in the air as Taehyung sucks and licks, dragging his tongue against your nipple; one, and the other. You fall once more to your back and he goes with you, relentless even as he stays slow and you arch your back helplessly towards him.

“More?” He murmurs against your skin.

“Oh, God,” you whimper, and he lifts his mouth away from your nipple to press a kiss to the skin above your racing heart. “Please, more.”

It feels so good. Taehyung makes you feel so good, as talented and gorgeous as he is, so wonderful. He keeps laving attention on your breasts, hands skimming over the soft skin of your chest and stomach, goosebumps rising in the wake of his trailing fingers, his warm palms.

You can’t look away when he finally pulls back, breathless from the sensation of it all. He settles on his knees, tugs off his hoodie and then his shirt, revealing all the lovely planes of his body that you’ve seen before, but this time, you don’t have to look away. You can look.

And you can touch, too. 

You sit up and raise a tentative hand to stroke down his chest, his stomach, that little trail of dark hair that descends into his loose grey sweatpants; your mouth goes dry at the sight. Taehyung watches the way your fingers drag over his skin, growing bolder moment by moment, but still too timid to venture past his waistband, low on his hips as they are. You’ve never had a chance to touch someone like this, to feel the smooth, soft skin under your greedy palms—Taehyung’s so warm, so alive. So human.

You think about the other hands he’s had on his skin. Grasping and greedy, taking and taking. People who didn’t care for him. People he couldn’t say no to. But he’s here with you because he wants to be. He lets you touch him because he wants it.

“Angel?” 

You glance up at the sound of the gentle pet name, away from where your hands have been tenderly tracing the lines of his hipbone. “Mm?”

Taehyung’s expression is soft and affectionate. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” you answer honestly. He leans over to kiss you, and you’re smiling against his mouth when you feel the hand on your shoulder, pressing you down against the mattress again.

Then. His hands are at your waistband. Your breath quickens, but Taehyung’s eyes stay on your face even as your breasts rise and fall, shining with evidence of the touch of his mouth and tongue.

You lift your hips, and Taehyung smiles. Keeps smiling as he strips you, underwear and all, and when your thighs instinctively go to close shut, he catches your knees and keeps your legs open—gentle but firm, swiping his thumbs up and down the side of your knees, a tender touch even as you’re naked in front of him. You see the look on his face, drenched in candlelight, and swallow even as you force your legs to relax.

Then he looks down.

“Oh, God,” he groans, and one of your legs jumps in his grasp at the sound of his voice. Hoarse and deep. Almost unrecognisable. “Oh, angel, look at you.”

You’re so, so wet, so wet it’s embarrassing, so sensitive and responsive to every single one of Taehyung’s touches and kisses. The edges of his hair are spun gold in the candlelight but his eyes are so deep, so dark as he drinks down the sight of you spread out in front of him, wet and wanting and willing. You still want to hide away, cheeks burning, but you can’t look away from him. Can’t look away from how he seems almost pained, brows drawing together as he stares at the shining, flushed lips of your cunt.

“Taehyung.” Your voice shakes. “Taehyung, please.”

You're naked and vulnerable but—but the way he looks at you is so adoring, and you trust him. You trust him.

Just like earlier, his hands cup the back of your thighs. But this time, it’s not to carry you. You twist on the bed when he ends up eye level with your dripping cunt, utterly exposed. Those hands slide up your thighs and under your hips, tilting them up. Your fingers have been resting on the bedspread and tighten in them, bunching in your grasp when Taehyung presses a kiss to the softness of your inner thigh. 

One kiss. And then another. And another. His breath is warm as it curls out across your skin. You feel like you’re about to shake out of your body, wanting to pull away, wanting to lean in; wanting more, even when it feels like too much. Overcome with it all, even if you trust Taehyung. Safe under his hands, his lips. All you can think about is how close he is, face only inches away from your most sensitive parts—

Then he turns his head and—

The noise you let out is almost a keen. His mouth is on you, hot and wet, lips and tongue, and you’re writhing, overwhelmed with sensation. He starts slow, balls of your feet digging into Taehyung’s back and toes curling as he mouths at you. Your hips buck, and your hands are tangled in Taehyung’s hair—when did that happen?—as you sob at the feeling of his lips around your clit, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, but so so so good. 

He licks a fat stripe up your entrance and your grip tightens in his hair. He makes a noise when your nails drag across his scalp, almost a growl, face still buried between your legs as he presses his tongue in. You’d worry that he needs to come up for air, but he doesn’t, doesn’t have to stop—keeps licking and kissing and humming, responding to each of the sounds pulling out of your lips. Keeps staring up at you, your eyes locked, the way you can’t look away from the sight of his head between your legs, dark haired and incredible.

You don’t realise you’re speaking, words slipping out of your lips as your hips roll, oh-oh-oh, fuck, God, oh, and Taehyung doesn’t stop. On his knees, he worships you, learning what you like—things you didn’t even know—and does it again, and again, and again. One of his hands slides away from your hips and over your stomach, holding you down, keeping you still, and then the other hand—

He turns his head, presses a kiss to the junction of your thigh. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you answer, shaky and weak. So okay, more than okay.

“Going to finger you now,” Taehyung says, and you feel like you’re going to die.

“Okay,” you say again. “Okay, Taehyung.”

He smiles at you before he puts his mouth back to your clit, sucking, a welcome distraction as—with all the languidness in the world—presses a finger into you.

You’ve fingered yourself before. You’ve got your own toys, vibrators, things that are longer and thicker than just one of Taehyung’s fingers—but this feels so different, out of your control. One finger becomes two, your cunt so wet that the slide in is easy, slow, deep thrusts of those long fingers inside you, and you’re panting, you’re so fucking overwhelmed.

And then he curls those fingers as he laps his tongue over your clit and you almost shout, Taehyung’s name bursting from your lips as he keeps beckoning with those fingers and circling the sensitive nub with his hot, wet tongue. It’s so much, it’s so fucking much, it’s so good and you’ve never felt so good before—

You’re almost blindsided by the orgasm that explodes through you and you come apart with a sound you didn’t realise you were capable of making, a gasping moan that keeps unfurling as Taehyung keeps his mouth on you, feeling each pulse of your cunt as you cum around his fingers, tight-tight-tight. (You miss the way his hips kick into the mattress that the sounds you’re making, how much you tighten around him.) You never thought you’d be so loud, never thought you’d end up all but sobbing as Taehyung eventually leans back, candlelight brushing shining gold over the wetness over his mouth, his chin. Your wetness.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

Little jolts of pleasure are still wracking through you, pulsations of pleasure that unfurl in your lower stomach; Taehyung rubs the pad of his thumb across your oversensitive clit and your entire body jumps, your legs going to snap shut as you gasp, only stopped by his body in the way. You realise, then, that his fingers are still curled inside you, and you shiver.

“One more,” he says, and your whole body shakes. “Can I give you one more?”

He still looks reverent, and hungry. Like he wants to devour you. Taehyung is usually so soft, a gentle summer breeze—but right now he’s so intense it might scare you if it was anyone else. But it’s not, it’s Taehyung, and there’s something—there’s something about knowing that he looks like that because of you. 

You let your legs fall open, watch how pleased he looks; how grateful. Like he's blessed to be able to do this to you. For you. You’re still so sensitive when he lowers his head again, but he’s slow and patient and coaxing, two fingers becoming three, and—that’s a lot. It’s a lot, but it feels good, Taehyung knowing exactly what to do to make you sob, your legs still hooked over his shoulders as he pulls you along that line between oversensitivity and mind numbing pleasure. This time, when you cum, it’s with three fingers buried deep in your cunt, the flat of his tongue pressed against your clit, back arching as you throw your head back and cry out. Your pussy throbs and it's so dirty, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into you, the slick sound of movement as you moan, and moan, and moan.

No one's ever made you cum before. Only you. And now you know what it's like to put your pleasure in someone else's hands, to have them intent on making you feel good, so good, and it leaves you dizzy. 

He’s praising you, you note dimly. He’s praising you, how well you’re doing, how good you are for him, and it leaves you feeling warm. You’re panting when Taehyung pulls his fingers out of you, moves so he can brace himself on his elbows and lean in to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You can feel his skin against yours, chest to chest, his weight pressing you down and then you can feel—

You let out a noise against his lips. There’s nothing else that can be, that hot weight. You might not have felt it before, but you’re not stupid. That’s Taehyung’s cock, his hard length pressed against you.

“Taehyung,” you murmur.

“Mm.” He brushes his nose against yours, and the wave of affection that crashes through you is so strong it feels like it could pull you under. You didn’t realise that sex could be like this—that lingering shockwaves of pleasure could be skirting through your body as you lay there naked, still aroused and almost overcome, but also feeling so warm and soft and tender, too. 

You feel lax after cumming, a little more confident, bolder—and the noise Taehyung makes as you clumsily grasp at him through his sweatpants is incredible. You feel like you could get high on it, the way he sucks in a gasp as his mouth falls open, even if you don’t know what you’re doing as your fingers wrap around cloth and hard heat.

“Please,” you start, then stop. Swallow. “Please, Taehyung.”

You want so much you feel like you could pass out. You want to feel and touch and taste; you want everything you haven’t had a chance to experience yet, want it with Taehyung, someone who you trust. Someone you love. Someone who knows far, far more than you—will always know more—and you want to learn that from him. 

“Want you,” you say, and Taehyung looks pained all over again. He wants you, too.

“Fuck.” The word is rough, and you’ve never heard him curse before. The way he says it has something in you singing, as strange as that might be; you don’t think you’re ever going to get over how much you affect Taehyung. “What do you want from me, angel?”

Everything, you think. I want everything. 

“Let me see?” is what you say, squeezing your fingers around Taehyung’s length, feeling the way his hips buck into the touch. “Please?”

You never thought that someone taking their clothes off could be artistic. And yet, there’s something about Taehyung moving to stand and stripping off the rest of his clothes that’s completely arresting and beautiful; carnal and holy, all at once. You don’t even realise your mouth is open as you sit up and watch him, moving closer as you drink down the sight, the way he’s naked in front of you.

Taehyung. Naked. Naked and beautiful and hard, and it’s so overwhelming, everything about it, how much you want and how—oh, God, how big and thick he is, obvious even to you, someone with nothing to compare it to. Holy fuck. Should you think that his dick is pretty? Can dicks even be pretty? Taehyung’s is. Of course it is. He’s gorgeous all over. Maybe you’re biased because it’s him, but there’s something about the sight of his hard cock, precome gathering at his slit, that makes your mouth water.

Taehyung goes to say something, but before you can lose your nerve, you move forwards, and whatever he was going to say is lost in the sound of a choked off groan. He tastes like salt and musk, hot under your inexperienced hands and mouth, and you don’t know what you’re doing but the noises he’s making, fuck. You run your tongue up the throb of a vein you can feel on the underside, and all you can think about is how big he is, slow and careful with your teeth and lips as you try your best to do whatever feels good for him. 

His noises seem almost frantic but Taehyung’s hands are gentle when they comb through your hair. You look up. There’s a flush on his cheeks—red, not blue, you notice—and you pause, pulling off, suddenly shy after the burst of confidence that had you swallowing his cock down.

“Is this—is this okay?” You’ve still got your fingers wrapped around him, and maybe it’s a little ridiculous to be asking with spit and precome shining on your lips, but Taehyung’s answering smile is so affectionate.

“You’re perfect,” he says, and you know he’s not just talking about your clumsy blowjob. “Do you want to stop?”

You bite your lip and pump his length, which has Taehyung sucking a breath in. “I—what do you want?”

Something flashes through Taehyung’s eyes, and it feels like there’s electricity shooting down your spine before that look disappears. “This is about you, angel,” he says. “We can worry about what I want next time.”

Next time. This is the first time but it’s not the last. Oh, God. God.

Taehyung takes advantage of your distraction and hikes you up and away from the edge of the bed. It leaves you breathless, knowing how strong he is, how easily he can move you, even if he’s gentle-gentle-gentle. He settles in the cradle of your hips, and he’s so close, naked body flush with yours, covering you. His cock is so close—he just has to shift a little, just a little, and—well. 

Before that, though, there’s something you need to know.

“Taehyung?” Your voice shakes but you have to ask.

“Yes?”

“Is this. Um. Does this feel good for you, too?”

You’re always aware of the fact Taehyung is an android, even if he looks and feels and is human, too. (It doesn’t matter that he’s made of metal and thirium and circuitry. He’s human.) You lift a hand and thumb at the soft skin of his temple, where his LED used to sit; you don’t know how to communicate that you love him regardless, that it doesn’t matter to you if he's a man or robot. But you’ve wondered—you know Taehyung was built to pleasure humans. Even if he’s been reacting, making noises, looks for all intents and purposes that he is enjoying this—what if it’s all programming? What if he’s just doing this because he thinks it’s something you want?

He leans into your touch. “Angel.” It sounds like the word is being scraped out of him, hoarse and deep, all dark heat. “It feels good. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

He rolls his hips almost imperceptibly, but you’re hyperaware of every motion, how close you are. Your breath stutters in your throat.

"I want you to feel good," he says. "I've wanted to feel you and taste you for so long. I want to learn everything about your body. I want to know what you feel like around me. Under me. On top of me. You make me feel so fucking good, you don't even know," and, oh, fuck, those words go right through you, settle deep in your belly, leave you breathless. Taehyung sucks at your pulse point and you melt, even as your skin feels like it's burning, so hot, every part of you so hot, so ready for him.

Taehyung’s big enough that you’re worried about how he’s going to fit, even if you’re slick and wet and so, so turned on—you know about the importance of lube, used it often enough by yourself, but when you mention it to Taehyung he just smiles.

“Don’t forget that I’m a sex android,” he says, and before you can ask exactly what he means by that, you feel the tip of his cock at your folds and the question dies on your tongue.

“Please,” is what leaves your lips. “Please, please, please.”

“Anything you want,” he says, and eases his hips forwards.

Slow, and hard, and wet, the head of Taehyung’s cock starts to press into you. You grab at his back, digging your fingers in; it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, a not-quite-pain as he pushes in—but it’s a lot, even if the slide is smooth, so smooth, from your own wetness and the slickness that covers Taehyung’s cock. Your eyes are wide and your lips are parted and it feels—astonishing, the way you can feel yourself open up for him, the way it feels like he’s filling every part of you, throbbing heat.

“Oh, oh God,” you gasp. 

Taehyung’s forehead is pressed to yours, the loose locks of his dark hair framing his face as he waits, hips snug with yours. You shiver and move your hips a little, entire body seizing at the sensation of him shifting inside you. It's so new and alien, having someone nestled inside you, against you, so close in every sense of the term, above you, around you, inside you—but it feels… good.

And when he moves, it’s so, so slow. Slow and smooth as he works you open, even if you feel so tight around him. You drag your nails down his shoulder blades when he moves a little faster, a little roll of the hips that has you gasping all over again.

“More,” you say, and he gives you more.

You feel so full. You feel full of Taehyung, inside and out—the way his body is still pressing you down, skin on skin, how hot he is.

They call it making love, and it’s not until now that you really understand what that means—how you can feel Taehyung’s soft and tender affection in his every motion, read it in every shift of his body, the lines of his face, his lips; the way his eyes are dark but full of wonder, shining with love for you, pleasure singing through every inch of you, centred around Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

Each noise that falls from his lips is an echo of that love. Even when he leans back and takes you with him—settles on his knees, pulls your hips from the mattress to stay connected to you as your shoulder blades dig into the mattress, his cock in your cunt—there’s tenderness there, even if you’re both chasing mutual lines of pleasure. You feel almost dazed, dizzy with love and arousal, reaching out for him, and he catches your hand. The other stays at your waist, guiding you onto him, again and again, each roll of hips into yours.

“Taehyung,” you gasp, voice breaking on his name when he thrusts into you. He’s been increasing the pace, faster and sharper, harder, and it’s so-so-so much, so good. “I’m—Taehyung, I’m close, I wanna cum again, pleasepleaseplease—”

He lets go of your hand and then he’s thumbing at your clit and you’re cumming harder than you’ve ever cum in your life, Taehyung’s cock still hard and insistent inside you as you ride out your orgasm, pulsing around him. You’re gasping and making noises like you’re falling apart, and there’s something desperate in Taehyung’s eyes, something dark and wanton. 

“Angel, I’m going to cum soon,” he says, and you moan in response, hazy. “Do you want me to pull out?”

You shake your head no. You want to know what it feels like, to have Taehyung lose himself inside you. You’re about to reach out for him when he hooks his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up—you suck in a sharp breath as he starts to move again, almost bent in two, his face so close to yours. It's not rough but something about Taehyung taking control like that has you baring your throat, arching your back and throwing your head back. The hold he has on you is firm, and you feel how it tightens as his thrusts speed up, and then, fuck—

When Taehyung cums it’s around the gasp of your name, a hitching sound as he empties himself inside you, throbbing and hot. You let out an answering sound, the two of you locked together until Taehyung pulls out, careful and slow; you feel like a sweaty mess, empty without him inside you, but then his hands are so carefully cupping your face and he’s kissing you over and over and over. It leaves you feeling breathless, all those little kisses, struggling for air by the time you part, every part of you lax under his loving touch. 

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung murmurs, soft and sweet. 

“Good,” you murmur back. And then your nose crinkles. “Sweaty.”

Taehyung laughs, quiet and low. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, hiding your smile as you breathe him in. You do feel sweaty, and there’s an ache settling inside you, but it’s a good ache. A glowing ache, an unfamiliar one, but one that you know you'll get to feel again, with Taehyung.

You’ve just leaned back to take him in all over again, painted syrupy sweet in the golden candlelight—when the lights suddenly turn back on. It floods your eyes and you make a noise of surprised pain as you squint against the sudden brightness, but then you start to giggle, shock melting into laughter.

When your laughter dies you realise Taehyung’s been watching you. The room is full of shining light now, and you realise you’re still naked, entire body shaking as you’ve been giggling. You’d feel embarrassed about your nakedness if you hadn’t just shared yourself with him, bared yourself in ways that are more than skin deep. There’s an instinctual part of you that wants to cover up now that there’s nowhere to hide, no flickering shadows to cover up the parts of your body that you don’t like, the flaws you don’t want Taehyung to see. But he just looks fond, fond, fond, love and affection dripping off him as he watches the way you smile shyly up at him.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he says, and smiles back, wide and bright. 

You love him. You love him, and he loves you, and you trust that love. As hard as it might be to believe, you trust that this is what he wants—that you’re what he wants.

“Do you want me to carry you to the shower?” he asks, and you can’t help but laugh again, warm through and through, how he’s still taking care of you.

“Not yet,” you say. 

You end up against his chest, wrapped close. You’ve laid your head in his lap countless times, but he’s never been on his back before, never had his arms around you like he doesn’t want to let go. Taehyung might not have a heart, but the thirium pump nestled in his chest beats steady as you stay nestled against his side. 

You’re drawing little circles on his skin with your fingers when he catches that hand and lifts it to his mouth, presses a tender kiss to your fingertips.

“I love you,” he says.

You feel like liquid sunlight, shining happiness as you melt, melt, melt. And the feeling stays, body filled with it, even after Taehyung coaxes you out of bed and into the shower to wash the sweat off your body; when he drags a soapy loofah over your back you can’t help but laugh, so in love, so loved.

And when you fall asleep, it’s not with your head on Taehyung’s thigh. It’s with his arms around you, his chest to your back, his body curved around you. You don’t want tonight to end, but you also can’t wait for tomorrow, knowing that it’s another day with him, with Taehyung, your Taehyung. You never thought that love would be like this, never thought that you’d feel love like this, cared for and protected and loved, loved, loved.

“Not staying late?”

You pause in the process of shoving everything into your bag. Hoseok is leaning against your desk, a smile curling at his lips as he raises his eyebrows at you, almost suggestive.

“Nah, I’ve got a dinner to get to,” you say. 

“You seem a lot happier lately,” Hoseok comments, and when you don’t fall for the bait, he wiggles his eyebrows. “The girls think that you’ve got a secret boyfriend that you’re too shy to tell anyone about.”

Taehyung still greets you every day when you get home. But now, every greeting is punctuated with a kiss—and sometimes a little more. When you stop to think about it, it’s startling, this thing that Taehyung’s taught you. That the simplest of things can turn into something more, love edged with lust, that it’s all part and parcel of loving someone, being with them, being comfortable with them. Just the other day you’d been reading on the sofa, and then Taehyung’s fingers had curved over your thigh and the tablet had fallen from your hands—

Hoseok clicks his fingers in front of your face. “You’re zoning out again,” he says.

“I am not,” you say, zoning back in. “I was thinking about if I needed to buy any food on the way home.”

“To feed that secret boyfriend of yours?” Hoseok says, and you laugh in his face.

“Definitely not to feed the rumour mill,” you say. Hoseok pouts but it’s good natured, and he waves you off with a smile, letting you leave the office without trapping you in an interrogation for the gossip you’re certain your coworkers are hungry for.

It’s your turn to cook for Yoongi and Seokjin, so you’ve got to get home to help Taehyung. Both men had been spectacularly unsurprised when they’d found out about the two of you. Yoongi had remained calm as Seokjin crowed in delight, proclaiming I knew it, I knew that’s why you were avoiding Taehyung. 

“Feel lucky, Y/n,” Yoongi had said. “At least Taehyung has a sense of decorum and shame.”

“I think it’s a shame that my boyfriend is such a party pooper,” Jin had said. “I demand a dinner party! To celebrate your new relationship! Oh, I’m going to bake the biggest cake.”

“Oh my God,” you’d said, and Taehyung had just smiled.

The truth is that you’re grateful for your neighbours and their support, grateful for their friendship. Just because Taehyung looks human doesn’t mean that you don’t worry about him, worry that someone might discover that he’s a deviant; Jin’s slipped under the radar for long enough, and you hope it’s the same for Tae, too. And yet you can’t help but think about it, think about the present, the future, how your lives are going to unfold as time goes by.

When the door swings open to your apartment, though, that’s the last thing on your mind. All that’s on your mind is Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, your love appearing just as you’ve kicked your shoes off, all bright pink hair and dark eyes and welcoming hands.

“Taehyung,” you say, warm and happy.

“Hi,” he says, smiling so brightly, and then he kisses you.

You’re never going to get tired of kissing Taehyung; never going to get tired of how his mouth fits against yours, so perfect and sweet. But then he crowds you against the wall, swallowing down your gasp before kissing down your neck, running his teeth so gently across your skin.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, words dripping hot and slow. “Been thinking about you.”

“Taehyung,” you breathe. “Taehyung, we need to cook dinner.”

“We have time,” he says, and when he picks you up, you don’t protest. You go easily, wrapping your arms and legs around him, heat already gathering in your stomach as he walks the familiar path to your bedroom.

You have time: today, tomorrow, and every day after that. You have time with Taehyung, to learn with him, to love him. To be loved back. You don’t know what’s coming on the horizon, what the future holds—but then again, you never have.

There’s one thing you know now, though. No matter what happens, Taehyung will be at your side, and you’ll be at his. He wants you, and he loves you. You want him, and you love him. 

“I love you,” you murmur, and Taehyung kisses the words off your lips, lets the promise of your love settle inside him, warm and soft and safe.

“I love you too,” he says, and then you’re too busy to say anything, after that.

taglist:  @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove​ @jalexad​ @beingbeings​ @lorielulu7​ ​ (can’t tag: @jeon-joon-kook)