#American Gods Technical Boy x Reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imaginethatneathuh · 4 years ago

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Death: Mr World - American Gods

Mr World x gn!reader, ex and abusive relationship

You ran from Mr World and he wants you back.

Part of @dragon430’s Tarot Troop. Some parts were edited by her, too.

Requested by Anon - Hi! I just found the Tarot Card thing and I was wondering if you could do Death for Mr. World ...

TW/CW: Car accident, abuse, domestic abuse, fear, PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, dehydration, hunger.

Word count: 12.5+ K

This was very triggering, that's why it took so long for me.

•

Hands stuffed in pockets, you walked down the concrete sidewalk. Pulled up, the hood of your dark hoodie obscured you from view. It was only a small comfort knowing that it was more difficult for something like a camera to pick up on your face.

A street light flickered above you as you passed by.

Remembering the effects the New Gods could have on technology, you turned around, looking for one of those weird “boxes'' they used. But the street lights all stayed on and none of the boxes materialized.

Stopping for a few moments more, you looked around just in case someone was there and you just couldn’t see them. You mentally cursed the loud chirping of the crickets. Even if someone was there --- you weren’t sure if there was or wasn’t --- you wouldn’t be able to hear them over them.

Finally, with one last look, you turned back to your back and continued down it.

As you approached the small apartment complex, you searched for lights in the windows. Occasionally, a neighbour or two would stay up until the wee hours of the morn. Tonight though, everyone seemed to have gone to bed except for you.

Carefully, you climbed the stairs to your flat. The hair on the back of your neck raised as the cold breeze passed by.

As you got to your floor, you looked down and around. It wasn’t a quick one look-see and done kinda deal. You analyzed everything, half expecting someone to jump out or come around the corner. Everything from the flicker of the old wall lamp, to the shaking trees, and the swarming insects around light was scrutinized.

Despite the months of being away from him, he was always in the back of your mind. You knew, despite being miles away from where he had you last, he could find you and bring you back under his thumb. He was more powerful than you ever imagined. He had eyes and ears everywhere. Here, even with no security cameras and out in the middle of nowhere, you knew he could still get to you. The trees may be plentiful and the people few and far between, but he still had power

No one jumped out, so you went to the door with your heart pounding in your chest.

Still scanning the hall, you patted yourself down in search of your keys. You couldn’t tear your eyes away just in case someone unwelcomed showed up.

You fumbled for your keys, too fearful of the unknown to search for them properly. The thought of someone or something popping out of nowhere took all your attention, the fear forcing you to scan the hall again and again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw something in the shadows.

Whipping your head around to get a better look, your eyes widened as if they were trying to soak in as much of the area as possible. The possibility of your ex or his lackeys being right around the corner froze you in place. One of your hands gripped your keys while the other stayed tensed on the doorknob of your flat.

Quietly, you breathed and tried to calm yourself, but kept your eyes wide open. As you concentrate on your breathing, knuckles paling, your shaky, uneven breaths become even again.

It was just your imagination, your mind playing tricks on you. That was all. No one was there. No one at all. You were safe. He couldn’t get you here.

Eyes still glued to the shadows, you yank open the door and rush inside, slamming the door shut. Once inside, You pressed your body against the door, just in case someone tried to push it open, and deadbolted it as fast as you could manage without looking at the locks. The shadows did not move as you stared at them through the peephole on the door.

Stepping away, you take a few gasping breaths, shoulders and jaw tensed. Your heart pounded heavily in your chest.

Every time you left the flat there was a risk that your ex would find you. Any reasonable, sensible person who knew your ex would tell you leaving your flat was a stupid idea, that there was too much of a risk in leaving. But, you couldn’t stay inside all the time just because he terrified you. You had to live your life, not live in fear. There had been far too much of that.

You looked around the small flat and moved toward the windows, unlocking and relocking the windows.

Placing a hand over your heart, you breathed deeply in and out. You’d found it to be the best way to calm yourself over the past few months. Now, within the safety of your home, you could relax.

Turning, you found your way to the sofa and fell upon it.

The flat’s door stood opposite of you and you stared at it, expecting someone to start banging or barging in at any moment.

A backpack filled with your things lay next to the sofa. Not much was in it. Just some clothes, toothbrush and paste, and other such necessities. No unnecessary items.

The fridge sat mostly empty and the bedroom lay unbothered as if no one had entered it since the last tenant, and even the bathroom had little in it, just a bar of soap that hadn’t fully dried yet and its bag. The flat had barely been lived in. Hopefully, you’d soon have the courage to change that.

After many hours of paranoia, you fell into a restless, fitful, nightmare-fueled slumber. Even as you dreamt, he did not let you be.

•

A loud knocking woke you from a nightmare you couldn’t remember after you got up from the sofa.

At that moment, as you walked over to the door still dressed from the day before, things almost felt normal. It was as if the last 6 years hadn’t happened and you weren’t terrified and paranoid he’d find you.

Every last shred of that feeling dissipated after you looked into the peephole.

There, on the other side, stood two men in black and white suits. Both had an earpiece and sunglasses. They looked straight out of the Men in Black movie you remember watching when you were younger.

Your mother loved that movie. As did you.

Sadly, they were not the Men in Black from the movie. They were a different sort. The men who worked for your ex, Mr World.

Stepping away, you blinked as your heartbeat and fear steadily rose. Your breathing became shaky.

He’d found you.

“Mx L/N, we know you are in there,” one of the men said. “We just want to talk. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Instead of responding, you ran to your sofa and threw the backpack on.

Outside, the two men had a conversation.

Your flat was on the first floor. It would be a quick two-story drop.

Scrambling to the window opposite the kitchenette, you opened it as quietly as you could.

The men knocked again. “Mx L/N, please open the door.”

Remembering the bar of soap in the bathroom, you stepped inside and grabbed it. You slipped the bar into the bag and stuffed it into your pocket.

It seemed completely asinine to grab it, but you didn’t want to leave anything behind. Especially not a brand new bar of soap.

You lifted yourself up the window so you could get out feet first. Going headfirst at any height could lead to serious injury, or, ya know, death.

“Mx L/N?”

You looked back at the door breathing heavily before looking back at the window.

For a moment, you thought about just giving in to him. Letting him keep you locked away and make you live in fear of him for the rest of your life. It would be so much easier. That or just killing yourself.

But you couldn’t do that, not when you had come so far. Not when you had almost enough to get out of the country and never see him again. Not when you could be free of him and the U.S. as a whole.

You didn’t know what had so attracted him to you, but you wished that whatever it was would stop existing.

“Mx L/N, please open up!” The man sounded more urgent now like he knew what you were doing.

Gripping under the window, you pushed yourself out. Instead of letting go immediately, you hung on. You dropped a little so you could get a better grip on the bottom of the windowsill. Swinging side-to-side, you set your sights on a nearby balcony.

Even though the sound of your heartbeat flooded your ears and the fearful doubts filled your mind, you could still hear the shaky, unsure breaths you were breathing. You breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth, closing your eyes, before swinging to the neighbour’s balcony and letting go.

The balcony was situated over another tenant’s old sofa. They’d put it out a few days ago and had yet to throw it away.

You landed with a forceful thud onto the sofa, even moving it a bit. It didn’t do much but it was better than concrete.

You pushed yourself up and turned, only to find a man in black with his gun out. Looking the other way, his partner came around the corner, his gun also raised.

“Mx L/N, we were given instructions not to hurt you, but we will if we have to,” one of them said.

You looked between them, warily.

They seemed to be twins. Everything down to the last detail was identical. Must have joined together and gotten paired up. Who better to trust in the field than your brother?

There was nothing but woods behind you. If you made a break for it, the best they could do was shoot an arm or leg, maybe a shoulder if they were brave. It’d slow you down and you’d need medical attention, but you’d live if you didn’t bleed out first.

One of the twins put his gun away and slowly approached you. “Please, we just want to talk.”

It was obvious he was trying to get you to trust him, but you wouldn’t fall for that again.

You took off running.

The other twin aimed but his brother chastised him.

•

After running through the woods for a while, you climbed up a tree, out of sight. If the men tried to follow, they, hopefully, wouldn’t look up.

As you fell into the almost bowl-like middle of an old oak, you breathed heavily and tried to relax.

You knew he wouldn’t leave you alone for a while. But it had been months. Months. Why was he still chasing? Was it because you knew what he was? Who he was? He had told you many secrets that he probably wouldn’t want anyone else to find out, usually when he wasn’t who he told all the others he was and was, instead, himself. But, you didn’t want anything to do with him or his world. You wanted a new start, a new life.

You waited in the tree for hours, thinking about him and the new life you’d start somewhere else in the world. Maybe Canada, Scotland, or New Zealand. Someplace like that. Somewhere that wasn’t the U.S.

Slowly, you fell asleep.

•

When you awoke, it was late. The full moon was at its peak and the stars were out bright in the navy sky. They all had much to show the world. But, more importantly, it was light enough for you to leave.

You couldn’t go back to your flat. It was too dangerous. You’d have to just pick a direction and keep moving. Hopefully, you’d find someplace then.

•

You had to admit, this was the first time you’d ever come out to these woods since you’d started renting here. It was definitely pretty.

The brown leaves littered the forest floor, but not in an ugly way. It was rather beautiful. The leaves almost looked like rich, dark soil in the night’s late hour. If it weren’t for the fact that you knew they were leaves by their crunch, you would have thought the forest floor had no grass. The leaves reminded you of a time long past, a time of innocence you no longer possessed.

With a smile, you jumped on a group of leaves making them crunch slightly. It was rather satisfying. Sadly, you knew you had to keep going and playing with the leaves just wasn't an option, so you trekked on.

Despite knowing you had to hurry to find safety, you still allowed yourself to enjoy the moonlight as it gave the forest an almost otherworldly, effervescent glow. Funnily enough, it felt more familiar than the word of concrete and metal you came from. It felt safe and comforting.

Twigs snapped beneath you every once in a while as you walked. You gripped your backpack’s straps tightly, occasionally looking behind you.

A part of you wished for this to be over, to be safe and sound elsewhere. Not awake in the middle of the night, walking through the woods on an empty stomach.

While looking behind you, you took a misstep and fell.

You groaned. Leaves stuck to your now dirt-covered hands and you pushed yourself up.

As you looked up, someone came into view.

A new stint of fear shot through you as you scrambled backwards.

“You do not need to fear me,” the person said. “I mean you no harm.”

As the moonlight cast down upon her, you studied the young maiden. What seemed to be a golden wreath of sorts sat upon her head, like a crown.

“I heard your prayer for safety, young one. I only wish to guide you to it,” she said, nearing closer.

Despite her soft words, you doubted her. You knew what she was and, in your experience, their kind never gave anything without wanting something in return.

She knelt in front of you. “My name is Soteria. Will you let me help you?” Soteria stood and offered you a hand.

Unlike other gods you’d met, she seemed kind. She didn’t have the same feel as the others. No malice or anger or lies.

Even though your paranoia screamed no, you couldn’t help but take it.

She lifted you up and gently touched your cheek, looking deep into your eyes. It was rather uncomfortable really. Her hand fell.

“Travel straight that way,” she said, pointing to her right. Her gaze followed her arm. “And you will find safety.”

You nodded, gratefully.

“Young one,” she said, turning back to you. “No harm shall fall on you if you keep this with you.” The goddess took your hands into hers and placed something in them. “You will survive and you will persevere.”

“How do you know?” You asked.

“Believe it and it will be so, my child,” she said, cupping your cheeks with a smile.

•

You pushed yourself off the forest floor and shakily rose to your feet.

“Must have really hit my head,” you mumbled to yourself.

You hadn’t realized you were tightly gripping something cold and sharp in your hand until it began to cut into your skin.

Taking a look at the foreign but familiar object, your sight is met with a metal circle hung from a chain, the face of Medusa filling the frame. Moonlight glinted off the metal, shading her horrific, severed head. Running your thumb over the pendant, you noticed her snake-like head raised from the circle. You could even feel the raised blood falling from her stump and the fangs of Medusa and her snakes. Said snakes had minute scales engraved into them. The gorgon's mouth hung wide open like a snake’s with flesh between the top and bottom at the corners of the mouth. She hissed, baring her fangs, at an unknown attacker along with her forward-facing serpents. Her slit-pupilled eyes spoke of the fear and anger she held before Perseus cut her head from her body. On either side of the pendant, golden laurel sprigs created a sort of half-wreath. You ran your thumb over the gold as well. The detail of the leaves was incredible. Tiny, minuscule veins wound through them. Small gems you didn’t know the names of decorated the sprigs, clustered together to resemble flower buds. It was a beautiful, albeit peculiar, necklace.

Upon remembering what Soteria said, you put the necklace on and gripped the pendant tight. It was strangely comforting.

You took a deep breath, turned to where the goddess had pointed and marched on with a strange, newfound confidence and determination. Knowing that a goddess was behind you and the Roman Medusa hung around your neck renewed you.

He wouldn’t get you. You wouldn’t let him.

•

You didn’t know how long you walked, but the moon had set and dawn had broken.

Birds, the noisy things, squawked and sung and annoyed the ever-living daylights out of your tired self.

Still, it was a better sound to be around than the New Gods and the shite they were always talking about.

The Technical Boy in particular. Him and his talk of being better than the Old Gods. But, he seemed to be the best of the bunch. Sadly, that’s not saying much.

Media was a snake who told you the prettiest lies and World, despite saying he cared for you (never love, only care), preferred a pretty lie over the ugly truth, telling you whatever would keep you the happiest and controlled by him. It took you a long time to admit he was manipulative, but once you settled that with yourself (not an easy task) it was slightly easier to see his lies and manipulative tendencies.

The Technical Boy didn’t give two shites about you, and, thus, didn’t care to lie. He always told you exactly what was going on. He was also, usually, really fucking blunt. The dude had no filter.

Eventually, your tired legs and sore muscles screamed at you to take a break. The dryness in your mouth and rumble in your stomach asked the same of you.

But you couldn’t. Not yet, at least. Your mind told you to keep going, that relief was just around the corner. And, you believed it. Besides, if you passed out now, who’s to say the fumes wouldn’t run out while you were resting? Or worse yet, someone aligned with World would find you.

A car rushed by, a flurry of leaves trailing behind it.

You clambered up the ditch, mud and leaves furthering to dirty your clothes.

Not to say they were clean before your escape. Too much could happen in the time it took to clean a load of laundry.

You walked along the road. Cars passed you occasionally, but it was far too early and the road was probably a ways away from the complex. That complex was also pretty far from any city.

•

Exhausted, thirsty, and hungry, you prayed you’d be able to stop soon even just for a minute or so.

As you walked, the faint outline of a building stood up ahead.

You sighed in relief.

Maybe there will be people there. Ones not attached to him.

All you could do was hope for that and maybe some water, that’d be nice, too.

•

As you got closer, you realized it was a motel. A Motel America with its neon blue and red. It, faintly, reminded you of the U.S. flag. That was probably the point of it.

You stumbled to where an attendant sat behind a desk. They didn’t notice you.

“Hello,” you said, voice raspy. “How- How much is a room?”

They looked up and their jaw dropped. “Are you okay?”

‘Must be worse off than I thought,’ you thought.

The floor under you swayed and you struggled to keep your footing.

“Mx? Are you okay?” the attendant asked again. “Do you need an ambulance?”

You shook your head. “No. Just- just a room. Please. Please don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

They nodded and grabbed a key, handing it to you.

You fumbled for your bag and tried to pay, but the attendant shook their head.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. Just go.”

You mumbled thanks and stumbled away, rubbing your necklace.

“Call if you need anything,” they shouted after you.

A bout of relief spread through you and you thanked the attendant in your head. You also thanked Soteria. She was probably the reason you’d even got here.

•

The smooth, clean blankets covered you, wrapping you in their warmth. It didn’t matter that you were still wearing dirty, grimy clothes and hadn’t taken a shower in over three days. For once, you felt clean, and most importantly, safe.

Your muscles ached as much as your stomach growled. The emptiness of your stomach reminded you of your current lack of adequate resources. Sure, you had some cash stuffed away in your backpack, but not enough to last long.

Someone gently shook you awake.

With a groan, you buried your face in a pillow.

The person shook you again.

You turned to them, only to find the attendant from last night.

“Morning,” they said. “My shift’s been over for a while, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You pushed yourself into a sitting position with more effort than you should need. “I’m fine.”

Your growling stomach betrayed you.

The attendant looked down to your stomach then back to you. “Sure about that?” They asked, eyebrows raised. “I got an extra sandwich in my bag. Want it?”

You nodded but refused to meet their gaze.

It wasn’t that you wanted to take advantage of their generosity, but you were starving.

The attendant slowly backed away like you were a wounded animal. They pulled something out of a bag and tossed it to you. “I’m Sammy, by the way.” Sammy pointed to the bathroom. “There are cups in there if you need them.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I won’t stay much longer. I have to keep moving.”

Sammy nodded.

You got the feeling they understood your position. Maybe that’s why Soteria had directed you here.

•

Night had fallen and the waning moon filled the sky with her beauty as her beautiful wives twinkled with her, though they did not shine with her same might.

You stepped outside your room onto the concrete walk, fiddling with the gift from Soteria.

Though you may not have been able to wash your clothes, a nice shower, some food, water, and rest did you wonders.

Sammy peeked out of their place and waved.

You waved back before setting out on the road.

There was a long journey ahead of you.

•

A fluttering of butterfly-like creatures caught your attention. Turning to the sound, a box sat with the creatures hovering above it. They disappeared when you saw the box.

You had been looking out for one of those.

World and the others had a particular fondness for them.

Your breathing quickened and you slowly stepped away before you started running down the road, your backpack bouncing up and down as you went. Though your muscles still ached, you pushed through the pain.

You couldn’t let this happen. You couldn’t go back. You couldn’t be trapped with them again, with him again. You had to keep running. You had to get away.

In a foolish move, you looked behind you only to see it gone.

When you looked back, headlights blinded you, stopping you in your tracks. You covered your face, wincing from the bright light. Stepping back, you realized it was Technical Boy’s limo. As you, again, stepped back, you knocked into something. Slowly, you turned around and looked into the faceless thing the New Gods called one of The Children. It grabbed you by your arms, holding you still.

Instinctively, your hand went to the necklace as you panted, staring at the Child. It had barely been a day and you already clung to it like a koala on a tree.

A flood of light and smoke came from the limo, bringing your attention back to it.

The door opened and someone, no, two someones stepped out.

A scowling Technical Boy and a pleasantly, fakely smiling Media stood up and faced you.

“Y/N, darling,” Media said, flourishing her arms out. “It is so good to see you again.” She wagged a finger at you. “You’ve been very naughty. Running away like that and all.” The goddess smiled at you. “Mr World has been very distraught over your absence. Oh, how he loves you so. The two of you are like Cesar and Cleopatra.”

Technical Boy snorted. “You mean World’s a creep and helped create a false narrative surrounding--”

Before he could complete his sentence, Media slapped him upside the head.

“Hush,” she hissed.

The boyish god winced and rubbed his head.

Media approached you, still all fake smiles and pleasantries. “Darling, Mr World really does miss you terribly. I’ve never seen him quite so distraught! Please, come home. We, well, Mr World, can take good care of you. You can be happy again. Just come home.”

“He wants me back?” You asked.

Media readily nodded.

“Then he should come get me himself.”

A smirk crept on Technical Boy’s face but he pushed it away. “Look, I admire your determination and tenacity, I do, really, but come on. He’s making life a living Hell for us. Just come back. I’m sure he’ll do better by you or whatever,” he said.

Your gaze shifted to him, eyes shining. “You know nothing of a living Hell,” you said, your voice breaking. Tears threatened your eyelids at knifepoint.

“Not helping,” Media sang with a strained smile at Technical Boy.

He looked down and rolled his eyes.

“Look, darling, I know Mr World can be difficult--”

You cut her off. “Difficult? Difficult!? You think he’s difficult?” You asked. “No, he’s fucking insane and manipulative. I want nothing to do with him or any of you. Just leave me alone.” Your tears cut through and spilt down your face.

Media opened her mouth to say something but closed it, not knowing what to do.

Technical Boy made a dismissive wave at the Child and it stepped away, letting you go. He carefully stepped toward you.

“I don’t like you,” he said. “I don’t know why World does. I don’t get what he finds so fucking interesting about a pathetic, squishy, easily killed human. But I know he wants you back and has spent every second he can trying to find you.” The god stopped in front of you. “He’s obsessed and, yeah, he’s manipulative and probably insane. That’s World for ya.” Technical Boy placed a hand on your shoulder. “Just come back, maybe punch him in the face, demand some shit or whatever. I don’t care. But World is fucking riding us like you used to ride him. He is up our fucking asses all day and it’s driving me insane. Please, for the love of fucking God, just come back before I lose my shit.”

You wiped away the tears and looked the arrogant son of a bitch in the eyes. “Go fuck yourself, Technical Boy.”

His hand fell from your shoulder. He turned back and shrugged. “I tried.”

It was obvious, even to the most socially inept, that he didn’t really care about you.

In the distance, a man struggled to maintain a straight line as he drove. Liquor bottles clink against each other in the backseat, and the passenger seat and floor.

Media stepped forward. “I understand your uneasiness, Y/N, but things can be different.”

The car got closer, swerving around. No one seemed to notice.

“No, they can’t,” you said. “He will never change.”

Technical Boy, who had been scrolling through his phone, looked up. He spotted the car and straightened. “Um, guys…”

“Not now,” she said, raising her pointer finger behind her at him.

Technical Boy slipped his phone away. “But--”

“I said, not now!” The goddess turned around to glare at him.

“Yeah, but there’s a fucking car!” Technical Boy said, pointing at the oncoming car.

You swivelled around, taking a look around the Child. Headlights filled your gaze, and, for a moment, you understood what it felt like to be a deer trying to get across a road. By the time you recognized what was happening, it was too late; you couldn’t get away.

The last things you felt was the Child’s body slamming into yours and the distinct feeling of dread.

You were going to die.

There was also a sense of relief, knowing that you would die free and not chained to him.

•

The sound of beeping woke you. The feeling of another warm body against yours was unsettling when you did wake. As you opened your eyes, your blood ran cold.

World was holding you, partially on the bed with one of his legs hanging off.

“Hello, my dear,” he purred. “It’s good to see you awake.”

You pushed him away and tried to sit up.

“Oh, no, no, no, we will be having none of that now, my dear. You are far too injured.” The well-dressed god pulled you back toward him, but you did not relax.

Slowly, he pushed you back into a lying position and kissed your forehead like a child. He even dared to pull blankets over you. World sat onto the bed and faced you, gently reaching out and stroking your cheek.

Some part of you wanted to react, to vomit or push him away, but you couldn’t. Every fibre of your being told you not to do anything to make him mad. After 6 years of that keeping you alive, the idea had become ingrained.

“I almost lost you, my dear,” World said, quietly. “The thought of never seeing you again was unbearable. I’m so glad to have you back, safe and sound beside me.”

Though he seemed to actually mean it, with shimmering eyes and kind movements, you couldn’t trust him now any more than you could any other time. It was all a facade, a carefully crafted one at that. He had manipulated you before and would do it again. This time, though, you wouldn’t let him, no matter what he did. This snake would no longer charm you.

Despite it being a majorly bad idea, you had to ask the question that had been running through your head since you’d run the first time.

“Why?” You asked, quiet as a mouse. “Why do you want me so badly? I don’t understand it.”

His hand traced a path to yours. “My dearest, you know better than to ask something like that. A partner like you best kept with their mouth shut and a pretty smile on it.” With his free hand, he tilted your chin upward, possessively smiling down at your frowning face with malice.

“That’s not an answer,” you said.

World’s smile became strained as he tried to hold back the urge to smack you. You could tell by his eyes that’s what he wanted. There was dark anger behind them. Instead, he chuckled lightly before roughly grabbing your jaw and bringing you in close. “It’s the only one you’re getting, my dear.” He leant in close, any semblance of a smile falling away, and looked into your eyes. “If you ever,” he said, trembling with rage. “And I mean ever, leave like that again, I will not be so kind as I am now. Do you understand me?”

Against his hand, you tried to nod, any form of confidence fading from you. In his hands, or hand more like, you were like a tiny, weak child all over again.

He roughly shoved your face into the pillow and it stayed there as you were too afraid to look back at him. You bit your lip and screwed your eyes shut, trying not to whimper or cry.

World stood. “Technical Boy,” he said.

The tech god slowly walked in, keeping his eyes on the ground. Even he was somewhat afraid of World. Technical Boy stood near the door, not daring to walk in any further without permission.

“Wassup?” He said, popping the p.

World glared at him, disapproving of his casualness, from the opposite side of your bed.

Your head still firmly placed on the pillow, you opened your eyes to look at Technical Boy.

He had a rather odd style choice that you’d become fond of over the years. Today was no different.

Today, he seemed to have a hard-on for neon. Neon yellow and orange shoes with shiny spikes around the soles. A multi-neon-coloured jacket that looked like someone took a paintbrush and just started painting diagonal lines in a thousand different neon colours. His pants were awful, too. Every type of neon colouring on it, just like his jacket. Neon pink suspenders hung from his trousers and a neon blue t-shirt with a giant, pixilated, neon green thing on it. It was one of those spaceships from Galaga Shooter from back in the 80s or whenever. You couldn't remember what they were called exactly. Maybe it was just spaceships from Galaga Shooter.

His hair was, much like his clothing, a weird story. Along the pulled-back sides were two metal pieces on both sides, going from the front all the way back. Maybe they connected around the back of his head. The top had pieces wrapped into little bowls all the way down the middle. On his shoulder was a braid pulled out from the back. More neon stripes decorated his hair, from bowls to braid.

World looked to you. “Technical Boy will be looking after you until you’re all better and you can come home properly.” There was plasticity to his voice that you’d only become recently aware of before you’d run from him. World walked around your hospice bed and stopped next to Technical Boy on his way out. He turned slightly, the tech god mirroring his action, and whispered something you couldn’t hear before leaving.

As World left, you watched the tensed Technical Boy with curiosity. He looked back at you, his eyes meeting yours.

“I guess we’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” he mumbled. The god looked around and found a chair.

As he pulled the chair to sit next to the door, you struggled to sit up.

“Don’t even think about trying to run,” he said. “I ain’t like the Spooks or the Children. I’m not stupid nor easy to manipulate or overpower. You running will only hurt yourself and piss World off.” He sat down and leant back into it, staring at the ceiling. “Why the fuck is he so fucking interested in you, anyway? You’re not that special. Don’t get me wrong, you’re attractive in a simple, human-ey way, but you’re not, well, you’re not geometrically perfect, or close to it, like, say, Jensen Ackles.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you said, finally in a sitting position. “I know there’s no point now.” You wryly chuckled, tears slipping from your eyes. “Fuck,” you mumbled.

Technical Boy watched you, uncomfortable. He wasn’t good with emotions, especially not others’. “You good?”

You wipe away your tears before looking over at him. Deftly, you flip him off. There was nothing Technical Boy could do to you that would hurt more than knowing you were, once again, trapped under Mr World’s thumb.

The god rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. If he was going to be stuck here, he might as well play some games.

You look around the room, crossing your arms and rubbing them. It was a plain, white, rectangular room with your bed, a chair, and a nightstand. Otherwise, it was barren. The most interesting and colourful thing here was Technical Boy’s awful outfit, which looked, strangely, stylish on him, and the blankets on your bed. Their colours were stark in contrast to your hospital gown with the polka dots and barren room. The top blanket looked like a hand-stitched quilt with an array of warm colours and black decorated with images of cats and witches and other things like that. The others were larger child-like blankets with Bob the Builder, Care Bears, and other things like that on them. You ran a hand over the top one, enjoying the stitching and cloth running under your fingertips.

“World had those brought for you,” Technical Boy said, not looking up from his phone.

Your blood ran cold and your hand froze where it was. Slowly, your hands receded and you pushed the blankets away. Knowing that, even now, World was, in a way, touching you freaked you out. You needed to get away from it. You needed to get away from him. Barely registering what you were doing, you kicked the blankets over the edge bed and pushed yourself away from them and into the pillow behind you.

The quilt and childish blankets cascaded to the floor, unceremoniously falling into a heap.

The tech god looked up from his phone and stared at you as you curled up and hugged your knees, staring wide-eyed at the blankets. He continued to watch as you began scratching at yourself, trying to get the feeling of World off you. Technical Boy didn’t intervene until he noticed you bleeding.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, the god got up and walked over to you. He sat on your bed and grabbed your hands.

Out of pure instinct, you thrashed in his grip as he tried to calm you down. You could hear someone calling for you but you couldn’t stop yourself. He was here and he was going to hurt you.

“Y/N,” Technical Boy yelled over your panic. “Stop it. You're hurting yourself.” You continued fighting against him, kicking and thrashing. “Fuck’s sake, I need someone in here!”

Nurses came in and held you down before one stuck a needle into your arm and you passed out.

•

A year and a half ago

You lay in bed, texting a friend, one of the few World let you have. Smiling at your phone, you pulled a blanket over you, a quilt with sock monkeys on it.

World entered and took off his blazer, setting it on a fluffy chair. He rolled up his sleeves to the elbows. “Hello, my dear,” he purred, watching you.

You looked up and smiled. “Hi, bossman.”

He smiled, leant over you, and kissed your forehead. “Have you been good today?” He asked.

You shrugged and took one of his hands into your free one. “I did what you asked if that’s what you mean. I haven’t been out all day.”

“Good, my dear. Good,” he said before sitting on the bed and caressing your cheek. “I don’t want anyone else taking you away from me.”

“I wouldn’t want them to, love.” You smiled, gazing into his eyes.

As World started to say something, your friend texted you back a meme. Because of the addictive nature of technology, your head snapped to your screen. You laughed.

World’s eyes hardened. “Who are you talking to?”

“Just a friend.” You shut your phone off and tossed it to the side. You could worry about responding later.

“Just a friend, huh?” He asked. “A friend that makes you laugh?”

His sudden change in attitude threw you off and you sat up more. “Well, it was less my friend and more a meme he sent me.”

“He?” World growled.

He seemed to grow bigger, or maybe you were just pushing yourself into the bed more.

“I- I’m sorry,” you stuttered out. “I thought you said he was okay to talk to.”

World gripped your wrists, kneeling on the bed, and pushed you down. “I told you not to leave the house.” He jerked you off the bed and began to drag you out of the room in your underwear.

“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. I was just talking to him,” you pleaded as you tried to stand. His grip tightened and began to hurt. “World, love, please, stop. You’re hurting me.”

Just as you had managed to get in a crouching position to stand, World yanks you down. You land with a thud on the cold, wooden floor.

“Hurting you? Never, my dear. No, I’m just punishing you for disobeying me.” He stood over you, his fists clenched.

“I- I didn’t. I didn’t go outside.”

That only seemed to piss him off more.

“I said not to leave the house. That means technologically as well. You disobeyed me, my dear. I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve given me no choice.”

•

Present Day

You woke up in a fetal position in bed. Clenching your fists, you willed yourself to forget about the nightmare. Shakily, you pushed yourself up, blankets falling off you. A part of you expected, when you looked at them, you’d find the ones World had gotten for you. Instead, you were greeted by a different set, the top one with a close-up of a bunch of wolves perched atop a cliff with a forest in the background on it.

“I had one of the Children get some other blankets from a nearby store,” Technical Boy said, glued to his phone. “I didn’t tell it any specific type of blankets to get, so it just grabbed some. Hope you like wolves.”

Assured in the knowledge World hadn’t had a hand in getting these, you laid back down, pulling the blankets over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing heavily, and curled back into a fetal position.

•

Weeks passed and you slowly healed. The Child that you had been in front of when the car struck had partially protected you, so you were better off than if it’d rammed into without any sort of cushioning. Still, rehab was fucking painful.

Technical Boy mostly said nothing, preferring his tech to others, particularly you. When he did speak, it was sarcastic and filled with a feeling of superiority. It tended to get on your nerves. But it was better than the alternative. Occasionally, he’d get a text and he’d be out the door faster than the Flash going at light speed. It was rare but still, you dreaded those texts because he’d always leave one of the creepy Children behind, or several depending on how he was feeling.

You’d talk to Technical Boy, of course. Well, not specifically to him, but you’d talk aloud to kill time. It was mostly rambling about one thing or another. Sometimes you’d talk about your parents and family, other times you’d talk about random things you’d learnt over the years. On very rare occasions, maybe once or twice, you’d talk about World and what it was like with him. It was nice, just talking without anyone listening but someone still being physically there. You knew he didn’t care and he probably wasn’t listening, but that didn’t matter to you. You just wanted to talk. Sometimes, he’d stop scrolling or playing a game for so long you thought he was listening. Thankfully, he was just reading something when that happened. Talking “to” Technical Boy was like talking to a brick wall in the best way possible.

Now, you laid in bed, throwing things at the ceiling, head relaxed against the headboard. You closed your eyes, groaning.

Out of pure boredom and nostalgia, you remembered a school play you’d been forced to do; The Wizard of Oz. You had played the Wicked Witch of the West for the second half of the play. Despite the rather enjoyable performance, you did hate the green face paint you’d had to wear. It didn’t feel good against your skin. As you remembered the play, you began to think about the song Ding-dong! The Witch is Dead that your Mum had always teased you with. That and the whole “I’m melting scene”. The song rang through your head as you tried to remember all the words, but the same lines repeated over and over again.

“Ding-dong! The witch is dead. Which old witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding-dong! The Wicked Witch is dead,” you sang, very much off-key but with a childish enjoyment.

Technical Boy joined in with his eyes still glued to his phone. “Wake up, ya sleepy-head. Rub your eyes, get out of bed.”

“Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead!” You both sang out, Technical Boy was much quieter than you.

Your head fell forward and you giggled to yourself, covering your mouth with your hand. Technical Boy, unused to the sound, looked up at you, the edges of his mouth twitching up. But, when you looked at him, he looked away, his lips straining into a white line as he tried to cover up the smile. You curiously watched him for a while like you were waiting for him to do something. Upon deciding he was too boring to do anything of note, you started humming Ding-dong! The Witch is Dead to yourself. The song had ingrained itself into your brain.

Technical Boy typed something into his phone before speaking. “I can play it out loud if you want.” He showed you his phone’s screen.

You couldn’t tell what was on it as it was too far away, but you assumed it was Ding-dong! The Witch is Dead. “Sure. If you want.”

He pressed play and turned up the volume, but the noise was minuscule. Technical Boy gave it a confused look, frowning, and mouthed a “what the fuck”. For a few minutes, you watched him fuck around with his phone, trying to solve the problem.

Eventually, he turned to you. “Sorry. Volume isn’t working as it should. Must be some sort of hardware issue. I’ll take a closer look later.”

You considered, for a moment, that maybe Technical Boy wasn’t as good with his tech as he liked to boast. Then you remembered that TECHnical Boy was a TECH god and this is probably happening because he wants it to, on some level. You internally laugh at the thought.

‘Maybe he really hates that song,’ you thought.

“It’s fine. Maybe we’ll both be able to hear if you get closer,” you said with a small smile.

You could have sworn he was blushing at that moment. That was definitely peculiar. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you.

Technical Boy scratched the back of his neck, looking away from you. “Yeah, sure. That- that could work.” He got up, shuffling his sneakers along the tile.

As he neared your bed, he rewound the video and started playing it. Instead of sitting on the bed, he awkwardly stood there, holding his phone closer to you.

You laughed lightly before patting the bed. “You can sit down, you know that right? I’m not as easily broken as you might think.”

“I don’t think you’re easily broken at all,” he mumbled as he sat down.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Technical Boy drug the timer back to the zero second mark, replaying the video.

You shuffled around, listening to the song, before getting closer. Your chest pressed against Technical Boy’s back as you rested your chin on his shoulder. Surprisingly, he was very warm.

You’d expected him to be like his domain, cold and calculating, but, you supposed, he’d always been very angry and loud, just like the other part of his domain. You smiled softly, recognizing the duality to him. The angry, emotional, loud human-dominated Internet and the cold, logical, data-processing technology-dominated, well, tech. Then, you remembered how phones and computers were. It had been so long since you’d had one, it was like a far off memory. But, all technology tended to warm up as they were used and cooled when they weren’t.

You nuzzled into his strangely soft sweater, your cheek pressing lightly against Technical Boy's neck. Blood rushed up to his neck as his heart beat heavily, you could hear it more than you could hear the music. It was very calming. Though the rapidness of the beat was slightly concerning. Usually, humans have really fast heartbeats wasn’t a good sign, but he wasn’t human so maybe it worked differently.

Technical Boy glanced down at you, trying not to disturb you. A soft smile spread across his face. A blush did the same thing over his cheeks and his ears tinted pink as your hands found their way to his side.

You sighed, content, as you relaxed.

You hadn’t meant to get so physical with Technical Boy, but it felt nice to feel someone else’s warmth for once. To even be near someone again without fear of getting hurt was a huge relief. Though you knew if World ever found out, he’d kill you both or worse.

At the thought of the cruel god, you reached for where your necklace used to be. Instead, you grasped at nothing. The reminder that World had taken your necklace made you feel empty and cold even with the heater named Technical Boy letting you hold onto him. Your eyebrows knitted together as sadness filled your heart, weighing it down. Still holding nothing, you pressed your face into the tech god’s shoulder.

Technical Boy gently reached for the hand still on his side. He grasped it and pulled it around his stomach, gently rubbing your knuckles. “Are you okay?” He asked softly, just as surprised by his own concern and gentleness as you were.

If it had been anyone else, he would have pushed them away, but this was you and, after all the weeks you’d spent rambling, he felt like he knew you better than World did.

To be fair, most people probably knew you better than World did.

Still, Technical Boy had started to understand why World wanted you so badly. You were so human and so sweet, laughing at your own jokes and, in a way, treating him like a pet like always humans tend to do with technology. The way you so easily spoke to him about whatever was on your mind and the way you smiled even when you weren’t doing anything, was so human and he found that, despite how he had always viewed humans, he liked that about you. He wouldn’t say he felt anything stronger, but he did like it. Maybe more than he should.

You tiredly looked up at him, lips grazing his sweater (Technical Boy found himself wishing he wasn’t wearing one) and gave him a strained smile.

“I’m alright, I suppose,” you said. “I’m just wishing I still had my necklace. It helps calm me down.”

Technical Boy nodded, his phone turning off.

You didn’t know if he did that or it did it by itself.

“What’s it look like?”

His gaze seems to drop to your lips before darting back to your eyes, but you can’t be sure of yourself.

You shrugged. “Head of Medusa and gold sprigs of laurel shooting out from the pendant.”

Technical Boy nodded, mentally putting a yellow sticky note on a rough image of the necklace he had in his head with “find” written in red on it. “Sounds cool,” he said, meaning it but sounding rather casual about it. He mentally facepalmed.

You nodded, still touching the place the pendant once hung in front of.

Technical Boy noticed your despondency and put the yellow sticky note and the necklace under important.

You trailed your free hand down Technical Boy’s back, nails sending tingles all over his body.

This was something you both needed, but both rarely got.

Physical touch is the hardest thing you’ve ever come by, especially after meeting World.

As for Technical Boy, he was a lonely god surrounded by cold fellow New Gods and unfulfilling worship. Though he was necessary for the U.S. to function, the people’s belief in him wasn’t really belief IN him. It was a belief that technology is going to solve everyone’s problems. They do not view him as a deity and they do not know he even exists. It’s a sad thing for a god to be worshipped but not known truly within their worshippers. If that wasn’t bad enough, the other gods like Media and World didn’t really like him and they did nothing to hide it.

He glanced at you again. You caught it and smiled softly, wrapping your other arm around him, enjoying the warmth of him and the feeling of another being. The god leant into you, rolling his head back and closing his eyes. His hands found yours and he absentmindedly rubbed them.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Technical Boy snorted. “Why? You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“It’s just-- You’re Technical Boy. You don’t like humans, so you probably aren’t the biggest fan of this.” You shifted slightly but still held him close.

He turned to look at you. “If I wasn’t okay with this I would make it known. I tend to do that.” A slight, itty bitty smile surfaced. “I can show you if you want? Trust me, I can be really loud and annoying.”

You pulled away, covering your mouth as you laughed.

Technical Boy’s smile widened and there was a strange light to his eyes as he watched you.

You couldn’t help but smile back.

“Ya know, I’m really touch-starved, so, trust me, I’m enjoying this,” he said.

Silently, you reached for one of his hands and held it in your own. “So am I, to be honest. World was never really one for touching. I was often pretty lonely…” You trailed off, eyes wandering. “It’s not much like that now, though. Even with him looming over me, at least you’re here.”

“Yeah, I am,” he said. Part of him wanted to kiss your cheek, but his far more logical side decided that would be a dumb idea. Instead, he squeezed your hand and smiled. “Don’t think I’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.”

All you could do was smile.

•

The Child sat there in Technical Boy’s chair like an action figure not in use.

Laying on your stomach at the end of your bed, your head sat on your crossed arms as you watched the empty, motionless creation.

Technical Boy had gotten one of those texts and had to leave. One of the Children had taken his place.

Ever since that conversation a few weeks or so ago and all the touching that happened, the tech god had opened up a little more, willingly joking with you and talking. You’d finally gotten to know more about the god. Turns out he was moderately decent sometimes.

You continued staring at the Child, your head falling to lay down. Blowing out a breath of air, you flipped over and stared at the ceiling.

World, thankfully, had been too busy to stop by in ages.

Sometimes, you’d learnt, you were fine with his name and existence being mentioned. Other times, you weren’t. Sometimes, you were scared, but his presence didn’t make you freak out. Other times, it did. The whole thing was pretty inconsistent.

You’d missed Technical Boy. His presence had a calming effect on you to a degree you didn’t understand. Still, when he laughed, you smiled with pride. When he smiled at you, your heart clenched in your chest. And, of course, when you caught him stealing a glance at you, you could practically feel the blood rushing to your face.

The sound of the door unlocking and opening made you jump and you quickly turned to see who it was.

Silently, you hoped it was Technical Boy and feared it was World.

A familiar face walked in with something in his hands.

“Tech!” You smiled and sat up.

He grinned at you before slipping whatever was in his hands behind his back and walking in. Realizing the Child was still there, he gave it a look and it got up. It left and shut the door behind it.

“I got something for you,” Technical Boy said, turning his attention back to you. “I think you’re really gonna like it.”

Head tilting with curiosity, you look at him. “What is it?”

He chuckled and sat down on your bed. “You’ll have to open it and see,” he said, pulling a small box from behind his back. He handed it to you.

Gently, you took the box and opened it. Inside sat a shell-shaped compact mirror. Though definitely disappointed, you were more confused than anything. You took it out and examined it.

“Why did you give me a mirror?” You asked.

Technical Boy’s grin grew. “Cause, without it, you wouldn’t be able to see what I’m about to give you.” He slipped behind you on the bed and opened the mirror over your shoulders, placing it in your hand. “Now, close your eyes and don’t open them till I say,” he whispered into your ear.

You leant back into him, enjoying the closeness. Though you were reluctant and a little confused, you closed your eyes anyway, deciding to trust Technical Boy.

You listened as shuffled around. A sudden and strange, though familiar, feeling of something settling around your neck made you tense, but that tension faded quickly.

“Okay,” he said. “Open ‘em.” Technical Boy’s head settled on your shoulder and he wrapped his arms around your waist, watching you in anticipation.

Just as you began to open your eyes, he stopped you. “Wait, hold up.” You felt one of his hands cup yours as he adjusted the mirror. “Okay, now.”

You opened them, greeted by a view of your necklace shining in the bright, artificial lighting. Your jaw drops as you stare at the terrifying face of Medusa. A warmth finds its way into your heart as your open mouth turns into a grin. Gently, filled with disbelief, you reach up and touch the pendant. Realizing it was truly there and not an illusion or something, a weight lifted off you, knowing you hadn’t lost it. You sighed in relief and clutched the pendant, closing your eyes.

Out of excitement, you turn around and wrap your arms around Technical Boy, hugging him tightly.

For a moment, he doesn’t know what to do. He knew you’d be happy but he hadn’t anticipated this. Remembering all the fanfics, posts, shows, and movies put on the internet, he realized hugging back would be a smart option. That would definitely help with keeping his blush hidden. He hugged you back, nuzzling into your neck.

As you pulled away slightly, you looked at him, still smiling.

He shyly smiled back.

You knew he blushed rather easily, but the sight of his face so flushed and ears so pink was a little shocking. It was still cute, though.

You fell back into him and rested your head on his chest.

Technical Boy squeezed you tight, resting his head against yours. He closed his eyes, finding himself able to relax with you.

A few seconds of silence passed before you decided, on a random whim, to kiss Technical Boy’s cheek.

He froze.

If he was pink before, he was Hot Tamale Red now.

You giggled lightly before beaming up at him.

Honestly, you couldn’t say why you did it. All you knew was that it felt right.

The door to your room slammed open and World appeared. Both you and Technical Boy snapped your heads to look at him, eyes wide.

You scrambled away from Technical Boy and off the bed, eyes going wide at the sight of your terrifying ex.

"And what exactly is going on here?" World asked. He stepped into the room and glared at you

The tech god got off the bed and put himself between the two of you, pulling World's attention away from you. The last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt, especially because of him. He didn't care if he got hurt. Technical Boy was a god; he could handle it. You were human and World had already done enough.

"Nothing much," he said. "Just talking."

World got closer.

Your heart pounded against your chest. The familiar fear of his presence shaking you to your core.

The way he approached reminded you so much of how he used to right before he laid into you, all height and glaring. He was going to hurt you again. Or Technical Boy.

Gods, Technical Boy. You didn't want him hurt. He'd been so kind to you over the last few weeks and had really come out of his metallic and rude shell. The thought of him regressing and being cold to you again sickened you.

"It seems as though I've caught my beloved and you doing much more than “talking”," World hissed.

Out of pure fear, you hide more behind Technical Boy, placing a hand on his bicep.

"Y/N hugged me," the god said, maintaining eye contact with World. "That's it. They were thanking me."

World took off his fedora, his long coat hanging off his shoulder. "For what?" His head jerked unnaturally.

"For being here when you weren't and for getting them their necklace back," Technical Boy said.

You hadn't noticed how tense he was until World was nearly on top of the two of you. He was just as scared as you were. Technical Boy breathed heavily through his nose but refused to flinch.

World pointed at your necklace and growled, "You shouldn't have that."

Your hand shot to your necklace, clutching the pendant in shaking fingers.

"And who are you to dictate that?" Technical Boy asked.

World, angered by Technical Boy's insubordination, walked to him and looked him in the eye. "You will leave if you know what's good for you, Boy," he said unwaveringly. "And, if you know what's good for them." World turned away, his fingers trailing across the end of your bed. "Unless, of course, you want them to receive the worst possible treatment for their injuries."

Technical Boy's eyes went wide and his jaw tensed. He looked to you.

You didn't want him to go. You didn't want to be left alone with World. You didn't want to left alone at all. Despite that, you also didn't want to end up in a dark room to die and you didn't want Technical Boy to feel guilty if that happened.

Turning to the tech god, you nodded toward the door, mouthing the word "go".

He hesitantly tried to say something, eyes glistening with sorrow and guilt, but didn't, defeated.

As he left, his heart heavy, you gave him a pained smile and wave. Once he walked through the doorway, your smile fell and you wrapped your arms around yourself. You already knew what World was going to do.

He turned to you, scowling.

•

Outside the room, Technical Boy stood, already hating himself for leaving you to deal with him alone. The number of times World had hurt him because he wasn’t perfect or didn’t do what World wanted exactly as he wanted it done and had the shite beaten out of him for it was astronomical. He’d always wished Media had done something about it when it happened, but she never did. Now, he had done the same thing to you.

He heard you yelp and the distinct sound of a body hitting the floor. Your cries echoed in his ears as World beat you. Though the door was shut, it did nothing to mask what he was doing to you. Technical Boy could faintly hear him saying this to you. He couldn't fully make them out, but he knew, in his heart, they were as vicious and violent as he was.

It took all of the tech god's self-control not to rush back in and protect you. He'd shield you with his own body if he had to.

Sadly, the god knew you'd only be worse off if he did. So, he sucked it up and walked away, fists clenched.

He had to figure out a way to get you out of here before World made sure you'd never go anywhere again.

•

You laid in bed, curled up with the blankets Technical Boy had gotten for you. The cloth felt soft and strange against your skin like you weren’t used to the feeling of safety and warmth around you. Even though you’d been using them for months at this point, the blankets still felt foreign. They were better than any World could force on you, at least. And, they reminded you of Technical Boy.

Since the day you told him to go, you hadn’t heard a peep. It was like he vanished from your like.

Honestly, you were worried about him and thought about him a lot. You had no idea if he was alright or not. Unfortunately, you'd experienced just how cruel World could be when he was angry; your face and body were plenty of evidence of that. Though Technical Boy was a god and World couldn't kill him, you feared for Technical Boy's safety. Over the years you'd been with World, he showed an apathy toward Technical Boy, if not hatred for him. He'd been violent with the tech god before. You knew he would be like that again on a whim. That's all it ever took; a whim.

The door to your room opened.

Tensing, you pulled your blankets closer. You shook slightly, closing your eyes and letting out a fearful breath. A free hand laid where the pendant of your necklace should be.

You'd been expecting him to come back to teach you another lesson. World had come every day since he's taken Technical Boy off "Y/N duty".

Slowly, you steadied your breathing and opened your eyes. A part of you hoped he'd find no joy in it today, that he'd grow tired of you and toss you aside. Even if you ended up dying, it'd be better than living in fear of World for the rest of your life.

"Y/N," a familiar and gentle voice said.

You wiped the blanket off and turned to look at the speaker; Technical Boy stood there with bruises on his face. They didn't take away from how happy you were to see him.

The corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile, but his eyes screamed of pain. "Hey."

Of course, World had hurt him. You knew he would. It was World. But, that feeling in your chest, the feeling of your heart squeezing, the feeling you'd felt when World showed up randomly early on, the feeling of relief and love filled you as you looked at the tech god.

Without hesitation, you pushed away from the blankets and scrambled off the bed, not even thinking about them falling to the floor. You didn't give Technical Boy a second to breathe as you pulled him into a tight hug. Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you screwed your eyes shut and breathed him in.

After the initial shock, Technical Boy slowly hugged back. He tested his head on your shoulder, breathing heavily. "Are you okay, Y/N?" He asked, pulling away and cupping one of your cheeks. His soft eyes searched yours.

You chuckled, tears of joy pooling at the corners of your eye. “I’m-- I’m better now,” you said with a smile.

Technical Boy relaxed a little, but still, his eyes stayed trained on your face. His fingers ghosted over your bruises and split lip.

It made you wince.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Did he do this to you?”

You looked away, not wanting to see the hurt in his eyes. "He cause those?" You asked, turning back and gesturing to Technical Boy's face.

For a beat, there was silence. Without having to say a word, both of you knew what happened.

You pulled him into another hug and he quickly reciprocated.

"I can't stay long. World doesn't even know I'm here right now. I hope he doesn't, anyway." Technical Boy pulled away and smiled at you. "I'm going to get you out of here, and soon. I promise." His eyes drifted to your chest, his eyebrows scrunching up in confusion before turning into anger. "And I'm going to get your necklace back from World."

You looked down, putting a hand over where your necklace should be. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a necklace.”

It wasn’t, in fact, just a necklace. It was a gift from someone who actually, selflessly cared. Though you hadn’t talked to Soteria since you’d gotten the necklace, you knew she had been watching and trying to keep you safe. You knew it in your heart of hearts, in your essence, in your very soul itself. Maybe it was a want to have someone on your side or blind stupidity, but you had an unending faith that she was with you, that she was protecting you and guiding you even now. It was that faith you clung to when World would come in. It was that faith that kept you sane. Even before Technical Boy had been sent away, it was that faith that helped you get through even the worst days where your mind would plague you will horrible memories of World and your life with him.

Technical Boy shook his head. “It’s not just a necklace. It’s your necklace. It belongs with you, not him.”

You smiled softly at him, relishing in his gentle touch.

“I’m going to get it back for you and I’m going to get you out of here, so be ready to leave at a moment’s notice, okay?” He asked, looking into your eyes.

You nodded before hugging him again.

Real, genuine, caring contact with another being, no matter how artificial, is the only thing you wanted at the moment. Everything else be damned.

•

The door to your room opened in the night. No light shone in as all was quiet. It was past midnight. Of course, all was quiet. It’d be weird if it was loud and noisy.

Laying in bed, you slept as soundly as you could with the constant threat of World looming over you and plaguing your scarred mind.

Technical Boy looked back into the dark, empty hall before slipping into your room.

His own fear and doubt squirming through his mind and infecting him. Around every corner, his heart had beaten loudly in his chest as he could never be sure someone was just around the corner. Though the god knew how to manipulate technology, even recreate and control it to a certain extent, he was still afraid that World would pop up while Technical Boy had blinded himself by taking the cameras offline. It felt wrong to not be able to see everything through the cameras. It was too late to take it back though.

“Y/N,” Technical Boy said as he gently shut the door. When you didn’t respond he got close to your bed and nudged you. “Come on, wake up. We need to go.”

You groaned quietly and tried to pull the covers over your head but Technical Boy stopped you. He pulled them off the bed and stared at you.

You whined, trying to curl up, but the god wasn’t having any of that.

“Y/N, get the fuck up or I swear to God I will throw you over my fucking shoulder,” he said putting his hands on his hips.

You groaned again and flopped to your back. “It’s late.”

“I know,” he said. “Now let’s go.” The tech god pointed at the door.

You sat up, back stiff, and stretched. “Outside?”

He nodded. “I said I’d get you out of here, didn’t I?” Technical Boy smiled before offering you his hand.

The two of you shared a smile. Just as you reached out to take his hand, you remembered World and froze.

“What about--”

“Don’t worry about him,” Technical Boy said. “I’ve got a plan. Right now, we need to go.” He grabbed you and pulled you from the bed.

•

Outside the compound World had been keeping you in, you stared at the night sky. The beautiful blues and blacks melting together, and the points of white stars twinkling high above. You never thought something could be so beautiful. The stars danced in your eyes.

Technical Boy, holding the door to his limo open, stared at you like you stared at the sky.

Feeling his eyes on you, you looked to him and gave him a soft smile.

If it wasn’t so dark, you could have been sure of whether or not he was blushing. Instead, the darkness hid his embarrassment for him as he turned away from you.

“Get in,” he said, gesturing to the limo.

You nodded and walked over. Before you slipped inside the bright automobile, you gently kissed Technical Boy’s cheek.

He stood there for a moment, stunned as the tips of his ears turned pink. Swallowing hard, he gets into the limo, sitting next to you.

•

Standing in the busy airport, you looked around, clutching the carryon bag Technical Boy had packed for you.

Patiently, you waited for the tech god to appear. He had to get some things in order before your departure.

When he did appear, he seemed nervous, scanning the crowd with fearful eyes. He stopped in front of you, still scanning.

You understood his fear. It was a similar kind to what you had felt when you’d run from World.

Gently, you touched his arm, tearing his attention from the crowd. You gave him a gentle smile.

The god softened and weakly smiled back.

“Thank you,” you said.

Technical Boy shrugged, looking down. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is to me.”

•

On the plane, a child kicked your seat from behind and the man at the end of the row was talking loudly on the phone. You felt bad for the grey-clad man sitting between the two of you. He was getting it far worse than you.

Looking away from the commotion, you watched the people outside the plane scramble around and grasped the necklace’s pendant.

You were so close to freedom. Close enough to taste it. Or maybe that was just the aeroplane smell.

Despite still being in the U.S., you smiled. Even if the plane crashed, you wouldn’t be stuck with World. Even if the plane gets redirected somewhere or there’s a storm and the plane has to make a landing, you could still stay away from World long enough to get another ticket out of here. It would be a terrifying ordeal, but you could do it. Even if, worst comes to worst, World finds out and finds you again, you knew you could find a way out of his grasps again.

And if none of that comes to pass, you leave the U.S. for good, and never see anyone here again, you knew you could be happy. Maybe find someone to settle down with or get an animal or something. Maybe find a good job that you can mostly enjoy that isn’t totally soul-crushing. Maybe, if you’re really lucky, you can get a few hobbies that bring you joy like nothing ever could.

If you’re lucky that is, but you’ve never really been that lucky. Who knows? Maybe that will change.

#american gods #mr world #mr world x reader #technical boy #american gods fanfiction

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pokeasleepingsmaug · 5 years ago

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my seat’s been taken by some sunglasses asking about a scar

For a request. Male reader x Technical Boy, being a jealous asshole when a girl flirts with reader.

CW: None.

You almost lean instinctively into him when he slides back into his seat, but something stops you. The presence in the seat next to you doesn't feel like his: doesn't have that edge of wild energy, like electricity crackling. It feels calmer, and that immediately puts you on edge.

You turn to face the one who isn't him, and find yourself face to face with a pair of smiling brown eyes beneath a mop of curly hair, full lips turned into an easy smile. She would be pretty, if you had eyes for anyone but him.

"What's the point of coming to a place like this if you aren't even going to dance?" She asks, raising her voice to be heard over the thumping bass.

"I was dancing earlier," you lie, flashing her a smile. "Must have just missed you.

"Come dance with me now, then," she challenges you, raising her brows, and it's so tempting to rise to the bait.

But you can feel the crackling presence of him as he comes up behind you, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder, squeezing possessively. You don't even have to turn around to picture the look on his sharp face: tight-lipped smile, hard eyes. The thought is damn near enough to take your breath away.

His sulky voice breaks the silence. "Yes, Y/N, why don't you go dance with her now, then?" His hand tightens on your shoulder. "Such a pretty little thing, I'm sure she would show you a good time."

Her lips quirk into a smile as she looks at him over your shoulder, her eyes flicking to the position of his hand; his fingers are digging into you so hard his knuckles have to be close to white.

"Better than you trying to rip his shoulder off," she notes, wry, and you can't stop yourself from finally turning to face him.

You've often thought he's at his most handsome when he's angry, although it isn't purely a physical thing. There's something about that energy of his that just fits with yours, the way his jagged edges match perfectly with yours and make you feel at home.

You can already imagine who he'll be when you get to the car: how hard he'll kiss you, the way you'll rise to meet him. He's a tide that it's easy to get swept away in, but you've always reveled in swimming upstream.

His fingers loosen, his hands sliding to trace the edge of your jaw before they trail down your neck. You gasp and lean your head back for him. "Sure about that, sweetie?" He asks, smug, and the girl takes off with a roll of her eyes and a toss of her hair. "Let's get out of here," he says as soon as she's out of earshot.

You're more than ready to leave anyway; the loud music has been fraying your nerves from the moment you got here. Tech likes the chaos of clubs, though, so you stomach it for him sometimes. The cool night air cools your overheated face as soon as you step outside, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you hit the button to unlock your car.

You're already anticipating how stormy he'll be, starting to grow hard at the thought of his demanding lips on yours. You both climb into the car, and you slide your key into the ignition but don't bother to turn it. You lean over the center console for a kiss, but he leans away. "Tech," you call softly, and his eyes reluctantly meet yours. "What's up?"

"Would you have danced with her if I hadn't come back?"

"What?" You yelp in disbelief. "Of course not."

"Only because you don't dance," Tech pouts, his cheekbones sharp in the neon light from the bar sign.

"Only because I'm with you. I don't want anyone else, you know that."

He hums, like he might need a little more convincing, and you reach over to cup his jaw and hold him still, your thumb stroking slowly over his cheek. "Let me prove it, then," you murmur, leaning closer.

You pause when your mouths are barely a whisper apart, and you feel more than hear his breath catch in anticipation. He doesn't pull back this time, so you press your lips to his as softly as you can, feeling him melt into the kiss, tasting his metallic breath. There's never been anything sweeter.

#american gods #technical boy #technical boy x reader #technical boy x male rader #American gods fic #American gods fanfic #technical boy x you

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imagines-everyfandom · 6 years ago

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#technical boy #technical boy x reader #technical boy imagine #american gods #american gods imagine #american gods x reader #american gods preferences #request #gif imagine #imagine #not my gifs #requests are open

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multifandom--imagine · 6 years ago

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VERY IMPORTANT

so since I received really many requests on technical boy I decided that from now (6 July 8:50 am) the requests on this character are CLOSED. I hope you will understand dear readers, I would also like to try other characters and not just one.

#american gods #mr nancy #shadow moon #imagine #reaction #mad sweeney #mr wednesday #american gods imagine #american gods imagines #mr world #technical boy #smut #fluff #gif #imagines #love #x reader #fluffy

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the-moon-queen · 6 years ago

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ITS UP, ITS UP!

Chapter 3 of Knowledge and Desire is up! Finally! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I hope you all enjoy it!

It kinda got away from me but here’s hoping its still decent!

#Technical boy #technical boy x reader #tech boy x reader #writing #american gods #fanfic #fanfiction

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dragon430 · 4 years ago

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~Technical Artistry~ Prologue: To Be A Goddess

Summary: After an early afternoon filled with errands and burning stares, you decide to take a little break, only for your brief relaxation to be rudely interrupted by some unwanted guests.

Warning(s): Swearing Word Count: 5,317

Authors Note: This story is intended to be inclusive of all readers, regardless of their race and physical features, but please let me know if you find any mistakes as I am not perfect and sometimes don't realize I write them.

Being a Goddess is not all sunshine and rainbows. Most would think that having the role of a deity means you get adored by all, people willingly falling at your feet to kiss the ground you walk on. And you can thank movies and tv shows for planting that untrue belief in people's minds. ‘Cause newsflash, that is not how it is nor how it ever has been.

Sure, when you first came into being, you were praised and loved by your people. The great Artisa, the Goddess Of The Arts and mother of creation. But you only got to feel that love for a short amount of time. First, it was because humans didn't want to correlate you with their success in art, preferring to only thank themselves even after having asked for your help.

And while that was disheartening, you were still able to get by with the number of people who dedicated their lives to the arts. Those who may not have worshiped you but who lived for everything that you are. And at the time, that was enough. But all too soon, you felt the dwindling of imagination.

The damage of people not believing in you was immense and tragic, but you didn't think it would have gotten any worse. Sadly, you were wrong. Humans started turning on each other, all with their own beliefs and views that they tried to force down the throats of others. And, as the strong trampled over the weak, differing artistic thoughts were more likely to be discouraged than praised. Slowly dimming any worship you were getting until you nearly flickered out of existence, like a candle's flame being snuffed out by the ferocious wind.

Fortunately, you were able to hang on but only by the skin of your teeth. You stuck around and whispered in the ears of the privileged how a portrait or statue of them would make everyone jealous. Encouraged the less fortunate to channel their talents into something that they could support themselves on. Willed the unique to proudly present their differences to the whole world. Because while some may sneer and turn away, mocking those who don't follow the same path. There would be others who were charmed and fascinated by something new and exciting that they wish they had the skill or freedom to do themselves.

Truth be told, you wish that your meddling was always well received, but in the olden times, it very rarely was. Those with different views were subjugated and looked down upon by the humans who were too full of themselves to even think that the world didn't revolve around them. But despite the hardships that those special few had to go through, you did it all in the name of the arts. And for the progression of man and womankind, you would do it again. After all, the beauty of one's creativity isn't meant to be locked away.

As the years progressed, so too did people's thoughts towards expressing themselves through acts of creation like drawing, music, plays, and so much more. And thankfully, your meddling worked because as time moved on, the shackles of censorship slowly rusted, the years passing chipping away at the chains until they crumbled.

The people were able to finally do as they wished with their creativity, given their freedom to create whatever they could dream of. And while you were happy with the outcome, the slow growth of interest in the arts had you a bit worried. Yes, people were given the right to express themselves as they wished, but it was a slow-going process for humans to step out of their repressed comfort zones. And since no one was worshiping you by name and instead what you stood for, you needed that much more to stay clinging to life.

For a while, you were able to live a bit comfortably. Granted, far away from humans lest you get murdered and not have enough worship to be resurrected. And while it was still a bit of a struggle at times, you were able to make it by with the minuscule amount of worship.

Then the twentieth century came along.

In the beginning, you would have never thought that you would be thankful for the progression of technology. But soon, you found that people could share their creative passions in a way they never could before. And because of how easy it became to create things, many more people were doing it. So, while people still might not believe in you, the pure amount of artistry out there gave you more than enough worship to make up for it.

And as technology grew and went through numerous upgrades, it made art that much easier to share and create with it. Giving you the power and security to live amongst the humans you longed to interact with. As, in your long years of life, you always wanted to be able to do more for those who worshiped you. But your fear of getting killed and not being able to come back always won over your yearning to connect with the humans who had unknowingly supported you.

But upon getting upgraded with the use of technology, your dreams finally became a reality. Though, as nothing ever comes easy, the new development also brought forth a lot of new problematic dilemmas. Your ability to upgrade being the main focal point of the troubles.

You see, you are an Old God, but one, unlike most others. It isn't rare for humans to create a new story for an old god or move to a different country with their beliefs in tow. And when that happens, a new version of that god is created. But that was never the case for you.

Everyone in the world has creativity and the ability to master some type of expression through art. So, when you came into existence, you were the soul goddess who governed over the arts. Because, unlike any other god or goddess, what you ruled over stemmed from humans everywhere. And you were "born" from artistry all over the world versus the typical deity only being believed from one culture and carried to other places with them.

Then, with the never-ending changes the world went through, you evolved over time. You started to become integrated with the technology and media that came into existence, as most of it was only made possible through the arts. And in turn, the arts were only able to prosper because of them.

It wasn't long after that when you found a strange kinship with the new deities. An odd understanding grew between each of you where you knew the importance you all held for each other. Because of that, you were able to connect with one another in a weird way that kept you all linked together. And despite not interacting with them as much as you would with the old gods, you still thought of them as your kin.

And somewhere along the way, without notice, you no longer considered yourself an old god in anything other than age. But at the same time, you never fully fit into the category of New God either, as the arts were essentially the building block that brought many of them into existence. Because of this self-revelation, you are placed in the neutral zone between the old gods and the new. Though with the whisperings of war you've been hearing, you feel the decision to pick a side will be forced on you sooner rather than later.

You sigh at your last intruding thought, clearing the wisps of it that linger to distract you by standing to throw away your empty disposable cup. The little bell above the café door chimes, signaling the end of your reprieve for the day as you make your way into the cool outside air. Breathing deeply, the rush of wind fills your lungs, and goosebumps rise along your arms from the chill leeching away the warmth of your skin, waking you from your relaxed haze to get a start on the day, well…afternoon..

Sticking your hand in your leather jacket pocket, you pull out your to-do list. Your eyes glance across the page, taking stock of what tasks are close together or can be combined into one to be accomplished in the least amount of time possible. Once you have a general plan, you redirect your eyes to the top of the page before sticking it back in your pocket. And with your next task in mind, you stroll down the sidewalk.

Letting your feet guide you to your destination, you close your eyes, focusing on the noises in the area. You listen to the muffled chatter of people shuffling their way around, to the laughter and crying of children, and the speeding of cars down the road. And if you really strain your ears, you can make out the softest singing of birds among all the commotion of the humans.

Smiling, you idle at the crosswalk and wait for traffic to stop. Once the coast is clear, you go to take a step away from the safety of the curb. But even before your foot can hit the pavement, you pause, your grin dropping from your face just as quickly as it had appeared.

You look around to find where the sudden feeling of being watched is coming from. The intense burning of someone's eyes on you causes goosebumps to once again flush across every piece of skin, little hairs standing at attention as if ready for battle. You're probably just overthinking it, your earlier thoughts of war putting you on edge.

Normally, feeling someone's stare wouldn't cause this reaction. After all, it could just be someone checking you out as they walk down the street, eyes lingering a little longer than they should. But there's this odd sense of...not hostility per se. It's more like aggressive impatience as if someone is waiting to approach you but is being held back by something. And while you try to convince yourself that the gaze is completely harmless, it still frays at your nerves, pulling on them like how a child tugs on a loose thread.

Your eyes dance along the street, keeping in rhythm with the erratic staccato of your heart drumming against your ribcage as you try to spot your alleged stalker. From dark and damp alleyways to well-lit building entrances, behind trash cans, and even around telephone poles, as ineffective as that hiding spot would be. Your gaze skips about, trying to find the person who's still pinning you under their intense stare, only to find nothing.

You thought you would feel better if you didn't find anything, but your jumbled nerves war against your assumptions. If anything, not knowing where this person is, has a chilling anxiousness flooding your system, freezing your muscles to keep you immobile. Your eyes rescan their path once and then twice before you will your legs to move, to get some distance from this spot before you panic.

After all, who knows, maybe it's just some weird coincidence, and when you leave, the feeling will vanish. Or, if it follows you, you'll at least have enough time to make it somewhere safe to think about how to get out of the situation.

Sealing your fate with a calming breath, you resume your trek to the other side of the street to continue your tasks. You attempt to ignore the sensation as it seemingly follows your every move. Unease chills you to the bone, warring with the burning feeling of the stranger's eyes and threatening to send you into flight mode. But as your shop comes into view, you sigh a breath of relief, quickening your pace as the feeling alleviates the closer you get to it. And upon entering your photography and art store, lovingly called 'Sketches and Shots', a sense of safety washes over you, protecting you from the stare like a blanket does from a chill.

You take a quick glance outside from the shop's window, slightly ducked to the side to remain unseen by anyone that may be watching. With no shady figures staring menacingly at where you entered the store, you allow yourself to relax for the time being. Nerves mend their frayed ends back together as your heart reigns in its pounding beat to a mellow thrum. After all, it would be stupid for someone to try anything in a store with people milling about. So, at least while you're inside, you're perfectly safe, basking in the cozy and comforting aura your shop provides.

No longer needing to be vigilant, you find your attention wandering to the walls. Painted canvases are strung up by fairy lights, the soft glimmer reflecting off the paints and leaving an enchanting glow that brings the art to life. As if you could reach out and be sucked into the image portrayed there, ripped from a reality so cold and dull to live in one of vibrant joy.

The next aisle houses pictures that even the best of the best wish they could capture. Striking portraits illuminated by golden light that makes one's features purely angelic, bringing forth not only the perfection but the divine flaws that make the subject so beautifully unique and human. Scenes at the circus, trapeze artists somersaulting through the air as their outfits sparkle from the flames of the fire-breather below, all eyes transfixed on the stunts, stuck in the same trance the exotic snake dancer holds her reptiles in. Even dark and haunted forests are transformed into something that can be described as nothing less than ethereal by the slightest sliver of glittering moonlight that fireflies dance through, waltzing to the sounds of the wind rustling through branches, the swaying releasing leaves that the trees shed from their applause.

Customers peruse the aisles just as awestruck as you. No matter the amount of art you've witnessed, to see it so lovingly created, used not only to capture a person or a setting but to portray the pure emotions of its creator, is something that will always leave you in astonishment. For art is an extension of those who use it, supplying them with the dreams they wish to achieve, places they hope to run away to, memories that they desire to last forever, and so much more.

And to be willing to share that talent with others, despite the contrast in interests that most humans have, is something utterly spectacular. Artists can be constantly pushed to the edge with hurtful comments from people who live to prey on others' insecurities through what they love. But creators will clutch onto the edge of that cliff with all their might, empowered by the kind words of those who appreciate their hard work. Truthfully it reminds you of your existence as a goddess, teetering on a scale of negatives and positives that can tear your life apart when the bad outweighs the good.

But that's why you created Sketches And Shots. It was made to be a shop that would take in art from struggling artists crumbling under the boulders of self-doubt from poisonous, and frankly uncalled for, criticism. Where others, who enjoy the art, would help lift that heavy burden from crushing the beginnings of a great talent. And you really have found the best art enthusiasts out there, free of judgment and filled with intrigue about any new piece that makes an appearance.

Smiling, you wave at people you know as regulars, the ones who show so much support that it actually makes it hard to keep your shelves stocked. A wonderful little paradox that causes Louis a bit of stress when he has to rush to supply the store with paintings or pictures when pieces from other artists aren't in yet. But no matter how much he'll complain about it, it's nearly impossible for him to keep a smile off his face at the revelation of how wonderful the situation really is. Though speaking of the grumpy ravenette, you should track him down to see what he needs from the store instead of wasting time in your thoughts.

It doesn't take long for you to find your prey in the Painter's Room—his usual hideaway. You watch him for a moment, intrigued with what he's creating with his delicate strokes, his movements just as beautiful as they are well-articulated. Every painting he does is more reminiscent of a photograph with how accurately he captures his model.

And while it may take him a few days to finish a piece, the wait is well worth it. Even watching the actual process of its creation is enough to leave you in awe of his work. From every stroke of the brush, a smear of color, the scratch of charcoal, it's all enough to keep your gaze locked on his form, so focused he didn't even hear you enter the room. Seeing him so calm in his craft, so absorbed as he channels every flicker of emotion into the painting, almost persuades you to leave him in peace.

And you would have if not for the devious idea that forms in your mind. Smirking, you sneak up behind him, careful to creep around paint buckets and crumbled pieces of paper to be as silent as possible. When you're within a breath's distance away from the man, him still being too caught up in his work to notice, you launch your hands on his shoulders. With a yelp that reminds you of a scared kitten, he jolts into a standing position and whips around to face you. With a shaky hand, he brandishes his paintbrush like a mighty sword.

Only for you to smile once seeing his choice of weapon. "Oh no. I'm so scared, Lu."

His shoulders sag with a sigh, paintbrush still being pointed threateningly at you, "You should be. I could ruin your favorite jacket, you ass."

A laugh bubbles past your lips as you ignore his comment and crouch down to look at his painting. "Sorry, but you know I can't help it. I was just stopping by to see if I needed to get anything for a restock."

He straightens, paintbrush loosening in his hold to dangle precariously from his fingers as he walks to a bulletin board hung on the wall. Your eyes follow him as he unpins three sticky notes and rejoins you to hand them over.

Standing from your bent posture, you take the notes and read over the scribbled words.

"There's more on the back," Louis says while sitting on the stool in front of his work again, rolling his shoulders back before pressing fine bristles to the canvas.

"I will never understand why you can't just find bigger pieces of paper to write your lists on, but whatever. I'll go get this stuff and lug it back." You go to walk out of the Painter's Room but stop at the threshold. Turning back towards him, you shoot a smirk over your shoulder, "Also, just for future reference, I'm better looking from the right side." You point at his easel, featuring an unfinished painting of you in its early stages of color.

Your comment is met with a flash of an exasperated glare before he turns back to his canvas, no doubt grumbling curses under his breath. You ignore his colorful words in favor of throwing a wave over your shoulder at him, shutting the door behind you. Your eyes quickly glance over the papers to try to get an estimate of how much you're going to be spending as you walk out the shop door to collect the stuff listed.

Strolling down the sidewalk, you make your way to the closest art supplies store. But the feeling of being watched returns soon after you are a few steps away from the shop, making you curse yourself for forgetting about it in your attempt to relax. The stare burns hotter than before as if admonishing you from leaving your safe space, and you're almost tempted to rush back to it. Almost.

As your arms are blanketed in goosebumps, you try to scan the area discreetly by lifting the sticky notes to your face to peek over the edges. Only to sigh in frustration upon, once again, finding nothing of your apparent stalker.

You're ready to accept the fact that this might be a permanent occurrence for today. And as much as the seemingly endless gaze unnerves you, you try to calm yourself down. After all, if they're staring from a distance, no harm will be done as long as you stick around the busy streets...hopefully.

So, deciding to ignore the feeling for your sanity's sake, you look down to fully read the papers instead of just skimming over them. Though upon looking over the lists of what to get, you groan, the sound rumbling through your throat as you throw your head back.

This is going to take a while.

After two hours of shopping, you finally return to Sketches and Shots with an armful of bags. Stepping to the entrance, you precariously balance on one foot to gently knock on the door with the other. You learned your lesson earlier that trying to put all the bags down isn't the best decision when half of them slid out of your arms and scattered across the street while still at the supplies store. So instead, you wait outside the glass, hoping for someone to open the door to save you from said embarrassment happening again.

Thankfully after another patient tap to the glass, Dave, one of your regulars, comes to your rescue and holds the door open for you, "Hey, there. Do you need any help with those bags?"

"No, I'm fine. I just couldn't get the door. Thanks, though."

"Of course! I can't let a pretty lady struggle after all." The man gives you a bright smile that you can just see from a space between your mountain of bags.

You return his grin with one of gratitude, hoping that he can at least hear it in your voice since he might not be able to see it. "And that's why Beth loves you. Tell her I said hi, will you?"

"Sure! She's actually planning on stopping by next Friday for the painting lessons." At the sound of his wife's name, you don't have to see his face to know that he's beaming at even the mere mention of her.

Honestly, he worships her more than most people worshiped gods and goddesses in the old times. And it's really cute. Not only to see those two in love but to know that your shop had a hand in the start of their love story and is still a constant part of their lives. Something that fills you with pride that what you reign over can bring two souls together in such a pure and loving way.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you mentally return to the conversation. "Oh, nice! I'll be sure to hop in and see her then. After all, I still have to go over all your guy's anniversary pictures with her to see if she wants anything edited."

Dave makes a playful sound of dismissal with what you guess is a wave of his hand as the slight breeze caused by the movement hits your arm. "I wouldn't even worry about that. After the wedding pictures, she trusts you with any decisions you make. I'm pretty sure you could send her a blurry picture, and she'd still love it."

You can't help the laugh that slips past your lips at his truthful comment. "Well, you're not wrong. That woman just loves to have everything cataloged, no matter the quality. As long as the photos showed how happy everyone was, she would buy them."

"Exactly my point. Now I should probably let you get that stuff put away. I'll see you on Friday if she doesn't send me in sooner."

"Alright, I'll see you later, Dave."

With a wave goodbye, he vanishes into the landscape photos, most likely picking something out to decorate his and Beth's new home.

Resuming your trek, you stride over to the Painter's Room. Peeking through the door’s stained glass window, you see Louis teaching today's class. As silently as you can, your elbow pushes the handle down to open the door, and you quickly move to the back corner, placing down all your bags. Not wanting to interrupt the lesson or distract the students with the rustling of plastic as you try to put things away, you leave the bags against the wall. Once again, you quietly venture across the room. This time, placing a gentle pat on Louis' shoulder on your way out to signal your delivery.

And with one more exit from Sketches and Shots, you're on to your next task. It doesn't take long to make it to the music shop you own about a block away. You'll be there just long enough to check how things are going before continuing with your to-do list. Maybe with a tiny break mixed in to soothe your aching arms from lugging all those bags around.

The vinyl record sign comes into sight first. A child excitedly walking out of the shop with a new mini guitar coming second and causing a smile to spread across your face. You step past the boy chattering happily to his parents and make your way inside, beaming at the people looking around or playing instruments.

Strolling over to the speaker section of the store, you enter the command passcode before changing the current pop music to an AC/DC mix. Some of the musicians fall silent at the change, glancing up to the radios embedded in the walls before starting to play again, mimicking the song flowing through the speakers.

"HEY! HOW DID YOU—Oh Melody, I didn't see you come in. I thought some punk hacked into the system again."

You can't help but snicker at Jake's outburst, "Don't worry, it's just little old me. How have things been today?"

Squaring his shoulders and puffing his chest out, Jake points to himself in confidence. "Well, I sold two guitars, three basses, one drumset, and multiple CDs and vinyl records!"

Quirking an eyebrow at him and smirking playfully, you tease, "And how much has your arch-rival sold?"

"Uh—" His confidence deflates, arms crossing against his chest as a pout surfaces on his face, "I don't want to talk about it."

Laughing, you walk past him, leaving a comforting pat on his shoulder on your way to the front counter. Upon reaching it, you lean forward, laying your crossed arms on the surface. Seeing Anne, aka Jake's arch-rival, reorganizing the shelf, you smile and call out, "Hey, beautiful, how's work been treating you?"

Jumping at the sudden voice, Anne whips around with a pissed-off look before her eyes land on you. Instantly she lets out a relieved sigh, her steely gaze softening as it holds your own, "I am so happy it's you, Mel. I am sick of people flirting with me today."

"Who says I'm not flirting with you, huh?" Your smile turns into another devilish smirk, brow quirked up at your question.

Matching your grin, she braces her hands in front of yours, whispering so just you and Jake can hear, "Well, your advances are completely welcome." She finishes her sentence with a flirty wink directed at you.

There's a moment of silence, your eyes locked on each other's while a familiar pair burns into the back of your head. You try to hold onto the flirtatious look, but the moment your gaze catches the wobble of her lips, you fail to keep it together, and you both burst into laughter.

"Ugh, I think I'd prefer it if you didn't hit on my girlfriend, thank you very much," Jake grumbles and walks out from behind you to stand next to Anne.

You straighten up and place your hands on your hips, a few more chuckles slipping past your lips at his remark. "Calm down. We're just playing around." Your words are followed by an air kiss blown to Anne and a mischievous smirk directed at Jake.

With a groan and an exaggerated eye roll, Jake throws his hands in the air, "You are impossible!"

Keeping your smirk, you leap over the counter between the two, an arm laced around each of their shoulders. "Well, I'm just here to check up on you guys and make sure nothing bad has happened."

"No, it's been a pretty quiet day," Anne comments with a relaxed smile, leaning into your hold to most likely take some of the weight off her feet.

Jake nods, copying his girlfriend's action of leaning into your side as he cups his chin in thought. "Yeah, the worst we've had was some kids putting a bunch of stuff in the wrong places, and as I said before, someone kept switching the shop's music."

"Well, that's good. Do you guys want anything for lunch? I'm going to our favorite BBQ place right down the road in a bit," you ask while moving out of the way for Jake to ring up a customer.

A look of thought passes over Anne's face, and you take the time to crouch below the counter. Unlocking the safe there, you take out the money drops for the day and put them in a bank bag, securing them in your jacket’s zip-up pocket to deposit at the bank before coming back with lunch.

Once the safe is locked again and you return to your previous standing position, Anne answers your question. "Well, I want that pulled pork sandwich from last time, and I think Jake brought up wanting to try that new brisket grinder."

"Nice, I'll bring those for you guys in about an hour." You walk around the counter, making your way towards the entrance with a wave to the two.

"Thanks, boss-woman," Jake calls out as the door closes behind you.

Throwing a thumbs up over your shoulder for him to see through the glass, you make your way to your next and most tranquil location. After a short walk, which you're grateful for or else you probably wouldn't have time to go, you're greeted by the serene atmosphere of your favorite park.

Sitting on your usual bench, you gaze out at the people around you. The giggles of playing children, the softhearted scolding of parents, and the teasing of couples fill your ears. A smile graces your face at the serenity, no shoving down a crowded sidewalk, no honking of people with road rage, and most importantly, no burning stare able to penetrate the peaceful atmosphere.

Closing your eyes, you take in a deep breath, floral scent tickling your nose as the smell of wildflowers mixes on the gentle breeze. You can feel the warm sun rays upon your skin, chasing away the slight chills of the afternoon wind that tried to seep through the layer of warmth your body provides. Here you're able to relax, to just admire your surroundings with no responsibility lingering over your head. The perfect spot to take a break and just forget about everything, if only for a short amount of time.

Two people rest on either side of you, and while this normally wouldn't bother you, their presence causes your stomach to sink without you even having to look to see who they are.

"Hello, darling~" You hear the unmistakable voice of David Bowe to your right.

Sighing in frustration, you realize the exact reason slight unease made itself known to you as they sat down. Tilting your head on the back of the bench, you can't help but let out a quiet, "Fuuuuck."

Technical Artistry Masterlist

Next Chapter- Chapter 1: The Offer

Commission & Request Sheet Masterlists

If you like my writing, please consider buying me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/dragon430

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#American Gods #Technical Boy #American Gods x Reader #Technical Boy x Reader #American Gods Technical Boy x Reader #Technical Artistry

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komotionlessqueenmm · 3 years ago

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Imagine # 903

Gif NOT mine. (Found on Pinterest.)

If this gif is yours (or you know who's it is) please let me know, so I can give you/them credit.

Gif credit goes to - Unknown.

Year posted - 2021

----

"Excuse the fuck outta me, but how do you know about that!?" (Y/n) asked Tech, who had just mentioned something she loved, but never talked about. "Uh you mentioned it before?" He tried. "I sure as shit did not mention it ever, that's a secret I indulge in strictly on my phone." She thought to herself for a moment while the young God attempted to back out of the room subtly. "You little shit, you've been tracking my activity on my phone haven't you!?" (Y/n) accused, the look of being caught red handed washing over Techs face. "What else have you been doing on my phone?" (Y/n) hissed at him, suddenly wondering if the feeling of being watched lately was because of him. "W-well I um." He stammered over his words, confirming her suspicion. "You mother fucker!" (Y/n) yelled before straight throwing her phone at him as hard as she could. Tech was quick to doge it however, resulting in the delicate piece of technology to smash when it slammed into the wall. "Asshole!" (Y/n) hissed before storming out of the room, leaving Tech standing there feeling guilty.

#imagine #gif imagine #extended #American gods #tech boy x reader #tech boy #tech boy imagine #technical boy x reader #technical boy imagine #technical boy #technical boy x god! reader #tech boy x god! reader #technical boy x human! reader #tech boy x human! reader #american gods imagine #american gods fanfiction #American gods x reader #bruce langley #Bruce Langley imagine

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nellycanwrite · 3 years ago

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A Limousine Ride

Austin Butler!Elvis Presley x Filipino!Reader

Summary: After a long day at a concert, Elvis offers you and your son to ride with him back to his hotel.

Words: 1375

Rating: PG (13+)

TW: Mild Angst.

This is Part 2 of the Austin!Elvis x Filipino!Reader blurb. Part 1

It has been a long day.

You had gone through your day left and right in high heels and a tight—almost suffocating—suit whilst you dealt with all the backstage affairs of Elvis’s concert; stray wardrobes here, broken technical there, missing choreographers, back-up dancers, and all other things that Elvis needed for a successful performance was dealt by with you. You were his personal assistant, his secretary, and quite frankly, the whole crew knew you as someone who came to be Elvis’ ticket to a seamless success.

Boy, did that make the Colonel fume. He never liked you in that regard; a colored immigrant Elvis picked up from an island of the Southeast suddenly becoming his closest assistant? Why, he’d never even thought of such things before Elvis decided to introduce you as his closest aide. However, your skills in management were unmatched. Of course, being the daughter of a resort owner in the orient south did give you the perks of a business mind. That’s how Elvis met you in the first place. You were a valuable asset in the team, and God forbid you would suddenly resign and the whole foundation of Elvis’ shows would collapse.

It might seem that you were an unbeatable woman; stoic, poised, and—despite being of Filipino descent—you were respected as Elvis’ most competent assistant. There were raised brows of your…origins, but they were all shut down after a few conversations with you. It was hard to keep up with the demands, especially when you had a three year old boy prancing around at your feet and cheering as loudly as he could for the man who shook the world on stage. He had an incredible likeness to the King of Rock ‘n Roll, and you knew exactly why.

Elvis’s secret son, Enrique Dallas. The result of your passionate love one night in California. Elvis loved you—loves you—in every way, shape and form. Even when he had married Priscilla, even when Lisa Marie was born, he still loved you. And you loved him.

But you remained his secretary. You remained a colleague, an assistant. You had no right to even look at an American the way you did Elvis, let alone even dare think of starting a life with him in the peak of stardom. You dared not share the limelight for your son’s safety, even if it meant he did not know his father. Even if it meant that he would call his daddy Uncle Elvis.

By the end of the show, with your body tired from keeping up with the demands of his staff, the raging fangirls that would hound their way up the stage, and your son’s boundless energy, you resigned yourself near the exit where Elvis was due to come out. Enrique—or Ricky, some preferred—was by your side, equally as spent as you.

That short rest wasn’t gonna last with your busy life as a secretary.

When you heard the raging crowd go into a decrescendo, and the flashing lights drawing closer, you stood up straight and hoisted the tired three year old up your waist and waited for your boss to appear. And lo and behold, not just a few minutes after, Elvis comes out with his brows covered in sweat and his costume still fixed onto his body. You managed to expertly weave through the plethora of people surrounding him and walked side-by-side. Albeit rushed given the circumstance, but you were used to this pace.

“Towel, sir?” You handed him a towel with your one free hand. Elvis said nothing and plucked the cloth from your hands whilst you made your way towards his 1969 Mercedes-Benz limousine.

You kept your poise and patted Ricky’s back as he dozed off. He always had a knack for sleeping through the chaos. “We have to go back to the hotel and prepare for your next flight tomorrow. Priscilla and Lisa Marie will follow just behind. You still have to meet with the Colonel after this, so expect him in your room right after,”

You noticed the subtle shift of Elvis' jaw as you said that, so you added, “...I’ll make sure to let him in two hours after we arrive. That’s the best I can give you.”

He gave you a miniscule smile as thanks. It shot butterflies on the pit of your stomach, but you swallowed them down and continued forth without a stumble.

Elvis went in the limousine first and waved to his adoring fans and media. You vaguely heard the distinct words of ‘godchild’ and ‘secretary’ amongst the crowd. You were undeterred by the comments, but you made sure to hold Ricky closer to you and hold his head down whilst he rested in your arms.

“I’ll see you in the hotel, sir. I’ll ride with your wife and attend to you as soon as I can.”

Before you could walk away and disappear into the crowd of media, Elvis took hold of your arm. It was firm, reassuring. It held a gentleness to it that would have sent a wave of affection through your chest, but in the middle of all these people, it only served to terrify you. When you turned to look at him—to give him the sternest look that you could muster—you found yourself stopping when he looked at you. No, he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at your child.

His child.

“...Go ride with me. The lil man looks like he needs the rest.”

You looked around, unsure. The cameras were all flashing and that just heightened your fear. “I don’t think that would be necessary, sir. We’ll follow you right after, so we’ll be right in the hotel in no time.”

“I insist,” he urges. He sat up straight and stared at you right in the eyes, “I don’t want my godson spendin’ another minute outside while he’s out cold. Besides, we can talk about work on the way.”

With not much of a choice, and your weariness of the cameras that pointed at your face, you sighed and hopped in the limousine right after Elvis, Ricky now passed out in your arms in a pleasant slumber. The car revved its engine and slowly weaved through the crowd of fans as they swarmed the vehicle. They tried to get a glimpse of the man beside you, yet they couldn’t see even a speck of his charm through the tinted windows.

With all facades down, and the energy winding down to the pits of exhaustion, Elvis finally released the tension from his shoulders with a long sigh. You looked at him a second longer than intended, your face flushing and your mind running with pleasant memories before Elvis’ rise to fame. But you pushed them down and let Ricky get comfortable on your lap. The man beside you gave you a sideways glance before plucking Ricky out of your arms and making him rest in his own lap instead. You stared at him, jaw albeit slacked, but you weren’t surprised.

“I’ll let the lil man sleep on me. You catch up on some rest.”

"...this isn't really necessary, sir," You say while you gaze at Ricky's sleeping form. He was curled up into a ball in Elvis' lap, his face in a peaceful slumber. You weren’t surprised that he'd become tired after the show; he was trying to imitate his daddy's—uncle's—moves while he let the music overtake him. You didn't have the heart to stop your son from dancing so merrily backstage, "I can take care of him just fine."

"Relax, lil momma. No one's gonna see us," Elvis tucks a stray strand of hair from Ricky's closed eyes. He shifts his gaze towards the tinted windows; your only means of privacy, "just let me coddle my son for once."

"It's Y/N, sir," you sit straight and sigh, "and Ricky's your godson."

"I know that, I really do. But just...I just wanna treat him how I shoulda treated him. He's still my lil man, after all."

For once, you agreed.

And for once in your life, as you scooted closer to Ricky and caressed his little cheek, and as you surrendered yourself to the look of pure adoration on Elvis’ face, you pretended you were family.

#elvis 2022 #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis x filipino!reader #austin butler

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imaginethatneathuh · 4 years ago

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The Chariot: Technical Boy - American Gods

Technical Boy x partner!reader, romantic

Technical Boy loves you and needs to hear your voice. You think you've lost him when he doesn't come home for months.

Part of @dragon430’s Tarot Troop.

TW/CW: Perceived death, fear, loss.

Word count: 1.7+ K

•

The young god sat on the steps of Xie Comm. His phone turnt on, displaying your number in his contact list. He hovered over the call button.

It had been a week since you had talked to each other. He’d been ignoring you and when you brought it up, he snapped. He'll admit, he shouldn't have, but World had been pressuring him and the war was just fucking everything up. Before Wednesday decided on war, the tech god already had a strained relationship with World. After, it only got worse and that did nothing to help your relationship.

Technical Boy pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear. He needed to hear your voice, even if you were still rightly upset.

It rang. Once, twice, thrice. You didn't pick up.

At home, you were playing music on the telly and cooking. The phone rang in the living room, but you didn't hear it.

"If it isn't important, go away. If you're T or an employer, leave a voicemail."

He chuckled.

It wasn't you, just a recording, but it was enough to give him a little morale boost.

"Y/N, hey. It's me, um, T. I wanted to say I'm sorry for snapping at you and ignoring you. It was a dick move. I love you, baby. A lot. I, uh, I need you to know that. If I'm still around by the end of this, I'm gonna come home to you. I'll bring you your favourites and we can do whatever you want. If I'm not there by 9, tonight, I'm sorry. I love you. *chuckles* I haven't said that enough but I really do. You're my heart. You keep me sane and I love you for that. I'm confident I'll see you tonight and when I do, I'll apologize properly."

He hung up, breathing heavily.

He would see you tonight. He would apologize. He would tell you to your face how much he loved you.

Putting his phone away, Technical Boy looked at the infinity symbol-shaped behind him and sighed.

He would come back to you.

•

Panting heavily, the god took a moment to catch his breath. His back was pressed against the cold wall, eyes closed. The soft buzzing of his phone in his pocket pulled him out of his head. Quietly, he prayed it wasn't New Media calling to taunt him about his failure.

When he pulled it out, he stared.

It was you. You were calling him back.

He answered and listened for you.

"Hey, T? Are you there?" You asked.

After he regained his composure, he smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

"Love, are you okay? You sound out of breath. And your voicemail- It scared me. Is everything okay?"

"I love you." It's all he could think to say. He needed you to know that more than anything else.

"I know, love. You made that pretty clear in your voicemail," you said, picking at your lips. "I love you, too. But, are you okay?"

"I don't know if I'm going to make it home to you. I’m sorry," he mumbled. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A flash of New Media. "I've got to go, baby. I love you so much. No matter what happens, I always will."

"I love you, too. But-"

Not allowing you to finish, he hung up and started running again.

He had to get away from World and New Media. He had to get away from this building. And, most importantly, he had to get home to you.

But, as soon as he saw that box next to the stairs, he knew he wasn't going to make it back.

His last conscious thought was of you. It was of knowing you would be up late, waiting for him, terrified for him. It was of your tears and mourning. It was of you, eventually, knowing he wasn’t coming back and that you lost him and he lost you.

•

You stayed quiet, your phone still pressed to your ear.

He hung up on you. If you weren't so worried about him, you'd be mad.

Over the several years you'd been together, he only hung up when it was important or he was pissed. The fear in his voice, the heavy breathing, the way he spoke and what he spoke about. Whatever World had done was bad. Or maybe it was what he was going to do. Either way, you couldn't help but feel dread, knowing that if -- no -- when Technical Boy came back, something would be wrong. Maybe he would be injured or afraid. Maybe he'd even be half-dead.

Quietly, you tucked your phone away and walked to the living room.

It was quiet now. You'd shut the music off so you could talk with your partner but that didn't take as long as you thought it would. It felt eerily silent like a phone line going dead. That dull, constant buzzing in your ear but instead of that, there was simply nothing. The silence was somehow worse.

The window that faced the street let light in and the heater was on, but it felt darker and colder than it should. You sat on the sofa under that window, staring out. You'd wait as long as you had to to see him again. He'd come home eventually. He had to.

•

Months after he was supposed to be back, you still waited for him. Always to 9, like clockwork. Sometimes, you'd wait longer. Hoping, praying, for your lost love to return. You didn't let it interfere with daily life, but the thought of him never left you.

Now, you laid on the sofa, the one under the window. It was almost 9. Almost time to go to bed. Almost another day without him. Something told you to stay a little longer tonight. That something had pestered you before, but now, it screamed.

Pushing up to sit, you laid your arms on the top of the sofa and laid your head on top of those.

The soft, orange lights of the lamp posts flickered before shutting off. Which was strange since it was almost nine at night without a sliver of the sun to be found.

You straightened, head tilting to the side.

Technical Boy crossed your mind. But you pushed the hope aside. It had been months of silence. If he was okay, he would have shown up far sooner. It was probably just a technical malfunction or something. Still, your mind wandered to him, to his smile and laugh, to his silly hair and eccentric clothes, to the way he held you and the way he'd snuggle up to you when he needed to, to the way you'd bicker about silliest things but always talk about the big ones.

The thoughts of your love hurt, crushing your heart as you remembered all the good, the bad, and the ugly of being with the tech god.

You hadn't noticed the tears streaming down your face until they fell almost all the way down. You wiped them away, sighing.

He was gone, likely for good, and you were finally weeping for him and what you had lost. After months, you'd realized he wasn't coming back to you. That he couldn't. That he was gone for now and forever.

•

Shutting the curtains, you wiped more tears away. The soft cloth of the sofa enticed you to stay. You didn't have the will to say no so you pulled the blanket from the top and wrapped it around yourself. In a way, it was like you were still waiting for him to come home.

Just as you'd gotten comfortable, a knock came to your door.

Your first thought was to ignore it. Whoever it was was probably a creep. Come on, who starts knocking at doors at 9 at night? Serial killers, that's who.

But, the person was insistent so much so that you tore away your blanket and got off the sofa.

"I'm fucking coming, alright. Jeez," you said, storming to your front door.

You threw it open, ready to give whoever it was a good, stern talking to. But, maybe you shouldn't have if it was a murderer.

All your anger dissipated at the sight of the knocker.

It was him. It was your Technical Boy.

•

You gawked before covering your mouth.

He smiled, pained. "Hey," he said.

You stepped out, not believing your eyes.

Was it really him? Was he here now? Was this really your Technical Boy?

He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry it took me this long to get back to you. I didn't mean--"

You cut him off with a tight hug, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

He froze in shock.

The god had expected many things. Yelling, hitting, you slamming the door in his face. But, he hadn't expected this. When he calculated the probability of various reactions, hugging was very low. A 0.82% chance, to be exact. It was higher than a kiss but still incredibly low.

Finally, he settled his arms around you, holding you as tight as he could. It was like he was afraid you'd slip from his grasp.

You breathed his scent in, a mix of his cologne and vape. Over the last while, you'd forgotten it. You'd forgotten a lot. Like how big he was, how soft his skin was, and how warm he was against you. You never wanted to forget any of that ever again.

Your own heart thudded in your chest.

This was real. He was real. But you had to make sure. Maybe you had fallen asleep and this was just a dream. A cruel, cruel dream.

You pulled away, tears falling.

"Hey," he whispered, brushing away your tears. "Please, don't do that. If you cry, I'm going to start crying."

You laughed and smiled at him.

It couldn't be a dream. Dreams never made sense. They were never accurate for you. But this, he was. Maybe his hair was shorter and his clothes screaming a little less, but it was him. It was your Technical Boy.

You reached for him, cupping his cheek. "T?" It came out like a sob.

His hand held yours as he nuzzled into it, kissing your palm. "It's me. I promise."

Overwhelmed with joy, you kissed him, placing your other hand on his other cheek. It's forcefulness left your lover stunned but he quickly reciprocated, bringing you closer.

You panted hard as you broke away, pressing your forehead against his.

"I love you," you said.

He grinned. "I love you, too."

#american gods #american gods fanfiction #tarot troop #technical boy #technical boy x reader

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bangtanfancamp · 4 years ago

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Champagne Silk | KNJ

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⋅summary: Almost year ago, you became the arranged bride of the most powerful man in the city, Kim Namjoon, but this morning, with you, he’s just a man who’s head over heels for you who can’t help getting lost thinking about his future with you.

Alternatively: no matter how powerful a man Namjoon is, he is still a klutz in the kitchen. A sexy klutz though.

⋅ author’s masterlist

⋅part two of the Silk series ( read part 1 here)

⋅also the second installment of breakfast with bangtan series (masterlist here)

⋅pairing: mafia!namjoon x reader

⋅genre: mafia! au, arranged marriage! Au, smut, fluff, angst, established relationship

⋅word count: 15.5k words

⋅rating: mature

⋅warnings: a generous amount of consensual sexual activities 🙃, brief scene of oral sex, impregnation kink, a shared bath tub, multiple instances of christiana being uncomfortable with using proper technical names for genitalia and being intentionally ambiguous instead. (honestly it’s more tame and wholesome than you think but god, if these two aren’t hot for each other )

─────────────────────

“Damn it.”

The sound comes rumpled from the other side of the kitchen, like someone’s trying to keep it hidden. It’s so subdued and muttered that around anyone else, it might have been successfully hidden. But not right now. And certainly not with you. Because you know the distinct, adorable huff of your husband’s regret in an instant.

“You all right over there, darling?” There’s an innocence in your voice to hide your humor.

“Promise you won’t laugh if I tell you?”

“Oh, unfortunately I can do no such thing, my love. You’ll just have to brave the odds and tell me.”

Your smile is benevolent, but unyielding. You politely, pleasantly even, refuse to give him another option, and he knows it. It’s that simple. Even with his back to you, he knows the jig is up. As he hunches with heavy shoulders, he sighs and mutters something too low for you to pick up at first.

“Once more for the people in the back, yeah?” You tease.

“I said, I spilled wine on everything,” he exhales.

His voice is tinged in shades of caramel, rich with resignation, as he confesses, stepping aside so you can see the mess he’s made.

“Oh, Joon.”

A terribly bright fondness pulls your lips into a smile as your clumsy giant sheepishly ducks his head across the room. His once pristine white shirt, his linen pants and your white antique tablecloth are all freshly dip dyed in swirls of Pinot Grigio and rosé.

“I know. I know. You don’t have to say it.” His eyes flit down to the stack of too many wine glasses slotted between his large fingers that have spilled their bounty across every available fabric surface.

“You have no idea what I’m about to say,” you point out graciously.

Crossing the room, you tip up on your toes to press a tender kiss to the spots where his jolly dimples would show if he weren’t so flustered.

“MmmHmm. Sure I don’t.” He squints at you while you slip one glass at a time out of his grip and reach for a cloth.

“Precisely. You shouldn’t assume, Namjoon. You know what they say.” You smirk, wetting the cloth with water you know will be too frigid for him to stand in this half asleep state he’s in, but the stains have got to go.

“And what exactly do they say?” His large palms dip to rest on his hips as he braces for your commentary.

“Simply that assumptions only make an ass out of you and me so…”

His nose scrunches in distaste, even as he starts to laugh. “What a beastly phrase. I forget how much delicacy Americans have.”

“Oh heaps of it. More than they know what to do with, really.” You shrug as you wring out the cloth. “Positively genteel. Is that not why you chose to marry one?” You add with a wry smile.

Glancing down at the bands on your finger, you warm at the way they glisten in the bits of lazy Sunday light filtering through the window. Namjoon’s glints golden across the room as he waits for your rescue. Both still new enough to feel like a novelty. Enough to make a small light inside you beam with pride whenever you catch sight of it.

“I chose to marry the only one I could find who was quick enough to get the stains I make out before they set and sweet enough not to give me grief for it.” He arches an eyebrow down at you in challenge as you slip one hand past the deeply undone row of buttons on his shirt to pull the fabric up and away from his skin as you begin to gently blot at the wine.

“Oh no. Well, I hate to inform you of this, but unfortunately, I’m actually 0 for 2 in those qualifications. But I will sincerely try my best since you’ve placed so much trust in me.” You chuckle as you set to work. “Would it be helpful if I mention what a smart wife you have to have ixnayed buying that cabernet sauvignon you wanted so badly, especially given your current predicament?”

Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to your forehead before dipping to press his nose against your own while shaking his head.

“No. Not in the slightest.”

“See? That’s good to know. Would have been awful if I mentioned the Merlot I put back too then. Can you imagine? Could have been so unseamly.”

He laughs, smiling against your hairline. “Well, what would have been the point of whisking my bride all the way out to a little villa in wine country and inviting guests only to not serve them red wine?”

“The point would have been you not turning into the kool-aid man whenever said wine inevitably spilled all over you. Case in point.” You look up at him through wide, fluttered lashes as you press the icy cold cloth against a particularly bold splatter on his chest. The frigid water grazes his nipple through his thin shirt and your giant of a man winces like he was wounded on the playground.

“Hey, that’s freezing.” He moves to swat your hand away.

“Would you rather just take this off then? So I can work properly,” You smirk.

“No,” he sighs. “That would just be colder.”

He looks so adorable right now. The lavender locks you’d once loved so well have been replaced, faded into a dusty blonde instead. His thick hair, usually coiffed so neatly, so perfectly, is currently disheveled entirely. Bits that had been gently curated to frame his face the night before are now plastered to his forehead, others shooting off at odd angles, all from falling asleep on the couch beside you once your dinner guests finally left late last night.

He’s still in last night's now stained and rumpled clothes, still looking absolutely divine with the sleeves cuffed against his elegant forearms and his now wide open neckline thanks to the buttons undone all the way down past his rib cage.

His body is every bit a grown man, but his sleepy features- those wide eyes and pouted lips- make him look every bit the little boy you saw once in his mothers photo albums the week of the wedding. Big Namjoon still makes the same faces when he makes a mess as little Namjoon, and it makes your heart squeeze in your chest.

“Don’t be such a weenie,” you tease.

“Careful who you tease, woman. You’re the only one in this city who forgets how many people are afraid of me.”

“This city is half a day’s drive away. There’s no one to fear you here,Joonie. Besides, your enemies have clearly never seen how quickly you’d fall in a battle against the cold or else you would have been displaced ages ago,” you tease with a twinkle in your eyes as he narrows his at you.

“I don’t think you’d like ice water on your breasts first thing in the morning either.” He huffs under his breath.

“You never know til you try,” you wink.

“Would you like to try?” His eyes rake over you salaciously despite the tenderness in his smile.

“No, I can’t say that I do,” you chuckle, pushing a palm against his chest. “Besides, it’s hardly first thing in the morning, Joon. It’s almost noon.” You nod toward the clock.

There’s still sleep in his voice when he laughs, the sounds rich and resonant where it blooms from his chest. “Well, it’s still morning for me when we didn’t fall asleep til well after 3 because our guests don’t know when to leave.”

You smile to yourself at the memory of time spent with your friends. Well, more accurately Namjoon’s friends, i.e. the members of his crew who have become like family to both of you. Namjoon’s been on the move so much with work lately that there’s been no time to simply sit and enjoy their company. You were in raptures when he suggested they join you for dinner last night.

“It was so good to see Hoseok and Jungkookie though. Their new girlfriends seem so sweet.”

Namjoon’s gaze seems far off somewhere as he listens to you.“They do, don’t they? JK’s seemed spunky too. She’s good for him.”

“I think so too. He spent half the night blushing- he was so happy. It was good to see him so over the moon for once, that little romantic.”

Namjoon smiles, a soft thing nestled in the pocket of his cheek, full of fondness for the youngest of his friends. “Yeah, I’m glad he finally found someone so good for him.”

Pulling you in, he kisses you gently, once, twice before pressing his lips to the top of your forehead, an unspoken “as good as you are for me” hidden his warm brown eyes.

“Big softie,” you whisper, reaching up to cradle his face, thumb brushing over his cheeks. He tips his face toward your palm to plant a kiss there too, his lips just brushing the inside of your wedding band as you smile.

“For you? Always.”

“For me? It was the food last night. God, That charcuterie board Jin brought was positively masterful.” The memory alone has your mouth watering. “Such a shame it was all gone so soon though.”

“Ooo, speaking of,” Namjoon slips out of your grip to rustle around in the kitchen behind you. “Not quite.”

“What did you do?” You narrow your eyes at him as you settle into a wooden chair to start tending to the swirling stains on the tablecloth.

“Oh, the best thing. Husband of the year level best thing.”

“Husband of the year? Can't wait to see this then. Very moderate expectations, indeed.”

With his back to you, you can’t see what he’s up to, but you can certainly hear it. Especially the low grunt when his hip snags on the new island counter. This poor man was clearly made for a different life than this old world kitchen provides. You wonder which will go first, your husband or the architectural detail. You chuckle to yourself until you realize exactly what it is he’s carrying.

“Kim Namjoon, is that-?”

“A mini stolen charcuterie board? You bet it is,” he winks your way, and a storm of winged things flutter in your stomach.

“How did you even-“

“When you had everyone gathered in the backyard, and Jimin tripped over the cord for the string lights.”

“I’ll never know how such a graceful man can cause such disasters. Or how you managed to befriend the only other man on earth as poised and clumsy as you all at once,” you chuckle, stealing a fig from the corner of the board as he peels back the plastic film covering it. “Oh my god, that’s so good.”

“Mmm Hmm. I knew you thought so,” he taps you on the nose lovingly. “You always ask Jin to make these for you, and then you’re always so sad when all twelve people you invite make it vanish in half an hour.”

“I know. I know. It would go farther if there were fewer people to share it with, but Joon, the boys are like family. I haven’t seen them all together in so long. I couldn’t bear to leave anyone out.”

There’s a twinkle glinting in his eyes as he smiles down at you. He’s glad to see how soft your heart somehow remains despite the life you both lead.

“Which is precisely why I took the liberty of stashing some of this bounty away while the guests were busy and saving it for you.”

When he smiles at you like that, all softened edges and warm brown eyes, it’s impossible not to fall in love with him all over again. It’s not like you’ve forgotten how kind he is or how striking he can be when he smiles. It’s simply that the more you see it, the more in love you become.

Rising up in your chair, you reach across the table to tenderly cradle his cheek.

“I hate to say this, because then you’ll know you were right, but this is really is an excellent submission for husband of the year. I would like to point out, though, that you are welcome to make as many entries as you’d like before the panel comes to a consensus, you know.”

He smiles so wide that his eyes get lost in their beautifully crinkled edges. “I’ll keep it in mind. Now, they do say that you should play toward the judge’s preferences. Would you happen to know any? To help me get that inside edge.”

“Now, now. I can’t help you cheat. You’ll have to conduct your own research.”

“Is that so?”

“Absolutely. We have a strict moral code. They’d ruin me if I let that sort of intel slip.” You tilt your chin up in defiance despite your smirk and laughing eyes.

“Hmm. We can’t have that, can we? Shame. I really thought this was going to be my year.”

“Do you really think the only way you’d win is to cheat? Come now...it can still be your year if you play your cards right.”

Your hand drifts up to his carelessly perfect hair, fingers gliding through it and tugging a bit near his scalp. One of his favorite ways to receive affection you’ve found out this past year. His lids fall heavy before he can catch them, a small hiss catching behind his teeth that means you’ve done it right.

“Careful. You don’t know what you might be starting.” His eyes wander the edges of your lips, trace the frame of your collarbone.

“I’d never take the risk if I wasn’t ready to face the consequences.” The twist of your lips is subtle, as gentle as the seduction you’ve learned is your forte.

Namjoon licks his lips, the lower one snagging in his teeth as his eyes drift over you. Without breaking his gaze, he takes a champagne grape from the board and lifts it to your lips. You can feel your pulse flutter and quicken beneath your skin. It always does when he eyes you like that.

The man might as well be a snake charmer for all the control you feel like you have over yourself right now as your mouth parts of its own accord for him. But just before the fruit can graze your lips, his grin widens- wicked with delight- as he decides to pop it in his own mouth instead.

His dimples are so deep as he laughs at your flustered state that you wish you could crawl inside them and hide.

“Ha Ha. Very funny, Joon. Tease the woman you claim to love. Excellent way to keep a happy wife.”

Rolling your eyes, you push off from the table, fully intent on doing... you have no idea what, exactly. All you know is that you need to get away from this table as fast as you can before you knock the carefully preserved remnants of this charcuterie board to the floor and take him on the table.

The blush that was rushing to your cheeks is now crashing in your ears and all you can think to do is “go,” but before you can get even half a step too far, Namjoon’s warm, impossibly large hand is already wrapping itself around your wrist and grounding you to your spot.

“All I want is a happy wife,” he laughs. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I thought I made that pretty clear from the first day.”

Slowly, he stands as his hand trails its way down to dance across your palm before lacing your fingers with his.

“Certainly doesn’t feel like it right now,” you pout, despite the excitement thrumming in your veins. You know that look on his face now. The one that’s evil and beautiful, sincere and serpentine. The one that wants to devour you playfully. To love you even as he ruins you.

“Oh no,” he tsks. “That won’t do.”

Suddenly, he snaps you to him, his hands fastening themselves to the dip in your waist. You gasp, the force making you brace against his smooth, exposed chest to catch yourself.

“It won’t?” Your voice comes out airy, too thin, as the morning breeze billows through the open windows.

“No. Not at all. So I wanna know: how can I fix this, baby?” His eyes are possessed by something wicked as one hand leaves your waist to trace a thumb over your parted mouth.

“I- I”

“Shh, I made this mistake. I’ll make it right.” He arches a single brow as his tongue wets his lips, and your brain loses any grip on rational thinking.

“And h-how do you plan to do that?” It’s a whisper- too breathy, too barely coherent. His hands are so warm. His touch is like lightning and suddenly even breathing requires too much energy with the way you feel like you’ve shorted out.

“I don’t know. You tell me, baby.” His knuckle tips it’s way under your chin, tilting your face up to his as you follow in obedience.

“But… I thought… I told you. The judge can’t help.” You swallow, lashes fluttering shut as his breath ghosts over your lips.

“Then she can’t get what she wants,” he challenges.

“Fair enough. That’s fair.” Your head bobbles in assent.

“So I’ll try this again,” his face dips down until his mouth rests just below your ear. “What do you want, baby?”

You feel lightheaded as you melt in hands, rushing out the words, “Counter. Now. Please.”

Your expression folds in on itself in satisfaction when Namjoon grips you around the waist and plants you on the kitchen island without a moment's hesitation. You gasp, airy and quick, before his palm is fitted against the curve of your throat with just the amount of pressure he’s learned that you like.

“Good girl. Open your legs for me, baby.”

A muffled inhale later, your knees have parted where you’re sat on the island and Namjoon is fitted between them, his hips to the counter as he kisses you in earnest.

“Oh my god,” you gasp as his tongue and open mouth work their way down your throat, painting wide open blossoms of scarlet and blush along the way. Your hands are in his hair, at his scalp, tugging and grabbing to bring him back to your kiss. His taste is tinged salty and sweet from your skin and the grapes, and your thighs wrap themselves tight around the narrow slope of him.

He’s gotten so broad since the wedding day. If you had trouble composing yourself around him then god only knows how you’ve survived the past year. His shoulders seem wider, his arms more substantial, his chest impossibly inviting as you claw at the last remaining buttons of his dress shirt.

“Off. Off. Take this off.” You push at the sleeves that bunch around the arcs of his newly swollen biceps, taking a moment to drink in how beautiful they are as you clutch at his golden skin.

“So eager now. What happened to my shy girl?” His voice is teasing, light, but his eyes look proud of you.

“You did things like this to her, and now she can’t get enough.” Your mouth fits itself to the beautiful stretch of bare skin beneath his ear, suckling the indescribable taste of him before traveling down his throat and across his jaw.

He laughs, something deep and melodic, before his fingers begin to glide over your collarbone and dance over your arms, featherlight, like he always does when he’s trying to rile you up.

“Should I get this out of our way then?” His fingers tug at the slim straps of your champagne blush dress. You’d worn it especially for him at last night’s party. You’d never forgotten his affinity for your skin draped in silk.

“Why? Don’t you like it?”

“Of course I do, baby. It’s perfect.”

“Then why do you want me to take it off?”

Your voice is sticky sweet with innocence, but Namjoon knows better. He doesn’t know where you got the wherewithal to tease him right now as he holds you pressed against his growing warmth, but when your eyes flick to his, he knows you’ve made the right choice. He likes it when you challenge him. It makes it more fun when he wins.

“So I can do this,” he grins with a flash of his teeth.

Without missing a beat, he’s slipped both straps clean off your shoulders, leaving the dress to pool around your hips, and scoops one of your soft breasts gently into his mouth. Your breath comes sharp, a stuttered, inhaled moan that tastes as sweet to him as the ripened figs on the tray. Deliciously priceless.

He still can’t get over you. He doesn’t think he ever could. He’s never reached a point where the sounds you make fail to set his world ablaze. He’d like nothing more than to make drawing them out of you every morning just like this his sole profession.

Reverently, his other hand brushes up your side to cradle your other breast beside it. God, they’re so soft. Namjoon is almost ashamed to admit how infatuated he is with your breasts. It would be embarrassing if you weren’t equally in love with receiving all the attention he gives them.

What can he say? He’s a simple man. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world to him and for him? They’re perfect. Even with all the exploration the two of you have shared this past year, he knows this part of your body has got to be his favorite- your skin there is so velvet smooth and supple, so delicately sensitive, so perfectly sized for him to devour to his heart's content.

As his tongue warms the tender skin of your nipple with affection, and his thumb steadily plays with the other, he feels the muscled grip of your thighs tighten against him. The sounds you make for him as you clutch at the edge of the granite might as well be a symphony. He loves you like this. Wild and coming undone at his touch and attention. No one in the world but you and him.

“J-joon, baby.. I-“

Looking up at you through heavy eyes, entirely impressed with himself, he smiles and flicks his tongue against you again. When the jolt makes you jump, he stands to his full height above you, and sets his hands back on your sides.

“What is it, baby? You have to tell me.”

Your brows crumple in softly as you look up at him through your lashes. If you could speak, you would, but the way he plays you like an instrument with no effort at all always seems to dispose of your grace.

“But Namjoon…” you’re trying and failing to catch your breath as both his thumbs come to lazily torment the soft swells of your chest.

“You know what you like. You know what you want. Just tell me.”

You’ve barely got enough breath to function as it is, let alone to form a sentence. “But baby, I can’t…”

“Then I’m afraid you can’t have it.” He tuts. “Not if you can’t ask.”

His grin is wicked, and as much you want to drown in it, something in you wants to wipe it off his pretty face.

“Not… fair…”

He runs his tongue over his teeth as he smiles.

“Really? Because to me, what’s not fair,” he grips your hips, snatching you forward that last little inch to sit snug against his hips, “is me giving you a prize you haven’t earned.”

His hands dip to cup the curve of your backside,

his fingers digging deep into the silk and softness he finds there as he continues.

“ What’s not fair is the way you teased me in this little dress last night when you knew there would be too many people around for me to enjoy it properly…”

Dipping down, his sumptuous lips brush your ear as he whispers, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What seeing you in this dress all night did to me?”

As yet another lightheaded gasp leaves your lips, a dark, satisfied chuckle leaves his.

“H-how would I know?” your air comes in shaky as he has his way with you

“You know, baby girl. You always know.”

As his fingers dip firmly into the globes of your backside, he begins gently, just barely, rocking against you. No hurry. No fuss. Just maddening, slow pressure as he grazes you. When an airy moan comes whimpering from your lips, his strong hands tense, keeping your hips too fixed to succumb to moving with him.

“But you didn’t... say anything.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his face lowers toward yours. You can feel the brush of his lips ghosting over the edges of your cheek, his nose tracing against your skin.

“Don’t act like you couldn’t tell. You know silk always does me in.”

His fingers slip across your stomach where your dress has pooled to rest. They ghost like a whisper over your hips and down your legs until they reach the hem of your skirt. He fits his hands against your skin and drags them up achingly slowly, willing his touch to memorize the feel of your skin along the way as he pushes the fabric up inch by merciless inch- all while never stopping the insatiable way his lips move warm against yours.

His touch and his kiss are languid, unhurried, as he sets you on fire. When he reaches your thighs, his palms splay across them, his thumbs dragging along the inner swell of your legs as your vision begins to blur.

He’s taking his time. He’s teasing you and enjoying it. It’s evident in the way he slows down the higher he gets. The way his mouth begins to travel down your throat in kisses so soft, so divinely sweet, that you swear you’re growing lightheaded from the swelling rush of pleasure.

His thumbs have made their way to the folds of your hips, his hands hidden beneath the fabric as your body lights up electric at his touch. Like if it shines bright enough for him, he might bless it with all that you know he is capable of. But even though he knows you’re more than willing, your tease doesnt satiate your body or her cravings for him just yet.

Instead, he slows down further. He fits his hands on the outer edges of your hip while his kisses turn gentle, calming, resolving, as if he has no intention of following through further after riling you up like this.

“What are you— why are you stopping?” Your eyes flit between his, a subtle , whining irritation building up beside your impatience when he doesn’t move. He’s quiet at first, in no rush to answer. As his beautiful face hovers over you, he's so smug you almost want to slap him for toying with you like this.

But that won’t get you what you want. What you need. So Instead, you take one of his hands and press it to your breast as you guide the other toward the center of you.

He plays along at first, until his fingers are about to brush the part of you that’s positively tingling for his touch, and he abruptly pulls back, resting both of his hands on the countertop on either side of you.

“Ah, ah. That’s for when you use your words, my sweet.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, and suddenly, you’ve never been more greedy or more furious.

Snatching at his waistband, you pull his hips forward and slip your hand over the linen to hold him. His breath catches at the back of his throat, and his eyes go wide, dumbfounded at the shift in power.

“And I said, the judge can’t tell you the answers.”

You level him with a look of quiet confidence as your fingers slip between his skin and the linen to hold him where he wants you most. His brows tip into softened u’s as the coolness of your touch brushes against him.

“Husband of the year should know what I want by now. I shouldn't have to tell him.”

You grasp him, fingers running delicately up the underside of him at the same time that you lick into his mouth. You feel him dip a bit as his knees buckle, making his hands on the counter the only thing holding him up.

“Mother of god,” he mumbles, even as his hips move in compliance with your touch. “Where did you learn that?”

“From the best,” you beam. Your smile is genuine, sweet and blindingly bright. It makes him want to take a bite out of the apples of your cheek, so he does. A playful nip that has you giggling and him pressing his lips together in fondness.

The moment is sweet, until you catch his eyes with that same saccharine smile on your face, and take your hand away. His mouth opens, about to protest, until he watches you run your tongue in a long, slow stripe up your fingers before reaching back down behind his waistband to run the wet digits over his heated skin as you grasp him.

“Oh my… fuuuuck,” he exhales, his weight dropping to press into the counter. His face dips to lean against yours as he struggles to stay lucid. This feels so good, so out of nowhere, that his body is bursting to life more rapidly that he can keep up with.

With every movement you make, he moves with you, gasping through his open mouth with every touch as he tries to keep his composure. Leaning into your forehead, he feels his nose bumping against yours as he searches for air. He feels nearly lightheaded but god, you’re incredible. Your touch feels so good- he never wants you to stop.

Still, he wants control back though. To make you as much of a mewling mess as you’re currently making of him. He was enjoying the game you were both playing before, but he likes the feeling of winning more. However, just when he thinks he’s got a way to get the upper hand back, you ever so lightly twist your grip as you pump him, and suddenly, he can’t tell if he’s dying, ascending or blacking out.

It feels so good so fast that he can barely remember his own name, let alone stage a coup. Your fingertips gently play with the tip of him at the top of each swell in your fluid flourish, and suddenly he can’t think of anything else to do with all this bursting excess inside of him but to kiss you. So he does. Open mouthed. Sloppy. Full of want. It feels so incredible that you can’t help but laugh brightly into his mouth, ethereally elegant, even as you wreck him.

As you work, he can feel the way he’s growing harder with your attention, the way his blood feels like it’s singing the longer you touch him. His hips are obeying you like they belong to you, and at this point, he’s pretty sure they do. His mouth is painting your throat, adding swathes of crimson to the blooms he made before until your neck is colored with an entire bouquet of his affection.

When he closes his eyes, the light behind them sparkles with effervescence as he listens to the quickness of your breath as you work. The sounds, the moans, the gasps you make as you touch him mingle with sounds of early morning nature and Namjoon wonders if this was what the poets meant when they described paradise.

Pleasure is cresting over him in warm, molten waves now, and as it builds, he realizes he was wrong.

That as much as he loves your luminous eyes, your serene smile, the softness of your breasts, that those aren’t truly his favorite part of you if he’s honest. At least not right now. Not in moments like these. Because right now, with your hand wrapped around him, wrecking him with craving, that title is held by the treasure between your thighs; and as the blood rushes away from the rest of his body and swells where your hand lies, all he can think of, all he wants, is to bury himself in the wet, velvet warmth of you and never leave.

If he doesn’t get you naked with him inside you within the next three seconds, he thinks he might die.

So he does something about it.

“Open, baby. Open your legs for me,” he demands. It’s firm, commanding, but his eyes are so full of needy want that it’s hard to say who’s really in charge right now.

Pushing your hand away and placing it on his chest, Namjoon kicks down his linen trousers and slides up your dress as you obey. He springs out, the length of him pressing into the meat of your thigh. It has you whimpering before you can catch yourself.

“God, I knew you were a smart boy. You’d figure it out eventually,” your voice is teasing, but your face is so dizzy, so desperate for him, that he could give you the whole world if you asked.

“You ready for me, baby?” His eyes are half blown with lust, his lashes hanging heavy as he runs his fingers over your opening, before collapsing against your shoulder. “ Oh my god.”

“What is it, Joon?”

“Nothing. I just,” he chuckles once, “I don’t think I’ll ever get over how wet you get for me.”

With no hesitation, he slips two fingers inside you as your belly contracts. Gasping his name, you can’t help but cling to him as light shoots through your body at the incredibly welcome feeling of his hands there.

“Nam- Namjoon, ah!” Wrapping your hands around his shoulders, you can feel your nails dig into his sturdy flesh as he begins rocking you with a motion so good, so fluid you fear you may simply float away and never touch the ground again.

“Yes, baby? What is it?”

“You. I want you. Please.”

“You have me, baby.” His teeth are gritted in focus as he works you, his brow dipped low as he watches how easily you come undone with his attention. Warmth gushes over his fingers as he feels your walls contract in tandem with the tug of your hands in his hair. The sting is sharp and sublime as you grasp him tight with every part of you.

“Inside. Come inside. Need you. Now,” you plead. Your other hand trickles down his torso to the soft hair above his member before holding him firmly with a twist of your hand. He moans, hips canting into your delicate palm.

Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice. Slipping his fingers out of the way, he scoops you safely to the edge of the island, one large hand stroking himself and guiding him to line up with your eager entrance.

The essence of you coats the tip of him without any effort, your body unfolding, so relaxed for him, as he easily begins to slip inside you. It’s so abundant that the slide is effortless, helping him bottom out almost immediately within you. Your head falls back in wonder as he does, your hands quickly planting against the cold counter to catch you.

Wow. God, Namjoon’s body always has a tendency to overwhelm you, no matter how many times you get caught up in each other like this. You still can’t get over that. Honestly, it would be impossible to when he’s built like he is.

He’s broad everywhere- that’s obvious to anyone. But here, he’s long and thick, with thighs like tree trunks powering each movement as he glides inside you. Any other time, you might have needed his help to adjust, for him to take his time to warm you up, but this morning? Your body is ready for him, and he knows it.

It’s unfolding itself for him like a bloom to the sun, and he’s reverent enough to return its worship. You’re so wet that he can feel it trickling down his hip as he pistons into you, and he regrets not dipping down to sample a taste of it before coming inside. But now that he’s here, there’s absolutely no way he’s leaving the warmth of your walls until you're both falling over and spent.

Your ankles are crossed behind him, pulling him as close as you can get him, and his face is pressed against your neck and collarbone as both your hips work in dizzy tandem. The sensation of it sends his consciousness swirling as the pressure in his abdomen builds.

He’s convinced now that you’re a real, actual goddess. There’s no way you could make him feel this divine if you weren’t. Your ambrosia coats his thickness, spilling over him as he thrusts harder, deeper, tilting his hips to curve against that spot inside you that—

“Oh! God! Joon,” you yelp. “Yes, don’t stop.”

His grin is infectious. You can feel it against your skin as you pull him tighter, rocking in time with him as your euphoria builds. Your laugh is bright, sparkling as he licks his fingers and slips them swirling over the sensitive burst between your legs. Your breath catches, his name and profanity tumbling from your lips in equal measure.

You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. Your senses are on overload, your vision darkening around the edges as the pleasure he paints across your body escalates rapidly. Somewhere far off, you can hear his voice. His mouth is near your ear, his breath cooling your skin that’s become sticky with sweat, but you can’t understand, can’t wrap your brain around what he’s saying…

Until you realize that even fully coherent, you’d still be lost because your forever intoxicating husband has slipped back into his native tongue. You love it when this happens. With his senses so thoroughly drowning in you, translating language just becomes too hard a thing to manage, so the harder and deeper he goes, the lower the bass in his voice becomes as he mumbles in korean against your ear.

You’ve learned enough to catch words like “beautiful” “perfect” and “God, I love you,” but the rest remain a mystery as he captures the innermost parts of your body for himself with swift, perfect strokes of his hips. The depth he’s reaching right now has you in raptures. It has your breath coming in short gasps as your breasts bounce buoyantly with each...incredible… thrust he delivers.

You won’t last much longer. You know it. And All you can think right now is how badly you want to look in his eyes when you come- which you know will happen any second now.

Between his touch, his voice, the indescribable way he moves his hips when he’s inside you, and the crescendo you feel from the spot he’s internally caressing right now, you know you’re only moments away from dissolving into the atmosphere, yet all you want is more of him.

“Joon, baby, I’m so close. Look at me. Please,” you move one of the hands supporting you to hold his face and bring it to yours.

God, that please of yours. It flows so naturally from your lips when he has his way with you. He doesn’t know how to describe what it unleashes in him, but he knows it never fails to wreck him. “Shh, let go, baby girl. I’m right here. I got you.”

Before he can think, he’s kissing you deeply, his tongue insatiable as he tastes you. He alternates between kissing you and pulling back to catch your eyes. The depth of affection in his gaze warms you brilliantly from the inside even as you swear you can practically feel his thrust against the underside of your lungs.

His once seamless rhythm has become all feel and nuance. All order is long lost as he makes his last powerful dives into the depths of you. You can feel it- the tightness in his body, the firm set in his jaw, the profound depth of his voice as he praises your body in Korean. If you were to die like this, caught up in Namjoon’s impeccably loving, gracious body, you wouldn’t have a single regret.

There’s nothing more you could ask for.

The glittering sensation pulsing through your body let’s you know it’s almost time to surrender, and you’re ready to come undone. Surely, there could be nothing more blissful than this— until Namjoon takes the hand he’s kept gripped around your waist and slips it up to your throat.

Your eyes go wide.

He really was paying attention. Husband of the year, indeed.

And just like that, the express trip to ecstasy nearly slams into your body. His eyes are locked on yours. He’s muttering a soft “good girl” and “that’s it, baby” as he works his powerful hips into you. He has one hand clamped firm and perfect below your jaw along your throat, and the other dancing elegantly along the bundle of nerves between your legs. He takes those fingers into his mouth to wet them, his face crumpling in a satisfied moan at the taste of you on his skin, before slipping them back where they belong.

It’s altogether too much and you are lit up sparkling as the combined sensation of it all builds with the warmth of his body against you, within you.

“Come for me, baby,” he says it clear and firm, his touch generous to help ease you over the edge.

“Only if you come with me,” you breathe. Your eyes meet his as you try to find something to hold on to as the tension in you crests.

He smiles then. All dimples and sweet eyes and perfect lips. He places a sweet kiss on your cheek beside your lips, and that’s all it takes to ruin you.

You feel your body contract around him in bliss as his name spills from your mouth. Making love to Namjoon has never felt commonplace, but there’s something about today. About him. About the sweetness of this morning in the middle of your perfect hidden home with him that makes you burst not only with pleasure, but with love.

As your orgasm washes over you, you feel illuminated from within like the sun is glowing out of your skin as your body melts against him.

“I love you,” you whisper. “You’re so perfect.”

As your body floats back down from wherever you just astral projected from bliss, you can feel that his body is just a breath away from tipping over the edge itself. He’s pulling back, pulling out, intending to spill himself elsewhere, but in that instant, you realize you don’t want that.

Your memory flashes back to your wedding day. To the moment those hideous people decided to squawk about your child-rearing, heir-producing duty just hours after your vows, and Namjoon had cut them off immediately at the jump and whispered,” don’t pay them any mind. That happens when you’re ready. Not a second before,” soft against your ear.

It was one of the first instances that made you realize what a good man he was. How willing he was to put your readiness, your comfort, before anyone or anything else. And now, as you take him in, as you remember how truly and deeply you love him, you realize you’re ready for there to be more.

You’ve had countless discussions with him about starting a family, and everytime, without missing a beat, his answer has always been, “whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”

You've come to learn over this past year that he’s wanted nothing more than to become a dad since he was a small boy.

You’ve gotten to witness how fun, gentle and gracious he is with his nephews. With Jimin’s daughter, his sweet godchild. For a year, you’ve watched him be good and kind to any child he meets, patient with you, subdued as he hides the depth of his desire to be a father behind his dimpled smiles and suave redirection when you bring it up.

He’s been willing to wait for you. He never pushes. He never demands. And in this moment, as you study the face of the incredible man who’s welcomed you into his heart and his home, all you want is to begin the journey to give him what you know he will never ask for, even though it’s what the secret parts of his heart want the most.

“Namjoon,” you whisper,” don’t. It’s okay. You can finish inside me.” You caress his face lovingly as his eyes go wide.

“Really? But baby… I… what…” Your eternally eloquent man has gone slack jawed in his loss for words as his hips begin to still.

“It’s okay,” you nod. “I want you to. I want to feel you.” You kiss the dip of his dimple.

“Are you sure? i-“ he stumbles before you lovingly cut him off.

“I think it’s about time we start trying for our family, don’t you?” You whisper. Your fingers thread through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes as his face beams with light. His shoulders and chest are shaking with laughter as his eyes flit between yours and he smiles.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” His hands slip up to cradle your face, the most beautiful mixture of excitement and relief and the purest joy making his misty eyes look brilliant in the early light.

“Absolutely,” your voice is soft as you tip your nose against his. Your smile is all pearls and laughter as you reach to grab the full apples of his ass and push him into you.

He’s laughing and smiling and gasping when you do, before happily resuming the final few thrusts he would need to send himself over the edge.

“Use me, baby,” you whisper, eyes alight with the gentle seduction that always ruins him. “I want to feel you when you finish.”

Biting his lip, he swallows and nods, almost too eager, but you’re beautiful and warm and you’ve gotten so tight around him and he can’t help himself. He’s close. He’s already soo close. He’s spent nearly this whole morning trying to contain himself inside you despite the absolutely mind numbing feel of you, and here you are telling him to let go? It’s impossible that you’re real.

Pulling his face to you, he realizes you’re kissing him. Your honey sweet tongue has made a home in his mouth. Your soft breasts brush his chest with every thrust. Your hands are clutching his back and in his hair. Your heels pressed into the back of his legs to pull him close, and now he knows you want to carry his baby.

To allow your body to grow and change just to hold his seed, start his family and realize his dream of not only being a husband to you but a dad to your babies. He’s so in love with you. So maddeningly, ridiculously, stupidly, over the moon in love with you, and all at once, it’s happening.

His release is coming, strong and quick, and he can finally drown in the feeling of it happening while you surround him. His body is reeling at the burst of perfection he feels from losing himself in you like this. The cloud like swells of your thighs pressing around him might very well be the only thing holding him up.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, I love you.” His face is buried in your neck, your chest, your hair, your cheeks- everything all at once- his full lips dropping kisses on your skin like stars falling from heaven.

When he pulls back to look at you, he can’t even put what he’s feeling into words. But it’s okay. Because you know. He can see it in your eyes.

Cradling his face, you smile up at him, eyes glossy and happy. “You ready?”

“To have a baby with you?” His voice falters as his smile grows so wide his eyes nearly disappear. “There isn’t anything I want more.”

Pressing his forehead to yours as he hugs your waist, you both press your noses together and laugh. Overcome with something almost too sweet to simply be called happiness. The word seems too small to encompass it all.

“Maybe I’m not husband of the year yet, cause I definitely didn’t see that coming.” He chuckles.

“Oh shut up. I know you felt how you made me finish. You’re just showing off at this point.”

“I can’t have my baby girl leave anyway but satisfied with me.” He winks, and you smack his chest lightly.

“I’d be mad at you for being so smug if you weren’t actually as great as you think you are,” you scrunch your nose at him as he laughs.

“Well, if there are any areas of improvement I can work on, let me know. I hear I'm about to have a lot of time to workshop your suggestions.” Namjoon lovingly nips at your collarbone, and you tingle in bliss at the thought of how many more moments like this lie in your near future.

“Duly noted. On that note then, I feel compelled to point out that what you just did counted as an excellent submission for husband of the year.”

“Oh really?” He licks his lips slowly as you nod.

“Remember- you can make as many entries as you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Limitless,” you assent.

“Good to know. I’ll keep it mind,” he smirks, dipping down to lift the fullness of one of your breasts into his hand as he gently kisses the top of the swell of flesh. You sigh into his kiss. This is going to be a spectacular journey— you can already tell.

“Namjoon.”

“Hmm?” His eyes perk up, though his mouth never leaves its preoccupation with your bare chest.

“Is this… is this okay? I hope I didn’t spring this on you too soon or… I don’t know...too out of the blue? Because your comfort is important too, and I—“

You’re swiftly cut off by the sweet press of Namjoon’s delicious lips against yours. “Shh. Yes, I want this. More than anything.”

“So my timing wasn’t—“

“No. It was perfect. You’re perfect,” he kisses the tip of your nose as your lips bloom into a smile. “And if we are going to try to fill that cute belly of yours with a baby, then maybe… maybe this shouldn’t just be a weekend visit.”

Tipping your head to look at him, you feel your brows scrunch. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, this has always been our getaway spot. A place to stay safe and lie low when things get jumpy in the city. A place to take you when we want to be alone. Truly be alone. But if…” he hesitates, lacing your hand with his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “If you’re going to be carrying my baby, I want to keep you safe. I promised you that the day I met you- I’d never let anything happen to you. It’s been risky enough to have you in the city all this time as it is.”

“So...what exactly are you suggesting, love?” You run your thumb lovingly over his knuckles.

“I’m proposing if you do get pregnant, we move you out here. Permanently. Or at least somewhat long term.”

“Wait…” you pull away, eyes clouding as you do. “Alone? Without you?”

“No. No. I didn’t word that right. I’d be here as much as i can, and I’d send the security detail to stay out here whenever I have to leave so—“

“Namjoon, I don’t want to be all the way out here by myself. Surely, that’s not necessary.”

He frowns as he tries to gather his thoughts. “This is coming out wrong...You wouldn’t be fully by yourself. I’d be here as much as I can. I just... want you protected. Safe. And out of the city while you're carrying something so precious.” The backs of his knuckles graze your stomach.

“But I don’t understand. Why—“

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you.” His voice has turned solemn, his eyes an odd shade of vulnerability when they meet yours.

“Joon, nobody’s gonna do anything. You’ve made that city so secure-nobody could hurt me even if they tried.”

Something stormy and troubled clouds his eyes.It makes you wonder if there are things he hasn’t told you. Things he’s kept to himself to ensure that your life is as peaceful as possible. You wonder what kind of darkness he’s had to swallow for your sake.

“But they have tried.”

It's news to you.

“What do you mean… when?”

“It’s happened a few times. Nothing ever got far enough to warrant bringing it up.”

“What on earth? Joon, why in the world wouldn’t you tell me that?”

He sighs once, from some deep place in his bones. “Because i never wanted to have to see the look in your eyes that I do right now.”

Suddenly, any anger you held vanishes all at once.

“Baby, why are you carrying something like that all by yourself?”

“So you don’t have to. I promised I’d keep you safe, and I meant it. That includes taking care of your peace of mind. Something you won’t have if you knew how many times someone’s shot off at the mouth about coming for you because they’re irate at me or how many times someone has done more than just talked and actually tried.”

It’s a sobering thought.

“Is that… is that the real reason why you never pushed for an heir?” For reasons you can’t explain, the idea makes you want to cry. Namjoon sees the shift immediately, his fingers ready to brush your tears before they even fall.

“Shhh, hey. No. I mean, it’s part of it. You know all I’ve ever wanted was to be a parent. When I married you, please know the idea of you being the mother of my children sent me over the moon, but I know this world. How people take what they want. Do what they want. I wanted better for you.” He runs his fingers soft over your cheek like you’re some spun glass artifact he needs to protect.

“I wanted to be better for you than the men in this world were going to give you. I promised myself that I was never going to demand anything from you. That’s why I didn’t push for an heir. I meant it when I said we go at your pace. Always.”

Sniffling, you look up at him through wet lashes.

“Joon, protecting me doesn’t mean you hide the truth from me.”

“Not even if it would hurt you? Scare you?”

“I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to marry you. It’s so kind of you to try to take these burdens so I don’t have to, but then who carries them for you? That’s my job. You have to let me do it.”

Closing his eyes, he exhales long and slow through his nose.

“You really mean it, don’t you? You really want to know.”

“Yes,” you nod, caressing his face. He looks troubled. You’d give anything to help take some of his cares away.

“Then you should know why we came to the villa this weekend.”

“So it wasn’t just for a getaway?” You brace yourself for whatever it is you’re about to hear.

“It is, and it isn’t. I guess I have to go back a bit for this to make any sense, but my family isn’t from here. You know that. Our roots don’t go back as many generations as yours do, so when the new kid on the block started gaining power in this city faster than anyone had seen before, there were a lot of families that weren’t happy about it.

Especially not when the daughter of one of the oldest families in the city became my bride. There had already been a lot of grumbling against me before I made such a powerful ally, and there were certainly plenty after. Anything we’d stumbled on over the last few months had been mostly hearsay, but…”

“What is it, Joon?” You're worried now. You can hear the way his voice sounds choked.

“There was a deal that went wrong a few weeks back. Just a skirmish with some lower level captains that got out of control, but I thought I’d put a pin in it. Turns out the other family involved hadn’t let it go like I thought …” he stops, eyes going cold as color drains from his face.

“Baby, it’s okay. You can tell me,” you reassure.

Closing his eyes, he licks his lips and takes a deep breath, his voice lower, raspier when he continues. “There was a hit put out on you this past week.

You’re shocked. “There— what?”

”It’s okay now. Jungkook caught intel on it soon enough that he crushed it before the people responsible could hurt you, but I've never seen anyone get this close. Y/n, I couldn't breathe when he told me. When I found out, I nearly lost my mind. I called you immediately to make sure you were safe— I couldn’t breathe til I heard your voice.”

You had no idea he’d been through that. You can’t imagine what you would have done if the roles were reversed, if you’d been seconds away from losing him. It would’ve shattered you. You’re not sure how he’s still standing.

“Once I knew you were okay, the first thing I could think was that I needed to get you out of town as fast as I possibly could. Something’s building in that city, y/n. The lower families are tired of their rank. They’re itching to get back any sort of power they can- it’s making them reckless. There’s rumors of a war building…I’d dismissed it so far. Didn’t think they were a real threat until they had the nerve to try something like this. We squashed it, but this was too close, and I’m not willing to risk you.”

Realization dawns across your face. “That’s why we left with less than an hour's notice. I’d thought you were just being romantic about a weekend getaway but ...That’s why we came to this safe house and not the one on the edge of town, isn’t it?”

His eyes fall away as he nods, “That’s why our security detail was thicker than usual.”

“But I've hardly seen anyone.”

“That’s on purpose. I didn’t want to scare you. Didn't want to draw attention to a whole parade leaving town so I had them follow us at a distance. They’re stationed all around the property and schooled to stay out of sight.”

“What about the boys? Was it safe to have them here this weekend with their wives? Their girlfriends? Didn’t we put them in danger?” Your rounded eyes betray the sudden guilt you feel for what you thought had been such a beautiful night.

“Shh, no. Hey, they’re fine. I had them all moved out to safe houses not too far from here with a security detail on them too. They’re just a few miles from here. That’s why I didn’t feel bad about them driving out last night- they didn’t have to go all the way back to the city, just to our guest houses and then their safe houses in the morning….I’m having them all lie low for a little while. Figured they’d want their girlfriends and wives as close to their side as I want mine. Thought having them over was a good distraction for a night.”

You had no idea. Something cold runs up your spine at the thought that this weekend, this beautifully perfect day could’ve been so different. Or perhaps not even happened at all.

Slipping your dress back into place, you cover yourself. It feels wrong to have this conversation half naked. Namjoon seems to sense it too as he pulls his pants back on. He offers to help ease you down from the counter, picking you up and placing you gently on the whitewashed floorboards, making sure you’re steady before he lets you go.

Under any other circumstances, you’d laugh at how he has to make you sure you’re stable enough not to keel over where you stand after blessing you with an orgasm so bright it makes your soul radiate around your body. Now though, you find your hand cradling your lower belly, feeling entirely naive for thinking now was the time to bless the world with Namjoon’s child. You should say something, but the words get stuck in your throat…. you feel like a fool.

“I’m gonna make us some coffee, yeah? You want a cup?” Namjoon offers softly. When you look up, he looks so worn out all of a sudden. Like he’s somehow aged years during the course of this conversation. Like he really does need a cup of coffee, if not something stronger.

“Sure, baby. I’ll take one.”

Nodding, he presses a kiss to your forehead before he plugs in the black gooseneck kettle you’d gotten him for his birthday. The gift had been simple, thoughtful, and if he was honest, it was the best present anyone had ever given him.

He practically survives on black coffee most days. At the beginning of your marriage, he was always long gone before you rose most mornings, so in an attempt to slow him down and have more time with him, you’d gotten him a pour over set and a gooseneck kettle to replace his old instant apparatus.

He wondered if you were aware of all the additional gifts it had given him along the way....It required time to steep and brew. Time he’d never given himself before he met you. The methodology of it soothed him, provided his mornings with a small structure and routine he’d never had in a lifestyle marked by so much chaos.

Taking the time to make his absolutely necessary coffee this way helped wake him up gently, slowed him down enough for you to have the time to slip out of bed and catch him before he was gone, to hold him while he prepared it. To remind him of the precious reason he needed to be careful while he was out that day.

As the water boils, he turns his back to you. He feels himself melt when your arms wind around him. Softly, you press a kiss between his shoulder blades before your touch slips away as quietly as it appeared. The subtle sounds of your footsteps fading as you walk away and the gentle buzzing of the kettle are all that fill the room in the silence between you.

Namjoon sighs as he turns, his arms crossed as he leans against the counter to watch you. Without a word, you silently procure a hearty loaf of fresh,crusty bread from the pantry and begin to slice it for breakfast. As your head tips down in concentration, he watches your untamed hair fall in your eyes. It’s beautiful the way it frames your face. It makes something squeeze in the center of his chest.

Crossing the room, he comes to stand beside you, lightly brushing your hair back into place for you with his hand. You still in your task, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.

“Namjoon?”

“Yes, baby?”

“If it’s this dangerous…” your voice is barely above a whisper, “this unsafe… does that mean we shouldn’t have a baby?” When you look up at him, your eyes are starlit with tears. Your hands are trembling, and he hates to see you so sad.

“No. You’re ready, and I want a family,”’he soothes.

“But… but if there’s this much risk, how can our child ever have a normal life? Won’t we always be afraid for them all the time? Is that selfish? To make a life that has to live in this world just because we want them to?”

He brushes his fingers over the cascade of teardrops starting to fall from your eyes. “All parents have to worry about that, y/n. This world is still a scary place even outside my line of work.”

“I know. But they don’t have to worry about a hit on their child’s life or a ransom or generation’s old grudges putting their child at risk....They just have to worry about whether or not a child in their daughter’s class has a peanut allergy because little ashley will only eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches right now and nothing else.”

You’re talking with your hands as Namjoon gives you a smile that’s equally warm and sad. “That’s a really specific scenario.”

“I went through a phase in first grade, okay?”

He finds your eyes until you laugh before pulling you in tight against his chest. “First of all, that’s adorable. We’ll address that again later because little y/n sounds incredibly cute. And secondly,” he sighs,” you grew up in this world- the same as me- and we both survived. Having a child is expected of us, yes, but if that’s not what you want... it doesn’t have to happen. But, if we both want one… if being a mom will make you happy, then I’m going to find a way to give you that.” There’s a heaviness about him right now. An authority resigned to accept whatever fate weighs on your heart the most as he watches your eyes fill with questions.

“But won’t we be afraid for them all the time? I feel so naive for only thinking of how much I’d like to meet them, how much I’d love them just because they’re a part of you, when I should have known better.”

“That’s not naive. That’s beautiful. No matter what they’re like, we’ll love them. Because they’re ours.”

“What if they don’t want any part of this world? They should have a choice… but can I even give them one or will their only option be serving as the new head of the Kim family one day?” Your face looks stricken. “Did you get to choose?” Your watery eyes flit up to his.

He swallows, face stony as you survey him. “I did what I had to do so our life can look however we want it to,” he’s sighing again, worn out out by memories you may never see. “Look, you’re my wife, and I’m your husband. As far as I’m concerned, we’re the ones get to decide what’s right for us, y/n. I’ve told you that, and I meant it- that extends to our children too. Their lives don’t have to look like what anyone else wants but them. I don’t care if they want to be painters or accountants or captains in the family. They get to shape the life they want. That’s what I’ve worked so hard for.”

You feel your eyes flutter shut in relief on their own accord. Of course he’s already thought this through to this degree. When has your Namjoon ever done anything less? It soothes your mind to know he’s taken the time to lay the groundwork so you don’t have to. Still though, questions you’re ashamed didn't occur to you sooner rattle through your head and spill from your mouth.

“Do they have to spend their life in boarding school like I did? Are our only options to send them away or be scared for them every day?

“Y/n, no. We’ll find what works for our family. I want that with you- figuring that out and watching them grow. I’ll keep you both safe. However I have to. I promise you.” His thumb brushes over your ring as he holds your hand against his chest. “I promised you.”

And just like that, it hits you all over again- how much you love this man. How deeply you trust him with every fiber of your being. How you couldn’t have found a better man to love you if you’d tried. You two are it for each other- you’ve known it since the day you met him on the steps.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, kissing your knuckles,”... but, y/n?”

Your eyes flit up to meet his. “Yes, love ?”

“I meant what I said. If this is all too much, if this scares you, we can wait.” His brown eyes are so deep and sincere. You know every part of him means it, and it’s precisely because of that, that you say the words you do.

“No. I want this. All of this. With you. We’ll figure this out,” you nod, gently pulling the back of his neck down so your foreheads are touching. “I want to have a baby with you. I’m all in, if you are.”

You can feel the rush of tension that leaves his body. He wraps you in his arms, so close and secure, and something innocent comes from him that you don’t think you’ve ever heard.

“God, you know I am. Thank you.”

His voice is as robust and full as always, but his eyes… there’s something so young and soft and terrified in them. Like the weight of all he’s been carrying alone has crashed down on him all at once. “I’m so excited to have a baby with you if it happens. And it’s okay if it doesn’t. But I can’t wait to try.”

You’re nodding and crying, and you realize something that perhaps has never dawned on you before. This is the first time you’ve seen him truly this vulnerable. He’s always so strong, so composed. Too busy holding up an entire empire and caring for you to let his walls fully fall.

But as he buries his face in your neck, you suddenly feel dampness pooling against your skin and realize he’s crying. You wonder how you got here on a morning that had been so serene and full of bliss. Bliss you now realize has come at a price.

“I was so scared I'd lost you the day we came here.” Slipping your hand into his hair, the other soothes his back as he clings to you tighter. “I'm so glad you’re okay. You’re so smart. I know you are. You don’t make reckless mistakes when you’re out— you take good care of yourself— but I was so afraid. My heart dropped when Jungkook told me what he’d heard. He couldn’t calm me down until I heard your voice on the phone.”

Stroking his hair, you recall the phone call just a few days ago. How strangled and out of breath he’d sounded. How you’d asked if he was okay, and he’d simply said he was now.

“It’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay.”

He takes a moment to collect himself, pressing you so close you may fuse together. It’s unguarded, and precious. Something you know both of you treasure as he nuzzles into your skin in that space along your neck where his face perfectly fits.

It’s as simple as that. You both stay like this for as long as you can, secure in his embrace, your breathing settling until it’s nearly in sync. It’s peaceful for you, cathartic for him. It’s a moment framed by a different kind of intimacy than the one you both shared in this very room less than an hour ago.

He shows no sign of letting you go until the kettle begins to howl for him from across the room. When he does, his fingers trace the silk fabric along your waist as his lips kiss your forehead. He takes one more heavy breath before he squeezes you in release to tend to the coffee.

“Cream and sugar?” He asks, his voice thicker than usual.

“Always,” you answer.

And so the morning resets itself.

The day shifts into afternoon. The sun drifting higher, brighter, casting the shadows and ridges of Namjoon’s sculpted body in almost Grecian relief as he carefully pours the water for both of you over the coffee grounds. You finish slicing the crackling bread loaf and bring it to the table to place it beside the remnants of Seokjin’s charcuterie board.

It’s only when you catch sight of your lacy table cloth that you remember the accident that started the whole morning to begin with. You’d both gotten so preoccupied with each other that you never made it any further than cleaning his shirt and not the rest of the disaster.

Smiling to yourself, you gently slide the cloth off the table and fill the sink with cold water to soak it. Looking over at your husband, you realize wine stains still swirl over the front of Namjoon’s linen pants. There’s a very good chance those are fully set now, but just in case, you might as well try to fix them.

So, gently, you hook a finger into his waistband and tug. “Let me have these.”

“Round two all ready? Greedy girl.” He winks, his voice soft as follows the drip of his Colombian roast.

“No, smart girl. We did a terrible job of getting you cleaned up.” You pop the p at the end of the word as you snap the elastic on his pants.

Looking a bit lost, Namjoon glances down to see the lovely pastel splashes of rosé running clean down the front of his pants. He’d been too busy to notice once you’d gotten him out of them. Blushing for no reason other than the embarrassment of you having to clean up his foibles, Namjoon dips down to remove the trousers, leaving himself looking statuesque and unreasonably gorgeous in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs in the afternoon light as he tends to the coffee.

You feel terribly immature over how quickly affected you are by the sight of him in his current predicament and carefully take the pants from him, only to turn abruptly in search of some fresh air and relief. Namjoon catches your equally flustered state, smiling to himself, but doesn’t acknowledge it out loud. This spell of quiet that’s settled over the room is too peaceful to break.

Once the coffee’s done, he brings both your cups to the broad heirloom table, and you enjoy breakfast… or, he supposes, brunch at this point...together in the stillness. Every bite you take is piled high with prosciutto and fig while Namjoon drizzles honey on his slices of bread.

It’s peaceful, idyllic. Tranquil enough to forget the world that awaits him back in the city.

It’s funny, the duality of his life. How easy it becomes in moments like these to lean into the simplicity of breakfast with his lover and ignore the undulating danger and uncertainty awaiting him in the rest of his world. It makes him realize how much he’s come to covet exchanges like this when he gets to feel like you’re just two people in love and nothing else.

As his eyes trace over you, he promises himself to do everything in his power to make sure your life with him is hallmarked by sweet pockets like these. As many of them as he can give you.

At some point Namjoon pushes up to get the carafe of orange juice from the fridge, and after assigning your more capable hands the job of opening the champagne, you both polish off your brunch with the tinkling clink of your toasting mimosa glasses.

Once your bellies are full and satiated, Namjoon looks up at you. His elbows are propped up on the table, chin contentedly resting in his hands. There’s a question hidden in the corner of his lips as his eyes glisten with mischief.

“So… what else do you have in mind for your agenda today, my bride?” He reaches across the table to grab your hand, kissing the back of your palm as you giggle and roll your eyes.

“Well if you must know... I'm thinking I might give my sister a call. See if she’d be willing to come pay me visit.” You offer, pushing one of the last grapes around the corner of the board, avoiding the way Namjoon’s eyes shine.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you shrug nonchalantly. “Maybe she could come stay in one of the guest houses. Potentially. Once I move out here. Whenever that may be.”

“So my baby won’t be alone when I’m gone?” His dimples are popping in his cheeks as his smile spreads wide. It’s a brilliant idea to bring her out here with you until Namjoon can finesse a way to be by your side 24/7. He wonders why he didn’t think of it sooner. Probably because you’re as smart as you are beautiful.

“Neither of your babies.” You crinkle your nose as you smile back at him.

“I like the sound of that,” he’s beaming back at you, happy and light. His eyes are misty with emotion he can’t hide, and it only makes you love him more.

“Me too.”

“So, how would you feel about getting to work as soon as possible then?” His eyebrows bounce salaciously your way, and you can’t help but giggle.

“Is that what you want?”

“If it’s what you want. Always.” Namjoon licks his lips and a crackle of electricity shoots up your spine. The parallels to how this morning started are not lost on you. It makes something in you thrill with excitement.

“Well, I would love to take a bath. Our activity this morning was excellent, but I must say you left a bit of a sticky mess in your wake.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon ducks his head bashfully.

“So I’m going to break in that beautiful clawfoot tub and fill it to the brim with matcha bubble bath.”

“Mmm. With the orange blossom bath salts too?”

“Always,” you wink as Namjoon bites his lip.

“God, you always smell so good when you use that. It makes your skin so soft.” The thought of your skin fragrant and bare has his blood stirring again as his eyes rake over you.

“Well you are welcome to keep me company and read to me while I soak,” you offer nonchalantly as you walk away. You can feel his eyes on your hips as you round the corner, quickly followed by the sound of his bare feet against the floorboards.

“Or I could join you in the water.”

When he responds, his voice is closer than you expected it to be. He’s caught up to you so quickly with those long legs of his.

“Or you could finish the chapter of the book you were reading to me on the way up. You left me on such a cliffhanger when your hands got distracted on the drive. I’m dying to know what happens next.”

Biting his lip, that wicked gleam is back in his eyes at the memory of the drive up and the things the two of you got up to in the privacy of the tinted, shielded back seat.

“Fair enough, but I get to join after.” His hand is forceful where it slips across your waist. You tumble into him, wanting nothing more than to let him win and start this game all over again, but you had a feeling you were winning this round, and you like to win.

“I can promise you no such thing. We’ll just have to see how the day goes,” you shrug, dismissing him completely to climb the stairs.

As much as he enjoys the view, Namjoon loves the play for dominance more: it’s cute on you. Too bad he’s still got the upper hand. He catches you on the stairwell, turning you around to face him. His hand ghosts down the front of your silk draped stomach directly to the dip between your legs.

He places enough pressure to catch your sensitivity there, smiling something wicked at the sound of your sharp inhale. He already knows how delicate you are after you’ve already finished once until he warms your body up again. The prospect of starting this dance all over again has him stiffening with delight against your leg when he feels the familiar slip of your essence help the fabric glide beneath his touch.

“Oh baby girl, you have no idea how well this day is gonna go.” His voice has dipped to an octave reserved only for the devil as he smiles at you and lifts you off the stairs and into his arms.

You squeal at the suddenness of it, wrapping your arms securely around his neck so you don’t fall. He just chuckles, something throaty and dark, as he carries you up the stairs and down the hall to the sunlit bathroom.

Setting you on the counter, he turns to start the bath- scooping in bath salts, pouring your bubbles, raising the blinds so the room is flooded with light. He doesn’t want to miss a single look on your beautiful face when he has his way with you for a second time today.

Not once has it occurred to you to move from the spot where he put you. Instead, you sit perfectly still on the bathroom counter, feeling your nails dig into your palms, your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you watch him. Your pulse is already thrumming with anticipation all over again.

When he turns back to you, you can see clear evidence of his arousal reshaping itself beneath his black briefs, and suddenly, despite your meal, there’s something else entirely that you want in your mouth. He catches the hungry way your eyes follow him as he walks back to you.

“Can I help you, baby?” His laugh is warm, even if his eyes are sinister. It’s all you can do just to nod your head and slip your fingers forward to tug at his waistband. When it begins to fall, you slip down to the floor, catching him off guard entirely. Not in a million years did Namjoon didn't plan on this course of events, but he certainly isn't unhappy about it.

Namjoon leans back against the counter in the spot you’d just been sitting in as your hands grasp onto the muscular ridges of his toned legs. You set to work kissing his golden skin on his thighs slowly, indulgently, enjoying yourself as you go.

You’ve always been weak in the knees for his absurdly gorgeous legs. They’ve only gotten more toned in the last year just like the rest of him, and between his dimples, his arms, his chest, and his legs, it’s hard to know where to begin. Or it would be if there wasn’t something hard and beautiful staring you in the face.

Namjoon is in heaven watching this unfold from above. When you slip him into your mouth, he feels all his rational thought go dark. He’s helpless to do anything but cave in. God, the two of you are like rabbits, but honestly, how can you not be when you make him feel like this? He begins to lose himself in the soft rhythm you create, something lazy and hypnotic, that makes him feel weightless.

He can barely hold himself, but every second is worth it. All he can do is luxuriate in the way you take your time as you bless him. At least, that’s how he always thinks of it because it’s truly nothing short of divine.

He can’t tell if it’s been a few minutes or an eternity when all of a sudden, you’re abruptly letting him slip from your mouth with a pop and a sultry smile. The cool air rushing against him nearly startles him in the wake of the warmth he’d been cocooned in while your tongue did its incredible work. Because just as quickly as you started, you’re gone.

He realizes then that the floor is wet. Apparently, You’d both gotten so lost in each other that the water in the tub had spilled over its edges and he hadn’t even noticed. Also, at some point during all this, you must have slipped out of your dress, because you’re lowering yourself into the water now as bare as you were on your wedding night.

Namjoon swallows. His body is ramping with endorphins, and he’s so worked up it nearly hurts. As he makes his way to the tub, you stop him with a dainty hand against his lower stomach.

“Ah, ah. I asked you to read to me.”

Your eyes are coquettishly round as you bat them up at him. He’s tempted to scoff.

“Are you serious right now? Aren’t we in the middle of something?” His face is serious, focused as he eyes your breasts floating in the water amidst the matcha- scented bubbles.

You push back against his stomach again. “Yes, we were… in the middle of that last chapter. Book. Please.”

There it is again. The “please” he’s always been so enamored by. The “please” that’s usually the product of your need for him. The one he’s so infatuated with that he’d do anything to satisfy it. The one that, up until now, he’d thought you were unaware of, yet here you are using it against him.

That’s when he knows he’s trained you too well. There’s pride sparkling in your eyes as you look up at him, and he can’t believe it. Running a hand down his face, he shakes his head at you. What has he gotten himself into with you?

“ If that’s the way you want to play it, fine,” he squints at you with playful derision. “But I’m reading to you in the tub with you when I come back.”

“Oh please do,” you coo, batting your lashes at him.

Oh, you’re good.

Namjoon can’t help but laugh at himself as he walks to the bedroom to collect the book. When he met you a year ago- the blushing, soft spoken girl who was too nervous to meet his eyes- he definitely never would have thought that a year later you’d be sending him down the hallway fully naked and half hard to fetch your literature for you while you float in a bath. He wonders when he got so wrapped around your finger like this, but if he’s honest, he doesn’t mind.

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Being with you is the best his life has ever been. He’ll forever be grateful, that against all odds, you agreed to marry a man who was nearly a perfect stranger and create a life with him.

As he walks back to the bathroom, Namjoon catches a glimpse of your rosy smile flashing his way, peeking at him beyond the wall of bubbles. It fills his chest with something buoyant and light as he makes his way back to you.

There’s absolutely nowhere he’d rather be.

As he sinks down in the water behind you, more displaces, splashing out across the white wood beams and dousing your hair in the process. He apologizes profusely but instead of getting mad, you simply slip the rest of the way under the water to finish the job. When you resurface, you’re laughing so happily that your smile is the brightest thing in the room, putting even the afternoon sunlight to shame.

He pulls you to him, affection for you glowing warmly in his chest as you settle between his legs and look up at him. He kisses your forehead, his heart filled with contentment, before reaching forward to dry his hands on the closest available towel and thumbing through the book until he finds the page he marked.

The two of you stay that way until the chapter is finished and the book is closed. Until the bubbles all dissolve and the water’s gone cold. Even then, once the water is drained, you still stay wrapped in a tangle of Namjoon’s long limbs as you twist to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

Eventually he straightens out his legs to allow you to climb into his lap so he can find his way home again and slip inside you. Your bodies are swathed in the golden light illuminating the room as the two of you go effortlessly slow and unhurried, taking your time .

Namjoon sinks into you, lost in the beauty of you and your connection.

This time, your session together is marked in emotion and security.

He knows how much you want to start a family with him, and you know how special it was for him to let his walls down, to let you know how scared he was to lose you. Both of you are in awe of not only how attracted you are to each other, but also of the caliber of human you’re currently sharing your bodies with, of how transcendent love making can feel when your hearts and hopes are as interwoven in the act as they now are with all your cards on the table.

When Namjoon finishes this time, it’s in sync with you. It’s the first time that happened for the two of you in tandem. As your eyes search his, you're both aware that this shared state of bliss is nothing short of miraculous. As story-worthy as this act has always been between the two of, this time feels different. Markedly so.

Perhaps, it’s because you’ve both dropped your guards enough to fully let the other in, in a way you hadn’t uncovered before. If the crashing of his heartbeat has anything to say about it, Namjoon would probably guess that you've both sunken so deep into each other that it was impossible for the crescendo of your orgasms not to crest all at once for the both of you.

Once you’ve gathered yourself enough to speak, you watch Namjoon with dazed eyes, in awe that someone as incredible as him even exists, let alone that you get to call him yours. As he slips out of you, the warmth of his seed flows out between your thighs, and some ridiculous part of you can’t help but smile.

Namjoon catches it too, and leans forward to kiss you.

“You’re gonna be a great mom, you know that?”

Your eyes flash to meet his. Your body is spent, your emotions are big and at this point, your heart feels so filled to the brim with affection for him that you fear it won’t fit in your body anymore.

“They’re gonna be the luckiest kids in the world to have you for a dad,” you whisper with shining eyes as you touch his chest.

He dips his head, smiling so exorbitantly wide that it consumes his whole face, and all you can think is that you can’t wait to see that dimpled grin shining back at you from the face of a little boy or little girl down the road.

“By the way,” you begin as his gaze perks back up to meet yours. “You should know that we’ve tallied the votes for husband of the year.”

“Oh really?” His brows lift attentively. “Should I pack it up? Is it time to let the dream go? Surely it’s not going to a rookie this year.”

“You’d be surprised,” you tip your head. Taking his hands you place them so they’re cradling your chest. “On behalf of the board and the esteemed academy, it is my honor to present the award of husband of the year to you, Kim Namjoon.”

As he throws his head back, he bursts into a bright fit of laughter and mock cheering like you’re both surrounded by a make believe crowd.

“Oh my goodness,” he squeezes your breasts in his palm like the globes are irreplaceable awards. “I would just like to thank all the people around the world who supported me and believed me, who shined the light of their support on me even on days when this seemed bleak. We couldn’t have made it here without you guys. This award belongs to all of you.”

He waves to the imaginary audience he’s created before pressing your breasts together and happily burying his smiling face between them. He mumbles something you can’t understand that gets lost in the downy softness of your chest as you laugh at him.

“What are you even saying down there?”

“I’m thanking the people who got me here.” He eyes you soberly like that should be obvious before breaking character and cackling at how ridiculous this is. “I can’t believe we really kept this joke going all day.”

“I can’t believe I got in the tub to clean up the mess you left earlier only to now, once again, be sticky with dried up mess.” You look ruefully between your legs.

“Hey, hey, that mess may very well become your child.” He tuts as you grin and narrow your eyes at him.

“I don’t think that’s how this works.”

“Semantics,” he shrugs, kissing your nose. You can’t help your eye roll that follows. “Hey,” he breathes, eyes suddenly serious.

“Yes, love?”

“Please know, whatever happens, I’ll always love you, and I’ll always take care of you. Both of you, if we’re so lucky.” The tips of his fingers rest against your lower belly, and yep. You were right. Your heart bursts clean out of your chest. You can feel the way your eyes glisten, happiness spilling from them as you get lost in Namjoon’s smile.

“I know you will, Joon. I know you will.”

-fin.

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