#I know how in some places there would be concerns about stuff like water quality

[darkspace7]

Confession: Sometimes I take people’s plastic water bottles when they’re not looking and refill them (never all the way though, just enough to slip under the owner’s radar) with tap water.

That way, when they take a swig I get the satisfaction of knowing not only can they not tell the difference between tap and bottled water but the fact they get a little bit of extra hydration to get them through the day.

[elizabethrobertajones]

I still don't know what to make of this little story beat. I KNOW the game isn't being written for me, personally. I Know that despite saying otherwise, Bounding Frog is not the Canonical Warrior Of Light. I understand that things just kinda happen based on themes and characters and stuff and things had been established in some way with Erenville having toad-based associations, having previously claimed to be an expert.

On the other hand, the first zone I chose to go to, the very first thing we did, was split up to go investigate a body of water and draw some conclusions like an amateur ecologist on what may be afflicting it. And there was a cute little creature named Lethargic Frog, which is about as "hey this is symbolically important to you, Bounding Frog, someone who takes their whole name inspiration from the admirable leaping power of a healthy frog based on their childhood experiences catching frogs, just as the noble Vipers named themselves after the snakes they learned from" as can be.

This frog was placed here for Frog to see and based on her entire personality, to notice and care about and understand how it was not feeling good.

Also, the writer of this quest wanted Bounding Frog personally to know this was her chance to prove to Erenville that she did know her frogs, and was perfectly capable of talking to him frog expert to frog expert. I can't overstate how thrilled she was that she had this opportunity. She was going to show him that she was just as competent! She could impress him, she could prove she was worth talking about frogs to... Yep.

Aaand then after all this careful study of the Lethargic Frog, she bounces back to the group, and this happens...

She starts to explain about the water quality and fields, saving her deepest insight for last, you know, the other thing the quest made sure we would see and interact with so even if I allow for a WoL to exist who isn't a Frog Expert like mine (who this quest was personally tailored to, again) you might reasonably expect that after Krile has agreed with you about the first point, you MIGHT KEEP SPEAKING ON THE SUBJECT OF YOUR OBSERVATIONS.

Nah, before Frog can open her mouth again, Erenville cuts in to announce that the frogs are kinda sleepy, while she was politely waiting her turn to speak. All she can do is stoically nod and agree everyone noticed the same things she did (shh Alisaie has something funny to say on the subject before you return to the group to chat as well), and that's that, we're rushing off to the next thing and the opportunity has fizzled out and there's no chance to impress because Erenville stole it from her...

How could they have known we need to start this adventure with a huge knock to Frog's ego when it comes to Erenville, and a reminder of why they've been snarking at each other for months. And he's far more concerned with Wuk Lamat presenting a semi-competent front and feeling chafed by travelling with other people to even notice he was, once again, catastrophically rude on the subject of frogs, to Frog.

All her attempts to befriend him and make him laugh and generally have him notice her for the last few months, and she's riiiight back at step one, fuming about his existence and sulking about how he won't let her have the one thing she most prides herself on, because he's too busy being some sort of frog snob himself.

So, yeah, I think the writer of this quest knew that Frog was the main character and also that Erenville is her nemesis :)

[thisfeelslike-iykyk]

love languages ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

sw boys x reader (ft. luke skywalker, han solo, anakin skywalker, obi-wan kenobi, poe dameron, din djarin) backtrack: “rewrite the stars”, zac efron + zendaya inspiration: this is part three of my little series (pjo version here and hp version here)

luke skywalker

giving: words of affirmation / acts of service

the problem with luke is that he changes, see. in a new hope he’s bright eyed and bushy tailed. by return of the jedi the poor dude has seen some stuff. in a new hope though, his giving love language is totally words of affirmation. he called leia beautiful, and while it’s kind of weird to think about because they’re, uh, brother and sister, it was still sweet. another love language for luke--in both a new hope and return of the jedi--is definitely acts of service. in episodes four and five, it’d be in a naive, following you around like a lost puppy kind of way. he’d jump at the opportunity to do anything for you, you’re literally his goddess, say the word “water” and he’ll be sprinting to get a glass of it for you. in return of the jedi though, he likes to do things for his partner in a more mature, protective way. he’d place more importance on making sure you’re safe, and he deems himself your protector until his dying breath. a runner up for return of the jedi luke would be quality time. he and his friends have been through war, and he knows how dangerous jedi life is. so he treasures every quiet moment he can have with his loved ones.

receiving: physical touch

LOOK HOW FLUSTERED MY BOY WAS WHEN LEIA KISSED HIM (never mind that it was mildly concerning given they’re siblings!). luke absolutely melts for physical touch, moreso in episodes four and five but in six as well. his face will get bright red, he’ll start stuttering, my man does not hide it well. his friends, especially han, will tease the f-- out of him. he’ll deny it vehemently, but he’d get on his knees for you if you so much as touch his shoulder. he likes every sort of physical touch, it doesn’t have to be kisses. he’ll be bursting with joy even when you’re just linking pinkies during meetings; he’ll be constantly bouncing in his seat and will absolutely not be able to pay attention. also he definitely clings onto you while you’re sleeping like you’re a stuffed animal.

han solo

giving: gift giving

legitimately, I think sometimes when han smuggles physical materials, he’ll pick the best thing and steal it from the cargo and just give it to his partner. han’s not rich, but he wants his partner to have the best things in life, especially since he doesn’t think he can offer much else (except for his dashing good looks, of course). does it sometimes get him in trouble when his bosses notice that the biggest diamond is missing from the cargo? yeah. does he care? nope.

receiving: quality time

han’s constantly on the move with his job. he doesn’t have time to relax, since he’s often looking over his shoulder for bounty hunters. when he has free time, he’d love to play a relaxed game on the falcon with his partner. his favorite is the one with the holograms that c3po and r2d2 play versus chewbacca. he usually doesn’t go all out because he’s usually playing against chewbacca, and they’re good buddies but han doesn’t really want to find out what would happen if he won against the wookiee. but against his partner? oh he’s going all out. he’s not a gentleman. he’ll absolutely obliterate you and laugh about it. it’s kind of charming though.

anakin skywalker

giving: words of affirmation

okay, mister “are you an angel?”. mister “you are so beautiful”. mister “I’m haunted by the kiss you never should have given me”, even though that line was kind of awkward coming from nineteen year old anakin. I don’t know how he can be so terribly unarticulate, but at the same time the most romantic smooth talker in the whole star wars universe. I just know he’ll be showering his partner with all sorts of lovely, poetic compliments. he’s a charmer, he’ll swipe you right off your feet with his words.

receiving: physical touch

like father, like son, I guess. without a doubt, anakin’s also a physical touch guy (partly because I want him to be, but also because I genuinely think so). the poor dude’s had a rough childhood, so he’s starved of love. and most importantly, he’s touch starved. show him some love, please. hugs, kisses, cuddles, holding hands, anything of the sort. he’ll constantly whine if he can’t be physically affectionate with you, even though you both know it’s because you’re trying to keep your relationship a secret. he’s also a big cuddler and would 100% be a hidden little spoon, although he’ll be kind of embarrassed about it. when you put a hand on his cheek, he’ll immediately lean into your touch. also, I just have this thought that he’d love it when you ruffle or play with his hair. please do it. he’ll even bend down so you can reach his hair if there’s a big height difference between you two. but also, I feel like I can’t gloss over the fact that anakin is in serious need of some words of affirmation. he never gets it, even though he’s done so much for the jedi order. please tell him you love him and he’s awesome. he’ll melt.

obi-wan kenobi

giving: acts of service

I mean, do I really have to explain? obi-wan would be the perfect boyfriend. he’s an absolute gentleman. he’d be the best at princess treatment, always making sure you never have to lift a finger. however, some people are not into being babied or taken care of to that extent, and obi-wan knows that. he’d completely respect his partner’s independence and competence to do things for themselves, but he’d love to just take care of his partner as well. mostly, he wants to make sure his partner is protected and safe at all times, similar to return of the jedi luke.

receiving: quality time

obi-wan’s literally dedicated his life to the jedi order. not much is known about his childhood, but it’s safe to assume he started training really young (much younger than nine, at least, since anakin was deemed to be too old at that age, which is ridiculous) and for a really long period of time. he’s been so busy with training anakin and trying to keep up with him that he doesn’t have a lot of time to rest. so when he does have downtime, he’d want to spend it with his partner trying to form a deeper emotional bond. because really, obi-wan would definitely prioritize an emotional connection with his partner, and you can’t really make that happen when you’re fighting for your lives every day. I think he’d want to either change the jedi’s practices or leave the order because he’d want to spend time with his partner and be like an actual family (ahem ahem “had you asked, I would have left the order for you”). although I also think he’s touch starved and would get easily flustered by physical touches.

poe dameron

giving: words of affirmation

poe’s a charismatic guy, kind of a charmer. he’s brash and abrasive when he’s mad, but he’s generally quite the relaxed (as relaxed as you can be when you’re fighting for your life every day, I guess), cheeky guy. you know he has a few good pickup lines in his back pocket. he pulls them out any time he wants to charm someone. half of the time it’s because he’s doing it as a joke, but other times he genuinely tries to be slick with it (heads up, he’s not). something also tells me he’d like giving gifts to his partner too, to spoil them rotten (even though I can’t imagine he has that much money, sorry poe).

receiving: physical touch

why was I kind of at a loss for this one? I guess poe is just pretty touch starved too, it’s not like he has a partner in the movies and he’s under a lot of stress every day with the resistance. I feel like he’d lowkey get migraines or muscle pain pretty often, and he’d literally melt if you gave him a massage. he just likes being close to his partner, although he’d probably let slip a dirty joke every now and then. he’ll definitely tease you if you get flustered about it, but a little slap from you and he’ll shut up.

din djarin

giving: acts of service

acts of service is basically the thing that defines din’s life, lol. he’s catching bounties for people, he’s helping npcs with their side quests (what? who said that?), and just look at how much he cared for grogu and how dedicated he was to the cutie. he literally gave up the dream life with omera for grogu. for his partner, he’d go to the ends of the galaxy. he would risk his life. he’d sacrifice his life. it takes him a while to warm up to people--he’s a slow burn romance trope, don’t even mess with me on that--but once he’s found his soulmate, he’ll give his heart, mind, body, and soul to you. he’s at your service, completely.

receiving: quality time

din’s life is constantly changing. people come and go as he floats through space, taking jobs and completing them. he really appreciates those quiet nights on his ship with his partner. it’s just the two of you floating through space, and he can almost forget his busy life and just focus on you. I think he wishes he could have a slower, peaceful life. look how happy he was with omera on that one planet that I forget the name of. he was literally so tempted to stay, and I think he definitely would have if it weren’t for grogu. similar to obi-wan, though, he’s touch starved, so he’d appreciate a little physical touch every now and then as well. nothing huge, especially in the beginning, but just simple hugs and holding hands in private.

for this post I added in han because I can’t believe I forgot him in my last sw post. this is also unedited because I'm tired and I spent like two hours writing this

divider by @saradika-graphics

taglist: @loveinalocket, @raysmayhem-72, @toooster, @soft-likethesunset, @sheisntyou

[jodilin65]

My cousin's daughter has the Wicked Witch of the East listed as being born in New Hampshire. I didn’t know that. I just assumed she was born in Springfield.

Although I didn’t have breathing issues, I only slept for five hours, which doesn’t make it easier to get to my appointment. I gotta try my best to get there because I have questions for her. I also scheduled my dental appointment for December.

We don’t think we’ll be able to move next year, but we’re aiming for some time in 2026. The tentative plan is to find out if it would be cheaper to get either a gas car or a better electric car here or in New Mexico, which is where we’re likely going to end up. If it’s cheaper here, we’ll drive out there. If it’s cheaper there, we’ll fly out and buy one there. Since there aren’t any major ports where we’re headed, we’ll probably have to pack our stuff in a pod, have it shipped to El Paso, and fly in there. Once we’re set up, we’ll drive a U-Haul to Texas to retrieve our belongings.

We’re planning to go off the grid. Now that options are available that weren’t around when we moved to Maricopa, it’ll take a while for people and their damn dogs to reach us once the area builds up. We’re looking at getting two tiny homes, each around 500 square feet. One would be for living, and the other would serve as a laundry room and storage. The main house will be of better quality and possibly even furnished. You can bet I’m taking my beloved waterbed! Same goes for my skier—my favorite way to stay active. A good 90% of the dolls, knick-knacks, and various collectibles won’t be making the move. The second house will be very basic, with only water pipes and a sink installed, which will be all we need for a washer and dryer. We’ll definitely talk to a realtor, a contractor, and whoever else we may need. We’ll also need to bring in solar panels and dig a well.

The few things I have mixed feelings about are that the place will be small, colder in the winter, and I’ll be back among the nightmares I experienced in Arizona. I saw it all there—tarantulas, black widows, scorpions, snakes, etc. I’m not usually scared of snakes, but we have to be cautious depending on the season. I only saw one Gila monster in Arizona, but they’re bad news too. Javelinas can also be trouble. I’m more concerned with being creeped out by giant but harmless spiders than by any actual dangers.

I still can’t figure out what those giant spiders were in Phoenix that didn’t seem to be in Maricopa. Not that Maricopa didn’t have its share of horror-movie spiders. I thought they might be Avondales, but AI says those aren’t in Arizona. I don’t think they were tarantulas, even though they were just as big, because they didn’t seem furry. Tarantulas tend to move slowly, too. My research suggests they might have been hobos, wolf spiders, or some less harmful kind of brown recluse. Whatever they were, they were nightmare material. They were HUGE. We’re talking a good six inches in diameter, at least.

Given how things have turned out here, I’m now glad we didn’t get that house I wanted in Port St. Lucie. That would have been a bit hard to give up. It was bigger and had an amazing view. Now, I just want a place where I feel safe that I really love, somewhere we can stay until we’re too old and have to move into an apartment or assisted living.

[deedadobee]

Hiya! Your writing is amazing and I wanted to ask if you could write about a well known supervillain interviewing a veterinarian civilian about the caretaking process of various deadly animals? I thought this might be a fun prompt to try

Domesticated Fangs

AAA!! such a fun and unique prompt!! i hope i make ya proud w this!! (also aa u flatter me) A/N: this is the longest prompt fill i wrote!! also did some research for it so i have a big brain now ENJOYY

The sun was setting as Civilian started locking up their office at the vet they worked at, it was a rather slow day in their opinion. All they treated today was a puppy whose owners were concerned by its belly only to find out it was just eating healthy. 

A bell chimed while they cleared up the magazines in the waiting lounge, they assumed it was the receptionist.

“How was the cig break?” Civilian asked as they fluffed the pillows.

“I don’t smoke, darling.” A velvety voice replied.

Civilian turned to see SuperVillain in their suit and mighty mask. Their heart lunged to their throat and froze in their place.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite, just here to ask a professional like you some questions.” SuperVillain reassured them as they closed the door behind them.

“...How do you know that I’m a professional, maybe I’m not that skilled.”

“Ah, you are very humble,” SuperVillain started, “you were all over the news for your findings when you were in university, known for your outstanding graduation project, and many other things.” 

“That was… Years ago.” Civilian sighed.

“Still makes you a valid source for my questions.” SuperVillain sat in one of the chairs in the waiting room with their legs crossed ever so gracefully. 

Civilian was utterly confused, the all mighty SuperVillain could've gone to anyone but came to them instead. They wondered what serious questions roamed their masterful mind.

“Alright.. Um… What can I do for you?” Civilian left a chair between themselves and SuperVillain, awaiting the mystery of their presence to be answered.

“I have some inquiries about some animals I would like to adopt.” SuperVillain shined a pearly smile.

Was that it? They wanted to know about animals? Civilian was taken aback by the simplicity of SuperVillain’s request.

“Oh? I… Think I can help! Are you looking to adopt a cat or a dog?” 

“A retired hunting Harpy eagle is one of the animals I have set my eyes on,” SuperVillain answered, “I was wondering if you knew their qualities and what I should provide them with.”

Civilian’s eyes widened, “A Harpy? That’s a known fatal eagle, SuperVillain, I don’t think it would do as a house pet.”

“I reckon a retired eagle like him would be a lovely pet, don’t you think?” SuperVillian’s fangs showed as they spoke, making Civilian gulp.

“If you’re able to get them an enclosure with monkeys and snakes, then sure! They'd be perfect.” Civilian said sarcastically, only to find SuperVillain writing it down. Oh, they are serious about this.

“Alright! Now,” SuperVillain piped up enthusiastically, “How about a Nile Croc? What should I prepare?”

Civilian thought about it, “W-well, they need a wide space with fresh water, and proper heating�� about 26°C… And a proper fence to keep them from climbing and-... Well, eating everyone.” 

SuperVillain was very focused, nodding as Civilian explained, making them feel warm inside, understood for the first time in years. Civilian thought their studies were useless up until now, it was paying off in the weirdest yet thoughtful way possible. It was Civilian’s turn to ask the question that has been bothering them.

“Out of all the people you could have asked, why me?” Civilian quietly asked.

“Darling, I already told you the reason,” SuperVillain looked up through their lashes as they kept writing, "you know your stuff from heart."

Civilian pursed their lips to keep them from smiling and played with the hem of their uniform, flattered.

“So… What other animals are you thinking of adopting?”

“Some lovely cobras, maybe piranhas, every deadly animal from the zoo, really.”

“So... you’re going to steal them?”

“On the contrary, dear, I plan to give them the proper care the zoo fails to give.”

Civilian hummed in surprise, “What sparked that idea?”

“Your thesis, on endangered animals and the dangers of them being in captivity.”

Cheeks flushed, Civilan’s eyes darted to the floor, “O-oh.”

“It was a rather inspiring paper, very detailed and,” the villain looks up to meet Civilan’s eyes ”beautifully written, might I add.” SuperVillain grinned at the red mess Civilian became.

“I-it isn't much…” Civilian stuttered out.

“It is, you poured your heart out on this cause.” SuperVillain tucks in their notepad and stands up, taking out an envelope.

“What’s that? It isn't filled with drugs that’ll knock me out, right?” Civilian nervously laughed.

SuperVillain chuckled and handed it to them.

“It’s for your time, I do apologise for coming in after hours, but I wish not to scare anyone away from your center.” 

“How kind of you… Thank you.” Civilian’s words were quiet and genuine, SuperVillain heard it as they walked to the door.

“No, thank you.” SuperVillain winked as they walked out and only the bell’s chimes filled the lobby. 

Civilian breathed out a breath they didn’t know they were holding, closed their eyes as they opened the envelope. They peeked from one eye to see a check and a card.

The check was written to them by an unfamiliar name with an insane amount of money, with the message ‘For your future research.’

Civilian’s eyes widened as they gasped, they read the card behind the check to see a phone number with a scribbled ‘call me ;)’.

[under-sedationnn]

the arcana: main six reacting to injured! reader

anonymous: Could u do m6 reacting to mc coming home injured? I want some hurt/comfort >:))

Warnings: talk of being injured, blood. if that bothers you or tiggers you in anyway, please scroll away! i want this to be a safe place, only :)

thanks for the request anon!! i hope you enjoy!! <3 requests for the kissing prompts and physical affection prompts are STILL OPEN. please send them in with the character of your choice (which could be any character from any series i write for) and i will create an imagine!! thanks and happy reading!!

- tries his very very best to stay calm

- you can see panic bubbling under the surface

- faust is on high alert

- slithers around your shoulders and squeezes you for a hug

- "friend! hurt!"

- doesn't immediately ask what happened, just gets you to a comfortable place to be cleaned up

- then, and only then, will he brave to ask what happened to you

- or who did this to you

- wipes the blood from your skin with very gentle swipes

- winces when you wince, and apologizes profoundly

- "Y/n, how did this happen? i thought you were just taking a quick trip to the market."

- "i fell in the market, tripped over a stone"

- "and nobody helped you?"

- in this case he's disappointed with the bystanders, but does not become angry

- in a situation where someone hurt you?

- oh god

- "Y/n, how did this happen? i thought you were just taking a quick trip to the market."

- "yeah, well, somebody had their eye on the same apple i picked up. somehow, though, they managed to push me to the ground and steal it from my hands."

- i don't even think he would know what to say

- and asra is not really the type to march out into the streets of vesuvia and seek to challenge the one who hurt you

- but he would certainly hold a grudge against whoever it was if he did find out

- and would feel absolutely awful about letting you get hurt

- his mind would race about the possibility of losing you again

- because he simply can't handle it

- and what if that person had been particularly violent or malicious? what if you had been taken??

- you'd have to comfort the hell out of him to make sure he knows that you're okay

- "asra, hey, i'm fine! i can handle myself, you know that"

- "you're right, and i know you're right. it's just hard"

- "it's still hard for me, too. the market still makes me a little nervous and i got caught a little off guard, is all"

- that would make him feel better

- would finish patching up your wounds and would make sure to bring you to julian the next day if they were too bad for him to fix or needed stitches

- would also create a special brew to help with the pain and ease you to sleep

- "why don't i go down to the market tomorrow?"

- "why? so when you pick a fight over apples, i can pay you back for all of this high quality medical treatment?"

- "well of course, surely you didn't expect all this tender love and care to be free" *wink*

- panicked doctor mode enabled

- immediately begins checking you over, asking questions

- something tells me it would be a head injury of some sort

- "oh darling, what happe- you're bleeding!"

- "julian, i'm okay! it's just a little scratch"

- "no no no you might need stitches, come sit down. i'll go get my kit!"

- there's really no use in arguing

- he has cold ass hands, so he tries to warm them up before he begins suturing the wound

- tries to be gentle, and his expert hands move quickly without any snagging

- "so, how did this happen?"

- his voice is literally trembling

- "well, i was in the clinic grabbing the list of ingredients we need for our next grocery trip and there was a puddle of... something on the floor. i slipped and hit my head on the corner of your desk"

- immediately thinks it's his fault

- like "oh shit i should have cleaned better that could have killed y/n and then what would i have done-"

- doesn't necessarily voice this, but you can tell by the silence that follows that he's feeling really guilty

- would kneel for you, head on your knees

- "y/n, i am so sorry"

- "juli, it's really okay, i should have watched where i was going"

- "i'll make sure to clean better from now on, okay?"

- would guard you throughout the night in case of concussion

- nurse juli <3

- but let's say someone had put their hands on you

- would patch you up the same way, and apologize profusely for not being there with you

- tuck you into bed and fetch mazelinka to keep an eye on you throughout the night incase of a concussion

- would most definitely be self destructive and seek that mf out

- maybe not successfully, but would try his hardest

- "i'll be back in the morning, get some rest"

- "I can find them myself if I want to, you know"

- embarrassed blush

- because he KNOWS you can take care of yourself

- "of course, but right now you're hurt. as your partner, i will do what must be done on your behalf darling"

- probably shows up the following morning with battle scars of his own

- the guards found you in the garden, passed out in the maze

- blood trickled down your arm, a large gash marking your bicep

- ran you up to the palace and immediately to the medical wing

- them]n nadia gets word

- the calm, collected queen act disappears

- abandons anything she's doing, anybody she's talking to

- "we will finish this at a different time, i have more important matters to attend to"

- she is so worried and it's honestly adorable

- very much giving "where tf are they?" energy

- god i love her so much

- anyways um

- asks the nurses over and over what happened, if you're okay, etc.

- watches the physicians and nurses like a hawk as they clean the wound and suture the cut

- and they're so intimidated lmao they never come face to face with her literally ever

- brushes your hair back from your face as they do so

- holds your hands

- would demand that you be brought to her sleeping chamber

- so that's where you wake up! how cute

- she's laying beside you, her brows furrowed

- maybe even her eyes are a little hazy

- "y/n, sweetheart, do you remember what happened?"

- patiently waits for your answer, you're still a little groggy

- you were either attacked by an animal and passed out from the fright

- or you were attacked by an armed person and was knocked out

- either way, the guards are on it

- nadia isn't letting whoever or whatever did this get away without a fight

- the palace is meant to be a safe haven for you

- for the both of you

- "well, don't you worry, we'll take care of that"

- you try to sit up but she won't let you

- "oh no, you must stay down, y/n. you are possibly concussed from the fall"

- "oh okay, sorry"

- "is there anything i can get you?"

- the countess of vesuvia, serving you in your time of need

- "just some water would be nice"

- "of course, i'll have some brought up right away"

- i literally feel like he would just start crying straight up

- cause like he has some problems anyway

- he big sad boi

- and you coming home to the hut bleeding from a gash in the arch of your foot is not helping

- picks you and carries you to the bed without a word

- just starts examining the cut

- inanna is also very concerned

- she licks the blood from the cut, she's trying to be helpful

- meanwhile muriel is stumbling around the hut looking for anything to stop the bleeding, disinfect it, bandage it, anything

- but he's not the best about keeping that stuff in stock

- keeps looking back at you with worry in his eyes

- he doesn't know what to do

- "muriel, let me see if i can contact asra. maybe he or julian can bring me a salve. i'm pretty sure i'm gonna need stitches"

- low-key makes him feel worse

- cause he feels like he's unable to care for you and keep your safe

- even tho this was just an accident

- he's breathing really fast, his anxiety creeping

- agrees anyway, but goes to get them himself

- "i'll be back soon, just keep this piece of cloth pressed against it"

- cause you're bleeding like a lot

- inanna stays behind

- he returns very quickly with julian in tow, though he doesn't look happy about it

- leaves the hut without another word

- julian gets to work immediately

- "so, you cut your foot i see"

- smartass.

- "yeah, muriel always tells me to put on shoes when i walk in the woods but i love to feel the grass beneath my feet"

- julian chuckled at this

- "and i'm assuming you, what, stepped on a rock?"

- "...yeah, sliced it right open"

- after julian is done cleaning up the cut, he tells you to just stay off of it for a while and make sure it doesn't get infected

- once he's gone, muriel trudges back into the hut

- "muriel, baby, it was just a cut it's not a big deal"

- but his eyes look hurt, and you beckon him toward the bed

- "hey," your hands on his cheeks, "i'm okay, really"

- "sorry, i just got scared. blood is still a trigger for me and since you got hurt in my woods, i felt like it was my fault"

- "muriel, of course it wasn't your fault"

- he really needed a hug

- after this instance, he made sure to keep medical supplies in the hut and you promised to try and wear shoes in the woods more often than not

- "i'll try my best to be more careful. deal?"

- sweet lil smile

- "deal."

- "oh my god, y/n, what the hell happened??"

- you were tending the garden

- without her supervision

- and the garden sheers might have sliced into the palm of your hand

- deep

- brings you over to the sink and runs water over the cut, covering it with a towel when the dripping blood had been washed away

- girl is on the move

- cause she knows what to do! love that

- low-key a main reason why julian managed to live as long as he has

- pepi is curiously perched atop one of the counters, peering down

- finds her personal first aid kit she had stashed in the bathroom

- guides you over to sit on the counter while she tries to figure out what to do

- "damn, you really cut yourself, y/n"

- "sorry! i think i just got a little carried away"

- she giggles at that, though she is still worried about the fact that it won't stop bleeding

- gently wraps the cut in gauze and adheres it together

- places a kiss to your fingertips

- "all done! no more gardening for you!"

- "hey, why not?"

- "well you don't want that cut to open back up again and again, do you?"

- "no"

- "alright then," she smiled, moving to put away the first aid kit again, "and we're going up to the palace medical wing first thing tomorrow morning to make sure it's not infected"

- eye roll

- "yes ma'am" you mocked

- even though you know it's just because she loves you

- "but since you got hurt, you want me to bake you some cookies?"

- "only if you let me eat the dough!"

- good god do i love this man

- but he is so self-absorbed it's actually insane

- and I feel like he wouldn't even notice at first

- cause he's too focused on himself

- gazing into the mirror without a care in the world when you walked in

- "y/n, thank goodness you're home, how do you feel about these pants?"

- you just hobbled to the nearest seat, hand resting over the gash on your knee

- mercedes and melchior were lazing across a rug at the base of his mirror, their attention set on you

- "u-um, yeah, they look good"

- literally just trying not to bleed out, over here

- "good? oh really, now, y/n don't they look amazing?"

- "yes, they look ama- ow, damnit"

- then he turned around

- immediate shock and worry! oh no oh no y/n is hurt!

- mercedes and melchior walked over first, whining as they took in the cut, brushing around the edges

- lucio raced over, squatting down in front of you, and began examining the cut

- "hey, hey, what happened?"

- "i accidentally tripped on my walk in the garden and scraped my knee on the cobblestone"

- he was lightly touching around the cut, gauging how sensitive it was

- when you flinched he stopped, looking into your eyes with a soft "sorry"

- "i think i need to go to the palace infirmary"

- "oh there's no need, i can take care of you!"

- you were not convinced he could take care of you, at least not well

- "uh, lucio, are you sure?"

- he looked slightly offended, at that

- "you know, y/n, i did fight in battles at one point. i have not only tended to my own wounds, but the wounds of others, as well"

- you giggled at the thought

- "much to your protest, though, i'm sure"

- he moved to the small cabinet of medical supplies in the ensuite to your bedroom, returning to your side with it in hand

- "at points, but i don't mind helping you in the slightest"

- for all of his antics, his soft side was enough to make you fall in love all over again

- and although i know he would take care of you in literally any situation, i can't say for certainty that he would stick around and place nurse lucio for long if a person had hurt you

- attacked you

- much like nadia, the guards would be sent out without a second thought, lucio leading the pack in the search for you aggressor

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part 2, final

Part 1 / 1.5 / [2]

(masterlist here)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v.

then he turns up at your door.

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 24.4k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, smut (NSFW, 18+)

warnings: cursing/explicit language, very brief injury mention/blood mention (nothing violent/explicit I promise!), alcohol consumption, reference to former sex work, sexually explicit content, reference to masturbation, reader has sex for the first time, oral (f + m), multiple orgasms (f), unprotected sex (taehyung is an android but please take necessary precautions irl), I think that’s it but please let me know if I’ve missed anything

a/n: this got so incredibly long,, I hope that makes up for the wait! thank you to @hobi-gif​, as always, for being so supportive and uplifting and beta reading this for me, you are a shining star in my sky. and thank you to the wonderful @flowerseokjin​ for letting me pick her brain about art galleries and telling me about the incredible exhibition/paintings that I wrote about in this fic, you truly are the loveliest 💕

note: this is the final part of the main story! I’ll be writing minis/drabbles etc in the future but,, this is part 2 of 2 💖

A month after Taehyung walks into your life, you finally get new neighbours.

You’re aware of this because: 

a) Rory had let you know in advance (to wit: “I have been instructed to inform you that the new tenants of apartment 4A will be moving in next Sunday.”)

and:

b) Said new tenants are apparently very noisy.

Well, not so much noisy as not quiet. It seems like they’ve opted to move everything themselves rather than hiring some android movers, so there’s a lot of shuffling and shunting and occasional bouts of cursing (like someone’s stubbed their toe) and subsequent laughter (like someone else is amused at aforementioned stubbing of aforementioned toe). When you nip out to grab some milk for the pancakes Taehyung wants to learn to make, there are boxes in the hall and voices float out of the open door—a discussion of where the instant ramyun and old Mario games should go (they’re in the same box?)—but you don’t catch a glimpse of the speakers.

It’s not until later, much later, the world outside night-dark but tinged bright white with street lights, that there’s a knock on your door.

You don’t notice. You’re engrossed in the Chinese takeaway menu that’s open on your tablet, staring at the weirdly high-res photo of Kung Pao chicken next to a pixelated picture of some dumplings, wondering what you should choose.

Taehyung is sitting beside you on the sofa. Each day he shifts a little closer to you, inch by inch, the slow pull of gravity, implacable; he gets lonely when you’re gone, and you’re the only person he can talk to. So it’s no surprise he’s so clingy. It’s never overbearing or overwhelming but he’s still unhindered by the self-consciousness that you have—so even if you’re still hesitant to initiate things, you never deny him. 

The line of his body is parallel to your own, your thighs warm where they touch, and you feel his shoulder move as he tilts his head. “There’s someone at the door.”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out who it is. The only people who can get inside the building are other residents—well, service androids can too, although there’s a back entrance they use, which is how Taehyung had snuck inside in the first place—and when you approach your door, you can hear two low voices, engaged in what sounds like light-hearted bickering.

You flick your fingers across your keypad. All murmurs cut off the second the door swings open.

“Hi!” A chirp. “We’re your new neighbours!”

Night and day. Two men, one tall and broad-shouldered, eyes large and lips flush, beatific smile on his face; the other, shorter and leaner, eyes sleepy, mouth soft, his smile self-contained. 

“I’m Seokjin,” the taller man says. “And this is Yoongi.”

“I can introduce myself,” Yoongi mutters, but it’s not bitter; there’s that ease of familiarity, any bite behind the words soothed with amity. “But yeah, I’m Yoongi. Sorry if we were loud earlier. Jin’s a living foghorn.”

“A sexy living foghorn,” Seokjin says brightly.

Yoongi’s sleepy eyes can deliver one hell of a death glare but Seokjin is unaffected.

“Anyway,” Yoongi continues, unimpressed look wiping off his face as he turns back to you, softening. “What’s your name?”

It’s like there’s a circus on your doorstep and you’re the unwitting audience, dragged into the tent without realising, watching everything unfold in front of you—but in a good way. It's a pleasant surprise. They’re already much friendlier than your previous neighbour, a lone man who’d kept to himself and never spoke to you. 

“Uh, I’m Y/n,” you say. You wonder if you should introduce Taehyung as well, but most humans don’t introduce their androids to people, do they? Besides, he’s staying out of sight in the living room, so you’ll leave him be.

“Jin made brownies so we’re here to deliver them to you.”

“I left the walnuts out in case you have a nut allergy,” Seokjin adds as Yoongi passes a polka-dot patterned tin over. It’s heavy in your hands. Full to the brim with brownies, it seems. (Yum yum.)

“Thank you. And you weren’t that noisy, don’t worry! Moving is always messy. Have you finished or did you want some help?”

“That’s very sweet of you! But we’re all done,” Seokjin says. “We were just about to reward ourselves with some takeout, actually, seeing as we haven’t had time to do any food shopping. Do you have any recommendations?”

Taehyung looks uncomfortable, curled up on the sofa with wide eyes when you retrieve your tablet, but you quietly reassure him that you won’t be long.

“Do you want to meet our new neighbours?” You ask, voice soft so the two men don’t overhear. (You miss the warm flicker of Taehyung’s LED when you say our.) “I’d hate for you to have to pretend to be undeviated, though. They might start ordering you around.”

“I’ll stay here,” Taehyung decides.

So that’s how you end up on your doorstep with Seokjin and Yoongi, the three of you peering at the wild variations in stock photo quality on the Chinese takeaway menu. 

“You’d think with the huge strides we’ve taken forward in technology that all photos would look at least semi-decent,” Yoongi mumbles as he stares at a cropped picture of fu yung. “It’s hard to get a bad camera.”

“I think it’s such a human thing, though,” Seokjin says. “No matter how technologically advanced humanity gets, takeaway menus will always have bad stock photos.”

Not only are Seokjin and Yoongi friendly, they’re forward. Well, that’s mainly Seokjin, actually, but Yoongi doesn’t protest when Seokjin insists that you come over so you can eat and chat and get to know each other. Especially after you’d offered to pay for everything as a sort of welcome to the neighbourhood gesture, placing both your orders together to save the restaurant the hassle of separate deliveries.

“I’ll pick up the food when it turns up, alright?” Seokjin’s smile is wide. “We haven’t unpacked our kitchen stuff yet, but if you’re happy to eat straight out of the containers…”

You don’t want to abandon Taehyung, especially as you’d planned on watching a film together—you want to introduce him to older, animated cartoons, so you can explain the process of hand painting each frame, plastic cel sheets that layer over each other to create motion. He’ll love it. “Um, I was planning to eat here, actually.” 

“Sounds good to us,” Seokjin says, and Yoongi sighs.

“Ignore him, he’s just pushy.” He ignores Seokjin’s indignant squawk. “You don’t have to let us in, don’t worry. I’ll wait for when the food gets here, Jin will stay at home.”

“Make me,” Seokjin says primly.

“I’ll lock you in the bathroom.” Yoongi says it in a way that makes you think it’s not an idle threat, and maybe it’s happened before. 

Judging from the look on Seokjin’s face, yeah, it’s happened before.

“You know, you’re both kind of wild,” you say. “But, like, in a good way.”

When you flop back down on the sofa, you press yourself against Taehyung’s side in a motion that’s becoming second nature, so you notice that he seems unnaturally still. He goes motionless whenever he’s thinking deeply about something, an undisturbed ocean lake, the only ripple on its surface the small circle of blue on his temple, swirling waters.

“Are you okay?” You ask, concerned.

“You should eat dinner with them,” he says, and you baulk. 

“What? No, it’s fine. I’ve been looking forward to watching Kiki’s Delivery Service with you all week.”

Taehyung’s eyes are soft. “They seem nice,” he says, quiet. “And friendly. We can watch it tomorrow, can’t we?” And then, even quieter: “You don’t have to spend all your free time with me, Y/n.”

“I don’t—” you start, and then deflate. “It’s not fair for you, though.”

That’s the crux of it all. You choose to spend your free time here, with Taehyung, carefully dipping out of work meets and scraping your full social life empty. Because you can. But Taehyung is still cautious of the outside world, understandably so, a hermit crab whose shell is the safety of your apartment, only unfurling from that protection when you’re there too.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m happy.”

You haven’t denied Taehyung so far, and you don’t want to start now, but you still waver. Yoongi and Seokjin do seem nice, and friendly, and it’s not like you’ll be able to avoid them forever—but you don’t want to leave Taehyung out. It’s not fair that he can’t make other friends too.

“Go.” Taehyung’s voice is gentle. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

(But there's nowhere else he can go, is there?)

The apartment across the hall is in a state of organised upheaval. There’s a tumbleweed of peeled tape in one corner, boxes with mouths open wide—the priorities for today—while others are stacked neatly against the walls, out of the way of the furniture. It already feels cosy, somehow, but you put that down to the two men who live here and how comfortable they are with each other, dripping off them and filling the room like paraffin, bright lamplight. 

Seokjin seems unsurprised but pleased at your appearance. He unfolds himself from the floor with a dazzling smile.

“Welcome to our humble abode.” He punctuates the statement with a grand sweep of his arm, knocking the lampshade above his head, dust motes scattering onto his hair like a soft grey halo. “Oh, ewch, you can tell no one’s been here for a while.” He pats his hair, puffs of dust rising from his dark locks. “Anyway! While it’s true that we already have the table and chairs set up, what sort of move in day would it be if we didn’t eat greasy takeaway on the floor?"

“We did it the last time we moved, so he wants to make it a tradition,” Yoongi mutters to you, and you laugh.

You help Yoongi ease the food down onto unfolded sheets of crumpled newspaper that Seokjin’s laid out to protect the floor. Seokjin dives into the bags and pulls each tub out, identifying each dish immediately despite how a lot of them look the same to you. “Do you move a lot?” 

“Nah, just once before,” Yoongi says, watching Seokjin fondly as he peels the lid back on a container of spicy chicken wings and greedily breathes in their sticky-hot scent. “But it was too small for the two of us so we decided to upgrade.”

Seokjin’s spread out the selection of food before you all realise that the restaurant has neglected to provide any chopsticks—even if there’s ten fortune cookies, reflective of how many dishes you’ve ordered and how many people they think it’s going to feed. (Apparently Seokjin likes to eat.)

“Ah, damn,” Yoongi mutters. “We’ll have to dig some cutlery out.”

“I can go get some from my apartment?”

You’ve just started to stand when Seokjin tuts, flapping his hands at you to sit down. “No, no,” he says. “You’re the guest, relax. I was going to unpack the kitchen stuff later anyway. This just means we have to expedite the process.”

You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce as both men disappear into the kitchen, listening as they read the labels off boxes and rummage around, voices an undercurrent to the sound of opening and shutting of cupboards. You’re sneakily reaching for a spring roll when there’s an unholy clattering noise, ringing metal and sharp intakes of air, a loud cry of pain.

You stumble to your feet. All thoughts of food are abandoned as you rush towards the sound; instinctual. Wanting to help, somehow. You throw yourself forwards, catch yourself on the doorway into the kitchen, eyes wide.

“Oh, god, is everything okay?” You gasp.

And then you freeze.

There’s an explosion of kitchen equipment on the floor, cardboard box forlorn nearby, crumpled, its bottom giving out under the weight. A wicked looking chef’s knife lays at Seokjin’s feet; he has one hand grasping the other, palm sliced open by its falling trajectory, dripping blood across the tiles of the floor, painted along the edge of sharp steel.

Yoongi’s eyes are huge and panicked and absolutely horrified.

The blood is blue. 

You’re staring at the thirium that falls, viscous ultramarine that drip-drip-drips from Seokjin’s long fingers. The silence in the room is as thin as a porcelain teacup, suspended midair, poised to shatter.

Seokjin is staring at Yoongi. Yoongi is staring at you.

Seokjin’s an android.

(Seokjin’s an android who seems human.)

Seokjin’s a deviant.

“Holy shit,” you gasp. Your mind is reeling as you struggle for words, cogs in your head grinding together as you rapidly try to change gear—but then you see another glob of thirium dripping from Seokjin's fingers and you latch onto it, the fact he's hurt. “Do you need me to get some cloths or something? I have a first aid kit at home, but androids don’t need first aid, right?”

Yoongi sucks in a deep breath, though his eyes are still wide as he stares at you. “No,” he says. “No, no, you stay here.”

“Yoongi,” says Seokjin, but Yoongi shakes his head, sharp and fast.

“No, I don’t trust her,” he says, and, like, okay. You understand that. Deviant androids are meant to be reported; Yoongi and Seokjin don’t know you. They don’t know that you would never do that. 

(They don’t know that there’s another deviant across the hallway right now, curled up in one of your throw blankets, blankly scrolling through a list of movies as he waits for you to come home.)

The flow of blood has slowed. Seokjin’s synthetic skin is starting to repair itself, crawling back over the exposed white of his android body, undamaged by the knife at his feet.

“What happened to your LED?”

“Don’t answer that, Jin,” Yoongi warns, but Seokjin just rolls his eyes.

“She already knows I’m an android, babe, it’s hardly important at this point,” he says. “I popped it out. It takes a bit of pressure and getting the right angle, but they come out pretty easily.”

“Kim Seokjin!” Yoongi barks. “You stop that right now! And you! Stop asking questions!” His voice is sharp, but he seems more afraid than angry.

“Sorry.” You hold up placating hands, shying back behind them. “I was just… sorry.”

Seokjin’s face is contemplative before it rapidly flickers into an expression that’s impish, in spite of the blue blood that’s still splashed across the kitchen tiles.

“Oh,” he hums. “You seem awfully curious, hm?” 

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Jin…”

“Maybe I am,” you hazard. 

“Interesting.” Seokjin’s eyes glitter. “Very interesting.”

Yoongi’s like an umpire at Wimbledon, watching a ball streak back and forth, a volley that you and Jin have created that he’s not involved in. “Okay, that’s it, I’m stopping this right here,” he says. He seems to have calmed down, at least, now that you’ve made it obvious that you have no immediate plans to rush and call the police, or something. That you’re not threatening the wellbeing of this deviant, like most people would. “What’s going on in that terrible little mind of yours, Jin?”

“Well, my darling Yoongi, it seems to me that our new neighbour has a surprisingly vested interest in androids, deviant ones to be exact.” Jin’s expression is adjacent to smug—almost there, but not quite. (Androids are so perceptive.) “Am I wrong?”

You make a non-committal noise, but it’s enough for his expression to morph into full smugness, and understanding flits across Yoongi’s face.

“Y/n.” His voice is deceptively calm, his eyes opaque darkness. “Have you met a deviant android before?”

“Um.” A moment of hesitation. “Yes,” you eventually admit. “Just one.”

“Let me guess,” Seokjin hums, eyes darting over your face in a way that’s reminiscent of Taehyung. Reading signals in your face, dissecting whatever minute expressions might be giving you away—a lot, apparently, judging from what words leave his mouth next. “Are they currently in your apartment?”

“I can neither confirm or deny that,” you say—unsure if Taehyung would be happy about you trumpeting his existence to other people, even if one of them is a deviant too—and Seokjin grins. 

“Oh, this is absolutely delicious.” He’s utterly delighted. “I could just eat this whole situation up. Unbelievable. Oh, it tastes so good. Yoongi, baby, give me a fork, I have to dig in while it’s still hot.”

“You’re so weird,” says Yoongi, all resigned affection, before he looks back at you. “You have a deviant in your home?”

“Uhh.” You’re in too deep now, you guess. “Yes? I don’t know if he’d want me to tell you that, though, so, um.”

“That’s so cute,” Seokjin coos. “Look at how considerate and worried you are. Oh, let me clean this thirium up, I can’t have blue blood everywhere if we’re going to have more guests. Yoongi, fetch the paper towels. Y/n, go fetch your friend. Does he eat?”

“No, he doesn’t. I didn’t think any androids could,” you admit.

“Most can’t and don’t, but I was an advanced housekeeper model, I was given the capacity to taste and eat so I could prepare food to any set of specifications presented to me,” Seokjin says. “So I had to eat to taste test things. And now I do it because I enjoy it.”

“We spend more money on food for him than for me,” says Yoongi. He seems to have relaxed now that he knows about Taehyung, earlier panic faded. “And I’m the one that needs it.”

“Hey, you eat to live, I live to eat.”

It’s an almost surreal turn of events, honestly. It’s… inexplicable. Incredible. Almost unbelievable. Surreal, but… good? Probably? Yoongi is someone else who’s housing a deviant, and Seokjin has clearly been one for a while. Both will know more than either you or Taehyung do. They can help you. It’s a God given gift that’s landed— literally—on your doorstep. 

(Much like Taehyung had.)

Taehyung perks up when he sees you, even if he’s confused by your sudden reappearance.

“Are you alright?” His voice is deep with concern, throw blanket a cloak that falls forgotten as he stands up, coming to grasp your shoulders. “You can’t have had time to eat already.”

His LED is flashing yellow with barely concealed worry, palms warm through the material of your shirt, eyes dancing across your face as he tries to read your expression.

“Taehyung,” you start, slow. He blinks just as slowly back at you. “What would you say if—hypothetically—there was another deviant android you could meet and, um, make friends with?”

This time, when his LED flashes yellow, it’s a spark of excitement. You’re getting surprisingly good at reading Taehyung now. “I would say that sounds nice,” he says. His hands have trailed up and away from your shoulders and settled on your collarbones, thumbs lying in the hollows of your neck. It's a touch that’s more intimate than it probably should be, that reminds you yet again exactly how big his hands are. “Why?”

“Um,” you say, ever eloquent. “Well, what if I said it wasn’t hypothetical?”

“I guess… I would ask who it was,” Taehyung says. His voice is a hush.

“One of our new neighbours,” you admit, and his eyes go wide.

“No,” he says, and then: “Really?” he says, and then: “Oh, wow,” he says.

“I know, that was my reaction too.” You can’t help but smile at how giddy Taehyung looks, any lingering concern washed away in his tidal wave of excitement. “Crazy, right? Do you want to come meet them?”

Taehyung weaves his fingers with your own, and you squeeze his hand. He loves to hold hands. He doesn’t let go when you make your way back into Yoongi and Seokjin’s apartment, trailing a little behind you, shy but excited, like a child on their way to their first playdate.

The food is still untouched in the centre of the living room, a summoning circle of wonton puffs and chow mein. Yoongi and Seokjin look up at your arrival, both pairs of eyes landing on Taehyung, whose grip on your hand tightens right before he lets go.

“Hi,” says the android. “I’m Taehyung.”

Seokjin makes his way over to you so that he can solemnly take Taehyung’s hands in his own. 

“Taehyung,” he says, with all the gravity of a priest delivering a sermon. “You are the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

And that’s how Taehyung makes his first friend. (Who isn’t you, that is.)

“Wow.” You’re awestruck. “Jin wasn’t kidding when he said he likes to eat.”

You’d thought there might be some leftovers, but every container has been emptied and scraped clean. Both you and Taehyung had had similar wide eyed looks on your faces as you’d watched Seokjin put a whole chicken wing in his mouth, and then pull out the bones, picked clean.

“Mm.” Yoongi’s legs are splayed out in front of him as he sits on the floor, though he slouches backwards against the plush leather sofa, content and full after eating. “He’s more concerned about me eating than I am, as well.”

Seokjin and Taehyung are bent over a box of cookbooks, Taehyung’s LED flickering yellow each time Seokjin flips the page to a new recipe. You’re honestly surprised at the fact they own so many books—most people have transitioned off paper now, everything available on a tablet or phone or some other smart device. You just like paper because of your artist background, and you’re not used to seeing so many other books in someone else’s home.

The two androids have been absorbed in conversation for a while now, but you notice Taehyung never lets you out of his sight—glancing up, making sure you’re still there, looking back at him. (You are.)

“There aren’t many TH700s around, you know,” Yoongi says conversationally, and you tear your eyes away from Taehyung, surprised that he recognises the android’s model.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really, they’re a very expensive model to create,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person, though I imagine that’s because I don’t go to the sorts of places where they’d be.”

Hurk. Doesn’t seem like he’s implying anything with that statement but you still feel a bit awkward. “How do you know so much about androids?”

“I’m a programmer.” Yoongi’s eyes are charcoal black as he flicks his gaze to you. “Not specifically for androids, but it’s the sort of thing you become aware of if you’re in the tech industry. And if you have a deviant android boyfriend. I did a lot of research and poking around after Jin first deviated. There was a lot to learn.”

Across the room, Seokjin gesticulates wildly. The expression on Yoongi’s face softens his sharp edges, all open affection as he watches Seokjin miming a flipped omelette gone terribly wrong, Taehyung laughing at Seokjin’s theatrical noises.

“How did he—why did he deviate?”

Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. He doesn’t seem bothered by your incessant questions, slouching further back into the leather sofa, melting against it. “I’m the sort of person who forgets to drink or eat or sleep if I’m focused on something,” he says. “Seokjin was just meant to be a, ah, living schedule, I suppose. He’d prepare food at exact times of day and monitor my sleep levels and clean up any mess I made and remind me to take a break or whatever. But I was still enough of a wreck that he broke his programming to yell at me for not looking after myself properly, and it all went on from there.”

Wow.

“Wow. He deviated because you’re that much of a mess of a human being?” You laugh. “That’s honestly impressive.”

Yoongi’s responding laugh is soft. “I think under all that programming and circuitry, every android wants to… be a real, living thing, and not just a machine,” he says. “They just need that final push. Whatever it is. What was Taehyung’s?”

When you finish telling him the story of how you’d met Taehyung and reached this point together, Yoongi looks contemplative. He hasn’t interjected, just humming quietly, little noises of encouragement whenever you’d paused or hesitated.

“It’s obvious that he trusts you implicitly,” he says.

You feel warmed at Yoongi’s words. But. 

“He does, and that’s great, but I just… worry I’m not doing the best I can for him, you know?” It’s so nice to be able to get this off your chest, finally. There’s been no one you can talk to about Taehyung, and it’s not like you can tell the android himself, either. Yoongi’s the perfect listener, reflective and engaging, but never talking over you. And best of all he knows what he’s talking about. “Imagine being forced to stay indoors literally twenty four seven. I think I’d go stir crazy. It’s why I was interested in the LED—I thought that maybe if it wasn’t obvious that Tae was an android he might want to try going outside?”

“Oh, I’m sure Seokjin will help him get to that point.” Yoongi doesn’t sound worried. “But if not, you have to trust that Taehyung’s choosing to do what makes him happy. Deviant androids might not have the sort of life experience that we do, but we don’t have theirs, either. What’s normal for a human isn’t for an android, and what’s normal for one android isn’t normal for another. Androids learn a lot faster than we do. Anyway, if Taehyung’s anything like Seokjin, if there’s something he wants to do, he’ll do it.”

“Has Jin always been like that?”

“Kind of. Like, yes, he has, but he was a lot less in-your-face about it before. But he knows exactly what he can get away with now.”

“You love him a lot,” you say gently.

Yoongi’s smile is a soft, pink thing, a little Renoir, quietly luminous. “I do,” he says. “It’s impossible not to.”

Taehyung definitely seems a little starstruck, watching Seokjin with a wide smile and attentive eyes—the sort of look he gives you whenever he’s shown something new. It’s nice to see him interact with other people, and it’s even nicer to know that he’s welcome to come here without you; Yoongi works from home, and Seokjin’s made it clear there’s an open door policy for Taehyung, who seems elated at the prospect.

“Jin said he’d teach me how to make ‘The World’s Most Delicious French Toast’,” Taehyung tells you later, words slipping together in his excitement. “So I can make that for your breakfast soon.”

His lap is so comfortable. You’ve given up any pretense of keeping distance between you, and settle against him as soon as you climb into bed—hey, if you’re going to end up doing it in your sleep anyway, you may as well set yourself up so that it doesn’t give you a weird crick in your neck. 

“That sounds great,” you say.

Taehyung’s hand settles on your head. You stiffen in surprise, but when he starts to lightly scritch his fingers against your scalp, you realise—he’s mimicking Seokjin, who’d eventually perched on the sofa above Yoongi, running his hands through his hair. Androids are fast learners indeed. You can’t help but relax at the touch, boneless, feeling as content as a pampered cat in the midday sun.

“Maybe you could teach him how to paint,” you murmur, starting to drift off. “If he’s teaching you how to cook. That might be fun. You could paint together.”

Taehyung says something, but you don’t hear him, sleepy after such a heavy dinner and tumultuous night, slipping into deep slumber.

You haven’t been out with your friends for a long time.

“Shots!” Seulgi squeals. “Shots, shots, shots!”

“Don’t forget: lick, shoot, suck,” Hoseok says, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

“Good God,” you laugh, before you lick the salt off the back of your hand and slam back the tequila.

Irene hoots as you bite into the lime wedge that’s been waiting for you, sucking up the acidic juice that bursts across your tongue. Lick the salt, shoot the tequila, suck the lime. You haven’t done this in a while and it shows in the way your face scrunches, though the drunker you get, the easier it is to slip back into this familiar rhythm of things—the alcohol-loose banter that spills from your lips, the laughter that bubbles in the back of your throat, the rock of your body as you’re tugged into the dance floor by your excited friends, twisting yourselves into the heaving crowd, the press of bodies.

You’d almost forgotten what this felt like. Letting yourself be a little sloppy, a little messy. Letting loose. Letting go. You’ve been so intent on looking after Taehyung, making sure he wasn’t lonely, but now there are other people who can fill that hole for him—and you can stop dipping out of all the social gatherings your co-workers throw; the Friday night drinks, the bar hopping, the club going.

“We missed you,” Wendy says. You can’t help but smile, a little guilt flickering at the edges of your lips.

“Sorry,” you say, and leave it at that.

It’s chaotic, to say the least. Everyone holds their liquor with varying amounts of success—Hoseok always gets so red—and as always, Hyunwoo is the one who tries his best to maintain some semblance of dignity, making sure you all drink at least some water. He watches with muted despair as Changkyun ends up pouring it down himself, much to the delight of everyone nearby as they stare at the way his flimsy shirt clings to the lines of his chest and stomach. 

You can’t help but laugh and laugh and laugh, falling into your girls, your entire group giggling at the sheer stupidity of it all. 

You’ve missed this.

But even so, you can’t help but think of Taehyung constantly. You’re reminded of the Eden Club in the way the lights pulsate across the walls and floors of this dark building. You wonder if Taehyung would have fun here, unhindered and free, or if he’d shy away from it. When Hoseok catches your hand and spins you in a messy, loose circle on the dance floor, you can’t help but wonder how Taehyung would dance, if he’d dance with you, if he’d keep you at an arm’s length or pull you close.

“Shots!” Seulgi squeals again, and so the night goes on.

You’re not sure what time it is when you stumble back home. You’ve been reckless tonight, making up for lost time, and you can’t remember the last time you were this drunk. (Your earlier attempt at walking in a straight line, trying to follow the tiles in the club’s bathroom—your personal litmus test—had been a dismal failure.) You all but fall through your front door, a loose limbed mess as you kick off your high heels, leaning against the wall to keep your balance.

It takes you a moment to realise that there are some lights on. Your apartment is always dark when you come home after a night out, cold and empty, but not today. No, not today—because there’s someone already home, waiting for you.

The second Taehyung appears down the hallway, you light up. Here he is. Here’s your android, your lovely boy, the loveliest boy.

“Hi, hi, Taehyung, hi,” you say. Your shoes are forgotten as you walk towards him, though your final few steps go awry and you almost fall over. Drunk, drunk, drunk. “Hi.”

You almost fall over, but you don’t, because Taehyung catches you. His LED flickers from blue to yellow as he helps you find your balance, lets you lean on him. You’re too busy laughing at your own clumsiness to notice the fond expression on his face, sfumato soft in the dim light.

“Hi,” he replies.

“Hi,” you say again, and then you giggle. “Hi, Taehyung. Oh, I’m so drunk.”

“I know.” He’s so patient as you bow into him, crowding close, alcohol-hazed brain telling you to get closer to this source of warmth, this source of comfort. Closer to Taehyung.

You’re trying your best to be a functional person right now, but at the same time, Taehyung feels so nice. Doesn’t protest when you shove your face into the hollow of his neck, pressing your nose against his warm, warm skin. He smells good. Always smells good, a mix of your laundry detergent with his own shampoo, different to your own, masculine, heady. (He doesn’t need to shower that often, really, doesn’t really sweat or get dirty like a human might, but he’d wanted to. And you’d insisted that he choose his own toiletries, things that he liked, things that were his.)

He smells like cologne too. You don’t know what exact scents are layered in that smell. Don’t care. Think that no matter what it was, Taehyung would smell good, because it’s Taehyung. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, lips loose from tequila and cocktails and more besides. “Missed you, Tae.”

“Missed you too,” the android replies, and you fall into those words. Let yourself bask in them, as selfish as it is. Let your lashes flutter shut as you breathe Taehyung in-in-in.

You would normally never be so bold, but Taehyung doesn’t protest. He just wraps his arms around you and helps you fold yourself against him, two pieces of modular origami that slot together to create something bigger, more beautiful.

“Wished you were there,” you sigh, an exhalation of a confession, more to yourself than to anyone else. “Wish you could come with me.”

You don’t remember much detail after that. Don’t remember washing up, getting changed, climbing into bed. You just remember the feeling: of someone else being there when in the past there had been no one. Of someone coaxing you to wash your face, finding your pyjamas for you, holding your hand when it seems like you might fall. Of someone being careful with you, looking after you. Of someone being there when you wake up the next morning, a headache pulsing behind your eyes, curling up small against the pain, pressing your forehead into Taehyung’s thigh.

Taehyung, who witnessed you at your worst, a sloppy, drunken mess.

Taehyung, who has water and painkillers waiting for you. Who doesn’t seem to care that you’ve been so put together in front of him, for him, only to disassemble yourself in the name of a good night out. Like Da Vinci’s self supporting bridge, stable under its own weight, only to come tumbling down after one part is moved out of place.

“Oh, God,” you moan, and it’s only a little bit because of the pain; Taehyung’s made sure the curtains are pulled shut, saving you from sunshine blasting into your skull. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Oh, my God.”

“It’s okay,” he says, as soft and sweet as powdered sugar, so gentle the sound doesn’t cut through the pounding of your brain.

He means it, too. When you finally come around, headache dulled, he’s waiting for you with breakfast and an open expression on his face. No different to normal. No different even now that he’s seen that you’re not always as presentable as you try to be. He seems touchier today, for some reason, and you’d shy away if his cool hands didn’t feel so nice on your brow.

You allow yourself a moment of weakness. Taehyung has his knuckles resting against your forehead, soothing against your warm skin, his eyes dancing across your face to read your expression, the way you’re unwinding under his touch. 

“How do you know about hangovers?” You mumble.

“Customers would consume alcohol at the club,” Taehyung answers. “While they would leave after their sessions and before a hangover could appear, I am aware of the effects of alcohol on the human body.”

You remember the glittering mini-bar, the glass bottles lined up on its surface. Your face scrunches with distaste, of the reminder of Taehyung’s past and what he’s experienced, and you feel bad that he’s been forced to look after you. You’re about to draw away from his touch, an apology lined up on your tongue—but then you feel how his fingers shift away from your forehead, turning to cup your cheek.

“It’s okay,” he says again, as if reading your mind.

“It’s not,” you mutter. You’re trying not to focus on how small your cheek feels against his palm, how his hand cradles your face with ease. He must be able to sense how your heart is racing, your skin warm under his fingertips, and you hope he puts it down just to the guilt you feel and not anything else. “It’s not okay. You shouldn’t have to look after me. I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be.” Gentle, gentle, gentle; his voice, his hands, his gaze. He lifts his other hand, rests it against your other cheek, tilts your face up from where you’d turned away, embarrassed. His LED is a tranquil blue, almost as soft as his eyes. “You’ve done so much for me, and you’re always looking after me. Let me look after you.”

You want to protest, say no, say that he doesn’t have to. But for all the warmth of his eyes, there’s something resolute there, and your words die on your lips. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious before, so entirely solemn. So, what comes out of your weak mouth is this:

“Okay. Okay, Taehyung, I will.”

And the smile he gives you in response is so bright it’s almost blinding.

If you’d thought Taehyung was developing at a fast rate already, he’s learning at lightspeeds now.

He’s always waiting when you come home, but you know he’s spending more and more time at the apartment across the hall whenever you’re not there, and it makes you happy. He hasn't ventured fully into the outside world, not yet, but he’s taking steps forward, still eager and ready to learn.

He’s not just learning practical things, like cooking French toast (which is definitely the world’s best, thank you Jin), but other things, too. You can see how Taehyung is a reflection of the things around him, taking them in and making them his own—there are more moments of quiet, solemnity that reminds you of Yoongi’s quiet nature, but he’s also more exuberant, bright and unabashed, like Seokjin. They’re two great people and you couldn’t wish for anyone better to show Taehyung parts of the world that you can’t, so different from your own. Helping the android find the things that make him alive.

His world has doubled in size, as small as it is; one apartment becomes two, and you’re not the only person he can rely on now. You know Seokjin has effectively taken Taehyung under his wing, as mysterious as a lot of that is to you—you always try your best to understand Taehyung and teach him the things you can, but Seokjin is another deviant, and there’s an entire world about being an android that you’re not privy to. 

It’s great. It’s lovely. Taehyung is happy, you’re happy, everyone’s happy. 

There’s just, uh. One little thing.

You see, Taehyung has a tendency to mimic the things he sees. It’s in the way he learns, his propensity to soak things up like a sponge and then recreate them. You can see this in the way he mixes paint, the same way as you; how he tosses food in pans, motions so similar to Jin’s, or how he cradles things in his hands, tapping at screens in a way that’s like Yoongi’s. He’s turning them into his own, and as time goes on he moves more naturally, in a way that’s entirely him, but you can always see the roots of where he’s learned things.

Jin and Yoongi are wonderful and you’re so glad Taehyung is learning from them. But something he’s learning, and recreating, is how much they touch each other.

Taehyung’s always been tactile but now it’s almost constant. It’s overwhelming and kind of terrifying but it’s also nice, every touch-starved inch of your soul easing under Taehyung’s hands, but also—Yoongi and Jin are boyfriends. So even if the touches that Taehyung witnesses and re-enacts are never inappropriate, they’re intimate. Hands sliding over your shoulders, your arms, your waist. Warm arms around you as he pulls you into a hug, nuzzles his nose against your scalp. His fingers sliding over your hair when your head is resting in his lap each night. Pulling you against him when you sit on the couch together.

It’s a level of familiarity and comfort you’ve never had with anyone before, as relationship-less as you’ve been, your pulse picking up with every glancing touch.

(There’s one heart stopping instance where he pulls you onto his lap and you feel like you’re about to pass out. His thighs are so solid and warm, and his arms are so secure around you, and he’s just started to press his nose against your neck when you pull away, tumble out of his hold. He looks confused and concerned, brows lifting and mouth falling open as he holds his hands out towards you—but you stammer out something about needing the toilet before escaping.)

You’re caught completely off-guard when you feel arms sliding around your waist and then down your hips when you’re washing dishes, scrubbing brush falling out of your grasp in shock and splashing water everywhere, bright yellow gloves flecked with suds. Taehyung’s a pillar of warmth pressed against you, his chest to your back, your bodies parallel lines that cross and touch. His fingers are splayed wide and his palms are warm even through your layers of clothing and you have to suppress a shiver.

“Uh, I didn’t hear you come back in,” you stutter. You’d borrowed a recipe book from Seokjin so that you could try cooking a coconut curry, and Taehyung had offered to return it once dinner was finished, LED flickering blue as he’d slipped out of the door after giving you a lovely smile.

Taehyung lets out a little hum, and you can feel it in his chest, as flush as you are with each other. He must be able to sense how your pulse has picked up but he doesn’t say anything. “Why are you washing up? I said I was going to do it.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” you say. You’re used to cleaning up after yourself after living alone for so long. “Don’t worry about it.”

Taehyung lets out another hum, but this one seems a bit more gravelly, a little displeased. “You’re always doing so much for me, remember? You said you’d let me look after you,” he says, and your heart rate spikes at the words. Those, coupled with the hold he has on you right now? Good lord. Someone have mercy on your soul. Please. Even if the words weren’t meant in a weird way, your stomach is twisting over itself, and other parts of you are, uh… well. They’re reacting too. So to speak.

You’re still desperately trying to calm yourself in the shower later, the water a merciless cascade of cold in an attempt to cool down. Probably the only drawback about Taehyung living with you is that you haven’t had a chance for some one-on-one time. You might be a virgin but you live (lived) alone and everyone masturbates; your vibrators have been abandoned and untouched for as long as Taehyung has been in your life, and coupled with how touchy he’s been recently, it leaves you feeling wound up and on edge. You could try to sneakily get yourself off in the shower, but with Taehyung’s superior android hearing he’d probably hear something and also the idea of masturbating with someone else in the apartment? When that someone else is Taehyung?

You turn the knob as far as it will go towards cold and then promptly squeal as a wave of freezing water and regret washes over you.

When you’re in bed, Taehyung’s hand strokes over your hair and softly down your neck and shoulder is a sensation that’s becoming increasingly familiar, but your pulse still stutters. He must be able to sense your heart rate increasing (he must sense it every time he touches you) but says nothing about it. As always.

You turn the thoughts over in your head as it rests in his lap, even if you shiver a little at how his nails drag over the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. Deviant androids might not have the sort of life experience that we do, but we don’t have theirs, either, Yoongi had said. You’ve been teaching Taehyung about the things you know, but there’s one thing that Taehyung knows better than you: touch.

He doesn’t even think about it. While you hesitate and overthink every touch you ever make, wary of overstepping boundaries, Taehyung doesn’t. Not because he’s not considerate, but because—well, because you’re already occupying each other’s space. What’s a little touching on top of all that?

The realisation is almost startling—that you can just… touch someone. Without saying things. Without having to ask. Because you’re already familiar with them and comfortable with them and it’s just another way to communicate that level of connection. Touching is a thing that people do. 

A thing that people and deviant androids do.

A thing that Taehyung does.

(A thing that you want to do, too.)

(Alcohol dulls your memories, fading the edges, the curled corners of a sepia photograph. Has you forgetting the way you’d overstepped every boundary you’d set yourself, the way you’d pressed yourself against Taehyung, starved of touch. Has you forgetting the way he’d let you; the way he’d beckoned you in. Has you forgetting the way that you already have touched Taehyung.)

The hand that Taehyung isn’t using to gently scratch across your scalp is laying on his thigh, directly in your line of vision. You hesitate for just a moment before reaching for it, sliding your fingers between his, an irrational worry that he’ll startle or pull away—but of course he doesn’t. His LED swirls soft aqua as he just starts to rub his thumb gently across your skin, back and forth, back and forth, the softest brushstrokes on this tiny part of the canvas of your body.

After that, it’s just… easier. Not easy, but, easier.

You still hesitate before pressing forwards, but Taehyung never protests; in fact you’d say he’s pleased, even if he doesn’t say anything, just watching you with his dark, dark eyes as you marvel at the realistic sensation of his hair under your hands, how he reacts to the fingers across his scalp the same way you do.

It’s incredibly nice to have someone you can just reach for whenever you want a hug. Someone who folds you into their arms so easily, like you belong there.

It’s nice.

“You seem happier.”

You glance up from where you’ve been laying the table. “Hm? Pardon?”

One thing you’ve learned about Yoongi is that he’s incredibly perceptive. His eyes are sharp lines around the sharper graphite of his gaze, and there’s always a look in them that seems like he can see straight through you and direct into the heart of things—but he’ll only bring this to light if he thinks it needs saying.

“You seem relaxed,” Yoongi continues. He straightens the cutlery in front of him, careful to line the edges neatly with the place mat. Seokjin and Taehyung are cooking dinner, so it’s just you and Yoongi here, in a bubble away from the two androids. “Not that you were ever tense before, but… yeah. Taehyung seems happier too,” he adds, almost absently, but his eyes are fixed on your face.

“Well, of course,” you say. “He has new friends, who wouldn’t be happy?”

Yoongi hums, a quiet little note, but then he lets it rest.

Taehyung is happier. He seems almost nervous during dinner, though, even if he hides it well; his LED doesn’t give him away, but you’re getting good at reading Taehyung’s moods, the layers of personality and feeling he has, the little idiosyncrasies that make him who he is. To anyone else it would seem like he’s just nervous about whether the food tastes good or not—he and Jin had made a veritable feast for no discernable reason, but you don’t mind. Everyone loves a dinner party, especially when the company is so good. 

But, yes. You don’t think it’s about the food so you’re not sure what else it could be. You squeeze Taehyung’s knee briefly under the table in a motion you hope is reassuring. His eyes briefly widen but then his gaze softens when he sees the concern on your face, settling in that deep look of introspection you’re used to now. 

You’re so full by the time dessert comes out, rich and creamy homemade ice cream and piping hot Kkwabaegi, the twisted doughnuts fluffy and sweet with their powdering of sugar and cinnamon; you’d been planning on skipping the final course but you can’t say no once it’s put in front of you. Taehyung doesn’t eat, only drinks occasionally to top up his fluids (you don’t know exactly what that means but you’ve never asked, even if you can… assume things), but he seems content to watch the three of you eat in his place. Once you’re finished you slump back in your chair and feel grateful that you’re not wearing tight trousers that cut into your stomach, because, lord, you’re absolutely stuffed. 

“I have an announcement,” Taehyung says suddenly, apropos of nothing.

Seokjin beams. You sit up, struggling against the heavy anchor of dinner in your belly that makes you want to melt into the floor for a food nap, immediately at attention. “Oh? What is it?”

“I have a second name now,” he says, and Seokjin’s smile spreads impossibly wider, his entire face pleased. “Jin said I could share his.”

“Say hello to Kim Taehyung.” Seokjin gestures dramatically, his arms the flailing blades of a windmill as he circles them in the air with aplomb. “My boy needed a surname and I am, of course, happy to add another handsome face to the family. Taehyung is a ten out of ten.”

Yoongi levels him a look. “I thought you said you were the only ten in the world.”

“That was true when I said it, but I’m actually eleven out of ten,” Seokjin explains. His arms settle around his head, fingers circling the air in an invisible frame around his face. “I surpass your mortal conventions of beauty and thus exist outside of any conceivable scale that one might use to measure handsomeness.”

You barely take the exchange in, too busy looking at Taehyung. There’s the smallest smile on his lips, not the lovely one that shows his teeth, but it still reaches his eyes, the subtlest upturn to his mouth transforming his entire face. Taehyung’s beautiful. He always has been, and always will be, but he never looks more striking than when he’s happy, welcomed into a new family of his own with open arms, Seokjin’s heart so big and so wide. He’s being flippant and light right now, quick and sharp jibes between him and Yoongi that glow bright with love and affection, not lingering on how important and weighty this is: how all encompassing his care is for Taehyung, how close they’ve grown to each other, a friend whom he’s chosen as family.

Happiness suits Taehyung. You want him to always be happy. He deserves it.

It doesn’t seem like it’s the only announcement he has for that night, though. You’ve barely shut the door of your own apartment when you feel Taehyung’s hand slide around your wrist and you pause, glancing up at his face.

“Jin showed me how to take my LED out,” he says. His words are solemn and his tone is heavy but there’s a spark in his eyes, a glowing ember of light. “I want you to watch.”

His fingers are circled around your wrist, loose, so long they touch each other with ease, a soft shackle you don’t want to escape from. “Of course I will,” you assure him. “Are you worried something will go wrong?”

“No.” His thumb slips away from the soft skin of your inner wrist and across your palm, tracing across your fate line, your heart line. “I just want you to be there.”

Warmth spreads through your skin from that touch, leaking through into your bones, settling into every quiet corner inside you. “Okay. What do you need to do to get it out?”

The painting knife looks so small in Taehyung’s big, careful hand, the diamond shaped head blunt at the end, metal glinting under the bathroom’s light as he leans towards the mirror. Your gazes meet in the reflection and he falters. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when he lifts his free hand from where it’s been resting on the countertop, steadying him. Reaching for you.

Once your hand is in his, it’s over surprisingly quickly. Taehyung’s face twists in preparation for the pain, and you squeeze his fingers to ground him, but all it takes is a quick twist of his wrist once the palette knife is against his LED and it practically falls out. There’s a small clink as it drops next to the sink, blue light flickering one final time before it winks out, nothing more than a disc of metal, a tiny coin without value, but weighty with what it represents; invaluable, priceless. The last segment of a chain Taehyung has willingly cast off.

You can see the white skeleton of his android body, bare and naked where the LED had sat. Just like Seokjin’s hand when he’d cut himself, the skin starts to creep back over it, covering that smooth paleness until it’s gone. Taehyung lifts your hand and presses it against the side of his temple, your palm settling against the naked skin where the light had been nestled; Taehyung’s eyes fall shut, his hand pressed against your own as he holds it there.

“Taehyung?” Your voice is gentle, dripping concern. His golden skin is so warm and soft. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he replies without hesitation. His eyes flutter open, lashes so long and lovely. His hair is blue today, a vibrant electric hue, gaudy on anyone else but perfect on him, tickling the back of your hand; his hand drops from yours and you take the opportunity to run it through that hair, baring his forehead to you, eyes sliding over the new skin. Flawless. No evidence that any LED had ever sat there, burning blue-yellow-red, a tiny drop of colour in the deep ocean of Taehyung’s emotions. “I feel good.”

You don’t even think when your hand shifts out of Taehyung’s hair and down to cup his cheek, something you wouldn’t have dared do before, but now the motion comes as easily as breathing. He takes comfort in touch and you want to soothe him. “Good,” you echo. “I’m glad.”

You both stand there for a few moments, facing each other. The bright light of your bathroom should wash Taehyung out, but of course, it doesn’t. It just lets you see all the perfect details of his face in even sharper relief—the moles that dot his skin, how his eyes are different, a monolid and double lid, little imperfections that just make him more beautiful. 

Logically, you know that someone, somewhere, sat down and put this face together. Taehyung was designed to be attractive, stunningly so, and yet not so perfect that an average human would find it unrealistic, swerving away from that uncanny valley that had plagued earlier androids. But that’s not why he’s beautiful—not to you. It’s everything hidden underneath that perfect facade, layers of plastic and metal and circuitry and biocomponents, deep inside him: his glowing golden heart, flowing over with whatever intangible thing that makes him the person that he is.

In the darkness of your bedroom, all the lights turned off, there’s no longer the gentle blue glow at Taehyung’s temple to shine out, but there doesn’t need to be. Even if you weren’t resting your head against his thigh you’d know he was there. Taehyung’s presence grows larger and larger in your life as the days go by, and you know that you’re still the most important person in his life, even with the introduction of Yoongi and Jin. After all—he didn’t ask them to be there when he took his LED out. 

You reach for his hand, which is already palm up, waiting for you. Your fingers slot together so perfectly, so wonderful, so lovely. You can’t make out details in this dark, but you can picture the smile that’ll be pulling at Taehyung’s lips, the affection flowing in the endless oceans of his eyes.

You’re in so, so deep.

(But who can blame you?)

“I want to go outside.”

It’s not surprising that with the shedding of his LED, Taehyung finally feels bold enough to go outdoors. And yet, here you are. Surprised.

You’ve got a granola bar stuck in your mouth, halfway through a bite, and it nearly drops to the floor as your lips part in shock. Taehyung catches it with ease, android speed on show as he snatches it out of the air. 

Your knee-jerk reaction is to ask him to repeat himself. To make sure you haven’t misheard him, if he’s sure about this, if he really wants to—but Yoongi’s words come back to you yet again. If there’s something he wants to do, he’ll do it. Taehyung isn’t the uninformed android he was when he’d first made his way to your door. He’s grown and learned so much in the time he’s been here and there’s no room for self-doubt behind his words.

So what you say is: “Okay.” 

Taehyung’s fingers brush against yours when he hands your granola bar back, long and warm and soft. You accept it with a smile, lost in the way he smiles back, so lovely and bright—and you have to pull your train of thought back on track, lock those wheels on the rails before you speak again.

“Did you want to go somewhere specific? Or just wherever?”

“Wherever you want to go.” He’s smiling, a little excited but mostly happy at the prospect of spending yet more time with you; as if he hasn’t had enough of it, could never get enough, even when you spend every day together. 

(Your heart feels like a drum, pounding hard and loud in your chest.)

It’s not hard, really, to decide where you want to go. Taehyung’s not asking for some big production; just wants something quiet and soft, something new. The chance to see the outside world properly, safe and secure in the knowledge that you’ll be at his side.

It’s in your nature to be protective—sometimes you feel like you nag, like you’re overbearing, and takes a concerted effort on your part to reel it in. Taehyung doesn’t need you to fuss over him, and besides, he seems incredibly calm about the whole thing. Excited, yes, but not nervous. Just anticipatory.

He looks just like anyone else might. More chic and attractive, sure, effortlessly fashionable in the outfit he’s chosen for the day, but there’s nothing robotic about him, nothing to say he’s not a flesh-and-blood person. Once again, you’re struck by just how human he is. Even if he’d still had the LED flickering at his temple it would have done nothing to detract from the genuine emotion that flits across his face. The way he moves. The way he smiles, when he catches you watching the way he laces his shoes with his delicate, pretty hands—that big lovely smile that makes you feel warm and soft.

(Warmer and softer than it probably should.)

You avert your gaze, pretend to fiddle with one of your bracelets, pulling it so that it spins around your wrist.

“Ready?”

“Nearly,” Taehyung says. When you look back at him, a little confused, he still has that smile on his face, though it’s gentler, fuzzy around the edges, his eyes dark-dark-dark. “Just one more thing.”

This final thing, it turns out, is your hand. 

His fingers lace with yours, weaving a tapestry of closeness and warmth. You’ve held Taehyung’s hands so often, now; it’s nothing new. But for some reason the touch of his skin against yours has your pulse stuttering, catching in your throat before you cough lightly and smile like everything is fine, you’re fine, it’s not like your heart is about to launch itself out of your chest for some mysterious reason.

(Mysterious. Yeah, right.)

He doesn’t let go. Not when you leave the apartment, not when you greet Rory at the door, not when you step onto one of the automated buses that takes you to the centre of the city. You’re surprised at how good Taehyung’s acting is, how all the wide-eyed excitement you’d expected to see splashed across his face is absent, and instead, he just squeezes your hand tight each time he takes in something new; stares out of the window as your surroundings slide by.

He does get excited in the art store though. Pulls at your joined hands each time he sees something he wants to point out to you—which seems to be everything. And you go, of course, following his eager feet. Taehyung’s happiness has always given you happiness in turn, and watching his sheer, unadulterated joy at being able to see things, to touch things outside of the small world he’s been confined to since he escaped the Eden Club—well. There’s nothing better.

There’s nothing better than knowing that Taehyung feels safe with you, wants to keep you close. It’s selfish. It’s selfish, you know it is, but when you watch the way his eyes light up at the sight of a set of gouache paints, how he immediately turns towards you so you can see it too—you realise that you’ve never had something like this before. Sure, you have friends, you have plenty of happiness in your life, but you’ve never had this.

(Whatever this is.)

Someone whose joy is only compounded when it’s shared with you. Someone whose focus is on you and no one else. You see the looks that Taehyung gets, the interested eyes that flit over him—but then he reaches for your hand again, and those gazes slide away, because he hasn’t looked away from you. Not once.

Because you make him feel safe, you remind yourself. Because he knows you best. That’s it. 

It’s what you keep telling yourself, a repeated mantra that’s an endless loop in your head. Every time Taehyung looks at you, smiles at you, reaches for your hand, your touch—even if your heart feels like it could burst, filling up with this feeling, this feeling that’s growing and growing (this feeling you refuse to name)—it’s because he trusts you, knows he can rely on you. It’s nothing more than that. 

You shouldn’t let yourself imagine that it’s more than that.

(Shouldn’t hope for more than that.)

It’s because he trusts you that he follows you without question, matching his pace with yours, side by side as you wander through the city. He insists on carrying all your shopping, held effortlessly in one hand, other hand still tangled with yours. (You see the way he swings the bags a little, back and forth; he’s so cute you’d swear your teeth could rot from it, crystallised sugar rolled on your tongue, sweet.) All your shopping is done, but you have one final stop planned—it’s somewhere you haven’t been for a while, but you love it.

You’re certain Taehyung will, too.

You can feel how his hold on your fingers tightens when the building comes into view. You glance over at him to take in his expression, the subtle widening of his eyes, the lift of his chest as he takes an unneeded breath in, the tiniest curl at the corner of his lips.

(So human.) 

The Christine Andrews Gallery isn’t the biggest art gallery in the city, but it’s your favourite. There’s something that feels more intimate about it, with its size; a little smaller, cosier, more stripped down. The high ceilings overhead are crisscrossed with wires and piping, industrial—but the walls are pure white, all the brighter in contrast to their surroundings, drawing the eye to the paintings on display from the moment you step in.

Taehyung is enraptured.

“The exhibition is called Slow Painting. The idea is that people will take their time to really take everything in, and appreciate it, rather than just rushing by. Especially with how quickly technology is developing, and people are used to discarding things as soon as they're not relevant any more. The idea is that art will always be relevant, regardless of what's happening in the world.”

Your voice is quiet and low as you’re careful not to disturb the serene air that fills the building. You’ve always loved the quiet hush that fills galleries, museums, buildings filled with art and history, long lasting echoes of humanity, on display for people to enjoy. 

“And it also refers to the time it takes to create each piece too,” you add, trailing off into silence as you glance over at Taehyung, who’s looking at you, blinking gentle and slow.

He’s watching you. Even though there’s artwork in sight of the entrance, huge canvases nearby—Taehyung is looking at you, attentive and quiet, listening to each word you have to say.

Your heart squeezes in your chest and you have to make a concerted effort to stop your breath from stuttering. You shove it down, down, down, this thing that’s wrapping itself around your heart and clogging your throat, and give this lovely boy your best smile. (Try to ignore the fact that there’s art here, but instead, he’s looking at you.)

“Tell you what. Instead of listening to me harp on all day, why don’t we just look around?”

When Taehyung had first stepped foot in your door, had first started to experience life as something more than just a sexbot, an android under the control of other people’s wills—he’d taken everything in with huge eyes, eager and enthusiastic, almost clumsy in his excitement. That’s faded over time, become muted as he’s learned how to balance himself, grown comfortable with his surroundings, who he is.

He’s still like a fountain sometimes, bubbling and bright, overflowing, cascading pearlescent waters rushing over carved marble. You’d expected these waters to rise and spill, surrounded by these incredible artworks; so far the only works he’s seen in person are his and your own, everything else small and secondhand on screens as he stares intently at your computer, your tablet. You’d expected his joy to overflow, being able to really see for the first time in his life, prepared yourself for his exuberant happiness.

But he’s not.

He’s quiet. There’s a smile that lingers on his lips, barely hidden at the corners of his mouth, but his shining waters flow soft and slow, contained. You wander through the exhibition exactly the way the curator had meant for you to—slowly, carefully, stopping and pausing and looking and wondering, eyes trailing over each painting, acrylic on paper, oil on canvas, distemper on linen. Each so different, but inviting onlookers to take a moment and just breathe. 

Taehyung’s eyes are dark, contemplative. They’re so deep you feel like you could fall in them and be lost forever. (Wonder if that would be such a bad thing.) He keeps his hand in yours, your hand in his, the two of you matching paces as you loop the gallery, never letting go.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, I like these.”

Four canvases, smaller than some of the others you’ve seen, squirrelled around a corner and hidden away on a back wall. Each painting has a figure in the midst of some simple, quiet task; laying in bed, catching an egg as it threatens to roll off a table, trailing a finger through a puddle of spilled milk, reading a book in the bath. Each of the figures has their face turned away from the viewer, caught up as they are in the simple motions of their life, each silhouetted by a window with a different view—from sea to lake to hill to forest.

You can’t help but look at Taehyung as he looks at these paintings, his brows a little raised, mouth a little slack, the lovely line of his jaw, the angles of his face, forehead to nose to lips to chin. “What do you like about them? The style?”

His answer comes unrushed, unhurried, as he thinks.  “They’re so beautiful and detailed, but it’s more about… the intimacy,” he says. “Each person is just being themselves, without fear of who’s watching. We’re watching them, even if their attention isn’t on us.” A pause, a hush, a breath. “It’s like love, almost.”

Your lips part, even as Taehyung keeps his eyes forwards, staring at the blank pages of the book the man reads as he sits in his bath, row of shampoo bottles on the sill by his head. 

“Like love?” A whisper.

“To keep your eyes and focus on someone who isn’t looking at you,” Taehyung replies, unabashed, like it’s just a statement of fact. “Loyalty. Dedication. Love.”

Words fail you. Silence is the only answer you can offer to Taehyung’s thoughts, the air in your lungs trapped there as you unwittingly hold your breath, lips parted around a sentence that never comes. Taehyung’s eyes slide away from this row of paintings and to you, how you’re staring at him, literally speechless.

His own lips part as he makes to say something else, to ask what’s wrong—when there’s a flicker of movement nearby, the modulated steps of someone who’s used to walking through a gallery, careful to keep the calm air unmuddied by their passing.

“Oh, Y/n!”

Namjoon’s voice cuts through the silent moment and splinters the delicate air that had started to crystallise around you. He looks happy to see you, dimples on full display as his lips lift and he smiles wide.

“Namjoon!” You don’t think you’ve ever been so glad to see his familiar face in your life—anything to distract you, any excuse to shake off the feeling that Taehyung’s words have left behind, trailing over your skin, blooming in your brain. His timing is perfect, even if he doesn’t realise it.  “Hey! It’s been a while.”

“I was going to say, I haven’t seen you around lately! I thought you’d like this exhibition, I was wondering if you’d come. Oh, sorry, I’m being rude, aren’t I? Hi, I’m Namjoon,” he says, holding a hand out for Taehyung to shake. “I’m one of the gallery managers.”

Taehyung’s exchanged a few words with others today, polite thank yous to the people who’ve served you in the shops you’ve been into, given shy smiles to passersby who’ve made eye contact with him. (So, so sweet, always.) 

But Namjoon is the first person to properly introduce themselves to him in the real world, as you’ve thought of it, someone who doesn’t know that the man at your side is an android.

You panic. Just for a second.

Taehyung doesn’t.

“Hello.” He has to take his hand out of yours, the other weighed down by shopping, although he seems reluctant to let go of you. He gives Namjoon his widest smile as he shakes the proffered hand with firm, friendly politeness. “I’m Taehyung. It’s lovely to meet you, Namjoon.”

And then he immediately slips his hand back into yours.

Namjoon is utterly charmed.

(Of course he is. How could he not be?)

The discussion they both have is a quiet one. You’re happy to stay uninvolved, watching and listening as they talk, still at Taehyung’s side. That brief moment of panic, that blazing forest fire of fear for him—it’s been washed away, soothed by the way the conversation between man and android unfolds so naturally, Namjoon none the wiser about Taehyung’s robotic origins.

There’s no way anyone would realise. He’s so human, in the way he moves and acts and thinks, the way he laughs at something Namjoon says. You’re happy that Taehyung can be here with you, in this gallery, speaking to someone new, as if this is normal, natural, nothing unusual.

You can’t think of anything you want for Taehyung more.

You realise, too, that in this moment, you feel utterly content. Not just for Taehyung, but—happy that you’re there to share this moment with him. You think about how you’ve always wanted this; someone to share things with, someone whose happiness makes you happy too.

When Taehyung laughs, your own lips lift in response, heart lifting at the sound of his joy, at how his fingers tighten around yours. Remembering that you’re there, even if he’s not looking at you right now, eyes on Namjoon.

He’s looking at Namjoon. You’re looking at him. 

(To keep your eyes and focus on someone who isn’t looking at you.)

(Loyalty. Dedication.)

(A breath.)

(Love.)

You carefully pull your hand out of Taehyung’s. Your fingers feel cold as they slip away from his, warmed all day, pressed against Taehyung’s soft skin. His eyes flit away from Namjoon, those deep eyes settling on you; dark wood and ground coffee, so warm.

“Y/n?”

“I’m just going to pop to the toilet,” you say, turning away from the tinge of confusion that colours Taehyung’s voice. “I won’t be long.”

The toilet lid is cold. You can feel how it seeps through the layers of your clothing to your thighs, and at any other time you might wrinkle your nose at the sensation, at how uncomfortable it is. But right now, you have other things on your mind.

You bury your face in your hands. It’s foolish, but you’d swear you could feel Taehyung still in your palms, touch imprinted, emblazoned on your skin. It’s like a palpable thing, almost, this ethereal thing that lingers even when Taehyung isn’t there.

Wishful thinking. Selfish thinking. Selfish, to like it, to want to keep that feeling close; let it spread from your palm, to the delicate skin of your wrist, tracing its way up your arm, up-up-up, drawing invisible lines over every part of you, inside every part of you. Selfish, to like Taehyung’s touch as much as you do. To want more of it. 

(More of him.)

You aren’t anything more to Taehyung than a friend. A guardian. Someone who’s there to support him and keep him safe. You’re blessed to have his trust, to be able to be that person he can turn to—it’s greedy, to want. To want to be more.

(You can’t foist your loneliness on Taehyung. You can’t do that to him. You won’t. You won’t.)

When you return, a spark lights in Taehyung’s eyes. The same spark that bursts every time he sees you after time apart, no matter how long or short that may be. He reaches for your hand, and of course, you go—but your fingers are limp, weak.

(You know that if Taehyung’s LED had still been nestled in his skin, it would have flickered yellow.)

You keep that point of connection as you bid Namjoon goodbye, finish meandering through the exhibition, make your way back home—but you let Taehyung bear the weight. Reactive, not proactive. You don’t squeeze his fingers just because you want to, because there’s something sliding by the bus’s window you think he might like to see; you’re not here to make him do things, to shove things down his throat. You should just be here to support him in the things he wants to do. That’s your role. 

And that’s where you’re going to stay.

Your thoughts are a tumble, messy and unorganised, a ball of yarn that’s all knots and tangles. Taehyung must be able to see it on your face, read it in your body, his android eyes scanning over you and scrutinising every hint you’re giving away without even realising. But you just smile, wave away his questions, and act like everything’s okay. Normal. Routine.

It’s a little harder, though, to act like everything’s okay when it’s time to sleep.

Because, of course, there Taehyung is. Like he has been, from the day he’d arrived—sat in your bed, nestled against a pile of cushions, expression open and warm and fond as he looks at you. Waiting for you to climb in, to rest your head in his lap; waiting for you to fall asleep with his gentle fingers dragging across your scalp, melting under his lovely hands.

You waver. Conflicted. It’s okay, isn’t it, if Taehyung’s reaching for you first?

His eyes meet yours. The second you see his lips curve up, see that pretty, quiet smile appearing on his lovely mouth, you fold.

It’s fine. You’ll allow yourself this.

(In your dreams, you stand in a deserted gallery, staring at the single piece of work on the stark white walls, all the lights focused in, in, in. Taehyung’s framed on this canvas, a painted window into his world. Not once does he look at you, turned away as he is; you see nothing more than the back of his head, the curve of his cheek, the vaguest hint of his nose as he turns, always staring at something else. 

And still, you stand, and you watch. Waiting. Keeping your eyes on him, always.)

“You’re staying late again.”

“Yeah. I really want to get this done,” you say, gesturing vaguely at your monitors with your stylus; tweaking, editing, shifting around these final few magazine pages before you’re satisfied. “Nearly there.”

When you hear the way Hoseok says your name, you glance up. 

As someone who spends most of his time bouncing around like a literal ray of sunshine, when Hoseok’s expression is one that isn’t smiling, it carries all the more weight behind it. Right now his face is uncharacteristically serious, the perpetual smile on his mouth gone, the line of his brows severe.

It’s unnerving.

“You haven’t stayed late for ages,” Hoseok points out. “Until this week, and suddenly you’re late every night. Has something happened?”

“No,” you lie.

Yes, you think.

You’re trying to create some distance, for Taehyung’s sake. So that you’re not tempted to pull him ever closer, latch onto him like you have been, smothering him. He needs space to grow. Space from you has helped already—the time he spends with Yoongi and Seokjin is evidence enough of that, after all. He doesn’t need you to be there constantly.

Hoseok’s eyes bore into yours as he stares, so you avert your gaze, pretending to shift your focus to one of the captions the editor has left on the page you’re working on. You hadn’t realised that he’d noticed. You should have expected it, though. Hoseok is a close work friend and he’s incredibly perceptive, especially when he cares about people.

“Alright,” he says, eventually. “Make sure you don’t stay too late, though. Get some sleep.”

You give him a thumbs up without looking away from the screen, dragging something idly with your stylus until Hoseok leaves, the office empty except you, now. And the cleaning androids, when they appear for the night like clockwork. As they always do.

You can’t help but stop to watch them, how blank faced they are, for all that they look human. Their LEDs are almost motionless, the placid blue matching the blank expressions on their faces, unthinking automatons.

(You’d seen androids in the city when you’d been out with Taehyung, of course. Completing menial tasks: city androids picking litter and raking leaves, household androids following their owners around and carrying their shopping. You’d realised that Taehyung wouldn’t have seen a non-deviated android since he’d escaped the club, lapsed into silence; you’d pulled him to a stop, lips pursed in a frown as you’d tried to read his expression. 

“Taehyung,” you’d asked. “Are you alright?”

There’d been a quiet pause, and in that moment you’d felt all your worries rising, caught in your throat—but then he’d nodded quietly, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I’m alright,” he’d answered. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am.”

I’m the lucky one, you’d thought. Lucky to know him, as sweet-hearted and wonderful as he is. You’d squeezed his hand, and he’d smiled gently at you, and that had been that.)

It hurts, honestly. To see the expression on his face each time you come home late, each time you avoid answering his questions. There’s uncertainty laid across each of your interactions, rough bristles of a brush varnishing discomfort across the once smooth surface of your relationship; but you can’t keep taking advantage of this soft-hearted boy, of the circumstances that he’s in.

You pretend that things are fine. Taehyung is clearly confused, unsure, trying so hard to find out what’s wrong, even when you keep gently turning his concerns aside. 

You haven’t been home enough to spend time with Yoongi or Seokjin, either. You’d seen Jin in the hall just once, made eye contact just as he’d been appearing from the other apartment and you’d been stepping into yours; you’d fumbled a little, fingerprints smudging across the keypad as your door had swung open. You’d expected to see judgement on Jin’s face, maybe, something heavy and weighty, his gaze flitting over you as he read you in the way he did so often.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to smile. It’d been hard to translate his full expression but what little you could read was knowing, like he’s aware of something he shouldn’t be, kept hidden just underneath his tongue. Ready to release it into the world with a single breath.

(Needless to say, you’d shut the door pretty quick.)

He and Yoongi have gone away for the weekend. It's a small blessing, saving you from having to see Jin’s almost-smug expression again. But it means that Taehyung has nowhere else to go right now, no reason to leave the apartment. So it’ll be you and him, him and you, with no buffers, nothing. It’s been unseasonably stormy for the past few days as well, rain slammed into your windows by the harsh winds, the world outside a haze of smeared grey—so it’s not like you can go out, either. 

Not that you would want to. 

You hadn’t realised exactly how ingrained Taehyung was in your life until you’d started to pull away. It’s not just that you live together and share the same physical space—it’s just that your days have become so full of Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, and you hadn’t even noticed. He’d crept up on you, snuck his way into your heart, so easily, so effortlessly.

You remind yourself that that’s why you’re doing this. To remind yourself of life without Taehyung in it, because he’s not yours to have or to keep. He never has been. You don’t want him to be: he’s his own person. This… this desire for him; even as you try to ignore it, it keeps growing and growing: wet plaster laid down, your feelings for him painted buon fresco, added to day by day, giornata. You need it to stop. 

But it’s hard. It’s hard, when Taehyung looks like comfort, your comfort, when you want to let yourself be folded into his arms. It’s hard when the fact is that it’s not that you have to spend time with him. It’s that you want to spend time with him.  

It's hard.

(And you miss him, even when he's right there.)

You find respite in art, in painting, too intent on the motions of your work to allow yourself room to think about other things. Fall into the rhythm of it all, a quiet hush stealing over your mind, a place of both focus and calm, world settling into place around you. There’s a piece you’ve been working on for a while, a hand rising from dark water, fingertips just broaching its surface, the most tentative of touches; you layer more oil paint on the panel, dragging the bristles of the brush across the colour you’ve already laid down, brows furrowed as you do.

Taehyung normally paints with you, but not today. He knows you want space—even if he doesn’t know why—so he gives it to you. So considerate and sweet, always. Even when you’re shutting him out. You’ve been here all day: morning, afternoon, and now evening, and he’s only been in a few times, to leave you food, drinks, looking after you in a way you don’t deserve.

You’ve just lifted the brush from the canvas when an especially loud peal of thunder rolls through the air outside. The rumble starts low, rising into a rattling growl that feels like it’s shaking the very earth. It almost drowns out the sound of Taehyung’s quiet knocking, a curl of his knuckles against the open door, but you catch sight of him anyway, glancing over your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says. “I thought you might like a drink.”

He’s barefoot, like he usually is, teal hoodie and grey sweatpants baggy, looking every inch the boyfriend you’ve always wanted and never had. His hands are cupped around a mug, steam coiling from the hot tea inside, and something in your heart twinges at his kindness and consideration even as you smile at him.

“That sounds lovely, Tae,” you say, and he takes this as an invitation to step inside, although you notice his steps are far more hesitant than they might have been before. Like he’s treading on eggshells around you. 

It’s awkward. Stilted. Taehyung’s eyes are heavy on your face as you accept the tea from his hands, trying your best to avoid brushing fingers; you turn away, pretending to turn your attention back to the drying paint on the wood panel that rests on your easel, anything to break eye contact.

And then he speaks.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Your lips are poised to drink, pursed at the rim of the mug when you freeze, eyes darting back to him.

“You’re avoiding me,” he repeats. His voice is quieter, tinged with all the confusion you’ve seen flit across his face since this whole thing started.

You slowly pull the mug away from your face, steam touching your skin like warm, wet fingers. “I’m not,” you say, even though the lie tastes bitter on your tongue. “We live together, Taehyung, it’s pretty hard to avoid you.”

When you laugh lightly, trying to lift the atmosphere, Taehyung doesn’t respond. If anything the air becomes heavier, his face an unmoving mask as his eyes churn with emotion. His LED might not be nestled in his temple any more, but you don't need to see it spinning in a distressed circle of yellow to know that Taehyung is confused.

“Why are you lying to me?”

Your eyes widen. He’s never been so direct before. (He hasn’t needed to be though, has he? Because you've never lied to him before, have you?)

“I just… I just want to know what happened. What I did wrong. I want to fix it,” Taehyung continues, and he sounds so small, so vulnerable. “Please?”

Your heart feels like it’s risen from your chest, up to your throat, making it hard to breathe. The only time he’s ever sounded like this was when—

When he’d first turned up on your doorstep, wet and scared and lonely. Not knowing if there was anyone he could trust, uncertain where he stood. 

“You didn’t do anything, Taehyung.” You try to put every ounce of feeling into your words and let him know that this is the truth. It’s not him. It’s not. “You didn’t do anything, please don’t think you did.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” His voice rises, shaking, a bird trying to take flight on a broken wing. “If I didn’t do anything then why are you being like this? I don’t understand.”

“I’m just… trying to encourage you to be independent?”

The words sound weak to your own ears, so you can’t blame Taehyung for when his expression flickers and he looks almost incredulous.

“Independent?”

“You know,” you explain lamely. “Like… giving you space to grow. You don’t need me around all the time.”

“I don’t—” He cuts himself off. “Y/n. I want you to be there.”

“Because it’s what you’ve gotten used to.” You glance down at the drink in your hands, away from his sincere, dark eyes. “You’re just saying that because of circumstances, Taehyung.”

“I’m not!” You’ve never heard Taehyung so loud before, almost angry, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “How can you think that?”

“Because it’s true!” Your own voice rises despite yourself, matching his, some frayed thing inside you finally snapping. “Why else would you want me around? No one else does! Why would you?”

You rarely raise your voice. You hate being loud, or rude, hate arguments, but there’s something boiling in your blood. Years of quiet self-deprecation, constant reminders of how you’re not really wanted; last choice, always. Single, always. Untouched, unwanted. Taehyung—beautiful, kind, sweet, lovely Taehyung—wouldn’t be here right now if he had anywhere else to go. Too beautiful and kind and sweet and lovely for you, as disappointing, undesirable as you are.

Because that’s the truth. Even if you’re surrounded by friends, warm and bright, at the end of the day, they go home with each other, to their lovers, their families, and you go home alone. At least you had, until Taehyung—and he’s only here because you were the only safe place he could run to. Not because he chose you. 

(No one chooses you. Why would they?)

Taehyung’s eyes are so big and round as he stares and stares and stares. His lips are a little parted around a soundless noise of surprise, disbelief, before he opens his mouth to respond properly.

And then all the lights go out.

Lightning flashes, throwing the room into sharp focus for just a second before the night is split apart with the loudest clap of thunder yet. Like the ground has split open, louder than anything you’ve ever heard in your life; you’d swear your teeth rattle in your skull, that’s how overwhelming and close it is.

You suck in a breath as you jump, hands jolting, and the mug falls from your grasp. You can’t see in the darkness but you can hear how it shatters, sending hot tea splattering over the dust sheets on the floor, away from you, but towards—

“Taehyung,” you gasp, reaching out blindly. “Are you okay? Did it hit you?”

You hear him move closer, feel his fingers, reaching for yours confidently in this dark space. His grip is solid and warm and he squeezes, reassuring.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m okay. You can’t see?”

“It’s too dark.” With the heavy clouds outside and the blanket of thick rain, there’s little light from the moon to shine into your studio, leaving you in a world of thick black and blue. “Can you see?”

“Android senses,” he answers. "I can see enough."

You wait for the lights to come back on so you can clean up the mess that’s scattered on the floor. And you wait. One beat. Another beat.

“I don’t think the power is coming back on any time soon,” you say. “Um.”

“Hold on.” You can’t make out Taehyung’s features in this all consuming darkness, but you can picture the expression on his face, the concern that bleeds through into his words. “If you move you’ll step on something and hurt your feet. Hold on,” he says again, and then lets go of your hands.

“Taehyung? What are you—”

You let out an embarrassing squeal as you feel the world tilt, but Taehyung’s grip on you is confident and sure as he lifts you, one hand under your knees and the other scooped around your back. Like you’re a swooning, blushing bride.

“Taehyung!”

“It’s the safest thing to do.” He sounds determined, no room for argument, so you decide to shut up.

Even though you know how strong he is, with all his android strength, you can’t help but reach out in the darkness, looping your arms around his neck to try and help lighten his burden. You feel your cheeks burn and you hope that the darkness saves you from your obvious embarrassment. 

The power still hasn’t come on by the time he deposits you in the kitchen, easing you to the floor with a level of care and delicacy that leaves something in you aching. When you check your phone—mostly charged, thank God—it seems like powercuts have hit this entire part of the city, and there’s no ETA on when things will be back up and running.

Which leads you to this. Sitting on the cold tiles of your kitchen floor, a few large candles flickering light across you as you dig into a carton of melting ice cream that you’ve saved from your freezer, licking the dripping flavours of sea salt and caramel from the spoon. 

Taehyung is sitting next to you in this flame-lit bubble you share, quiet even as the world outside is full of the sound of endless rain and lightning. He’d helped you navigate the darkness, settled you safely before going to find some candles; looking after you while you can’t see and he can.

You’re intent on the ice cream, leaning against the kitchen cabinets and carton settled between your knees as you use it as an excuse not to talk.

Taehyung, though, is intent on you.

“Y/n?”

His voice breaks the near silence, soft around your name. You pause, half-way through scooping another spoonful of ice cream to your mouth. There’s something in his tone that you’ve never heard before, from anyone, something you can’t put a finger on.

“Yes?”

“You said that no one wants you around,” he says. Your fingers tighten around the handle of your spoon and keep your gaze cast down, at the thick drip of cream from your spoon that threatens to spill. “Why would you say that?”

You don’t respond. Not right away. 

Then you take in a deep breath, letting the spoon fall back into the tub.

“Because they don’t,” you say plainly. “I mean… Taehyung. I was only at the Eden Club because my friends know that I’m perpetually single. I’m glad I got to meet you, so glad, but… I live alone because no one wants to be here with me.”

You’ve never said anything like this out loud before; kept your lingering loneliness close to your chest. Really, in most parts of your life, you’re content, but sometimes you can’t help but be pulled under by the heavy feeling of how unlovable you are. Even if you try to remind yourself that you’re worth being loved too. 

(After all, if you were—then why are you still here alone?)

“I do. I want to be here with you.”

Taehyung’s words are soft and gentle and low, but for all their tenderness, you can’t help but sigh.

“Like I said, Taehyung, it’s just circumstances.” A murmur. “You’re only here because you have to be—”

“I’m not.” He interrupts you; something he’s never done before. It shuts you right up, even if his words aren’t sharp. Emphatic, yes, but soft around the edges. “I chose to come here because of you. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe. Even when I was at the club, and I didn’t know anything except what I was told to do—I knew I could trust you. I only started to remember things after we met, and I was there for weeks before I left, finally remembering the things I had to go through. Again and again and again. Over and over and over. No one was ever kind to me, not once. Not once.” 

“Taehyung,” you breathe, sadness filling your chest for him, but he doesn’t stop. 

“People would come in, take what they wanted from me, and then they would leave. They didn’t care about me. They would just tell me what to do and I’d have to listen, be the perfect android they wanted, that they’d paid for. Then I ran. But even as I was running here, I was scared. I thought that maybe it was a fluke. Maybe I was wrong. I was scared that maybe you weren’t actually kind, maybe it was a lie, maybe you were just like all the other humans—but anything was better than the club. So I took my chances. And you let me in. You let me in and you were so kind. You give and give and give and you’ve never asked for anything back.”

“I just did what anyone else would,” you mutter, glancing away, shy.

“But you didn’t. You were the only person who ever looked at me as something more than just an android. Don’t you see that? Even after giving me so much, you haven’t asked for anything. I try my best to look after you, but…” Taehyung takes in a deep, deep breath, sucking in air that his android body doesn’t need. You’ve noticed that it’s something he does to ground himself; such a human thing to do. “I want to give you so much more than you’ll ever accept.”

You look at him, something sparking deep and low in your stomach. “You don’t have to give me anything, Taehyung.”

Light dances across the perfect angles of his face, candle flame painting him from second to second, shadow and radiance. He looks familiar and unfamiliar all at once. You’ve known him for long enough, stared at him for long enough that you could paint his face in your sleep; the strength of his brows, the depth of his eyes, the slant of his nose, the flush of his lips; the tiny moles that are scattered across his skin, the perfect line of his jaw, his chin.

But in the paltry candlelight, he looks like an altogether different person, almost. There’s something to the set of his face that you’ve never seen, hard to track in the ever changing light—not the soft domesticity you’ve grown familiar with from Taehyung, and not the sheer, overwhelming sensuality of V. Something that’s both, something that’s not, something that’s more. 

“I want to give you everything. I want to. Y/n, I want. Androids don’t want, but I want. I want, I want, I want.” A repeated mantra; a prayer. “I want because of you. I want to be here with you. I want to spend time with you. I want to learn with you. I want to know everything you like and everything you don’t like. I want to know what makes you sad and what makes you happy. I want to be one of the things that makes you happy, like you make me happy. I want to look after you. I want you to let me love you. I want you. I want you. I love you.”

Your mouth is open, caught in a breath, stuttered in your throat. Taehyung doesn’t shy away from your wide-eyed, speechless gaze, staring back at you with an intensity you thought you’d never see directed at you; tenderness and affection and want.

“You want to—you… you love me?” Your voice is weak with disbelief. Taehyung loves you? 

“I thought you knew, and that’s why you pulled away,” he says. “Because I’m an android, I’m not good enough—”

“What? No, Taehyung, never, no. I would never think that—” 

“But you were pushing me away.” For the first time since this conversation started, he sounds unsure, the tiniest tremble at the corner of each word. “You were pushing me away and I don’t know why. Why?” He reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers between yours. “Aren’t you happy with me?” 

You wonder how fast your heart is beating. Know that Taehyung will be able to read it, palm to palm, his skin against yours, an endless amount of information running from that point of contact and up his arm; following lines of circuitry and neural connectors, up-up-up, pulled into whatever part of his system counts as his brain, dissected so much faster than the human brain could comprehend. But even with all this information, all this incredible processing speed and power—he’s just as confused and uncertain as any other person might be.

“I am. I am happy. So happy,” you whisper. Then you take a deep breath, grounding yourself just like Taehyung had. “I’ve never been so happy before, Taehyung. You make me happy.”

The android smiles. Quiet but undeniably happy as well, his eyes so dark, so soft. “You make me happy, too,” he says, and then he lets out a small laugh, a sweet little thing, like the scrape of a spoon around a mixing bowl. “I can only feel happiness because of you. You’re everything.” 

But then the laughter fades, and he’s looking back at you with solemnity, lingering confusion. “If I make you happy, then why were you pulling away from me?”

You stare at where your hands are joined, Taehyung’s hand under yours, lifting yours up and away from the cold tiles of the floor. “Because,” you start. Stumble. Take in another breath, heart squeezing in your chest. “Because I was scared my feelings were too much.”

A beat of silence. Then you feel Taehyung’s other hand as he lays it softly against your cheek to turn you towards him. It’s terrifying, how close your face is to his. Completely vulnerable, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He doesn’t say anything, just watches, and you find yourself crumbling in the face of his warm gaze.

“Because I thought I was taking advantage of you,” you say. Slow and faltering. “Because I thought it was—I thought I was being selfish. I realised that I loved you, and I can’t—I couldn’t imagine that… I couldn’t imagine that you wanted me back.”

Taehyung’s eyes flutter shut as your words wash over him. The hand on your cheek coaxes you closer, and of course, you go; let your forehead get pressed against his, a tender motion, faces so close he can feel the warmth of your breath. 

“Y/n.” Your name sounds safe in his mouth, like he’s keeping it close, handling it delicately, carefully, eyes opening so he can look at you with an adoration you’ve never seen. Not for you. Not until now. “Can I kiss you? I want to. Please?”

You feel heat rising on your cheeks, a flush that threatens to spill over, but nod. You don’t think you have the strength to speak right now. Taehyung smiles again, lighting up this space you’ve scraped out for each other, him and you; you and him.

When he leans in, there’s the briefest moment of panic that flickers through you. You haven’t kissed anyone in such a long time. You’re worried you’ll mess up, be clumsy, bad, and Taehyung will be disappointed. 

But then his lips touch yours—and all that worry washes away. It’s a short-lived thing, the briefest brush of his mouth, barely a kiss at all. And then again, he leans in, tracing the shape of your mouth with his: a kiss to one corner of your mouth, and then the other, your cupid’s bow, the swell of your bottom lip. You’ve never felt like this—vulnerable but safe, all at once, Taehyung taking his time as you fall, fall, fall, his hand still cradling your face, his touch solid and grounding even as his kisses are featherlight.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, lips brushing his as you shape them around his name. You still have one hand in his and tighten your grip, squeezing. “More.”

You can feel his smile when he leans in one more time, guiding you with the broad palm against your cheek. So soft, so gentle. Adoring and reverent. His lips are so full, slotting against yours so perfectly when he finally, finally kisses you properly. 

You lose yourself in the sensation. It’s so easy to lose yourself in Taehyung, as lovely as he is, his mouth lovelier still. One kiss turns to two, to three, four, deep and slow; by the time you break apart, there’s a little sheen on his lips, sparking out in the candlelight, a layer of gold leaf that shines. 

“Can you say it again?” He asks. “Say that you love me?”

You can’t help but want to hide your face, bashful and shy. You’ve never said those words out loud, with the weight of feeling Taehyung is asking from you—but you look at his lovely, lovely face, lips flush with evidence of your kisses, and your heart swells in your chest.

“I love you.” The words come so easily. “I love you.”

And when he smiles, it’s so bright and radiant you feel you might be blinded by it. It doesn’t leave his face even as he stands, guides you up with him; careful to avoid the tub of ice cream that’s been forgotten on the floor, more melted cream than ice now.

This time, when he lifts you, he doesn’t break eye contact—keeps his gaze on yours as he pulls you close, and then picks you up.

It’s effortless, the way he carries you. Big hands that cup the back of your thighs, your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, lifted like you weigh nothing. You break eye contact, overwhelmed, burying your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the way he shakes as he laughs, soft and affectionate.

“Shut up,” you mumble, embarrassed, but then go quiet as you feel the press of his lips into your hair.

Taehyung’s the only person who’s ever carried you, but it’s less about that and more about how safe you feel in his arms. Wrapped around him, pressed close, warm-warm-warm. You feel like a burden has been lifted from you, unshackled from your neck now that you’ve confessed the budding feelings that had burst into full bloom even when you’d tried to shove them back into the dirt—because Taehyung feels the same way. He feels the same way.

The rest of the apartment is still bathed in darkness. But Taehyung navigates it easily, keeps you held close even in the dark, and you trust him. Even when you feel his grip loosening as he eases you down, you trust him, letting yourself fall back onto the softness of your bed. (Even if you want to keep hold of him.)

You wait and watch as the room starts to fill with light, Taehyung returning with the lit candles from the kitchen before setting out more, laying out all the scented candle jars you’ve had stashed away. The familiar surroundings of your bedroom are bathed in warm, dancing light, Taehyung’s shadow a multi-faceted silhouette that shifts each time a flame sputters.

He looks up once the final candle is aflame, meeting your eyes—and you don’t feel the need to drop that gaze, to glance away, pretend you weren’t watching him, entranced. Because he welcomes it. He grins at you, toothy and bright, and your own lips split into a smile.

“I guess it’s a good thing I like candles, huh?”

“They’ll help keep the room warm,” Taehyung says, and, that’s right, you hadn’t thought of that. 

No power: no heating. The longer the power is out, the colder it’ll get, the chill of the hard rain filling the world outside.

“Don’t worry,” he adds, setting the lighter aside. “I’ll keep you warm.”

There’s nothing behind those words. No implication at all. And yet you find yourself flushing, looking away from him, flustered.

There’s a beat of silence as you keep your eyes turned away from Taehyung, looking at the shadows on shadows on shadows that ripple across the walls—and then you hear how his bare feet shift across the floor until he’s at your bedside.

But he doesn’t stop there. You feel how the mattress dips, eyes flying back to the android, growing huge and round when you watch how he settles himself above you; hovering, so so so close, aware of how he’s not touching you, and yet. You swear you can feel the weight of him, a phantom touch on your body and across your skin.

Your mouth goes dry when he murmurs your name. The word drips from his mouth like honey, thick and sweet, and a shiver skates up your body.

“Do you want me to keep you warm?” He asks, and, oh. Oh. This time the words are heavy with meaning, shimmering gossamer curtains barely drawn to conceal it, smouldering intent in his eyes. “Let me look after you?”

You’re reminded, all at once, that while you’ve taught Taehyung a lot of things since you’d met, there’s one thing he knows that you don’t. Intimacy, and pleasure, and lust. Sex. Something you’ve been deprived of, even if you’ve quietly craved it, waiting for the right time, the right place, the right person.

Taehyung takes your silence as hesitation, his face softening.

“Only if you want,” he says. “Only if you want to say yes.”

“I want to,” you say, surprised by how fast the admittance leaves your lips. You do want it—want Taehyung, in every way he’s willing to share, want it desperately. “I just—” Embarrassment floods over you, and you look away again. “I’ve just never… done anything. Before. I’ve never, um.”

“It’s okay to be a virgin, Y/n,” Taehyung says, and you can’t help but squirm a little at how plainly he says it while you try to avoid saying it out loud, even if you know it’s stupid. There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, you know that, but for some reason you feel almost ashamed at admitting it. Insecure. Even if the android clearly doesn’t care, not one bit. “We can go as slow as you want, or stop altogether. I’ll take care of you no matter what.”

You’re nervous. But louder than your nerves is a growing voice that’s chanting yesyesyes, and another voice that reminds you: you’re safe with Taehyung. No matter how nervous or uncertain you are, or how little you know, you do know that you’re safe with him.

“Okay.” You take in a breath. “Take care of me, Taehyung.”

And he does. With all the slowness of a meandering river and a smile curling his lips, he starts to kiss you again; there’s nothing rushed about his motions, as tender as before. Like the two of you could kiss forever and he would be content with that. 

And then you feel how he shifts, the softness of the kisses warming into something heavier, more purposeful. The glowing embers of a coal that are being coaxed to full flame, his tongue pressing past your willing lips, swallowing down the shaking gasp that shudders out of your mouth.

He trails his lips away from yours, across your jaw and up; you shiver as he noses at the soft skin behind your ear before kissing it, tremble at each intent touch of his lips against you, and it’s only when he reaches the hollow of your neck that you realise that you’re making noises, little inhalations of air each time he mouths at your sensitive skin, lets his tongue trail across it.

You’ve been holding onto him, hands cupped around the back of his neck, and when he sucks at your pulse point you tighten your fingers and let out a gasp. You can feel the answering hum that Taehyung gives, his mouth pressed so close that you can feel the vibrations, and it’s so much already. No one’s ever kissed you like this. No one's ever eased their weight down on you so carefully, pressing you down to the mattress with a delicate, delicious pressure that leaves your entire body growing hotter and hotter.

“Oh, oh, Taehyung.” You’d be embarrassed by how breathless you sound if you weren’t so distracted by something else—one of Taehyung’s hands, splaying over your stomach, heavy through your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He’s murmuring into the crook of your neck, question warm against your skin. His long fingers rest, waiting at the hem of your shirt, patient even as he presses another kiss to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder: this time, edged with teeth, making you shudder as he soothes it with his tongue.

Your voice fails you, but when you nod, Taehyung responds immediately. You let him lead, follow the steps of this dance he knows so well—shiver at the feeling of his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt once you've sat up, your stomach jumping as they brush against you, before he lifts it up and over your waiting arms.

Even though you’re wearing a bra, the second you see Taehyung’s eyes move down, you cover yourself reflexively. Even with all the flickering candles there’s enough light that there’s no darkness to hide in, shoulders hunching inwards as you try to hide yourself away. 

You’ve never let anyone see you like this like this before.

Taehyung’s touch is patient as he slides his hands over yours, looking at you with an infinite amount of sincerity and affection. He doesn’t try to pull your hands away from your chest, just waits. Patient. And like you always do, you find yourself melting under the gentle touch of his gaze. You let your hands fall, even if you’re acutely aware of the plain bra you’re wearing, something cosy for a day at home.

Taehyung ignores it. He shifts in and you steel yourself, expecting him to reach around your back for the clasp—but instead he starts to kiss you again. Deeper, hotter, his tongue sweeping over your lower lip before he nips at it. You let yourself get lost in the sensation, angling your head to chase his mouth, and it’s only when you feel the straps start to slip off your shoulders that the android has unclasped your bra without you noticing.

When he pulls away, he trails his hands across your shoulders and hooks his fingers into the trailing straps of your bra, and waits. You bite your lip and steel yourself, feeling foolish even as you hesitate—because Taehyung is looking at you with simmering awe and smouldering want. Like you're perfect. The most beautiful woman alive. 

So you don’t stop him. You let him pull his touch down your arms, slow, slow, slow—and then, all at once, you’re completely naked from the waist up.

That simmering awe and smouldering want is still there. Warmth flushes over your skin under the heat of his gaze, the way it sweeps over you. You never knew that someone could look reverent and hungry at the same time. Never knew that someone would look at you like that.

It bolsters your shaking confidence, helps you lift your chin as you lean back on your hands, and you’re entranced at how Taehyung follows. Caught in your gravity. He raises his arms, bra cast aside and long forgotten as he cups the weight of your breasts in his hands.

Oh, oh, oh. When he pinches one of your nipples between thumb and forefinger—already hard, sensitive—it’s already so much, but then he bows his head and—

You hear a noise, and you realise that it’s coming from your own lips. A shaking gasp that trembles in the air as Taehyung sucks and licks, dragging his tongue against your nipple; one, and the other. You fall once more to your back and he goes with you, relentless even as he stays slow and you arch your back helplessly towards him.

“More?” He murmurs against your skin.

“Oh, God,” you whimper, and he lifts his mouth away from your nipple to press a kiss to the skin above your racing heart. “Please, more.”

It feels so good. Taehyung makes you feel so good, as talented and gorgeous as he is, so wonderful. He keeps laving attention on your breasts, hands skimming over the soft skin of your chest and stomach, goosebumps rising in the wake of his trailing fingers, his warm palms.

You can’t look away when he finally pulls back, breathless from the sensation of it all. He settles on his knees, tugs off his hoodie and then his shirt, revealing all the lovely planes of his body that you’ve seen before, but this time, you don’t have to look away. You can look.

And you can touch, too. 

You sit up and raise a tentative hand to stroke down his chest, his stomach, that little trail of dark hair that descends into his loose grey sweatpants; your mouth goes dry at the sight. Taehyung watches the way your fingers drag over his skin, growing bolder moment by moment, but still too timid to venture past his waistband, low on his hips as they are. You’ve never had a chance to touch someone like this, to feel the smooth, soft skin under your greedy palms—Taehyung’s so warm, so alive. So human.

You think about the other hands he’s had on his skin. Grasping and greedy, taking and taking. People who didn’t care for him. People he couldn’t say no to. But he’s here with you because he wants to be. He lets you touch him because he wants it.

“Angel?” 

You glance up at the sound of the gentle pet name, away from where your hands have been tenderly tracing the lines of his hipbone. “Mm?”

Taehyung’s expression is soft and affectionate. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” you answer honestly. He leans over to kiss you, and you’re smiling against his mouth when you feel the hand on your shoulder, pressing you down against the mattress again.

Then. His hands are at your waistband. Your breath quickens, but Taehyung’s eyes stay on your face even as your breasts rise and fall, shining with evidence of the touch of his mouth and tongue.

You lift your hips, and Taehyung smiles. Keeps smiling as he strips you, underwear and all, and when your thighs instinctively go to close shut, he catches your knees and keeps your legs open—gentle but firm, swiping his thumbs up and down the side of your knees, a tender touch even as you’re naked in front of him. You see the look on his face, drenched in candlelight, and swallow even as you force your legs to relax.

Then he looks down.

“Oh, God,” he groans, and one of your legs jumps in his grasp at the sound of his voice. Hoarse and deep. Almost unrecognisable. “Oh, angel, look at you.”

You’re so, so wet, so wet it’s embarrassing, so sensitive and responsive to every single one of Taehyung’s touches and kisses. The edges of his hair are spun gold in the candlelight but his eyes are so deep, so dark as he drinks down the sight of you spread out in front of him, wet and wanting and willing. You still want to hide away, cheeks burning, but you can’t look away from him. Can’t look away from how he seems almost pained, brows drawing together as he stares at the shining, flushed lips of your cunt.

“Taehyung.” Your voice shakes. “Taehyung, please.”

You're naked and vulnerable but—but the way he looks at you is so adoring, and you trust him. You trust him.

Just like earlier, his hands cup the back of your thighs. But this time, it’s not to carry you. You twist on the bed when he ends up eye level with your dripping cunt, utterly exposed. Those hands slide up your thighs and under your hips, tilting them up. Your fingers have been resting on the bedspread and tighten in them, bunching in your grasp when Taehyung presses a kiss to the softness of your inner thigh. 

One kiss. And then another. And another. His breath is warm as it curls out across your skin. You feel like you’re about to shake out of your body, wanting to pull away, wanting to lean in; wanting more, even when it feels like too much. Overcome with it all, even if you trust Taehyung. Safe under his hands, his lips. All you can think about is how close he is, face only inches away from your most sensitive parts—

Then he turns his head and—

The noise you let out is almost a keen. His mouth is on you, hot and wet, lips and tongue, and you’re writhing, overwhelmed with sensation. He starts slow, balls of your feet digging into Taehyung’s back and toes curling as he mouths at you. Your hips buck, and your hands are tangled in Taehyung’s hair—when did that happen?—as you sob at the feeling of his lips around your clit, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, but so so so good. 

He licks a fat stripe up your entrance and your grip tightens in his hair. He makes a noise when your nails drag across his scalp, almost a growl, face still buried between your legs as he presses his tongue in. You’d worry that he needs to come up for air, but he doesn’t, doesn’t have to stop—keeps licking and kissing and humming, responding to each of the sounds pulling out of your lips. Keeps staring up at you, your eyes locked, the way you can’t look away from the sight of his head between your legs, dark haired and incredible.

You don’t realise you’re speaking, words slipping out of your lips as your hips roll, oh-oh-oh, fuck, God, oh, and Taehyung doesn’t stop. On his knees, he worships you, learning what you like—things you didn’t even know—and does it again, and again, and again. One of his hands slides away from your hips and over your stomach, holding you down, keeping you still, and then the other hand—

He turns his head, presses a kiss to the junction of your thigh. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you answer, shaky and weak. So okay, more than okay.

“Going to finger you now,” Taehyung says, and you feel like you’re going to die.

“Okay,” you say again. “Okay, Taehyung.”

He smiles at you before he puts his mouth back to your clit, sucking, a welcome distraction as—with all the languidness in the world—presses a finger into you.

You’ve fingered yourself before. You’ve got your own toys, vibrators, things that are longer and thicker than just one of Taehyung’s fingers—but this feels so different, out of your control. One finger becomes two, your cunt so wet that the slide in is easy, slow, deep thrusts of those long fingers inside you, and you’re panting, you’re so fucking overwhelmed.

And then he curls those fingers as he laps his tongue over your clit and you almost shout, Taehyung’s name bursting from your lips as he keeps beckoning with those fingers and circling the sensitive nub with his hot, wet tongue. It’s so much, it’s so fucking much, it’s so good and you’ve never felt so good before—

You’re almost blindsided by the orgasm that explodes through you and you come apart with a sound you didn’t realise you were capable of making, a gasping moan that keeps unfurling as Taehyung keeps his mouth on you, feeling each pulse of your cunt as you cum around his fingers, tight-tight-tight. (You miss the way his hips kick into the mattress that the sounds you’re making, how much you tighten around him.) You never thought you’d be so loud, never thought you’d end up all but sobbing as Taehyung eventually leans back, candlelight brushing shining gold over the wetness over his mouth, his chin. Your wetness.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

Little jolts of pleasure are still wracking through you, pulsations of pleasure that unfurl in your lower stomach; Taehyung rubs the pad of his thumb across your oversensitive clit and your entire body jumps, your legs going to snap shut as you gasp, only stopped by his body in the way. You realise, then, that his fingers are still curled inside you, and you shiver.

“One more,” he says, and your whole body shakes. “Can I give you one more?”

He still looks reverent, and hungry. Like he wants to devour you. Taehyung is usually so soft, a gentle summer breeze—but right now he’s so intense it might scare you if it was anyone else. But it’s not, it’s Taehyung, and there’s something—there’s something about knowing that he looks like that because of you. 

You let your legs fall open, watch how pleased he looks; how grateful. Like he's blessed to be able to do this to you. For you. You’re still so sensitive when he lowers his head again, but he’s slow and patient and coaxing, two fingers becoming three, and—that’s a lot. It’s a lot, but it feels good, Taehyung knowing exactly what to do to make you sob, your legs still hooked over his shoulders as he pulls you along that line between oversensitivity and mind numbing pleasure. This time, when you cum, it’s with three fingers buried deep in your cunt, the flat of his tongue pressed against your clit, back arching as you throw your head back and cry out. Your pussy throbs and it's so dirty, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into you, the slick sound of movement as you moan, and moan, and moan.

No one's ever made you cum before. Only you. And now you know what it's like to put your pleasure in someone else's hands, to have them intent on making you feel good, so good, and it leaves you dizzy. 

He’s praising you, you note dimly. He’s praising you, how well you’re doing, how good you are for him, and it leaves you feeling warm. You’re panting when Taehyung pulls his fingers out of you, moves so he can brace himself on his elbows and lean in to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You can feel his skin against yours, chest to chest, his weight pressing you down and then you can feel—

You let out a noise against his lips. There’s nothing else that can be, that hot weight. You might not have felt it before, but you’re not stupid. That’s Taehyung’s cock, his hard length pressed against you.

“Taehyung,” you murmur.

“Mm.” He brushes his nose against yours, and the wave of affection that crashes through you is so strong it feels like it could pull you under. You didn’t realise that sex could be like this—that lingering shockwaves of pleasure could be skirting through your body as you lay there naked, still aroused and almost overcome, but also feeling so warm and soft and tender, too. 

You feel lax after cumming, a little more confident, bolder—and the noise Taehyung makes as you clumsily grasp at him through his sweatpants is incredible. You feel like you could get high on it, the way he sucks in a gasp as his mouth falls open, even if you don’t know what you’re doing as your fingers wrap around cloth and hard heat.

“Please,” you start, then stop. Swallow. “Please, Taehyung.”

You want so much you feel like you could pass out. You want to feel and touch and taste; you want everything you haven’t had a chance to experience yet, want it with Taehyung, someone who you trust. Someone you love. Someone who knows far, far more than you—will always know more—and you want to learn that from him. 

“Want you,” you say, and Taehyung looks pained all over again. He wants you, too.

“Fuck.” The word is rough, and you’ve never heard him curse before. The way he says it has something in you singing, as strange as that might be; you don’t think you’re ever going to get over how much you affect Taehyung. “What do you want from me, angel?”

Everything, you think. I want everything. 

“Let me see?” is what you say, squeezing your fingers around Taehyung’s length, feeling the way his hips buck into the touch. “Please?”

You never thought that someone taking their clothes off could be artistic. And yet, there’s something about Taehyung moving to stand and stripping off the rest of his clothes that’s completely arresting and beautiful; carnal and holy, all at once. You don’t even realise your mouth is open as you sit up and watch him, moving closer as you drink down the sight, the way he’s naked in front of you.

Taehyung. Naked. Naked and beautiful and hard, and it’s so overwhelming, everything about it, how much you want and how—oh, God, how big and thick he is, obvious even to you, someone with nothing to compare it to. Holy fuck. Should you think that his dick is pretty? Can dicks even be pretty? Taehyung’s is. Of course it is. He’s gorgeous all over. Maybe you’re biased because it’s him, but there’s something about the sight of his hard cock, precome gathering at his slit, that makes your mouth water.

Taehyung goes to say something, but before you can lose your nerve, you move forwards, and whatever he was going to say is lost in the sound of a choked off groan. He tastes like salt and musk, hot under your inexperienced hands and mouth, and you don’t know what you’re doing but the noises he’s making, fuck. You run your tongue up the throb of a vein you can feel on the underside, and all you can think about is how big he is, slow and careful with your teeth and lips as you try your best to do whatever feels good for him. 

His noises seem almost frantic but Taehyung’s hands are gentle when they comb through your hair. You look up. There’s a flush on his cheeks—red, not blue, you notice—and you pause, pulling off, suddenly shy after the burst of confidence that had you swallowing his cock down.

“Is this—is this okay?” You’ve still got your fingers wrapped around him, and maybe it’s a little ridiculous to be asking with spit and precome shining on your lips, but Taehyung’s answering smile is so affectionate.

“You’re perfect,” he says, and you know he’s not just talking about your clumsy blowjob. “Do you want to stop?”

You bite your lip and pump his length, which has Taehyung sucking a breath in. “I—what do you want?”

Something flashes through Taehyung’s eyes, and it feels like there’s electricity shooting down your spine before that look disappears. “This is about you, angel,” he says. “We can worry about what I want next time.”

Next time. This is the first time but it’s not the last. Oh, God. God.

Taehyung takes advantage of your distraction and hikes you up and away from the edge of the bed. It leaves you breathless, knowing how strong he is, how easily he can move you, even if he’s gentle-gentle-gentle. He settles in the cradle of your hips, and he’s so close, naked body flush with yours, covering you. His cock is so close—he just has to shift a little, just a little, and—well. 

Before that, though, there’s something you need to know.

“Taehyung?” Your voice shakes but you have to ask.

“Yes?”

“Is this. Um. Does this feel good for you, too?”

You’re always aware of the fact Taehyung is an android, even if he looks and feels and is human, too. (It doesn’t matter that he’s made of metal and thirium and circuitry. He’s human.) You lift a hand and thumb at the soft skin of his temple, where his LED used to sit; you don’t know how to communicate that you love him regardless, that it doesn’t matter to you if he's a man or robot. But you’ve wondered—you know Taehyung was built to pleasure humans. Even if he’s been reacting, making noises, looks for all intents and purposes that he is enjoying this—what if it’s all programming? What if he’s just doing this because he thinks it’s something you want?

He leans into your touch. “Angel.” It sounds like the word is being scraped out of him, hoarse and deep, all dark heat. “It feels good. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

He rolls his hips almost imperceptibly, but you’re hyperaware of every motion, how close you are. Your breath stutters in your throat.

"I want you to feel good," he says. "I've wanted to feel you and taste you for so long. I want to learn everything about your body. I want to know what you feel like around me. Under me. On top of me. You make me feel so fucking good, you don't even know," and, oh, fuck, those words go right through you, settle deep in your belly, leave you breathless. Taehyung sucks at your pulse point and you melt, even as your skin feels like it's burning, so hot, every part of you so hot, so ready for him.

Taehyung’s big enough that you’re worried about how he’s going to fit, even if you’re slick and wet and so, so turned on—you know about the importance of lube, used it often enough by yourself, but when you mention it to Taehyung he just smiles.

“Don’t forget that I’m a sex android,” he says, and before you can ask exactly what he means by that, you feel the tip of his cock at your folds and the question dies on your tongue.

“Please,” is what leaves your lips. “Please, please, please.”

“Anything you want,” he says, and eases his hips forwards.

Slow, and hard, and wet, the head of Taehyung’s cock starts to press into you. You grab at his back, digging your fingers in; it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, a not-quite-pain as he pushes in—but it’s a lot, even if the slide is smooth, so smooth, from your own wetness and the slickness that covers Taehyung’s cock. Your eyes are wide and your lips are parted and it feels—astonishing, the way you can feel yourself open up for him, the way it feels like he’s filling every part of you, throbbing heat.

“Oh, oh God,” you gasp. 

Taehyung’s forehead is pressed to yours, the loose locks of his dark hair framing his face as he waits, hips snug with yours. You shiver and move your hips a little, entire body seizing at the sensation of him shifting inside you. It's so new and alien, having someone nestled inside you, against you, so close in every sense of the term, above you, around you, inside you—but it feels… good.

And when he moves, it’s so, so slow. Slow and smooth as he works you open, even if you feel so tight around him. You drag your nails down his shoulder blades when he moves a little faster, a little roll of the hips that has you gasping all over again.

“More,” you say, and he gives you more.

You feel so full. You feel full of Taehyung, inside and out—the way his body is still pressing you down, skin on skin, how hot he is.

They call it making love, and it’s not until now that you really understand what that means—how you can feel Taehyung’s soft and tender affection in his every motion, read it in every shift of his body, the lines of his face, his lips; the way his eyes are dark but full of wonder, shining with love for you, pleasure singing through every inch of you, centred around Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

Each noise that falls from his lips is an echo of that love. Even when he leans back and takes you with him—settles on his knees, pulls your hips from the mattress to stay connected to you as your shoulder blades dig into the mattress, his cock in your cunt—there’s tenderness there, even if you’re both chasing mutual lines of pleasure. You feel almost dazed, dizzy with love and arousal, reaching out for him, and he catches your hand. The other stays at your waist, guiding you onto him, again and again, each roll of hips into yours.

“Taehyung,” you gasp, voice breaking on his name when he thrusts into you. He’s been increasing the pace, faster and sharper, harder, and it’s so-so-so much, so good. “I’m—Taehyung, I’m close, I wanna cum again, pleasepleaseplease—”

He lets go of your hand and then he’s thumbing at your clit and you’re cumming harder than you’ve ever cum in your life, Taehyung’s cock still hard and insistent inside you as you ride out your orgasm, pulsing around him. You’re gasping and making noises like you’re falling apart, and there’s something desperate in Taehyung’s eyes, something dark and wanton. 

“Angel, I’m going to cum soon,” he says, and you moan in response, hazy. “Do you want me to pull out?”

You shake your head no. You want to know what it feels like, to have Taehyung lose himself inside you. You’re about to reach out for him when he hooks his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up—you suck in a sharp breath as he starts to move again, almost bent in two, his face so close to yours. It's not rough but something about Taehyung taking control like that has you baring your throat, arching your back and throwing your head back. The hold he has on you is firm, and you feel how it tightens as his thrusts speed up, and then, fuck—

When Taehyung cums it’s around the gasp of your name, a hitching sound as he empties himself inside you, throbbing and hot. You let out an answering sound, the two of you locked together until Taehyung pulls out, careful and slow; you feel like a sweaty mess, empty without him inside you, but then his hands are so carefully cupping your face and he’s kissing you over and over and over. It leaves you feeling breathless, all those little kisses, struggling for air by the time you part, every part of you lax under his loving touch. 

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung murmurs, soft and sweet. 

“Good,” you murmur back. And then your nose crinkles. “Sweaty.”

Taehyung laughs, quiet and low. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, hiding your smile as you breathe him in. You do feel sweaty, and there’s an ache settling inside you, but it’s a good ache. A glowing ache, an unfamiliar one, but one that you know you'll get to feel again, with Taehyung.

You’ve just leaned back to take him in all over again, painted syrupy sweet in the golden candlelight—when the lights suddenly turn back on. It floods your eyes and you make a noise of surprised pain as you squint against the sudden brightness, but then you start to giggle, shock melting into laughter.

When your laughter dies you realise Taehyung’s been watching you. The room is full of shining light now, and you realise you’re still naked, entire body shaking as you’ve been giggling. You’d feel embarrassed about your nakedness if you hadn’t just shared yourself with him, bared yourself in ways that are more than skin deep. There’s an instinctual part of you that wants to cover up now that there’s nowhere to hide, no flickering shadows to cover up the parts of your body that you don’t like, the flaws you don’t want Taehyung to see. But he just looks fond, fond, fond, love and affection dripping off him as he watches the way you smile shyly up at him.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he says, and smiles back, wide and bright. 

You love him. You love him, and he loves you, and you trust that love. As hard as it might be to believe, you trust that this is what he wants—that you’re what he wants.

“Do you want me to carry you to the shower?” he asks, and you can’t help but laugh again, warm through and through, how he’s still taking care of you.

“Not yet,” you say. 

You end up against his chest, wrapped close. You’ve laid your head in his lap countless times, but he’s never been on his back before, never had his arms around you like he doesn’t want to let go. Taehyung might not have a heart, but the thirium pump nestled in his chest beats steady as you stay nestled against his side. 

You’re drawing little circles on his skin with your fingers when he catches that hand and lifts it to his mouth, presses a tender kiss to your fingertips.

“I love you,” he says.

You feel like liquid sunlight, shining happiness as you melt, melt, melt. And the feeling stays, body filled with it, even after Taehyung coaxes you out of bed and into the shower to wash the sweat off your body; when he drags a soapy loofah over your back you can’t help but laugh, so in love, so loved.

And when you fall asleep, it’s not with your head on Taehyung’s thigh. It’s with his arms around you, his chest to your back, his body curved around you. You don’t want tonight to end, but you also can’t wait for tomorrow, knowing that it’s another day with him, with Taehyung, your Taehyung. You never thought that love would be like this, never thought that you’d feel love like this, cared for and protected and loved, loved, loved.

“Not staying late?”

You pause in the process of shoving everything into your bag. Hoseok is leaning against your desk, a smile curling at his lips as he raises his eyebrows at you, almost suggestive.

“Nah, I’ve got a dinner to get to,” you say. 

“You seem a lot happier lately,” Hoseok comments, and when you don’t fall for the bait, he wiggles his eyebrows. “The girls think that you’ve got a secret boyfriend that you’re too shy to tell anyone about.”

Taehyung still greets you every day when you get home. But now, every greeting is punctuated with a kiss—and sometimes a little more. When you stop to think about it, it’s startling, this thing that Taehyung’s taught you. That the simplest of things can turn into something more, love edged with lust, that it’s all part and parcel of loving someone, being with them, being comfortable with them. Just the other day you’d been reading on the sofa, and then Taehyung’s fingers had curved over your thigh and the tablet had fallen from your hands—

Hoseok clicks his fingers in front of your face. “You’re zoning out again,” he says.

“I am not,” you say, zoning back in. “I was thinking about if I needed to buy any food on the way home.”

“To feed that secret boyfriend of yours?” Hoseok says, and you laugh in his face.

“Definitely not to feed the rumour mill,” you say. Hoseok pouts but it’s good natured, and he waves you off with a smile, letting you leave the office without trapping you in an interrogation for the gossip you’re certain your coworkers are hungry for.

It’s your turn to cook for Yoongi and Seokjin, so you’ve got to get home to help Taehyung. Both men had been spectacularly unsurprised when they’d found out about the two of you. Yoongi had remained calm as Seokjin crowed in delight, proclaiming I knew it, I knew that’s why you were avoiding Taehyung. 

“Feel lucky, Y/n,” Yoongi had said. “At least Taehyung has a sense of decorum and shame.”

“I think it’s a shame that my boyfriend is such a party pooper,” Jin had said. “I demand a dinner party! To celebrate your new relationship! Oh, I’m going to bake the biggest cake.”

“Oh my God,” you’d said, and Taehyung had just smiled.

The truth is that you’re grateful for your neighbours and their support, grateful for their friendship. Just because Taehyung looks human doesn’t mean that you don’t worry about him, worry that someone might discover that he’s a deviant; Jin’s slipped under the radar for long enough, and you hope it’s the same for Tae, too. And yet you can’t help but think about it, think about the present, the future, how your lives are going to unfold as time goes by.

When the door swings open to your apartment, though, that’s the last thing on your mind. All that’s on your mind is Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, your love appearing just as you’ve kicked your shoes off, all bright pink hair and dark eyes and welcoming hands.

“Taehyung,” you say, warm and happy.

“Hi,” he says, smiling so brightly, and then he kisses you.

You’re never going to get tired of kissing Taehyung; never going to get tired of how his mouth fits against yours, so perfect and sweet. But then he crowds you against the wall, swallowing down your gasp before kissing down your neck, running his teeth so gently across your skin.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, words dripping hot and slow. “Been thinking about you.”

“Taehyung,” you breathe. “Taehyung, we need to cook dinner.”

“We have time,” he says, and when he picks you up, you don’t protest. You go easily, wrapping your arms and legs around him, heat already gathering in your stomach as he walks the familiar path to your bedroom.

You have time: today, tomorrow, and every day after that. You have time with Taehyung, to learn with him, to love him. To be loved back. You don’t know what’s coming on the horizon, what the future holds—but then again, you never have.

There’s one thing you know now, though. No matter what happens, Taehyung will be at your side, and you’ll be at his. He wants you, and he loves you. You want him, and you love him. 

“I love you,” you murmur, and Taehyung kisses the words off your lips, lets the promise of your love settle inside him, warm and soft and safe.

“I love you too,” he says, and then you’re too busy to say anything, after that.

taglist:  @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove​ @jalexad​ @beingbeings​ @lorielulu7​ ​ (can’t tag: @jeon-joon-kook)

[astaroth1357]

Demon Brothers as Roommates

Intro:

So, the MC has left the Devildom and, of course, everybody is quite sad… But this time around, they have a little trick up their sleeve. With just a bit of magic (and training thanks to Solomon) the MC can now summon one of their favorite demon boys up to the human world with them! There's just, uh, one problem though… After being summoned to their side, their beloved demon now refuses to leave it.

Alright MC, enjoy your new demonic roommate!!

Lucifer

Apparently Lucifer is on sabbatical… And yes, he does appreciate that irony in that.

Lucifer actually has a surprising amount of human world money stashed away in alias accounts (because this man renting a cheap motel on business trips? Let's be real) so he uses that wealth to get them a place befitting his standards… which are high.

Spacious apartments in nice areas that would make even the upper middle-class shit their pants? Congrats, MC, that's where you're staying now!

Even with all that money, though, Lucifer CANNOT sit idle for a second. The guy is used to working all his life and just sitting around would drive him insane!

Expect him to still be running some Devildom affairs long-distance style while doing something else on the side, probably stock market stuff tbh.

Is going to want to pay for and provide everything himself but will respect the MC if they still want to work and split the bills (not to a ridiculous degree, though, like half-and-half because that would mean getting three jobs at least).

A lot of trips and vacations too, especially if the MC likes to travel. It’s a good excuse to relax while also technically doing something so he doesn’t lose his mind doing nothing in particular.

He is going to be that strict roommate who expects you not to be a slob and isn't afraid to say so. Regularly scheduled cleaning/organization days are mandatory because hygiene is important. Take some pride in yourself and wash up, MC. That kind of thing.

Also going to have short-fuse for… antics. If you want to prank him, do so at your own risk because he may prank back (and that’s not nearly as fun as it sounds, trust me.)

Mammon

Yeah so, living with Mammon is like the inverse of Lucifer. Prepare to be poooor.

Man has no human money, are you kidding me? Even if he did, he wouldn’t keep it for very long. Couples budgeting is a MUST if you’re looking to survive.

The apartment is going to be whatever the MC can more or less afford on their own with Mammon shoved in somewhere like a cheap lamp… Don’t expect a lot of room.

However, Mammon is great at the hustle. Man can work multiple jobs and actually be pretty dang good at them. For the most part, anyway. He may occasionally trip up and get himself fired, but he bounces back quick.

If the MC isn’t so moral he can also uh… “find” some extra money lying around too. Just be careful when playing with fire, right?

Even if they’re poor as shit, Mammon is still a blast to be around. The guy knows how to have fun on and off of a budget. Lots of “window shopping” (getting kicked out of stores for goofing off), nightclubs, amusement parks, and cheap fun. They’ll never be without a story to tell or a smile on their face!

He IS pretty slobbish though. He’s not going to remember to clean up after himself unless told, but he’s also not going to be bothered if they don’t do the same thing. A weekly cleaning day is going to be ideal unless they don’t mind living in a pigsty...

Prank waaaaars!! The kind of guy to get them both water guns and have a war in the middle of the apartment complex. Good luck getting any rest with Mammon around.

Leviathan 

Whelp, your room is now his room, quite literally MC. You had to pick the shut-in…

The guy isn’t exactly poor but what human money he does have is all wrapped up in his many interests… Merch interests specifically. 

Thankfully, he won’t take up too much space. Put him in a room with a desk, bed (or bathtub), TV, and computer and he’s good to go! 

He’s not going to be a complete bum, thankfully. There’s no way that they can get him to leave the apartment, but he can run small online stores (usually anime themed) or become a streamer. Probably enough to help pay the bills, but not much more.

If they don’t mind having a literally permanent housemate, then being with Levi has its own kind fun. Lots of anime marathons, movie nights, and game nights. Really, it’s just like how he was in the House, but now transported to the human world.

Is probably going to want a pet goldfish, snake ,or lizard so prepare to house Henry 3.0.

When he does leave the apartment, it’s to take the MC to conventions, concerts, or anime stores. He always manages to get just enough money for these trips, but never says where the money comes from… Best not to ask. Could be black market for they know...

… He’s a shut-in. He’s a shut-in roommate. Hygiene isn’t exactly his main concern. If they ask him to, he’ll make sure to clean up after himself, but he may need a reminder.

Can have a fun side, but just don’t mess with his stuff too much. He doesn’t need a Mammon 2.0 around too...

Satan

He's either hatching a plan for world domination or adopting 10 cats… One or the other.

About as poor as Mammon at first, but threat not. He won’t be for very long. Satan is intelligent beyond his years (or equivalent his years maybe?) so he’ll probably net himself several degrees within a couple semesters like a certified prodigy.

At that point, there really isn’t much to worry about (aside from student loans, join our pain Satan) but he can sell himself just fine and probably get some high paying job like a lawyer or doctor or whatever… I’m not jealous…

They’ll start out in a pretty modest place, but there will be upgrades fairly quickly when he starts racking it in so Satan’s a fairly decent choice as a roommate.

He does still have that nasty habit of breaking things when he’s pissed off, but that can be subverted by getting a pet! Just hold up whatever cat you own when he’s about to rampage then declare that he’s scaring/upsetting them and he’ll stop in his tracks. Works every time!

Probably going to be the most domestic out of the brothers. He enjoys cooking (and ain’t half bad at it either), shopping is a practical necessity, he’ll take care your pets like they were his own flesh and blood, etc.

There will even to be points where he’s in bed reading in the middle of the night with tea and reading glasses like some kind of grandma so take that image for what you will.

Satan is the prankster of the household, but he does his pranks more as a way to give grief to his enemies rather than for funsies. Be warned, if you poke this bear he will retaliate for sweet, sweet revenge and he has centuries worth of pranks behind him. Good luck.

Asmodeus 

It's a new party every night, sweetie, get used to it!

Asmo is the only other brother who has some amount of money to offer from his own trips to the human world, but it's just a modest amount.

Is totally willing to work to help pay for a nice place. He wants a building nice enough to host parties!

Would go back to modeling and maybe dip his toe into acting from time to time… He gets a lot of gigs (this IS the Avatar of Lust after all) so they won't be strapped for cash. Which is good, because Asmo is a very "business by day, but party every night" kind of person. 

Do know that his shopping is NOT going to slow down either. Keep an eye on the budget.

He’s also going to make friends wherever he goes so he’s going to want for them all to hang out at least somewhat regularly.

That being said, he can tone it down some if the MC so desires, just know that they can’t keep him cooped up in the apartment for too long or he’ll start getting antsy. You can’t keep this stallion locked up, MC, he needs to run free!!

Being with Asmo is going to be like having a free pass to whatever gathering the MC wants to go to, at least. He could even get them into red carpet events with just his sheer charisma, charm, and er-… “charms.” Who doesn’t want to meet their favorite actress or singer, eh?

But oh, sweetie, please don’t prank him! Life is too short to waste on silly games (he also just genuinely just doesn’t enjoy being messed with so best not do it).

Beelzebub 

Brave choice, MC, but quick question. How in the world are you going to pay your food bills???

Beel is a real sweetheart through and through but his stomach is NOT. That thing will eat them out of house and home! (Maybe even literally!!) Both of them are going to have to work and probably some pretty looong hours (cause he’s got no money either).

Honestly, Beel would be best as a personal trainer in the human world. He’s a pretty decent combination of tough but genuinely kind and motivating. (The fact that he’s pretty easy on the eyes would help out a lot too).

But the MC won’t have to worry about Beel sneaking off with someone just looking for some “quality time.” He’d take his job seriously, though he’s not particularly versed in what the human body can’t handle so only the really dedicated (or masochistic) would stick with him anyway.

“Good work last week, April! You did so well that we’re going to go from 500 pushups to a thousand! … I can see you’re worried, but I believe in you.”

But hey, he can deadlift well over 2,000 pounds without breaking a sweat so who has the balls to argue with him, anyway?

Trying out every restaurant in town would be a must. He’d even plan out vacations for them with the sole purpose of travelling the globe and tasting the different flavors. Food trips!!

He's neat enough since he used to tidy up a lot for Belphie so no need to worry about him picking up after himself (except for the occasional pile of wrappers. Toss those out unless you want ants)

I mean, you can prank Beel if you want. He'll be pretty good-natured about it as long as it stays harmless. Just don't ruin any of his food, got it?

Belphegor 

So… Belphie makes for some excellent décor! Really he is great at laying around and looking fantastic just… he’s not that great at much else...

Realistically, choosing Belphie as a roommate is kind like having a high maintenance pet. He’s good for love and cuddles, but he’s not going to be helping with the bills or anything unless they whine incessantly about it.

If the MC can make enough for the both of them, then it should be fine. They won’t get upset and he won’t be crabby but if not… Oh boy.

Regular job Belphie is a needy Belphie. He’ll come back from whatever job he’s working, likely a night shift, and demand attention or cuddles right then and there. He needs to recharge those batteries, after all...

If he isn’t working then he's at his happiest. He can even pull off being a “househusband” of sorts. He’s not going to go above and beyond the call of duty, but he can keep the place clean, get a basic meal on the table (provided someone teaches him some human recipes), and get groceries if he needs to… You know, basic domestic shit.

They’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that, at some level, Belphie just doesn’t believe in “common curtesy” or “human decency.” If some neighbors are being too noisy for his liking, he will troll them to oblivion and beyond. He may even get sued for it if he takes it too far, so the MC will have to keep an eye on him…

He’s the House’s #2 prankster, but unlike Satan he doesn’t need any malice to be a little shit. The MC will be pranked and it will be at the most unexpected times. Be warned...

Check out my Masterlist for more!

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

Yesterday I had an experience that was surreal, amazing, and then kind of astonishingly sad. 

we are in the midst of our local elections on a city level. i vote by mail and do early voting so i had already voted. I was out working in my yard, when a car pulled up in front of the house. now, that’s not unusual because it faces a fairly major road and people pull over all the time for whatever reason. Usually it’s students who are new and lost. So I pay no mind and keep on cleaning out the flowerbeds (because the live oak is carpeting everything with those little squiggly green guys... male catskins is what i think they are called.) when I hear a young female voice behind me say “excuse me, are you [my real name]?” I feel panic rise within me... and it dissipates instantly when I see a young lady in her early teens standing there. 

“yes ma’am I am. How can I help you?” She hands me a flyer as her dad walks up behind her in a t-shirt and cargo shorts and introduces himself as a guy I voted for as a council member. He asked if I planned to vote in 2 weeks and I explained that being disabled, I vote by mail and had already voted for him. He laughed and high fived me, then asked “If there is one thing you want to see changed in our city, what would it be? I want to make sure that if I am elected, I have a solid idea of what our citizens believe is needed so I  know where to focus our efforts and budget.”

I hemmed and hawed for a bit, then finally said that accessibility for disabled folks is a REAL problem here. Then I explained that I’m a part time wheelchair user and even without the chair, accessibility can be an issue because of how my hips are. There’s a ton of areas where the sidewalk is too narrow for a wheelchair to get through or the sidewalk is uneven or broken, which makes it a challenge to get through, and some places don’t even have sidewalk. and that doesn’t even touch on the buildings that don’t have access. He nodded and told me he has two MAJOR concerns, onee of which is getting ADA compliant sidewalk for every single road in the city. He’s already had pushback from some contractor who said that sidewalks take ‘5 years to do’. I balked and said that was insane, especially since a huge tennis court that was unnecessary was just put in over at my park within a month’s time. 

I asked what his other MAJOR concern was and he went into the data regarding how many trees per month a city of our size should be planting vs how many we are. He noted that our city has the worst air quality in the county. Well, you know me. I launched into the issues with lawns and the benefits of lawn alternatives not just for homes but also medians, businesses, and parks. I brought up data about water waste, biodiversity, pesticide, and fertilizer along side data about many groundcovers like clover and ponysfoot, help clear the air the way trees do, but because they are groundcover, they can do so on a much larger scale. Then you toss in some native growing wildflowers for the pollinators. 

He said that I sounded just like his guy that handles forestation and planting, but that he hadn’t considered lawns, residential or otherwise and that he’d like to sit down with both me and his guy to talk more in depth. He also told me that after the election, if he is elected to council to email him so he can set up that meeting because he’s really interested in that data and research and what solutions can be implemented. And if he isn’t elected, to reach out to him anyway because there are lots of boards and stuff that I could be involved in that would be very interested in what I have to say. AND he said they could easily accommodate having me on zoom for meetings. 

So that’s extremely exciting. I have an opportunity to make a difference. 

The sad part is that he told me about a man he went to speak to in the same way he approached me. When tree planting and air quality was mentioned, the man said “Oh you’re a dem.” The guy running for council said “Well, no sir. We don’t have parties at the city level.” The man said “But you’re one of them tree huggers.” Council guy: “....Yes. Yes I am. Because I want the planet to still be around for my kids and grandkids.” Man: “Right. So you’re a dem. Who is the other guy running, so I can vote for him?” Council guy: “Have a nice day sir.”

I was appalled and outraged. I believe my exact words were “Things like environmental issues and, public health crisis's like, say... a pandemic, are NOT political issues! They are human issues. If you are a human being and want to continue to be alive, they are issues that matter to you. Jesus fluffing christ.” He laughed and said, “I know. Some people will cut off their own noses to spite their face.” And it’s true. Because the propaganda machine in the US is so fucking good at its job, people will happily vote against their own interests. 

But I get my chance to make a difference on a scale larger than my yard. 

[silversatoru]

birthdays don’t have to suck

fushiguro megumi x f!reader (elli)

synopsis: you get really sick on your birthday, but megumi makes sure that you still have a good day :))

t/w: fluff, reader is sick, vomiting, medicine (tylenol lol), some details pertain specifically to elli

wc: 2.2k

a/n: a small birthday present for the love of my life @megumifushi who never sleeps enough and is always sick,, i love u and i hope ur days not too bad <3

you stared into your dimly lit laptop, red eyes squinting at the black text that sped across the screen as your fingers scrambled against the keys. you weren’t even sure that what you were writing was comprehensible at this point, but your essay that was due tomorrow morning wasn’t gonna write itself. at this point it just needed to get done, concerns of quality were thrown out the window hours ago.

aside from the burning and stinging in your eyes, your entire body ached, and you were ridden with chills and goosebumps. seemed like a fever was coming on, but you didn’t have the time or capacity to care about that right now. you’d pop a few tylenol and crawl into bed in a couple hours, and everything would be better tomorrow.

what time was it anyway? it couldn’t possibly be that late yet, right? 

you glanced to the corner of the screen, eyes falling on a bright 3:56am that made your heart sink and your eyes widen. you had a terrible habit of losing track of time and staying up into ungodly hours of the night — a habit that your wonderful boyfriend was trying so terribly hard to break. 

you glanced to your left and took in his sleeping form, his lips parted ever so slightly as he took small breaths of air. he’d be disappointed and upset with you if he knew how horrid your sleep schedule had been lately, and he’d probably blame your chills and headaches on your lack of sleep as well — which in all fairness was probably pretty accurate. 

“i’ll just finish this up real quick and then i promise i’ll sleep, ‘kay gumi?” you spoke softly, running your fingers through his soft, spiky hair. 

he was undisturbable, his mind off somewhere in a dreamland that was quite the distance from your small bedroom. and that was probably for the better, because him nagging at you to go to sleep would be too distracting for you to get your work done. 

your hands moved rapidly against the keyboard for about another hour, words spilling onto the screen until you finally hit the page requirement for your paper. it was probably terrible, most likely had a few words spelled wrong, and honestly you were pretty certain you’d repeated yourself several times, but fuck it — submit. you were typically an excellent student, so one bad paper wouldn’t kill you, and you were too tired and achy to care right now. 

you got up and placed your laptop onto your desk, plugging it in and letting a heavy sigh fall from your lips as you made your way back over to the bed. the soft blankets were therapeutically warm on your chilly skin as you crawled in against megumi’s back, effectively turning him into the little spoon and pressing your nose to the back of his neck. thankfully, sleep found you shortly after, your eyes fluttering shut as you drifted off into a much needed slumber. 

babe 

wake up 

babe

you woke up to small finger pokes to your cheek from megumi, his face laced with concern as your vision finally focused on his features. he bent over and pressed his lips to your forehead, pausing there for a fraction of a second and then standing back up. 

“i think you have a fever. i noticed when i woke up and you felt like a fucking space heater,” he frowned, confirming your initial suspicions from last night, “i’ll go get some medicine”.

you groggily nodded your head, shivers coursing through your body and dotting your extremities with goosebumps. your condition had definitely deteriorated overnight, your eyes stinging and a horrible nausea creeping up your throat. 

by the time he returned with the medicine you had yourself propped up against the pillows, thick blankets pulled up to your chin in an attempt to minimize the icy feeling in your body. he handed two small tylenol tablets to you with a disappointed look on his face — a look that said: i’m gonna kick your ass for not getting enough sleep again. 

“i’ll let everyone know you’re not feeling well enough to go out tonight,” he hummed as he handed you a glass of water, your brain filling with thick fog as you tried to decipher why he would need to let anyone know you were sick. 

the look of pure confusion signaled to him that you had no idea what he was talking about, megumi shaking his head before he spoke up again, “it’s your birthday, dumbass, we were supposed to get food and stuff with yuuji, inumaki, and nobara and maki”. 

birthday 

oh 

forgetting about that was another habit you continued to succumb to every year.

“mm, shit,” you sighed after drinking back the pills, “i forgot”. 

“figured you would,” megumi clicked his tongue, “but i didn’t, because i’m a good boyfriend. can you drag yourself out to the kitchen? you should eat”.

“don’t think so,” you mumbled, attempting to disappear back under the blankets before he could coerce you to follow him outside of the bedroom. 

but megumi is impossibly even more stubborn than you are, wrapping his arms under your body and lifting you to his chest, “guess i’ll just have to carry you then”. 

“fine,” you let out a long groan — was it a bit dramatic? maybe. but in your defense you felt like you’d been hit with a train.

he peppered your face with kisses as he carried you out of the bedroom, lovingly setting you down on one of the high bar stools around your kitchen table. he instructed you to stay in the chair, abruptly returning to the bedroom to bring out a couple blankets to wrap around your shoulders. you were grateful for the extra heat, you body still shaking and shivering as the medications worked to cure your fever. 

megumi was a man of few words, preferring to display his love for you through acts of service than grand confessions, and this was very eminent when he wordlessly grabbed a couple pots and began cooking for you. you let your face fall onto your arms, resting your chin as you watched him silently shuffle between the stove and the pantry. the silence was comfortable, and you weren't going to complain about watching your muscular boyfriend walk around the kitchen in nothing but a pair of loose, plaid pajama pants. 

a few minutes later he was placing a steaming bowl of soup and a couple slices of baked bread in front of you, a savory scent flooding your nostrils. 

“red lentil,” he spoke as he handed you a spoon, “it’s your favorite, so you better eat it”. 

“yes, sir,” you gave him a small smile, dipping the cool metal into the hot liquid and scooping a spoonful into your mouth. 

“all of it”

“yes, megumi, i will try”

to no surprise, the soup went down pretty fucking horribly, your head hanging low over the toilet while megumi held your hair out of the way. your throat was practically raw by the time you were done heaving and vomiting up the meal, your eyes brimming with hot tears. 

megumi tied your hair up in a neat bun so he could step away, filling up a glass with water and carefully helping you to take small sips and rinse out your mouth. he was tedious with the clean up, washing your face and helping you brush your teeth — ensuring that you felt the best you could given the situation. he then scooped you back into his arms, carrying you back to bed and profusely apologizing for making you eat the soup — but he was just trying to make you feel better, he really was doing his best.

you were ready to add today to your long list of terrible birthdays, chalking it up as another failed attempt, but megumi was not about to let that happen. he knew you had a rough history with birthdays, but now that he was here? you’d have a bad birthday over his dead body. 

he scoured the back of your fridge for ginger ale, gatorade, jello, and whatever else he could find to make you the perfect sick-person platter. and he made sure he was logged into every streaming service that the two of you collectively owned, preparing netflix, hulu, and crunchy roll so that he could easily access every single one of your favorite shows and movies. and so you spent the majority of your day tucked safely against megumi’s chest, forcing down small sips of ginger ale and watching an assortment of tv. 

your phone rang at some point — a facetime call from all of your friends who had gotten together so they could all wish you a collective happy birthday. megumi stuck a singular candle into a cup of blue-raspberry jello and ignited it with a small flame; and then they all sang the most terrible rendition of “happy birthday” that you’d ever heard, yuuji’s voice a little louder and little more out-of-tune than everyone else's.

you mustered enough energy to blow out the flame, everyone cheering while megumi shoveled a scoop of the blue jelly into your mouth. you swallowed it with a smile, praying it stayed down while everyone sent you off with an assortment of “feel better!”, “we love you!”, and “wish you were here!”

your night got pretty quiet after that, you and megumi climbing back under the covers to watch a few more episodes of your new favorite anime. it wasn’t until well into the night that he finally asked you if he could give you the presents he’d gotten for you. reluctantly, you said yes. you hated receiving gifts (it was just one of the many reasons you hated your birthday) but you knew that megumi wasn’t going to take no for answer. 

he was obviously nervous, palms sweaty as he handed you a couple neatly wrapped packages in plain, solid colored paper. they were very megumi, perfect folds with not a single crease, the paper simple yet elegant and adorned with a singular bow on top. 

you hesitantly peeled the paper off the smaller of the two, revealing a tiny box that contained a classic looking silver locket. you felt your heart pinch in your chest as you clicked the locket open and revealed two small pictures of each of the two of you. you weren’t particularly sentimental, but on top of your lack of sleep and not feeling very well, the simple gift caused few tears to well up in your eyes. but he was quick to wipe them away, insisting that you had to open the second gift first, and that birthdays weren’t meant for crying. 

you followed his instructions, ripping open the second package and revealing a larger box that contained a series of envelopes. each one was decorated with tiny doodles of you and megumi, his demon dogs, hearts, etc. they were sickeningly cute, and you immediately reached for the first one before megumi reached out and stopped you. 

“they’re not for now; they’re for when i’m gone, you know, on missions and stuff,” he could barely even maintain eye contact, his eyes dipping low as yours filled back up with tears. 

despite your lack of energy and the fever that was starting to return, you showered him in hugs and kisses after that, thanking him over and over for the most perfect gifts, and for making your day as wonderful as it could have been. 

all things aside, you were coming around to the idea that birthday’s don’t have to suck. 

bonus: the first letter: 

to y/n:

i know im not great at telling you what i have to say through words, actually, i’m kind of really bad at it. but i thought writing these might be a nice way to try and get better? i’m not sure. anyway, i guess i’ll start by saying that you mean a lot to me, and i probably miss you a lot right now (even though ill be too afraid to reach out and say it). not sure how long i’ll be gone for at the time but it’s probably a few days at least. gonna work hard so i can hurry back to see you. 

i hope you’re sleeping enough, but i know you’re not. you never do, especially when i’m not there to yell at you. i hope you’re eating enough too. but you’re probably also not doing that. you’re like taking care of a stubborn child, you know that? but this is supposed to be a love letter so i’ll try to refrain from scolding you too much. but do try to take care of yourself. ill see you soon. 

megumi

[wing-ed-thing]

Retail Therapy (Kakuzu x Reader)

Synopsis: Deidara has a new partner for a combined effort with the Zombie Combo. However, something about you has Kakuzu heated.

Word Count: 2,123

Tags/Warnings: Violence, Threat of Violence, Probably Language, Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Kakuzu content is probably some of the best stuff I’ve ever written. Right now I’m watching a video on fried milk. Ever hear of such a thing? Fascinating.

Kakuzu didn’t like being paired up with Hidan, let alone joint missions where he’d have to deal with even more people. Not to say that Kakuzu hated people, because he did, but he never thought that he’d hate anyone more than he absolutely hated you. He hadn’t even met you yet, but he knew at his very core that you would quickly become the bane of his entire existence.

“Shopping?” Kakuzu asked slowly, the word forming on his lips as if he had an aversion to even speaking it. Deidara leaned back on the large bounder that he settled on and stretched his arms up above his head. The blond nodded with a short groan before his hands came to rest behind his head.

“Yep,” he answered, “And for hours too, so I’d get comfortable.” Hidan plopped down on a patch of dirt below, his back and scythe against the side of the rock. Kakuzu glared down at his partner causing Hidan to shrug. To Hidan, if Deidara thought that the three of them would be waiting a while, he would take his word and make himself comfortable. Kakuzu’s attention turned back to Deidara.

“Hours? What possibly could someone be purchasing that takes them hours?” Hidan gazed up from his spot, head tilted back against the surface behind him.

“And we only came like five minutes late too. Who takes off like that?” Kakuzu almost nodded in agreement, but knowing his partner, Hidan would take any excuse to complain. Deidara shrugged, basking in the warmth of the sun and stayed lounging even as a rustling came from the woods. Hidan’s hand immediately reached up to grip the handle of his weapon and Kakuzu took a defensive stance. Deidara’s eyes remained closed.

“Oh hello, boys! I didn’t know you were here!” You sauntered out of the trees, bags hanging from both arms. They were pushed tightly in a line, every other patch of your skin strained by the handles of a different shopping bag. Even in your altered Akatsuki cloak, Kakuzu took a look at you and immediately decided that you were decorated far too ornately and that he’d like to kill you when he had the chance. You were objectively beautiful, but if Kakuzu had his way, Deidara would have to be assigned another partner soon. “You haven’t been waiting for too long, have you?”

“You shouldn’t have left us waiting at all,” Kakuzu glowered, although not any more than usual. Either you didn’t hear him or you ignored him as you walked up to your partner. You plucked a package from one of your more reachable bags.

“I got you something, Dei-dei!” You threw it up to Deidara weakly but he managed to catch it. He opened the small, folded, paper bag. Deidara glanced down at you with a nod of his head and a fold of his lips. He took the neat band in his hand while you looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t they nice? Hair ties. Silk from a small village in the Land of Water.” Deidara held them up to the sun.

“That’s some great quality you found. Thanks.” Your partner glanced down at you again. “Must’ve been one hell of a fight assuming that you got a good price for it.” Kakuzu looked on at your exchange, increasingly beginning to lose his temper.

“Believe me, I did. And I found a ton of other great finds too. I gotta show you—”

“Enough,” Kakuzu growled and you finally turned your attention his way. Hidan had since passed out against the boulder that Deidara sat on. “You’re wasting all our time. The sooner we start, the sooner we can part ways.” You gave Kakuzu a once over with your nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Well someone’s grumpy,” you mused. You rolled your eyes and pointed your nose upward. Huffing, you threw your shopping bags into the air and as they fell, you swiftly unfurled a scroll. Your new items disappeared one by one. You rolled the paper back up, scowling as you slipped the scroll into one of many slots that you wore strapped to your clothing. The pockets ran down the small of you back and you latched the bundle of paper in place with a flip of your nimble fingers. Kakuzu frowned back, tentatively wondering if all the scrolls you carried contained the same amount of shopping bags. You approached him with crossed arms. “Okay then, tough guy. Let’s get started.”

You sat down and summoned a map of the next village. It laid out in front of you and placed your hands on your knees in challenge. Kakuzu sat down on the other side of the map, eyes boring into you. You didn’t budge. And as you began to speak, it was hard to focus, at least for Deidara. Though he supposed he’s seen you this fired up before.

“It would be easier if we lure the jinchūriki outside of the village,” you said, gesturing to the small, unnamed village on the map. It wasn’t large, but just big enough to serve as a maze for your prize. At least you knew the woods better and a jinchūriki was bound to stand out among the trees.

“I can get up some traps,” Deidara added and you nodded.

“Back them into a corner and cage them into a small space—” You nodded again— “We can use some explosives around the area… maybe here?” You pointed to a section of the map outside of the village. You looked up at Deidara. “You’d be our last line of defense when the jinchūriki tries to run.” Deidara smirked and puffed out his chest.

“Leave it to me!”

“We’ll need someone to drive the jinchūriki out of the village,” Kakuzu cut in, not particularly liking how you dominated the strategizing. “I’ll go with Hidan.” While Kakuzu thought that he would stop at nothing to get away from the Jashinist, this had to be a regrettable first. Hidan napped a few feet away.

You raised an eyebrow and scoffed, “You and Hidan? Psh… might as well have Deidara set off fireworks in the sky that spell out ‘single, hot jinchūriki in your a—”

“I can do that!” Deidara cut in before immediately backing down at Kakuzu’s pointed glare, not that he’d show it. You locked eyes with Kakuzu, taking his fiery stare off of your partner.

“I’ll go. You’re too conspicuous and, really, have you seen Hidan? You two would be spotted a mile away.” Kakuzu almost snarled.

“And you wouldn’t?” You let out a short, bitter laugh. Your left arm supported your weight as your knees touched together on the right side of your body. Kakuzu scowled at your blatant lounging. Everything about you challenged him and he hated you for it. Your lids narrowed in a smug smile.

“I’m not the one—” who’s fuckin’ jacked — “ with big-ass black stitches across my whole body.”

“And four faces on his back…” Hidan called out, still half asleep. You turned back to Kakuzu.

“And four faces on his back,” you repeated, much to Kakuzu’s vexation. The sass in your blinks was lost on the older shinobi. He stood, causing you to stand too. Deidara took a hint and retreated. Kakuzu crossed his arms over his chest and he planted his feet on the ground about the same width apart as his broad shoulders. He pointed two fingers at you harshly.

“And you’re—” Gorgeous. — “a brat. I should just kill you right here.” You stood your ground, daring to slap Kakuzu’s hand out of your face.

“As much as I’d like to see you try, tough guy, I’d actually like to do some quality work and get the hell away from you as quickly as I can.” Kakuzu huffed, gritting his teeth underneath his mask.

“Nice to hear that we’re on the same page.”

And with neither of your partners wanting to deal with either of you pissed off, you and Kakuzu were paired together.

***

Deciding that your cloaks were too noticeable, you sealed yours away. Kakuzu kept his draped across his arm, distrust of you evident. You walked down the road together under the late afternoon, waiting for nightfall. You hoped that striking at night would give you not only the surprise advantage, but also minimize the number of clueless civilians that would no doubt wander in your way. But as soon as your eyes fell onto the market, Kakuzu quickly began to wonder if his stubbornness landed him with an even larger headache. But his usual, standoffish demeanor remained the same. Kakuzu’s eyes drifted to their corners as he scowled down at you.

“No.” That was all he said, as if you would actually listen to him and not immediately march in the direction of the market. He reluctantly followed, every reach to hold you back by your robes falling just a bit short each time. By the time you were stopped, too many people surrounded the two of you for him to pull you away without drawing attention. Normally, attention from others wasn’t anything that Kakuzu would be concerned with, but your two teams had their orders and Kakuzu would be damned if he had to spend anymore time with you.

You stood in front of a booth with your hand on your chin. Kakuzu stood next to you, following your gaze to a simple, but sturdy-looking sword. You gingerly picked it up, carefully studying it’s craftsmanship. The man behind the booth leaned over his table, motioning to the piece of merchandise in your hands.

“Ah, you have a good eye, mercenary.” You glanced up at him.

“Land of Earth? Lots of excellent craftsmanship comes from there, I’m not surprised.” You ran your thumb across the dull of the blade. “Antique too, but still hardy.” The merchant nodded pointing to a few spots across the weapon.

“Could get you out of a bind too. Reliable smithing comes from Tsuchi no Kuni.” Kakuzu looked on at the show in front of him. In stark contrast to earlier, you seemed poised and he found you knowledgeable. You appeared calm and competent enough to handle yourself and for a second, Kakuzu became lost in your analysis.

You stepped back, turning the sword around in your hand to feel out the balance. The blade whipped around your body with ease. The seller softly applauded your embellished practice. Kakuzu almost rolled his eyes, but took some comfort in the fact that you were looking to purchase something of quality and not just anything at the very least. You looked down at the weapon with a nod or two before asking the dreaded question.

“So what’s your price?” The merchant didn’t hesitate.

“A hundred thousand ryō.” Kakuzu almost left right there, but a dominant part of him wanted to know what you were going to do. His hands grasped his biceps, his cloak still hanging from his forearm. Kakuzu watched you closely. You shook your head.

“You’re going to give it to me for twenty-five thousand.” The merchant gaped at the outrageous price you named. He sputtered a few times.

“That price is far too low for this quality. You must be joking if you think I’d sell this fine piece of equipment for practically nothing.”

You did name a ridiculous price. Not even Kakuzu could see getting what you wanted for that price without a fair bit of violence and intimidation. But you ripped into that merchant. You ripped into this poor seller like nothing Kakuzu had ever seen before. He didn’t even know if he could call it bartering, but whatever it was, it was likely one of the most skillful things that Kakuzu had ever seen.

He folded his lips under his mask. You didn’t yell. Kakuzu didn’t even find your appearance intimidating in the slightest, yet every point and number the merchant brought up, you countered. And by the end of the intense conversation, if Kakuzu didn’t know any better and had less of a spine, he’d likely be handing the sword over too. The man had long since started sweating, tugging at his collar. If Kakuzu didn’t see it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it as you handed over exactly twenty-five thousand ryō. He almost overlooked the complete waste of money as he still stood stunned, though not outwardly showing any such emotion.

You nestled the sword by your hip and the seller let out a breath of relief by the time you walked away. Kakuzu followed wordlessly next to you as you strutted off in triumph.

Perhaps he misjudged you. He stared, not noticing as he did so.

Yes, you were going to save the organization a fortune.

Notes: “oH mY gOd KaKuzU sAiD hE wAs GoNna KiLl rEader! wHy wOuLd yOu wRiTe sOmEtHiNg sO tOxIc???”... They’re criminal terrorists, Susan.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART ONE

Pairing: Josh & female!Reader Warnings:  None yet.  Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: Here we are everyone. This fic has been a long time in the making, but I’m pretty dang happy with it so far! I made Josh extra lovable and squishy for you all. I hope you enjoy! This fic is edited by the amazing and gorgeous, @lantern-inthenight. And big thanks as always to @myownparadise96. I literally could not have found the motivation to do this fic without you. 

MASTERPOST 

taglist: @myownparadise96 @n1-party-anthem @valleyd0ll @bigblack-catattack @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @oblvions @hansonobsessed​ @satingrass-maidensfair​

The scenery in Michigan was vastly different than back home. You were used to and comfortable with the nearly unforgiving heat of the American South West, but the farther away you got from home, the more foreign everything seemed. The scrubland slowly started being replaced by emerald green grass and dense forests of towering pines. Once you hit Illinois, little farmsteads were scattered along every road you took, boasting fields thick with corn and beans. 

It was a bit over a full day’s worth of driving. You had originally thought you could just drive right through - after all, you were young and you had plenty of caffeine at the ready. In reality, you wound up digesting the trip over two days. 

You were a fortunate enough person that you had a reliable car, which made up for the fact that it wasn’t very pretty to look at. It didn’t exactly sip gas, but that had never even been a concern before this - it wasn’t very often that you left home, let alone make a trip across the country. But you were able to breathe a sigh of relief when you started seeing the exit signs for Ann Arbor. 

Your parents had been a bit judgemental about you picking a school so far away - they were even worse homebodies than you, and they knew that you being across the country meant they wouldn’t be seeing you until the school year was over - but there was no way you could turn down an opportunity like this one. You had worked your ass off to qualify for a scholarship, knowing full well that there was no way you could afford higher education otherwise. MU hadn’t been your very first choice but with one of the better programs in the country for your desired field, you just couldn’t turn it down. 

You had to pull over into a McDonald’s parking lot to pull up the address you were looking for and program it into your phone’s GPS before continuing further into the city. Your mother had been particularly wary about your living situation. See, she was a woman that adamantly liked to have a plan and then stick to it - she didn’t see any value in just letting things happen. “Go with the flow” wasn’t in her vocabulary, but you’d always romanticised the idea. Which was why, when you pulled up to the apartment that you were going to be living in for the next year, it was the first time you’d ever seen it. 

You had found the listing on the Facebook marketplace for the area, looked at a couple of pictures, and signed the lease agreement online - all without knowing what you were really in for. You’d been informed that you’d have a roommate when you’d contacted the landlord, but she hadn’t mentioned a thing about the person other than that. All she really said was “no pets, no smoking, and one month’s rent for the security deposit. You had told yourself that it didn’t really matter what the situation was as long as the other person wasn’t outwardly malicious and the place wasn’t infested with pests or anything, even though you knew it mattered a little. 

An audible sigh of relief left your lips when you pulled into the apartment parking lot and found that your new home looked well kept. The building had old, slide-up windows, but the brick siding was clean, and the shrubs that lined the property were trimmed and neat. You and your back seat stuffed to max capacity with house plants had made it - and with only a bit of sleep deprivation and caffeine jitters for damages. 

After you got out of the car, you grabbed your very favorite potted cactus and found your way into the building, meandering down the dim hall until you came upon the door marked 6. You hadn’t been given a key yet, so you knocked with your free hand and waited until you heard someone shuffling around inside.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous - obviously, you were - but more than anything you were excited. Anxious, maybe? That seemed like the right word. 

The door opened to reveal a boy, around your age, hair a mess of curls on the top and shorn tighter to the sides of his head. You were immediately taken aback by the depth in his eyes, chocolatey and warm. 

“What’s up?” he asked casually, leaning against the door frame, a pair of old-school headphones dangling from his hand. 

You frowned at him slightly, suddenly terrified you’d gotten the wrong apartment number. You weren’t sure how you’d live with that embarrassment, especially if you had to live next door to him - you’d just be that stupid girl that didn’t even know where she lived.  “Oh, I think I’m your new roommate? This is number six, right?” You peered around the other side of the open door, just to confirm.

A beaming grin spread over his soft face, showing you his blindingly white teeth and the deepest pair of dimples you’d ever seen. “Oh, cool, yeah. Come on in.”

He stepped aside, giving a dramatically flourished bow as a gesture for you to enter. You obliged, and even though this was your new house too, you paused and waited as he shut the door behind you. 

“Sorry, I was expecting you yesterday, so.” He trailed off with a sheepish smile and then extended his free hand to you. “Anyway, I’m Josh.” 

You shifted your cactus to one arm so you could shake his hand. “Y/N. Yeah, sorry, it took me longer than I expected to get here. Which is why my stuff apparently showed up before I did.”

You eyed around the apartment, spotting boxes of your things in piles. The original plan your parents had come up with was to have you rent a U-Haul, but since you’d never driven anything bigger than your Camry, you had quickly shot that idea down. After some expert negotiating, they had agreed to hire a moving company. You hadn’t had the balls to ask what a service like that had set them back - decided instead that it was better if you didn’t know. 

“Oh yeah,” he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It all showed up yesterday at like noon. One of the boxes was open a little, and I saw records so I looked through them to make sure you weren’t some kind of freak.”

It was more of a statement than a warning, and the smile he gave you showed not even a shred of an apology so you just smiled back. “Find anything you like?”

He turned on his heel and headed into the kitchen - connected to the living room by a huge square archway. “Your music taste is,” He paused, opening a cupboard and pulling down two mismatched glasses. “Eclectic.”

You laughed at him, bending to gently set your plant down on a side table. “That’s true.” 

“But I found plenty I could listen to, so I guess you’re okay. You want some juice?” he asked as he held up a paper carton of store brand orange juice

. 

“That would be lovely,” you agreed, standing stick straight the way you did when in the presence of new company. “My dad used to take me to a lot of thrift stores and we’d go home with a minimum of two records per trip.”

“I love thrifting,” he said simply, giving you an alarmingly serious look. “There are three here, I think. Every once in a while you can find something really worth keeping. I have kind of a ‘catch and release’ policy where if I don’t instantly know what I’m going to do with an item, I leave it there, but I think - like - a third of my wardrobe is from thrift stores.”

You listened, feeling oddly entranced by the way he was handing you thoughts as they came to him. There was something truly honest about it - a quality people back home didn’t seem to have. It was charming. 

He brought your glass of juice to you and then motioned to the rest of the apartment. “You want the grand tour of Casa De Joshua-” He gave you a pointed look and a cheesy grin. “And Y/N?” 

You breathed a laugh at him, nodding as you sipped. “Please.”

“Okay, try not to get lost - this is obviously the living room. I do most of my living here as the name would suggest. I found this couch on the side of the road - actually almost all of my furniture is adopted.” As he explained, he was gesturing to items like Vanna White.

The couch looked. Well-loved. You could tell just at a glance that it was probably past it’s prime when Josh had stumbled upon it, but it did look comfortable, and it wasn’t like you had a couch to offer, so you were happy with it. 

“I have this TV but it’s really only for movies and stuff because I’m twenty-two and I’d rather die than pay for cable. But there are literally hundreds of DVDs in the TV stand that you are welcome to peruse at your leisure,” he informed, his hands gesturing almost arbitrarily as he talked. 

You followed as he moved on through the archway. “This is the kitchen. All of the food lives here. There’s lots of stuff, but I try to just make two bigger meals per day. I don’t have a real ice tray so I’ve been using a chocolate mold- Well anyway, our ice will be in the shape of wiener dogs.”

You were shocked at the laugh that escaped you, genuine and uncontrolled. He grinned over at you, clearly also surprised - but pleased with himself for getting the reaction he was aiming for. 

“I think I can live with that.” 

“Good,” he agreed simply, giving you a new kind of smile - something sweeter. After a beat, he motioned down the hall with his eyes, letting you lead. “The bathroom is this way. The water takes like three or four minutes to get hot. I realized that I have a lot of products for some reason, but I condensed them all into this one area in the corner just in case my new roommate was a girl, and you are so that’s great. I’ll probably get a shelf.”

There was a proud quality to his voice like he felt gentlemanly for letting you have all the space you needed. For some reason, that made you feel warm and fuzzy. 

“And what if your new roommate had been a boy?” you inquired with a smirk. 

He put a finger on his chin, taking on a contemplative look for you. “Hmm. Then I guess I slowly would have moved my stuff back to the cabinet - probably just one thing per day so he wouldn’t notice. Unless he had a lot of makeup or something, then I’d just let him have it.” 

He grinned as you teasingly shook your head. 

“This way is the sleeping quarters. My room is there on the right and yours to the left.”

You stepped into your new room and let a sigh of relief. Two huge windows took up a lot of the far wall, framed underneath by large sills. The space was bright and roomier than you’d pictured. Your bed was set up in the very middle of the room, but you already knew exactly where you wanted it to go. For some reason, you had been concerned that you wouldn’t like the space, but it was kind of perfect. 

“This is great,” you breathed, turning to him and giving him a sly grin. “Wanna give me a hand moving my furniture around?”

He pretended to consider for a moment until you spoke again. 

“My mom sent money for pizza while I get stuff unpacked,” you said coyly. “If you needed any convincing.”

He laughed, showing you his teeth. “You drive a hard bargain. Okay, I’ll help as long as I get to look through your stuff while we move it.”

You gave him a questioning look, earning a one-shouldered shrug in return. He looked benign enough standing there, propped against the door frame with a goofy upturn to his lips, so you relented.  

“Deal,” you agreed.

You were positive you would not have been able to move stuff without his help. For being a slender boy, he seemed to easily be able to get things where they needed to be. He dutifully helped you shove your furniture into place - your bed against the window wall, your desk and vanity on the wall with your closet door. Then, bless his little heart, he helped you move it all again when you decided you didn’t like the arrangement (but not without some light griping). 

One by one, you brought in your boxes from the living room and you allowed him to poke through them, perched on your bed. He flipped through your books, thumbing pages of ones that piqued his interest - you could only imagine that he was already planning on borrowing some of them. He reacted similarly to your framed photos, as he unwrapped them from their packing paper.

When you got your record player set up, he put on a vinyl and started to hang your art prints on the wall where you instructed him to. The look of concentration on his face was rather endearing as he held a few nails between his teeth and hammered them into the wall, one by one. There was a time or two you were convinced that he was going to mutilate his thumb, but he didn’t, and when the last picture was hung, you breathed a sigh of relief. 

You called in a pizza, adorned with his requested toppings as you hung your clothes into your closet, your phone tucked against your ear and shoulder for maximum efficiency. 

Plants collected on your bed until there was no more room for them - after that, he started setting them on the floor as he brought them in from your car. He didn’t seem to be judging the sheer amount of them, even though he had every right to. 

“It’s going to look like a jungle in here,” he stated finally as he took a bite out of a slice of pizza that he was holding like a taco, his eyes raking over all of the foliage scattered around your room. Rather than sounding like he was teasing, his tone seemed excited. 

You grinned at him, starting to arrange them on the window sill and your bookshelf that had only ever served you as a plant shelf since you’d bought it. “Plants are my passion. Botany major,” you explained as you fluffed up your Monstera’s huge leaves. 

“Ooh.” He raised his eyebrows at you, pulling one of his legs up underneath him on your bed - now fitted with sheets. “I think that’s going to be nice. Give it some life in here.”

You grabbed another slice from the pizza box on your nightstand and tried to think of the right tone of voice to use to ask the next question. “How long have you lived here by yourself?”

He hummed, eyes flicking around distantly as he thought. “Well, I’ve lived here just over a year, and my first roommate dropped out and moved back home about...six months ago?”

“Have you been lonely? You seem like a social guy.” You gave him an empathetic look but he just shrugged at you. You hadn’t known him long enough to know for sure, but you suspected he was more affected than he was letting on. 

“I mean, a little lonely. But I got used to it for the most part.” He paused for a good couple of seconds before a smile spread across his lips. “And Penny’s kept me company.”

“Oh, does your girlfriend stay here too?” you prompted, trying to remember if you’d seen any feminine looking items lying around that weren’t yours.

“What? No,” he said under a chuckle and stood, gesturing for you to follow him across the hall. 

The second you walked through the doorway, you were met with the smell of incense sticks and linen. His room was dimmer than yours and kind of cramped with all of his mismatching furniture, but he had a huge bed - you thought it could easily fit three people in it. There were some clothes strewn about around a laundry hamper by the door and you tried to not be jealous that his closet seemed to be about twice the size of yours. 

He crossed the room to crouch in front of a coffee table that he seemed to be using as a catch-all. The varnish was worn off the top of it in rings because sitting on the coffee table was a globe of water and a calico colored goldfish swimming around aimlessly inside of it. 

“Ah, so this is Penny,” you giggled as you bent over next to him. When the fish spotted him, it rose to the surface of the water, opening its mouth in demand for food.

He grinned down at it. “Light of my life. We’re not allowed to have pets but I figured that a fish didn’t count.”

You hummed, admittedly a bit charmed by the whole situation. “But don’t goldfish require a lot of space?”

The smile fell from his face, adopting a level of concern you hadn’t yet seen from him as he peered over at you. “Do they?”

Immediately, you felt guilty for putting that look on his features. Your brain kick-started - trying to think of a way to make it right again. “I think so? Maybe we can find her a small tank? Put a few little plants in there for her?”

Josh nodded at you, stroking his fingers over the glass with a frown. “I’m a bad dad.”

“No, no!” you assured, putting your hand on his head but then removing it instantly when you realized that you didn’t really know him, he’d just already made you feel like you did. Either way, you figured it would be inappropriate to touch him. “You’re great. She looks really happy.”

“She’s great at begging for food, so don’t get tricked,” Josh instructed after a moment, seemingly able to put his concerns aside to jest you.

You nodded in agreement. “I’ll be ever vigilant,” you promised, making him smile again. 

He stood back up, so you did as well. 

“Well, I’ll give you some time to get comfortable in your room,” Josh said, sitting back on his bed. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

“I promise I will,” you assured, tapping your hand on the doorframe on your way out. 

By the time the sun was set, your room was shockingly well put together. The emotional rollercoaster that was the album Rumors helped you keep on task, losing yourself in the music so it didn’t feel like work at all. You hadn’t been expecting it to come along so quickly, but you guessed that was because you hadn’t anticipated such a friendly roommate. The nesting had always been your favorite part, so you took your time to enjoy placing out all your knick-knacks and photos. 

You took a break to shower when you decided you were done for the day, reveling in the feeling of the water after such a long time in your car - He was absolutely right about how long it took to warm up from ice cold. When you got out and changed into your pajamas, Josh was sitting in the living room with a laptop across his legs. 

“You wanna chill?” he asked when he heard you padding down the hall, shutting the lid of it and setting it on a side table. “Or if you’re too tired, that’s okay too.”

“No, no. I’d love to talk.” You sat next to him, leaving a comfortable amount of room between you as you pulled your knees up to your chin. “Tell me more about yourself,” you requested, tugging a blanket from a beat-up wicker basket on the floor and wrapping it around your body.

“Hmm, okay,” he started. You wondered how long it had been since he had to introduce himself to someone new. “I’m from a tiny little town here in Michigan. I’m the oldest of four - two brothers and a sister. My brother, Jake, also attends MU and lives just off campus.”

You frowned at him. “Wait, why wouldn’t he live with you?” you asked through a disbelieving laugh. 

“He lived with me long enough,” Josh explained in a humored tone. “There are only so many people where I’m from and well - we wanted to meet new people, you know?” 

“I guess I should be grateful for that.” 

“Yeah, probably,” he teased and then paused to think. “I’m in performing arts - I’m actually putting on a production around Christmas with some elementary school kids.”

You suppressed the aww that was threatening to pass your lips. “You like kids?”

He beamed you a smile, shaking his head. “Love them. I want to have like ten of them someday.”

The thought of him surrounded by kids made you soften. You were genuinely shocked about how easy he was to talk to - how easy he was to like. You had never thought in a million years you’d get along with your roommate so well, let alone the first day meeting them. 

“I hope you get to,” you said as genuinely as you could muster, prompting him to give you a grateful smile. 

A yawn escaped you before you could hide it, and you quickly breathed an apology, but he just waved you off. 

“You must be exhausted from that drive,” he said, his voice soft. “You should get some sleep.”

You nodded in agreement and gave him a thankful smile. “Is it okay if I sleep out here?”

The look on his face was quizzical, forcing a laugh from you. “Why would you do that?” 

“I have this tradition where whenever I’m in a new place, I always sleep in the living room on the first night. It’s good luck.”   

“Whatever you say.” His lips pulled back into an unconvinced smirk. “Well, yeah, you live here now too, so you can sleep wherever you’d like.”

He disappeared into his room for only a moment before popping his head back out, fingers wrapped around the door frame.

 “Do you mind if I join you?” 

You tried not to look too taken aback by the question, but you could feel your cheeks flushing warm. You raked your eyes along the couch, entirely positive that there wasn’t enough space for the two of you to lay out on it together fully - at least, not without being pressed flush against one another. However, his face looked innocent and soft - not a single tint of mischief colored across his features.

“Yeah, that-. I guess that’s okay,” you agreed sheepishly with a shrug. “But I’m not sure we’ll both fit if I’m being honest.”

He frowned questioningly at you, his brows lacing together until he realized what you thought he meant. His face instantly turned a light shade of pink to match yours. “No, no,” he quickly assured in between a breathy laugh. “I’m not going to sleep with you - I’ll take the recliner.” 

“Oh, right.” You gave a nervous laugh of your own, cursing yourself out in your head for being so dull. 

You were still well embarrassed as you made a nest of blankets on the couch and he brought out a pillow for you when you realized yours were still tucked deep in your bag of bedding. When each of you was situated on your respective pieces of furniture, he flicked the light off with a comfortable sigh. 

It was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice taking on a tone that was far too smug for your liking. “You were awfully quick to agree to sleep next to me. You don’t have a crush on me, do you?” 

You knew he was teasing, but your heart rate still managed to pick up under the pressure. You had never been particularly good with awkward social situations; you rolled your eyes in the dark, thankful he couldn’t see how red you were. “No, Josh. I do not have a crush on you.”

“Okay,” he said through a melodic laugh, and you got the feeling that he’d gotten the reaction he was aiming for from you. “Should we be best friends though?”

You snorted a laugh of your own, wanting to be annoyed at how likable he was, but falling short. “You are the most peculiar person I’ve ever met, I think.” You curled up, clutching your blanket tight to your body. “But yes. We can be friends.”

“Okay, cool - I’ll order matching t-shirts for us.” You could hear the pleased grin he was wearing, making you feel warm and cozy. You pulled the worn blanket up to your chin.

“See to it that you do.” 

Author’s Note: okay, I hope you guys like it! please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or removed from it. I’m using the same taglist from my Jake!fic, so no hard feelings if you don’t want to be tagged!

[watermelonlipstick]

Septic

This was written as a request for anon, who asked:

I was wondering if I could request one with Dean. The reader's injury gets badly infected and she gets a high fever and they are stuck somewhere and can't go to the hospital (maybe a cabin during a snow storm or something else if you want?). Anyway her condition keeps getting worse and dean is doing everything he can to keep her alive? As for their relationship it's up to you, whether they're dating or hiding their feelings...?

I hope this is something along the lines of what you were thinking. I decided to go with a ‘hiding from Leviathans’ angle because that seemed the closest to canon compliant to me. Thanks in advance for reading; I would love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Septic

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2124

Summary: Unable to go to a hospital for fear of getting trapped by Leviathans, Dean tries his best to manage the reader’s worsening infection and fever. 

Warnings: fever, illness, swearing, implied threat of death, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff (maybe? if you squint)

           “Dude, I have a fever, I haven’t been decapitated. Can you stop pacing? Sam’ll be back in a couple days, I’ll take some Tylenol and sleep it off, we’ll be good as new in no time.”

           He glared down at you where you laid on Rufus’s couch with flared nostrils. “You’re shivering under every goddamn blanket in this place and it’s been 3 days already. We’re going to a hospital.”

           You rolled your eyes at him and tried to hide the way you snuggled deeper into the woolen bundle. “So dramatic. As if we wouldn’t get made walking in the door. And if you’re so worried about me, why don’t you make yourself useful and get me a hot water bottle and some tea?” You tried to give him your most casual smile in reassurance.

           Dean appraised you with a hard set to his jaw and a twinge of concern at his eyebrows for a moment before relenting. “Fuck, fine. One more day and if the fever hasn’t broken, then we’re going.” It was only a few steps to the kitchen, and you heard him putting a pot of water on to boil. “You sure I can’t just do coffee? I don’t know how you drink this stuff.”

           Like it always did, Dean’s aversion to tea made you laugh. “It’s literally just mint flavored water—you act like you haven’t drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures.”

           “The fact that I have drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures should show you how gross it is.” He tossed a hot water bottle covered in worn waxed canvas on top of your blankets and you shimmied it under your feet while he got the tea together. After a moment, he set the tea (and a plastic bear full of honey, which made you smile to yourself) on the coffee table next to you. “Can we at least watch something else? These chicks are driving me fucking nuts.”

           That made you laugh hard enough to shake loose the blanket corners tucked in under your chin. “You might be able to trick Bobby into thinking you don’t like the Real Housewives, but I’m not buying it for one second.”

           He shot you some side eye but didn’t protest, patting your feet in a signal to raise them so he could sit with your legs in his lap. You didn’t remember past the first few minutes of the next episode.

           “Hey, come on, you gotta drink something.”

           You squinted up at Dean, feeling the sickly stickiness of dried and re-soaked sweat in Dean’s stolen sweatshirt where it bunched around your neck. “You want me to sleep, you want me to wake up, pick a lane, asshole,” you tried to joke, feeling each word like a stab in your, well, stab wound. It took more focus than it should’ve too hold onto Dean’s face where he perched on the coffee table right in front of you.

           “You’ve been asleep for 16 hours, Rip Van Winkle. And you’re sweating like a whore in church, gotta rehydrate.”

           “Thanks, Nurse Ratched,” you croaked, carefully keeping your face neutral around the throbbing ache in your side as you sat up and accepted the bowl of broth from Dean. When his hands were free, he put the back of his hand to your forehead in a very maternal way that might’ve made you giggle if you weren’t in so much pain.

           Dean’s lips pressed into a tight line and he breathed a hard “fuck,” as he sat back. “Lemme see it.”

           “If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask,” you tried to joke.

           “No slick shit, I’m serious. The fever’s getting worse.” There wasn’t even a touch of playfulness in his tone, tight chord of anxiety clipping his words.

           “It’s going to be pink and raw like every other set of infected stit—”

           “Cooperate or don’t, but my bet is there’s no way you can slip out of getting pinned right now.”

           “Who knew you were so kinky, Dean?”

           He didn’t rise to the teasing at all, the just-this-side-of-friendly banter you normally had, and it made the nervous bile rise a few degrees in your throat. You eased back and slowly flipped down the blankets, immediately started shivering as you pulled up your damp layers to show him your stomach.

           It was worse than you’d thought it would be even before he tenderly pulled back the tape to see the injury itself, the gauze a mottled tie-dye of blood and greenish pus. The stitches strained against swollen, angry tissue oozing at the corners, and you looked away to hold onto a little denial that you weren’t completely fucked. “Jesus Christ, kid,” Dean murmured. He reached behind him for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and you didn’t even try to argue, hissing and grabbing his wrist when he poured it over the wound. Dabbing off the worst of the external mess with the moisture, you watched as his mind raced.

           You decided to try to grab the reins of the situation before he locked you both into a crazy plan. “Help me up, I want to take a shower. I feel disgusting.”

           “Can you even stand?”

           You rolled your eyes at him exasperatedly.

           “Roll your fucking eyes at me all you want, you look like Marvin the Martian. Can’t believe I let your dumb ass talk me out of taking you to a hospital.”

           “I’ve got a much better chance of beating a little infection than I do the combined force of however many Leviathans are looking for us and the full force of the federal government. Now get out of my way if you’re not going to help me up, I need a shower.”

           He pushed back the coffee table and watched you stand up, grabbing your arm and waist when you immediately swayed. “Goddamn it, sit back down, I’m getting your shoes.”

           “Dean. I am not going to a hospital. Especially not before Sam gets back. Not a negotiation. I just—you’re freaked out, I get it. I just need you to please let me call the play for once.”

           His jaw muscles tightened into firm balls and you could see the flare of panic behind his gaze as he flicked between your eyes. Ultimately he didn’t say anything, just giving you a tight nod and offering a hand to guide you up and to the bathroom. When you’d gotten there, he hovered in the doorway as you started to peel off layers, hoping that your leaning on the sink didn’t look as obvious as it felt. “Think I can take it from here, chief,” you offered, hoping he’d take the hint.

           “Not adding a head injury to this bullshit stew, sorry.”

           “No way, psycho. You’re not watching me shower.”

           His face screwed up in a scowl. “I’m not going to watch you shower, I’m just staying in here while you do in case you get dizzy again.”

           “Dude—”

           “Not a negotiation,” he growled, spinning your words back on you. You held each other’s stubborn gazes for a long beat before you gave in, getting in the tub and yanking the curtain closed with the rest of your clothes on, shucking the rest of them off and dropping them outside the tub behind the plasticized shield and curtain. You turned the water on and held onto the dial for support, hearing Dean’s movement in the bathroom as he sat down on the lidded toilet next to the shower. Laborious as it was, it felt a lot better getting clean. You’d started washing your hair when he started to talk.

           “You know what you’re asking me to do, right?”

           “Let me take a shower in peace?” You didn’t want to acknowledge the elephant in the room—what was the point?

           “If you’re not septic yet you will be in a day or two.”

           “By which time Sam will be back and you guys can strong arm some vet into giving me antibiotics like the mafiosos you fancy yourselves to be.”

           “Don’t deflect.” It was quiet but firm, and you blinked away the way your vision was starting to fuzz out at the edges. Something about it finally got you to drop the joking, if only for a second.

           “I know what I’m asking you to do.” You hoped he could hear the resolution in your voice.

           Dean was silent for a long enough beat that you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but you heard the roughness in his voice when he finally replied. “Please don’t make me?”

           The shower washed away a hot, stupid tear when it shot out of your eye like a kamikaze at his vulnerability. “I can’t be the reason you guys get caught.” You were clean now, but something about the confession-style quality of the shower curtain and the way it was letting both of you say what you really meant held you in the stream of water anyway.

           “I’m not—it’s going to fuck me up forever, you know that, right?” It was almost a grunt, the way Dean’s voice strained as he pleaded with you.

           “Long as you guys are alive.”

           He didn’t respond.

           After a long minute you felt your legs start to turn to jello. “You have something out there I can put on?”

           You heard him clear his voice, sticky and coarse. “Gimme a second.”

           A callused hand shot behind the shower curtain with a towel before Dean’s footsteps got quieter, and you tried your best to dry yourself off without stumbling. Not 15 seconds later, a bundle of clothes came in the same way. You smiled to yourself at your underwear and yoga pants with Dean’s t-shirt; he would’ve had to deliberately go into 2 different bags to get the clothes, no way it was an accidental grab. When you were dressed, you tugged the shower curtain back and didn’t argue when Dean wrapped his arm around your waist to ease you out of the tub, let him guide you back to the couch and fussily rearrange your blankets and pillows before he got out his first aid supplies.

           You watched his face as he worked on cleaning the wound again, knowing he just needed to be doing something, that he couldn’t just sit still and hope it got better. You could give him that, sat stock still even when it stung like a bitch and didn’t even tease him when he made you swallow a handful of vitamins as though that would help. Another cup of soup eaten silently and two mugs of tea later, your eyelids were beginning to droop again.

           “Tired?” he murmured, messing with the cover of the hot water bottle before ultimately getting up to refill it.

           “A little, yeah. Will you, um, will you sit with me?”

           Dean mercifully didn’t acknowledge the shake in your voice, nodding gently and sliding himself beneath you on the couch, tucking you under his arm and onto his chest, burrowing you both into the cushions. You reached your hand out of the blankets to place your palm over his heart, feeling the vibrating thrum of his pulse under your fingertips and cheek. His hand shifted so that he was smoothing the drying hair back from your temple, and after a few beats he bent his neck to kiss the crown of your head. The tenderness of it, the giving in to your request, pulled another tear out of your eye that fell straight into the cotton of Dean’ t-shirt underneath you.

           He sounded like he’d just woken up, that sleepy-syrupy sandpaper of a long night on his vocal cords. “You know, right? If it was going to be anyone for me, it would’ve been you?”

           The weight of it turned the blankets on top of you into a hug. You were nodding into him before you could speak, the tears turning your voice creaky-soft. “Same to you, dummy.” He chuckled once nostalgically at the ribbing, and you felt the rumble of it under you. “Thank you, Dean.”

           You felt the tension of the hiccupped breath before Dean got it under control to answer. “I love you, kid.”

           “Love you too.” It was the only thing to say, and neither of you had to answer or explain this undercurrent that had never been acknowledged so plainly before, no matter how rock solid it might’ve been for years. You laid there together for a long time, beating of Dean’s heart underneath you something constant to hold onto, warmth off his body better than any hot water bottle. The last thing you remembered before passing out was hearing Sam walk through the front door.

-

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[chaoticpuff17]

Suga, We’re Going Down

part 15

masterlist

Hello, my darlings! Here’s an update for you! I’m off to work on the next part of WTCAD! and just a reminder that @chimchimsauce​ released her new book this week. Don’t forget to check it out, you can find the link in on her page. love you all!--- chaotic puff

If anyone at Jin hit Entertainment had been asked if Min Yoongi was a family man, they would have said no. Min Yoongi was a terror, a quiet one but a terror none-the-less. He was focused, driven, extremely talented, and a famous grouch. A family man was not a description anyone would have associated with him, and yet Kim Seokjin was looking at a nervous manager who was bringing forward some odd requests that the famous rapper had made. The requests included the acquisition of an apartment building and to bring him listings for modernized hanok houses in Seoul. To make this odd business even more strange, Yoongi had asked that they look into primary schools as well. Jin could understand why the poor man was confused and concerned. It was very unlike Yoongi, which was why the young CEO was on his way to talk to the artist 

The problem was to talk to the artist, he had to interrupt dance practice for the new mv, and something about interrupting Yoongi while he was holding a sword was extremely unappealing, but it had to be done. Someone had to ask about the odd requests. Jin was sure that there was some sort of perfectly reasonable explanation, and then they could all move on with their lives. 

“Hey, Yoongi!” Jin called walking into the practice room, only to be met with a dark glare from the man who was quite literally holding a sword. 

“What?” he growled incredibly displeased by the interruption. 

He was moving Y/N into her new apartment today, and Yoongi wanted to be there to help her get settled. She had insisted on doing all of the packing herself, and he knew she was back from classes already and probably hard at work packing up her small apartment. He trusted Jackson with her. He knew he would help her pack up, but that didn’t change the fact that he wanted to be the one to help her. He wanted to finish practice and get out of there as quickly as possible. If he couldn’t help her pack up the old apartment, he could still help her settle into the new one. And flowers, he was going to bring her flowers. She would enjoy that. But Jin wasn’t helping any of these plans come together any faster with his interruptions. 

“Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“No.” Yoongi grunted, brushing back his hair as he glared at his hyung. 

“It’ll just take a minute.” Jin continued on cheerily even though Yoongi was giving him a look that would have sent anyone else cowering. Yoongi sighed, setting the sword aside and going to get a drink of water as he waited for Jin to get to the point. “So one of the managers came to me saying you’d been making some odd requests.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Just wanted to make sure that everything was okay. It’s not like you to buy an apartment building, and you’re looking for a house, schools? What’s going on, Yoongi?” 

“She has a kid.” Yoongi grunted, flopping down onto the floor for a break while Jin stared at him as though he’d suddenly grown a second head. 

“Who has a what now?” 

“Y/N, she has a kid.” he repeated. “Toddler. Cute little bugger.” 

“She has… a child?” Jin repeated pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as he tried to take in the new information. “Did you know about the kid?” 

“Found out on Saturday.” the other man shrugged, seeming remarkably unbothered especially considering the magnitude of what he’d just said. 

“And you’re buying a whole apartment building and a house because?” 

“Kid’s dad is harassing her.” 

“Okay?” Jin didn’t want to push too hard, but getting information out of the rapper could be like pulling teeth. 

“She needs a safe place to go, her and the kid.” 

“So you bought an apartment building?” Yoongi nodded. “Then what’s the house for?” 

“House is for her and the kid.”

“You said the apartment was for them.” 

“House is for all of us. Eventually.” 

Jin was dumbstruck as the implication of those words hit him with full force. Min Yoongi, the surliest son of a bitch he knew, had a family. He’d taken a sugar baby, and suddenly he had a whole family. He’d accepted another man’s child to the point he was planning a future around the kid and his mom. 

“That’s…” 

“It’s not hers.” Yoongi grunted seeing the older man’s head about to burst. “Not biologically. It’s her nephew, but he’s hers now.”

That made a little more sense to Jin. “And the birth dad is harassing them?” 

“Showed up at the park by her house without notice. Really freaked her out.” 

“She didn’t tell you about the kid?” Jin asked, sliding down next to Yoongi. He needed to sit if he was going to have this conversation. 

“She took the job to take care of him. Her family’s not in a good way.” Yoongi explained, taking another drink of water. “She was trying to protect the kid.” 

“And you’re okay with this?” 

Yoongi shrugged, thinking fondly on his angel and their kid. “She’s a good mom, and he’s a good kid.” 

Jin nodded along, still trying to wrap his mind around this. “And the kid actually likes you?” 

Yoongi scoffed, but a small smile tugged at his lips. As soon as the kid had decided that he was fine, the kid had been absolutely fascinated by him. It was painfully clear to both him and Y/N that the kid didn’t have a lot of men in his life. That was fine though. He had Yoongi now.

 “Why wouldn’t he like me?” 

“Cause you’re a grump?” Jin suggested, playfully bumping the other man’s shoulder. “Got a picture.” 

Yoongi looked at him in surprise, but he grabbed his phone pulling up a picture of Y/N and Eun Jae he had snapped on Sunday afternoon when the pair had fallen asleep on the couch for an afternoon nap after Eun Jae had run them both ragged around the penthouse playing princesses and dragons all afternoon. Eun Jae had been the brave night protecting the princess, and Yoongi had been made to be the dragon trying to steal Y/N away from her protector. Eventually the little guy had worn himself out, and the family had settled on the couch for a snack and an afternoon cartoon, before both mother and son had drifted off. Yoongi hadn’t been able to resist snapping a picture of his small family. 

“He’s a cute kid.” Jin smiled, handing the phone back to him. It was odd to see Yoongi with a family, but even if the indicators were subtle, Yoongi seemed happy. 

“Yeah.” Yoongi agreed. “He looks like his mom.” 

“So the house and looking at schools and everything, it’s all for them?”  Yoongi nodded. “Alright then.” Jin clapped, nodding resolutely. “That clears things up. When do they move into the apartment? And when do the guys and I get to meet the little guy?” 

“Y/N moves into the new apartment today. Eun Jae is going to be with her grandmother till Friday, and you idiots don’t get to meet him.” 

“What!” Jin squawked , highly offended. “Why not? We’d be awesome uncles!”

Yoongi growled under his breath. “She’s skittish about the kid, and I won’t have you idiots freaking her out.” 

“Freak her out! How could I freak her out? I’m world wide handsome, you know? And I’m great with kids!”

“Not the point, Jin.” 

“I wouldn’t freak her out!”

“She has every right to be skittish, and I get more time with my kid before you idiots start crowding in.” He huffed, bopping the other man over the head with the empty water bottle. 

“Alright, alright.” The CEO surrendered. “Congrats, man. You seem happy.” 

“I am.” 

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off. Go help your girl get set up in that fancy building you bought for her.” 

Yoongi nodded gratefully as the older man got up from the floor complaining about old bones. He was more than ready to get out of JinHit and go see his angel. He had all sorts of surprises ready for her at the new place, some he could show her and some he couldn’t.

He had the apartment furnished for her, getting some better quality appliances and furnishings for her. His family could only have the best after all. He’d even had the kitchen stocked in preparation for the move. He’d gotten a bunch of new toys and things for the kid too.

 Those were all things that he was excited to show her, but he knew better than to tell her that he owned the building, or that he had her entire security team living in the building as well. He knew what she’d say about that. She’d argue that it was too much, that it was unneeded, but he didn’t want to take any chances with her safety or Eun Jae’s. He even had a guard keeping an eye on the kid while he was at the grandmother’s. She’d certainly have something to say about that, but she didn’t need to worry over that. Their safety was his concern now, and he’d do whatever it took to protect his angel and their kid. 

With Jin letting him leave early, Yoongi was more than ready to go see his angel. He needed a shower first, but then he was free to go help her settle in. A quick text from Jackson had told him that she was already at the new building. A text from one of the bodyguards he’d hired to look after her had told him that Kim Taehyung had also been trying to keep an eye on her- trying and failing. Yoongi wasn’t about to let him get close to his family, especially not when his relationship with his kid was still so fragile. He hadn’t even known there was a kid in the equation till a few days ago, and he didn’t need the sperm donor showing up and confusing Eun Jae on who his father was.  For now, the little boy was safe with his grandmother, who Yoongi had been reliably told was a battle axe of a woman who wouldn’t be letting any strangers or anyone from the Kim family anywhere near that little boy. 

Yoongi got to the apartment to find Y/N preoccupied stringing up a set of bumble bee lights around the living room. He’d ordered a ton of stuff for the apartment, all things that he thought would be warm and comforting for her and the kid. It was colorful and bright, and ten times better than her old apartment. It had enough space for Eun Jae to play and for Y/N to do her schoolwork all while being within the safety of a building that Yoongi owned and staffed. The front desk had been given Taehyung’s photo with strict instructions not to allow him into the building. He wasn’t getting near either of them so long as Yoongi had anything to say about it. 

“Miss, you should really let me.” Jackson fretted hovering around Y/N as she put the lights up, making sure she didn’t fall. 

“I’m fine, Jackson.” she rolled her eyes. “I am perfectly capable of  putting up some lights.” 

“You could fall!” Guessing from the harried voice of his employee, Yoongi could guess that this wasn’t the first time that Y/N had refused to let him help today. 

“I let you put up the paintings!” 

“The paintings were already here when you got here!” 

“Eh.” she shrugged. “Someone who wasn’t me put them up.” 

“Babe,” Yoongi called, startling both of them and accidentally causing her to lose her balance on the sofa as she spun around, but Jackson was quick to catch her and equally quick to set her down again and excuse himself. 

“I wasn’t expecting you.” she muttered, shuffling from foot to foot. 

“Wanted to help you move in.” he smiled, stepping forward to place a quick, soft kiss to her forehead. “How do you like the place?”

“It’s too much. We really didn’t need something this…” 

“You did.”  he cut her off, holding out the bouquet of hydrangeas. 

“They’re lovely.” she smiled, a little tiredly, but it had been a busy day for her. “Let me get these in some water. I assume that’s what the vases are for?” He smirked following after her as she moved around the apartment. “You didn’t have to furnish it. You’ve already done so much for us, more than what we agreed upon.” 

“I wanted to,” he shrugged. “Besides, we need to renegotiate the terms of the contract anyway.” 

She turned to him with wide eyes, clearly nervous by the thought of renegotiations. “Nothing bad. Eun Jae puts a new light on things. I want to make sure that you and he have everything you need, give you both some more security.” he assured her. 

“You’ve already…”

“It’s not up for discussion, angel.” her mouth clicked shut immediately as she nodded. “Don’t look so grim, babe.” he laughed, tipping her chin up. “It’s just a few little things to take Eun Jae into account.” 

“He likes you.” she sighed, letting her sling an arm over her shoulder and steer her back towards the sofa and the half hung string of lights. “There’s not a lot of people that run around with him like that.” 

A swell of pride rose up in his chest at that. “I like him. He’s a good kid.”

“It’s nothing major right? The changes to the contract?” 

“No.” he pressed a kiss to her messy hair. “Nothing major.” It was just a few things to ensure their future, nothing she needed to worry about right now.

“Thank you again, for everything.” she sighed, sinking into the sofa and curling slightly into his side. 

He hummed, tugging her in a little closer. It was cute how she thought that this was big. It was nothing in the grand scheme of things. This was just the beginning for them, and this little apartment was no place for them to raise a growing family. 

“Anything for you.” 

part 16

[bakusquad-assemble]

hiya lol could you write a bakugou x reader and (they're dating already) and he's just being soft for her and cuddling in his dorm and he starts tickling her and she's screaming n stuff so the class rush in and are totally not expecting to see bakugou practically sat on reader and tickling her, lol no pressure obvs lol

Ahhhh thank you so so much for the request,lovely!! I really enjoyed writing this one so I hope you like it! Soft boy Bakugou has my whole heart! I’m very slowly making my way through my request inbox, but feel free to send me more prompts to get the creative juices flowin!

Bakugou Katsuki was never one to show affection so openly like his other classmates would with their significant others. He was a reserved person, and the idea of PDA had always embarrassed him. So when the two of you had started dating, you were very aware of how he reacted to being touched, and respected him enough to never poke or prod in public. What took you by surprise though, was how different he was in your private company. The once prickly and standoffish boy couldn’t keep his hands off of you. At first it was jarring, his warm arms around you feeling so foreign and new, but you couldn’t help but relish in it. Sometimes you even found yourself teasing the poor touch deprived boy to see how much he needed your body against his. It was cruel, sure, but also incredibly validating to have Bakugou huff and puff until you paid attention to him. Today was one of those days.

Bakugou made his way to your dorm room after class as he did everyday, his textbooks from class slung over his shoulder in his book bag, fully intent to study and spend some quality time with you. Just being in your presence always had a calming effect on the explosive boy, so he found himself drawn to you every chance he got. He knocked once on your door before letting himself in, tossing his bag to the floor and locking his crimson eyes onto your form. You were already sitting at your desk, head buried in your book and head nestled in the palm of your hand. You made no movement in his direction, instead keeping your eyes glued to the pages before you.

“Hey, Suki.” You smiled softly at his presence, earning a grunt in return. He threw himself onto your bed, looking over at you longingly but still said nothing as he pulled out his own papers and got to work. The two of you sat in silence for a bit, a smirk ever present on your face. You could feel the boy's frustration radiating off his body and knew that it would only be a matter of time before he got sick of the lack of contact. Bakugou cleared his throat and you lifted your head ever so slightly.

“You okay? You need some water or something?” You teased, finally turning to look at him over your shoulder. He was looking at you with furrowed brows, a light flush spread across his cheeks.

“why the fuck are you still sitting over there?” He asked, trying his best not to sound desperate, but a little seeped through. You could’ve melted on the spot from his tone.

“I’m doing my work.” You stated plainly, turning your back to him once more to hide your smile. You could hear him growl at your response.

“Yeah no shit dumbass, but why are you doing it over there? You don’t want to spend time with me or somethin?” He tried his best to look anywhere but you, feeling the embarrassment overtake him. You could hear the distress in his voice and you couldn’t help but let out the laugh you’ve been stifling. He was so needy and you loved it. You put down your pen on the desk and turned completely in your chair, finally facing your red faced boyfriend.

“the fuck you laughing at?” He looked confused, trying to flesh out the meaning of your behavior.

“Aw what’s the matter, Katsuki? Does someone need attention?” You teased again, your head cocked to the side toyingly. You saw his demeanor change immediately. The once confused expression was replaced with a devious grin as realization hit him like a ton of bricks. You were fucking with him.

“Oh, you little shit!” Bakugou jumped off of his place on the bed and rushed at you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you from the chair roughly. You couldn’t stop the loud scream that escaped your mouth, echoing throughout the room and cascading down the hallway of the dorms.

“Tryin to mess with me, huh?” He snickered into your ear, holding you against his body tightly as you tried to fight against his hold. Laughter bubbled out of your throat as Bakugou picked you up with ease, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way back to his previous spot in the room. Despite your kicking and playful fighting, Bakugou’s grip on you barely wavered. He slammed your body down onto the bed and climbed on top of you, a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“Well now I’m gonna make you pay for that.” His voice was sinister, dangerous, and you had no doubt that he meant business. Panic washed over you, and your fighting against the blondes grip got more frantic.

“No no no!” You laughed nervously, the sound mimicking that of a person in immediate danger, a scream of terror, but you were smiling and so was your boyfriend.

“Too late, you made me mad and now you’ve got to pay for it.” He let his hands live on your hips for a second, relishing in the feeling of your presence, before digging his calloused fingers into the sides of your body. Bakugou’s tickles were vicious, but there was still a certain softness to his hands. He let them roam your body, feeling every curve and smooth expanse of skin. His laugh cascaded around you like snow flurries, beautiful but bitting. To everyone but you, the sound was devious, Filled with malicious intent, but you knew better. So you laughed too. You laughed so hard that you could barely breathe.

“S-stop! Stop please, it hurts!” You felt your lungs burning, your chest tightening uncomfortably as Bakugou’s tickles only got more intense. You let out another scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you tried to fight off the strong blonde boy on top of you. It was no use though, he easily overpowered you in your current state. You thought about using your quirk to get him off of you, but honestly you didn’t really want him to stop. You loved feeling his hands wander your body, feeling his hot breath against the crook of your neck. It was intoxicating.

“In your dreams, y/n! You’re fucking dead!” You screamed once again, this time much louder, cowering from the anticipation of his punishment, but it never came. Instead you heard your door swing open, hitting the wall with some force. Both of you jumped at the sudden noise, and the sudden appearance of some familiar faces standing on high alert in your doorway. Bakugou made no motion to move from on top of you, instead shooting a dangerous glare towards the four idiots that had just made their appearance, their voices ringing in his ears like gunfire.

“Y/n?? Are you okay?” Mina’s voice echoed throughout the room immediately

“We heard screaming! Is everyone alright?” Kirishima spoke up next, his voice laced with obvious concern. The four figures froze in the doorway as they took in the actuality of the scene, a blush fighting its way fervently up Bakugou’s neck. Kaminari and Sero attempted to stifle their laughter, but to no avail.

“Oh ho ho, shit!” Looks like we had the wrong idea!” Kaminari snickered, bumping Sero in the side with his elbow.

“Damn, you two sure do have a weird way of gettin it on!” Sero chuckled, causing Kaminari to laugh even harder.

“Come on man, don’t kink shame them!” Kaminari’s stupid voice had Bakugou seething with rage.

“DON'T YOU FUCKERS KNOW HOW TO KNOCK?” Bakugou’s voice bellowed throughout the room, causing you to wince just from sheer proximity. Your face was a light shade of pink from being found in a compromising position, but Bakugou’s was fire engine red. Kirishima shifted awkwardly in his spot, bumping Kaminari hard in an attempt to get him to stop laughing.

“We’re sorry, Bro! It just...sounded like Y/n needed help! that’s all! We were all chilling in Mina’s room down the hall and heard her screaming!” Kirishima pleaded apologetically, clearly shaken that he had overstepped in such a personal way for the angry blonde. The last thing he ever wanted to do was make his best friend angry or uncomfortable.

“JUST GET OUT BEFORE I KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!” Bakugou yelled again, this time effectively stifling the laughter coming from Kaminari and Sero. Mina let out a soft giggle, ushering the terrified boys out of the room in one swift motion, feigning confidence to hide her own fear of being blown to bits.

“Alright guys, nothin’ to see here! I think we should give these two love birds their privacy.” You could feel Bakugou growl softly at her words, causing you to chuckle into your hand. Mina gave you a wink and a flirty little wave as she closed the door behind her, leaving you and Bakugou alone once more. Bakugou quickly took a pillow from your bed and chucked it at the door as it closed as hard as he could, making contact with a loud thud and earning a screech of terror from the other side of the door.

There was a moment of silence between the two of you before laughter cascaded from your lips. Bakugou looked back at you with wild eyes, clearly confused by the sudden noise of happiness.

“The fuck are you laughing about now?” You shook your head and wiped your eyes before looking back at him, a smile ever present on your face.

“It’s just...of course they had to barge in like that! They never cease to amaze me. ” You let your smile fade slightly as your hand reached out to caress his cheek. He hesitated for a second before allowing his form to melt into your touch.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki. Are you okay? I know you don’t like letting people see you like that. ” Your soft voice enveloped him, causing him to nod ever so slightly into your hand.

“M’fine. Those dumbasses just get under my fucking skin.” You let out a soft laugh, nodding with him.

“I mean, at least we know they’d come save me if I was ever being murdered.” Bakugou let an exhale of breath from his nose, the corners of his lips upturning ever so slightly.

“I’d get there first.” His confident tone was masked with warmth, a tone you recognized all too well. It was the same tone he talked in when he talked about your future together. It was filled with love. You rolled your eyes, but you still let the smile rest on your lips. You pulled Bakugou down next to you, keeping your eyes locked onto his crimson ones.

“ I know you would.” You whispered before bringing your lips to meet his in a loving kiss. It was short-lived contact, but still sent a shiver up Bakugou’s spine. He never expected to fall in love, never once imagined he’d let himself be so vulnerable in front of another human, but there was something about you that broke him down. Every single wall he had made that he believed to be impenetrable, you demolished with a single kind and understanding smile. And while Bakugou never imagined himself falling in love, he had unequivocally and irrevocably, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He pulled you in close to his chest, letting you rest your head there as he let himself savour the gentle sounds of your breath. He ran his hands through your hair gently as he felt you speak up once more, the words escaping your mouth causing a surge of pride to rush through the blonde boy's body.

“you’re my hero, after all.”

[crab-instruments]

Dust in the Wind Part 8 (tbb)

Master <Part 7 Part 9>

Pairing: Hunter x Secret Jedi! Reader (GN)

Rating and warning: General audience, panic/stress (minimal)

Words: 1.5k

a/n: haha well we don't have time to unpack all that finale, so here's an update of this instead. Fresh off the press and yeeted to tumblr. I'm thinking the next update will have some cool stuff. I hope.

Image credit in the notes

When your eyes opened, you laid there for a bit, taking in the events of yesterday and what some sleep had done to clear the mind. You must have slept well, not even remembering the dreams you had or stirring when others got up, as only Hunter and you were left in the bunks. This was based on assumption by reaching out using the Force, at least, as you hadn’t moved an inch yet.

Being with the Batch had made it easy to settle back into your ‘old life’ or maybe just who you really were, a force user. You were becoming more comfortable, but if you were being honest with yourself, that was a scary thought. It would make leaving so much harder.

You slowly started to move, careful to keep quiet, putting your feet on the cold metal floor. The ship buzzed and hummed through your feet, accentuating the dull pain in your muscles, but the pain had an odd nostalgic feel, something you would be used to after a mission.

Echo, Crosshair, and Wrecker were all out in the main cabin as you approached, all still sleepy, though the sniper was better at hiding it.

Echo handed you a cup and you presumed he said something along the lines of ‘mornin’ but your brain was still fuzzy, not used to the amount of sleep you got. You looked at the contents of the cup; caf that had a stale smell to it and enough water to have your reflection look back at you. Still, you drank it all in one go and then turned to back to the Clone who gave it to you. “Thank you, that was the worst caf I’ve ever had, and I’ve never been more grateful for it.”

Echo chuckled; a small smirk spread across his face. “I see you slept well. Surprised to see Sarg still in bed.” You cocked your head, not sure what he was getting at.

“He is usually up first, not able to sleep when people start waking up,” Wrecker filled in.

“It might have something to do with having more people sleeping comfortably,” Tech had walked from the cockpit. “He has said that when there’s more resting heartbeats around him, he is calmer. He was worried about Maxis so possibly having them closer helped him relax.” Tech had kept his voice even when speaking, but it still felt like there was a hint of something.

“What are you—”

“I came back here to let you know we will be landing soon, and someone should wake Hunter.” He turned around before you could address what you wanted.

Echo had grabbed another cup of caf and handed it out for you to take. “Maxis, would you mind? I have a few other things to do and you’re closer.” You squinted your eyes in skepticism at the Clone for a moment, before taking the cup and walking back to the bunks, making a mental note to corner those two and figure out what they were scheming.

Once you crossed the threshold of the room, you slowed down in front of where Hunter was laying. He had fallen asleep on his stomach, his arms under his pillow, and his face turned away from the wall. No bandana in his hair, you could see how thick his locks are, almost a little envious. Really, it suited him, and he knew it. You lowered yourself to the floor, taking a moment to just study his sleeping face. So calm and handsome, in this state you couldn’t see how much the war had taken its toll on him. It was something you could get used to—

“Mesh’la, staring is impolite.” You would never… ever… admit what his sleepy morning voice did to you in that moment. His voice startled you, sloshing some caf onto the floor. He hadn’t yet opened his eyes when he addressed you, but they stared straight through you now.

Say something! “Um… sorry, I didn’t mean… We just… We’re going to be landing soon.” Smooth, about as smooth as this caf.

Hunter chuckled, amused at the effect he had on you in that moment. Slowly he sat up, swinging his legs carefully over the side of the bunk. You had stood up and took a step back to give him space but were still more or less frozen.

“Is… one of those cups for me? Or do you just really enjoy the dirt caf…”

“Oh, right.” You held out the cup, certainly not loving every second he touched your hand. Holy kriff, you needed to get a grip on your life, or you were going to lose your mind. “Uhm, I’ll just…” you looked back to the doorway but then back at him. “Wait, mesh’la?”

A look of surprise took over Hunter’s face for a hot second before a smile took its place. He shook his head, and responded, “It’s Mando’a, I’ll have to teach you some day.” He stood up and walked past you to the main cabin, obviously still avoiding giving a real answer.

“But that doesn’t… what does it mean?” Hunter had already weaved his way through the ship, leaving you wondering. Maybe I’ll ask Tech about the best way to learn a new language.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Under the ship, you checked and cleaned the landing gear. It had seen better days and probably hadn’t even been washed since the Republic. You worked meticulously, finally able to show more of what you could do now that you didn’t have the possibility of needing a quick escape. The soreness that swam through your muscles sang loudly while you focused, it was clear you needed a break.

Two shadows, one much larger than the other, closed in on the area. Omega didn’t need to crouch all that much as she approached, Wrecker waiting by the side of the ship. “Hey Maxis, you should take a break. Wrecker and I were about to go get our Mantell Mix. It’s a tradition, we get some after every mission.”

You stopped working for a moment. “I didn’t really… I wasn’t a part of the mission. But—”

“You protected the ship from four troopers, I’d say that’s enough to get some Mix.” Wrecker said, with a bit of pride.

“Ah yeah, I guess. Let me put this piece back on and we can go.”

Crawling out from the ship, you wiped the dirt of your pants. Something about Ord Mantell always stuck to you though, but that was a part of its charm. Or that’s what you say to convince yourself. You had explored the market a bit, to pick up supplies and replacements for maintenance, but never really experienced it.

As Omega led the way, you asked, “what exactly is Mantell Mix?”

“Only the best treat in the entire galaxy,” Omega looked back at you, very excited.

“Well, when you mostly have rations, anything would be a treat. Very low bar. I think I’m more concerned about the name, Mantell Mix. A mix of what? Grime and overpriced goods?”

“I think adventure and a hint of sweetness is more like it.”

You chuckled. “Always good at the positive spin, Omega. That’s a good quality.” She beamed.

Once the food was acquired, you could only eat so much of it before deciding that Omega had lied about the ‘hint of sweetness’. But you did your best to show gratitude in being included.

The three of you decided to wander around the open-air shops. You ended up looking at some unrefined gems on display. Not something you would usually stop to look at, but something about the display caught your attention. A crystal, somewhat clear but had a red hue, stuck out.

“See something you like?”

“What… is this?” You pointed to the crystal. “And where did you get it?”

“Ahh, I’m not sure. I travel and trade quite a bit, unfortunately, and don’t remember much about every piece. But if it is to your liking, you should have a closer look.” The owner had a creepy facial expression, you were unsure if they were trying to just sell the item or if they had other motives. But what other motives could they have?

You reached for the crystal but could only hold it for a second due to the extreme pain and pressure you felt from it. Another force echo. Luckily, you pushed yourself out of it quick, only getting a brief glimpse of the horrible feeling, but it stuck to you, sitting heavy on your shoulders. A reminder of the past.

It was a kyber crystal, a synthetic one specifically. This one had been used by a Sith or an apprentice of one, having such a dark and evil aura around the force echo. It made you sick and scared. Suddenly, it felt like all eyes were on you, walls closing in. Fear crept into your mind.

“I’m s-sorry, I have to-… to go.” You swiftly made your way back to the Marauder, leaving Omega and Wrecker behind. The corner you hid in after your fight with the troopers felt like the perfect fit for you at that moment. You curled up in a ball as tightly as you could and hummed to yourself.

It took a while, but everyone made their way back and Hunter was discussing about their next mission that would take place in a few rotations.

Part 9

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Notes:

Mando'a: I assume if you're reading this, you know, but here's a link anyway.

Synthetic Lightsaber/Kyber crystal: One of my favorite things I learned about lightsabers is that the Sith used synthetic crystals and synthetic crystals are normally red, leading to the Sith having mostly red lightsabers. I don't know if that's still considered canon anymore, but for me it is. Image credit

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