#anyways. i mentioned the name of f/go earlier in the conversation and so that's the point where he decided he was going to go home and | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ellie-24 · 2 years ago

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Forbidden Fruit

Finally another installment set in my Big Daddy Elvis x assistant reader verse. Chronologically set after Maybe one day, but can be read as a stand alone. It's also not a reader-insert per se anymore because our lovely assistant has a name now. I hope you like it!! :)

Also I really gotta say a special thank you to the incomparable @whositmcwhatsit who made the whole thing readable and had some great tips! And thanks to @thatbanditqueen @vintageshanny @be-my-ally @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love for being the most inspiring, awesome backup ever. (they're also the ones taking possible complaints regarding the word count, they're responsible for it)

Warnings: Elvis loves his guns, discussions of Elvis' health, mentions of alcohol, addiction, pills, light manipulation and gaslighting, a bit of period typical misogyny, a bit of smut at the end (oral, f receiving)

Word count: ~13.3 k

You had continued staying with him at night after that one episode where he nearly overdosed. Elvis’ night terrors weren’t comparable to what most people mean when they describe what they go through when it’s time to sleep. Being around Elvis meant to completely ignore and unlearn your natural sleeping pattern. Scratch that. Being around Elvis meant that you had to forget everything considered normal. Day to day activities were determined by his unpredictable and sometimes challenging moods. In your short time working for him you quickly learned to adjust and be done with it. More importantly to never question anything. Things just made more sense when you stopped thinking about them too hard.

That’s how you found yourself sitting at Elvis’ bed at 5 in the morning reading to him. Being around Elvis meant being nocturnal. Which also meant that going to bed at 5 AM was a sensible thing to do.

“He's always been like this.” Charlie said to you a few days earlier. “Billy told me he never slept well. Even before his rise to fame, as a child. I guess that just stuck. He never outgrew it.”

“I think it might just be a habit now. He obviously performs at night. Very late into the night, it's only natural for your body to adjust.” Jerry had interjected.

“Well, he takes his pills before a show. You know the ones that make him more... energetic.” you offered.

Jerry raised his eyebrows. “Energetic. That's a nice way to put it.”

You shrugged. “He takes them before his shows. They're probably still full in effect when he tries to go to sleep.” The two men hummed, the conversation apparently over.

Whether it was a combination of those or something else entirely. Whatever it was, it caused nearly everyone in his orbit to go to bed when the rest of the world woke up.

He insisted that you stayed by his side from the moment he laid down until he woke up again. Clearly this was far beyond your duty as a personal assistant, but you couldn’t help yourself. You knew he hated being alone with his mind for too long, claiming it would get weird up there. He often found solace in his faith, carrying a bible everywhere he went. His books on spiritualism and numerology were constant companions as well. When his sleeping pills wouldn’t do the job and he found himself thrashing back and forth in his bed, frustrated that he just couldn’t seem to find any rest, he reached out for his reading glasses and turned on the lamp. His mind was running at full speed anyway, so he might as well put it to use.

The only thing hindering him now was the pain in his eye. The doctor couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but sometimes it was nearly unbearable for him. His body was so accustomed to the medication that even the painkillers he took hours ago couldn’t give him any relief.

“Do me a favour, will ya? Read this to me?” He held out a book to you.

“Is it your eye?”

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at you. “...Nah, just wanna hear your sweet voice.” he mumbled with a grin.

In your one hand you now held Cheiro’s Book of Numbers, a very interesting choice for a bedtime story. (Don’t question things.) Your other hand was occupied holding his ring clad one. How he slept with all this jewellery was another mystery to you.

He closed his eyes and reached out for your hand, grasping it tight. You scooted closer to him. “I'm right here, E. I'll stay.”

He hummed and squeezed your hand even tighter.

Elvis certainly had to be the most physical and touchy person you’d ever known. You gently ran your thumb over his palm, assuring him the whole time. He’d sometimes grunt or hiss, his face scrunching up in pain, which caused you to stutter slightly. You tried to conceal it. Often you thought he had finally fallen asleep, his breathing evening out, his hand squeezing yours less and less.

However when you stopped reading, you’d hear him rumbling. “... Julie, be a sweetheart and read that last part again, will ya? Didn’t quite catch that.”

That was the exact sentence he mumbled every time you grew quiet. After the third time though, the sentence grew shorter and shorter each time until the only thing he eventually managed to get out was a slurred “Julie, sweetheart.”

You read aloud for two more minutes and when you stopped this time, there was no reaction from him. You closed the book with a sigh and put it on his night stand and checked the time. 7:48 AM. With a huff, you ran your hands over your face, wanting nothing more than go to sleep as well. It felt like every day you needed to apply more make up to the ever growing bags under your eyes. But you couldn't go to sleep. Not really.

Being around Elvis meant almost constant paranoia. Paranoia that his lifestyle would finally take its toll. You’d seen him almost die two times now. When he nearly overdosed the other day you realised the true extent of the damage all the pills caused.

“It's alright, sweetheart. The doctor prescribed them. He knows what he's doing, he's a doctor.” he laughed, looking at you like you had grown two heads.

“Jerry said you've been to the hospital multiple times already.” you insisted. “Don't you think-”

“He's just a nervous nelly. It was probably... dehydration or something along the lines, nothing dramatic. Don't believe everything you're told” he argued, leaving no room for disagreeing.

The only other time you witnessed him almost die was at dinner. You and the rest of the Memphis Mafia sat together enjoying a relaxed dinner after a successful show. Everyone enjoyed their food and made light conversation until Elvis started choking all of the sudden. You remember sitting in shock, dropping your plate as you watched Jerry run over to him and perform the Heimlich manoeuvre. This event had truly shocked you to the core, causing dinner to be considered a rather stressful affair now.

The truly terrifying thing about this whole nerve wrecking affair wasn’t necessarily the fact that Elvis Presley was in fact choking, it was how automatic and nonchalant everyone was about it. As if the whole process has been practised numerous times. Jerry later informed you that something like this would indeed happen on a regular basis. Almost everyone close to him had saved his life at one point. Literally. Charlie explained that the medication would alter and slow his reflexes, often causing him to choke on food. Sometimes he had trouble catching his breath, even without physical activity. That's why you always made sure to carry a second inhaler with you anywhere you went. There were many things to look out for and the responsibility sometimes made your head spin. Actually, you should start making a list, maybe it'll ease some of your anxieties.

You yawned and laid down next to him. You made sure to put a hand on his plush chest, feeling the coarse hair under your palm. The steady rise and fall of it and the strong beating of his heart calmed you a bit. Often you would just lay there and study his face, fighting the urge to close your burning eyes. The way his eyes were moving frantically under closed lids. Black eyeliner still smudged, long eyelashes fluttering over soft cheeks. His beautifully shaped nose would twitch occasionally as if you’d tickled him with a feather. His marshmallow lips would move from time to time like he was talking, or singing. You didn’t really know, but that’s when you had to pay close attention. Once he started thrashing around you scooted back a bit, not wanting to get accidentally hit by him. Eventually he'd calm down again and you breathed a sigh of relief every time. You won't ever forget the one time he actually got up and started to walk around. It had taken you a few seconds to figure out that he was sleep walking

He had to be closely watched throughout the night and in a way you of course understood why he insisted on you staying with him. You could clearly see that he was scared of himself at times, scared for himself. So you did your best to be there for him, even though it was taxing at times. Not only as an employee, but as a friend. He needed it. You turned your head to the night stand and checked the time again. 10:03 AM. Damn.

It felt like you had closed your eyes for about a second when you felt something pulling at your hair. Your eyes shot open and you saw Elvis leaning over you, a few strands of your hair between his fingers.

“Wakey, wakey, sweetheart.” He cooed at you and started to braid your locks.

“Hey E, what time is it?” you asked groggily.

“Time to wake up, sweetheart,” he hummed.

“Very funny.” You sighed and closed your eyes again. At that, he gave a light yank to the small braid he held in his hands.

“Don’t go back to sleep, Julie baby,” he insisted.

“Alright okay, I’m awake.” You turned over again. 5:26 PM. Damn, it felt like you were asleep for a minute. “Was Charlie already here?” you asked, rubbing your eyes. He must have been, otherwise Elvis wouldn’t be so active already. Just like he couldn’t go to sleep without special help, he needed a little something extra to get up and function again. It was a vicious cycle, really.

“Yeah, he was.” He waved away as you sat up.

“Oh my god, shit, why didn’t you wake me up? I really slept in!”

“I did.” He stated with an innocent smile, feigning ignorance. “Also, I had to show him what a cutie you are when you're asleep. Did ya know ya pull the funniest faces? I can always tell what you're dreaming.” You decided not to comment on this and rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. He placed a hand on your shoulder, holding you back.

“Wait, sweetheart, there’s something I gotta talk to you about real quick.” You turned back to him, giving him your full attention and he smiled, pleased. “You remember those crazy guys who tried to get onstage while I was performing, made a big fuss? Lamar, uh, mentioned they saw some guys lurking around, uh, looking like they’re up to no good. Down in the casino.”

You had an idea where this was going. The paranoia that everyone felt around Elvis extended to Elvis himself. He always felt like there was someone after him. To a degree you could understand, as there were real incidents like death threats, rude letters, or fans who got a little too excited and almost attacked him.

You had experienced it yourself after seeing the mean looks on the faces of some female fans directed towards you, and waiting for something to happen, but you knew not to let it affect you too much. However, Elvis took these things to heart, and you didn’t understand why his entourage would feed into those fears and the paranoia. The guys Lamar was talking about were probably harmless, but due to Elvis’ own concern he felt the need to tell him. Elvis made them see a threat everywhere. Everyone was aware that Elvis needed to know that he was in charge, that he was in control, and that he would decide what’s best for everyone, because he just knew.

He had told you numerous times that it was best to always carry a gun. After all he carried one everywhere he went, even onstage. The shock you felt at that particular revelation is hard to describe, but, as you had learned by now, it was best not to question things. You had declined every time he suggested it, finding it unreasonable, but now you had a feeling you were about to have that discussion again.

“...Sweetheart, I want you to be safe.” He continued and squeezed your shoulder.

“You don’t gotta worry about me. I can take care of myself.” You insisted, raising your chin.

He tilted his head to the side in disbelief. “Can ya? I remember ya nearly leaping into my arms, scared to death at the sight of a little spider. When was that? Three days ago?” he mused with a shit eating grin on his face.

You lightly smacked his arm. “That’s not the same! And the spider wasn’t small. For the record.”

“It was an itty bitty spider, sweetheart. It’s not my fault that everything looks huge for poor little Julie.” He smirked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Okay, I might be scared of spiders, but I’m not intimidated by some guys Lamar and the others deem ‘up to no good’,” you countered, mimicking the quotation marks with your fingers.

“It’s not funny, ya know how people can get. Pretty thing like you can turn into a damsel in distress real quick. Trust me. I just want ya to be able to protect yourself.”

“Elvis, we’ve been through this,” you sighed.

He took a deep breath. “Sweetheart, I- I feel responsible for you... Give me some peace o-of mind,” he stammered, leaning closer towards you with a pleading look on his face.

“I’m an adult, you know.”

He pouted. “Then start a-acting like one. Julie, you a-are so damn stubborn, why can’t you just d-do what I tell you,” he argued, throwing his arms up in frustration.

You took a deep breath and placed your hands on his shoulders. “Elvis, I know that you mean well and I appreciate your concern-“

“Don’t brush me off, sweetheart. Will ya do as you’re told?”

You sighed. It’s true you were stubborn, but he was stubborn as well, and persuading him didn’t work this time. The discussion was pointless and you knew that in order to save you some trouble the best thing you could do was just agree. He wasn’t gonna give up, you could feel it. There was a determination and finality in his eyes that left no room for arguing. On the one hand it could be considered flattering that he was so concerned with your well-being, but on the other it was scary to think about what was going on in his head, pushing him to such decisions.

“I guess I could give it a try. Just for tonight, alright?” His hand moved from your shoulder and brushed against your chin in a feather light touch. It sent a warm tingle down your spine.

“Anyone ever tell you that you can be real difficult, sweetheart?” he stated with a tender smile.

“Actually, you’re the first. Everyone I interact with always makes sure to tell me that I’m an absolute delight. Highlight of their day.”

“Hush now,” he chuckled as he got up from the bed with a grunt. He rotated his shoulder multiple times and put a hand on his back with a sigh. You knew that today wasn’t a particularly good day for him.

“...How is your eye?” you inquired with a more serious tone, getting up as well to fetch his sunglasses.

He squinted his eyes and shook his head with a small frown. “I’m good,” was the short answer you received. You carefully placed the glasses on his nose and wiped away some sweat that had gathered on his forehead. It always seemed to be there.

“Are you sure?”

“Stop worrying your pretty lil’ head about that,” he replied, tugging at your hair again. You smiled at him and gently ran your hand through his soft hair. He leaned into it.

“...I don’t-“

“I know my body, woman. I’m grown, let me handle it,” he cut you off, raising an eyebrow.

The irony of this exchange wasn’t lost on you. You had the feeling it wasn’t lost on him either as he cleared his throat and walked away from you and your touch. At times it could happen that he was self aware. Fleeting moments really.

He always claimed to know what everyone was supposed to do. If it were only suggestions he offered, but no, he had to make sure they were carried out. Preferably he carried them out himself, at least then he knew it was properly taken care of. He even felt responsible for things that weren’t his business in the slightest, but the moment someone else merely suggested that he should take care of something concerning himself, he’d shut them down in a second. Didn’t even want to hear it.

You followed him and he cast a warning look over his shoulder, as if he saw you opening your mouth through the back if his head. He opened a closet and pulled out a leather case, putting it on the glass table in front of him and swiftly opening it. At the sight of what was inside, a gasp escaped you: various firearms, badges and bullets, shining and reflecting the sun light, almost blinding you. His obsession with law enforcement was nothing new to you, he had proudly showed you his Reserve Captain of the City of Memphis Badge and his police flashlight the first time you met him, but seeing all these guns in front of you was something else.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” he smirked.

“Uhm, they’re certainly uh... This one’s pretty.” You pointed at a small gun decorated with golden leaves and different animals, which were carefully engraved into the steel.

“I had a feeling you’d like this one.” He responded proudly and picked it up with trained expertise.

“I like the animal,” you remarked, mentally slapping yourself for not coming up with something more clever.

He chuckled. “It’s a Smith & Wesson 19, I had it custom made in Germany. You wanna hold it?”

“Uh..”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s not loaded. See?” He opened the cylinder and showed you the empty chambers, then shut it again and pressed the gun into your hands.

“A pretty lil’ gun for a pretty lil’ girl.” He smirked as he assessed you carefully, licking his lips. You felt heat rising up your chest and neck and cleared your throat.

“...I don’t even know how to..” you trailed off, the gun still laying in your open palms, looking a bit lost.

“Here, let me,” he mumbled as he stepped behind you.

Suddenly his strong arms were around you, surrounding you, trapping you. For a moment you forgot how to breathe, your body betraying you and your muscles not moving the way you wanted them to. You were still able to move your eyes though and saw his big hands engulfing your smaller ones. He gently guided your trembling hands, showing you how to properly hold the gun. You weren’t sure if the trembling was caused by the highly dangerous firearm in your grasp or the equally dangerous Rock ‘n’ Roll star behind you. You took a shuddering breath after what felt like hours and promptly realised it was a grave mistake. His smell now surrounded you as well, an intoxicating mix of sweat, cologne and cigars. If you leaned back just a little you could feel the swell of his stomach, you already felt the heat of his body radiating off him. Oh, how you wanted to let go and just-

“Are ya still with me, sweetheart?” he chuckled behind you, his lip curling. Shoot.

“...Uh sorry, what did you say? I was... concentrating,” you stammered, relieved that at least he couldn’t see the blush on your cheeks.

He stepped forward with a small laugh, finally closing the gap between your bodies, trapping you completely to him. You were only wearing a tank top and the v neck of his shirt was so deep that you could feel his coarse chest hair against your shoulder. Sweet Jesus, this man was driving you insane! His warm hands started to work yours again, correcting angles and adjusting your hold. The coolness of his rings and the sight of the veins on the back of his hand caused your heartbeat to pick up once more.

“Yeah, like this... Wait, your finger has to go there... Relax your lil’ fingers, sweetheart... I said relax... That’s it,” he murmured, his rough fingertips now slowly gliding over your wrist, steadying your hand. He played you like an instrument, one of his guitars maybe, waiting to be tuned. You swallowed hard and prayed that he couldn’t see the goosebumps forming on your arms, or feel your pulse racing under his nimble fingers.

“Good. Now we gotta work on your stance.”

Without warning, you felt his strong thigh pressing itself between your legs, nudging your feet apart. You let out a surprised yelp and nearly lost your balance, but he hastily wrapped an arm around your middle, fingers digging into your stomach.

“Woah, careful there, little lady... Am I making you nervous?” he asked with a smirk. He knew damn well, he just enjoyed watching you squirm. His warm breath tickled your ear and for a second you thought you felt his soft lips gently brushing against your cheek. It was only for a millisecond, but it sent a shock through your core. Did he really just…?

“...You w-wish, huh? I -I just want to be careful with this... weapon of mass destruction,” you gasped and tried to conceal it with a laugh, feeling a bit breathless. He slowly ran his hands over your waist, down to your hips.

“Sweetheart, quit being so jittery. You gotta stop being so damn careful with this ‘weapon of mass destruction’,” he chuckled. “It can handle ya having a bit of fun with it.” He spoke in a low voice and pressed himself even closer to you, the double meaning of his words not lost on you. You wanted to deny it for your own sanity, but you were sure that it was the outline of his dick you felt against your backside. Was he wearing no underwear under these silk pyjamas? You felt a lump in your throat and your mouth turned dry. Like a desert. Oh god.

“What is it, Julie darlin’? Cat got your tongue?” he whispered, his chin resting on your shoulder. You stared straight ahead, because if you turned your head just a little bit, your lips would certainly brush against his. Then it would be game over. You had to focus, which was a difficult task with him continuing to knead the flesh of your hips without a care in the world.

You were used to his flirting and touching and, of course, you were both aware for your mutual feelings for each other, but you had made an agreement not to act on it, protecting both of you. Spending every night with him, though platonic, already meant treading on thin ice, and feeling him like this, so close, made your resistance grow weaker by the minute. He apparently had an equally hard time holding back and you knew it was up to you to stop right now. No matter how much didn’t want this moment to end.

You freed yourself from his grasp and let out a barely audible sigh at the loss of contact. Without his comforting warmth surrounding you, you couldn’t suppress a little shiver. You turned around and saw him drop his arms that still hovered in front of him as if you were still there. He adjusted his glasses and ran a hand over his mouth.

You got into position to hold the gun like he just showed you. “Like this?” you questioned. You knew it probably wasn’t perfect, you were hardly able to pay attention to what he had just explained to you. Maybe you hoped he would get close to you again, help you and correct you, so you could feel his wide frame against your smaller one. Just maybe. He cleared his throat and looked down.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he murmured and went over to the glass table again, the moment you two just shared now over. With a frown, you followed him and peered over his shoulder to see what he was doing. He opened a small box, revealing various bullets.

“...Now, for the Smith & Wesson you’re gonna need this .357 Magnum cartridge...” He continued listing facts about the ammunition with you listening dutifully, as if nothing happened between you mere seconds ago. Every now and then, he’d look at you to check if you were still paying attention to him and, though you didn’t really understand what he was talking about, you nodded your head every now and then. He showed you how to open and close the cylinder and placed a bullet in each of the six chambers. Alright, now it was loaded. Great.

“Here, watch this,” he said and got into position to shoot. You thought he wanted to show you the hold and stance again, but you were wrong. You saw his finger coming dangerously close to the trigger and, without warning, he pulled it. You shrieked as he actually shot at the sofa at the other end of the room. Was he completely losing his mind now, just shooting inside a building? You wanted to remind yourself not to question things, but this was too much. You could not leave it like this. Couldn’t pretend it was normal.

“Elvis! What are you doing?” you screamed, covering your ears with your hands.

“I’m demonstrating,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

“...You... You shot a pillow!”

“It’s ugly anyways.”

“Ugh... I don’t believe you sometimes,” you said, shaking your head. He actually had the audacity to laugh.

“Come on Julie, it’s funny.”

“...You’re a... a man child!” you said with a small nervous chuckle, your ears still ringing.

“And you’re a killjoy!”

“Oh my god, I’ll better go downstairs now, before you start shooting the windows. And you should start getting ready, you have a performance later, remember?”

“What was I just saying about a killjoy?”

“And put the gun away!”

“Lord, woman, you’re horrible.”

“It’s called common sense, E.”

“Boring,” he said, although he couldn’t hide how the corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile.

“Common sense!” you laughed and gathered your stuff as well as the keys for your apartment. The apartment you barely used now, spending most of your time and nearly every night with him, but you insisted on keeping it. You still wanted to keep that last boundary, the illusion that you weren’t as deeply involved as you were. You didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

On your way out you turned to him and waved.

“See you in an hour or so. If you need something just give me a call.”

“You forgot something,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

You halted in your tracks. Man, you just couldn’t get away with anything today. You sighed and he walked towards you with a serious expression on his face once more. He handed you the gun he had used to shoot the poor pillow.

“Take it, Julie.” Maybe it was better if you just took it. Even if you wouldn’t necessarily use it, it would be a precaution.

“...Alright, boss.” You mock saluted and grinned up to him. He smiled fondly, his eyes twinkling, as he brushed some of your hair behind your ear and his thumb briefly traced along your jawline towards your chin, lingering there for a moment.

“I knew you could be a good girl.”

“You like it?”

He hummed and leaned against the door frame, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction.

“...Then I’ll have to rethink it.”

His face dropped and you let out a small giggle at his expression. You enjoyed it when you got to tease him and sometimes it was just too easy with him. He needed some light-hearted fun like anyone else, but it rarely happened; the possibility of him not appreciating the joke and the consequences of that always lingering in the back of everybody’s mind.

“You little minx,” he muttered with a grin and reached out for your waist. You backed away.

“Ah! No time to be silly! I told you we have to start getting ready,” you laughed and turned around. “See you later!” He leaned against the door frame and gently smiled at you until you were out of sight.

After arriving at your apartment, you opted for a quick shower and carefully reapplied your makeup the way Elvis wanted you to. He showed you exactly how to do it, claiming that everyone in the inner circle represented him and there was a certain image to uphold. You figured this made sense and complied with his rules. He was very particular about these things, always concerned with what others thought of him. Whether it was the fans not showing enough enthusiasm at his shows, or the tabloids printing horrible stories about him, it was enough to turn him sour and moody for a couple of hours.

After wiping off some excess lip gloss, you carefully eyed the gun and picked it up. Sighing, you chewed on your bottom lip. Were you really gonna go out there with a gun, even for effect?

It felt like just another one of Elvis’ silly little ideas, thinking he could show you how it worked in a 10-minute crash course and then off you would go. He never thought these things through and his irresponsibility annoyed you.

“Nah, this is stupid,” you muttered to yourself, hiding the gun in your closet. Elvis wouldn’t know. You needed to be the sensible one.

You grabbed your bag and walked towards the door. As you turned the handle, you casted one last look over your shoulder, facing the closet. You shook your head and closed the door behind you.

On your way down you briefly passed the Colonel, but refused to spare him a glance. He showed up less and less, preferring to work everything out from a safe distance. Probably too much of a coward to face Elvis and the rest of the entourage.

After Elvis had tried to fire him a few weeks ago, there was a noticeable discomfort with the situation on all sides involved. Vernon had advised Elvis that it would be better to keep the Colonel around. Finances and debts played a major role, Vernon explained to you after you asked him about it. There was no way out of this horrid situation.

It made you mad and your frustrations were only made worse by your employer’s reaction, or his lack of reaction. Elvis’ resignation regarding the whole topic, his acceptance that there was nothing he could do, made you incredibly sad. Here was this man they called King, adored by millions of people and surrounded by luxury, and he was utterly powerless. He knew that he didn’t have the willpower, nor the energy to fight anymore, and just passively let these things happen to him.

When you arrived in the backstage area you quickly spotted Charlie and walked up to him, making small talk while you were waiting for Elvis. He showed up a few minutes later, looking as nervous as he did almost every time. You saw that he was sweating again already, his face shining and some of his black hair sticking to his face. You walked up to him and gently dabbed his face with a towel before placing it around his shoulders. He let out a shaky exhale and searched your eyes.

“Ready?” you asked with smile. He huffed a laugh and looked down, shaking his head the tiniest bit. You almost didn’t see it.

“Hold my hand for a bit, will ya, sweetheart?” he whispered and the vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much. One would think after 20 years in the spotlight he would have overcome his stage fright, but every new crowd was another challenge for him. ‘Every audience is different and they never saw me live before. So it’s like performing for the first time every time,’ he always said. You stepped closer to him and reached out for his hand, squeezing it and soothingly rubbing your thumb over the back of it.

“You’re gonna be great, I know it. I see you performing on that stage every evening and I never get tired of watching you. These fans, they’re here for you and you won’t disappoint them.”

“You really think so?” he inquired, his voice more similar like a little boy’s rather than a grown, experienced rock star.

“Yes, E, I do. You’ll blow them away.”

“If you say so, Julie baby.”

“Don’t you think I’m qualified enough to judge?” you asked with a teasing tone.

“Oh sweetheart, I think you’re highly competent,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow.

“I like to remind you of that every now and then.”

“I couldn’t possibly forget,” he smirked, though the tremor in his hand still gave him away.

“Good answer E. See? You know how to charm people. Now you just gotta go out there and do the same.” You squeezed his hand one more time and looked up to him with an encouraging smile.

He took a deep breath when Also Sprach Zarathustra started playing and looked up to the ceiling as if sending up a quick prayer.

“Okay E, let me have a look at you,” you said and reached for his towel, wiping away some of the sweat that had gathered on his face again, as well as some eyeliner that was already smudged. “...Yep, you can go on stage like this.” He gently cupped your chin, making you shiver slightly.

“I’ll be looking for you in the audience. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” you whispered and fixed some of his hair that had fallen out of place. “Now you’re perfect.” His eyes briefly flashed with what you thought was insecurity, but it was quickly replaced with a smirk.

“You can be quite charming if you want to as well, Julie baby. You sure it’s not you who’s supposed to be on that stage?” he winked.

“When I start singing, they’ll just flee for their lives,” you joked and he flashed you another smile before turning around, making his way towards the stage.

You gave him a thumbs up and watched him until he was out of sight. That’s when you noticed Jerry standing rather close, looking at you with an unnervingly neutral expression. You had a creeping feeling he’s silently watched the entire exchange between you and Elvis and, though nothing happened, you couldn’t help but feel slightly awkward and exposed under his assertive gaze. You cleared your throat and made your way towards the auditorium.

When you watched Elvis on stage there was no indication of his earlier nervousness. As always, he seemed at home in the bright spotlight, truly in his element. You cheered him on and just ignored the times he stumbled over the lyrics or couldn’t fully hit a note because he was out of breath. In fact, these were the little things that made the performance feel real, evoking genuine emotions within you.

After two hours of Elvis working his magic, you made you way back towards entrance to the backstage area to accompany him back to his suite. You stood in the corridor, mentally going through everything he needed for the night when you heard someone walking behind you.

“Hey, you.” You turned around to see a man around your age approaching, slurring his words. “Uh, do you happen to know where the restrooms are?”

You blinked. “Oh, uh you’re really in the wrong place. This is the way backstage.”

It took some time for him to register what you just said and you could see the gears turning in his head.

“...Oh... huh, you really seem to know your way around here. You come here often?” he asked with a smile that you think was meant to be charming.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his clumsy attempt of flirting. He was obviously drunk, but he was just trying to make conversation. Emphasis on trying.

“Believe it or not, for the last few weeks I’ve been here every night.”

“That’s crazy.” He said with big eyes, but then he nearly gagged.

“Oh my god, okay, come on, I’ll show you the restroom. Don’t want you to throw up all over the corridor.” You said, pulling him along.

“You’re really kind. I’m sorry, I’m not usually this drunk.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. First time in Las Vegas?”

“How do you know?”

“Uh, just a feeling. Happens to the best of us.”

He smiled down at you and promptly lost his footing. You stumbled until both of you fell to the ground with him on top of you. You groaned at the impact and looked around. Trying to get up wasn’t possible with his dead weight on you, so you pushed against his chest. His reaction was slow to non existent. You were sure he was almost passing out.

“Get off me!” you said a bit louder, trying to get his attention.

It seemed like a cruel joke that it was in that particular moment that Elvis, Charlie, Jerry and Lamar turned around the corner, witnessing the scene before them. And boy, it looked bad. You pushed against the stranger’s chest one more time, urging him to get up. He didn’t even have time to react, as he was yanked off by strong hands.

You looked up, relieved to be able to breathe freely again. Elvis had him by the collar of his shirt, pressing him against the wall, with Lamar and Charlie exchanging concerned looks. Jerry walked towards you with a frown and reached out his hand to help you up.

“Were you having fun?” Elvis hissed, his voice dangerously low. His blue eyes were burning beneath his shades, their expression almost scaring you.

“Elvis, he didn’t do anything!” you interjected. Jerry gently grasped your arm, holding you back.

“I asked you a question, you son of a bitch,” Elvis spat angrily.

From the way he stood you could tell that his back was giving him even more trouble than when he got up today, probably from a daring move he had just attempted during his performance, but he still managed to put on a brave face that would convince anyone that he’d still be up for a fight. Not that it mattered much to the drunk stranger, you weren’t sure that he even registered that it was Elvis Presley talking to him.

You ignored Jerry’s hand on your elbow and stepped towards Elvis.

“He’s drunk, I wanted to help him. He fell on me Elvis, nothing happened.”

It was as if he didn’t even hear you. You put a hand on his back, feeling him tremble beneath you, a combination of the post show adrenaline and pure rage. His silence was really starting to scare you. That’s how you knew it was serious. Really serious.

“Please, let go of him.” you begged when he didn’t answer you. You glanced over to the other guys, feeling helpless. All you got were neutral expressions, no one daring to move a finger. Elvis took a deep breath and pointed a ring clad finger at the stranger’s face.

“If you ever come near her again... if I ever see you again.. you’re gonna regret it. Now get outta my sight,” He warned. With a nod towards Lamar and the other two he let go of him and they escorted him away.

You looked at Elvis, who was still breathing heavily. He flexed his hands multiple times and eyed you carefully.

“Julie, where’s your gun?”

Shit.

Your silence answered his question.

“...I don’t believe this,” he mumbled, roughly grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, not saying another word to you. Once you were up in his suite again, he slammed the door and looked down on you with a frown.

“Answer me this: What would you have done if I hadn’t been there in time?” he asked, starting to pace around.

“I wasn’t in danger,” you answered, not moving from your spot.

“Damnit, I warned you about guys like him. I knew something like this would happen!” He pulled out the Colt 45 he hid under his pants leg and strode towards you. “I gave you one of these for a reason.” He continued, waving it in front of your face.

“Elvis, please put the gun away,” you said calmly, remembering the stunt he pulled a few hours ago with the pillow.

“I do what I damn well p-please,” he scoffed and turned away from you. You took a step towards him.

“Please, stop acting like this.”

“You don’t get to t-tell me what to do,” he said, pointing his finger at you.

“Goddamnit Elvis! What is going on?!” You cried, fed up with his antics.

“Why don’t you just do what I-I tell you?”

“Because I wanted to decide what I’m going to do,” you explained, lowering your voice a little to appease him.

“Great h-how that worked out f-for ya!” he spat. You scoffed, at a loss for words, and slammed a hand against your forehead.

“Julie, don��t fucking act like I’m the one who’s in the wrong now! I won’t have you disrespecting me like this,” he warned, his eyes burning into yours with a fury that almost made you back up a little.

“It’s not that! I’m trying to tell you that nothing happened! Look at me, I’m alright!” you argued with desperation in your voice as you gestured at yourself. Did he even listen to you?

“But what if something happened? Julie, I swear to god!” He was seething, his face red with exertion.

“What, Elvis?” you snapped. He just glared at you, his chest heaving.

“You know what? I’m not gonna discuss this right now. I’ll come back later,” you shouted and left the apartment without waiting for his reaction.

Just before you shut the door behind you, you heard him yelling at you, “Julie, if you leave now-“

That’s when you closed the door. And for a moment you were scared; scared because his anger was probably directed towards you now. You didn’t mean to upset him, he was going through so much already, but you also knew that it wouldn’t make any sense to try and talk to him right now. His temper was infamous among those in the inner circle, it was one of the first things you were warned about.

In order to have a normal conversation again he would have to calm down first. You had to calm down as well, knowing that you’d probably say something stupid if he continued to act this way. You felt tears of frustration and anger pricking at your eyes and almost ran down the corridor towards the elevator.

You found yourself wandering through the foyer and saw Jerry sitting on a sofa, apparently deep in thought. You let out a sigh of relief as, within the Memphis Mafia, he was the one that you trusted the most. Not only was he the only one who dared to challenge Elvis at times, but he also had known Elvis for a long time and was a great listener, which is why you’d occasionally come to him for advice.

“Hey, Jerry,” you greeted as you approached him tentatively. He looked up to you and blinked.

“Oh.. hey Julie. Are you okay? You still look a bit shaken... Um, don’t worry, we took care of that guy and escorted him back to his friends. We suggested that it would be better for them to leave. No one’s gonna bother you again.” You sat down next to him.

“He was harmless, Jerry, just drunk. I’m more worried about Elvis... He... um just threw another hissy fit and I’m afraid I made it worse.” With another sigh you sank into the soft pillows behind you, though relaxing wasn’t really an option right now.

“Yeah... he was really pissed about this guy. It doesn’t help that he already felt agitated the whole day. I think something just snapped in him... How did you make it worse though?”

“I walked out on him, mid argument.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. You know, he wanted me to carry a gun, because Lamar thought he saw some gangsters running around the casino... making him go crazy. He wanted me to carry a gun, knowing I have no experience with it, nor the ambition to be honest. I didn’t have it with me and he just... lost his damn mind.”

“I see.” You looked at him expectantly, but he sighed and shrugged.

“Julie... He wants to look out for you. I know he only means well,” he chuckled. “He means well most of the time, it’s just the execution that goes horribly wrong.” You felt a gentle smile tugging at the corners if your lips.

“Yeah, I know that, and I really appreciate his concern, but he needs to know that there are other perspectives as well. People might think differently than him,” you replied while absentmindedly playing with a loose thread on the cushion next to you. He nodded in understanding and turned to you.

“But that’s the thing, he thinks he knows best. And, as I said, he wants the best for everyone. He’s always worried and... concerned about everyone’s well being, wanting to keep everyone around him happy. Sometimes he even tries to fix things that aren’t even his business... It causes him sleepless nights, really.” He shook his head with a frown.

“God, I feel so bad, but he really got on my last nerve today. He shot a damn pillow and thought it was the funniest thing in the world.”

“That’s nothing. He... uh regularly shoots his television sets when there’s something on that he doesn’t like.”

“He does what now?” you asked, your eyebrows raised.

“It’s true. He really does things... his own way. That’s how I’d put it.”

“He’s nuts sometimes. Gosh, I just hope I didn’t mess up too bad this time. I know it’s right for me to stand up to my beliefs, but still.”

“I think he’d forgive you almost everything.” Your gaze drifted towards him, your lips pursed.

“I hope so... Do I have to apologise?” you asked, beginning to genuinely think you did something wrong now. He sighed.

“Julie, I know Elvis. Let me just say it would probably be better that way.”

“But do you think I should?”

“He wants to be right, discussing something like this with him won’t get you far.”

You hummed, this wasn’t really the answer you were looking for, but you knew it was all you’d get from him.

“And... uh there were no other incidents today? I didn’t hear anything. You know, about the weird guys Lamar thought he saw earlier today.”

“No, nothing. I guess it was a false alarm.” He shrugged. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your mouth. This was what started this entire debacle.

“Julie I know what you think, but it’s better to be safe than sorry,” he tried to explain. You hummed again and decidedly pulled off the string you’d been twirling the entire time.

“You’re probably right. I think I’ll go upstairs again and see if he’s calmed down a little. Hopefully he hasn't trashed the damn place. Because who's gonna clean it up?” she asked and pointed both thumbs towards herself.

He let out a little snort. “Alright, take care, Julie,” he said as he watched you get up.

“I will, thanks Jerry.”

With that you turned and made your way back through the foyer, thinking about the upcoming conversation with your boss. It was weird to think about him like that, and you had to remind yourself of that particular fact every now and then. You wandered around the hotel for almost half an hour before building up enough nerve to face him again.

When you finally opened the door to his suite with the key he’d given you, you spotted him sitting on his bed dressed in his silk pyjamas again and fumbling around with his jewellery.

“You’ve calmed down again, sweetheart?” He slowly got up, a rather goofy smile on his face.

“Me?” you asked, pointing to yourself.

“Got quite hysterical when ya left,” he said, approaching you with a grin. You raised your eyebrows, your mouth hanging open for a few seconds.

“I got hysterical?” Was he serious right now? You turned on your heel, your hand on your forehead, the whole apology you had prepared on your way up here now thrown out of the window. He couldn’t mean that now, could he? He followed you and placed his hands on your arms, turning you around, towards him.

“Wait sweetheart, don’t be like that. Come on, it’s okay, Julie baby, I know how women can get. Y’all are more tender hearted,” he said, putting his arms around you and stroking your hair.

You frowned and tried to take a step back, wanting to look at him, but he tightened his grip on you, keeping you in place. You’ve never seen someone with mood swings like him. It was extreme to the point where he could be irrational, one could never know what to expect from him. But don’t question things! You leaned into him, not really knowing if this was meant to comfort you or him.

The way he held himself and the slightly dazed expression in his blue eyes explained how he was so calm. He must have taken his damn pills already, otherwise he wouldn’t be this relaxed after the argument the two of you had. Especially after you stormed off, which must have made him even angrier. Now it seemed almost forgotten as he more and more leaned against you for support.

You desperately wanted to throw away all his medication, the fact that he never really dealt with his emotions and just numbed them was driving you mad, though you weren’t convinced that this alone was responsible for his reactions. His extraordinary talent to twist situations and circumstances so that they’d work in his favour could be a gift for him, but a curse for everyone else. You almost never got to discuss situations like this with him, properly working things out.

“Come on, sit down with me, sweetheart,” he pleaded, holding out his hands.

“Alright,” you replied with a neutral expression, despite still clearly seeing the image of him with that damn gun in front of you.

He led you over to his bed and sat down across from you, engulfing your hands with his bigger ones and hold them tight, taking a deep breath. His mouth opened and closed multiple times before speaking.

“Listen... I’m sorry for getting so angry at you earlier. I-I didn’t want to scare ya. I was just worried. Ya gotta believe me.”

The genuinely remorseful look on his face made your irritation dissipate slightly. You sighed. Communication is key.

“...And I’m sorry for yelling at you, I shouldn’t have done it. I know you mean well, but I was angry as well. Well, frustrated...you know what I think about guns,” you almost whispered, searching his eyes, hoping and praying he’d understand. He looked down and bit his lip, looking a bit bashful.

“...Yeah, I-I know sweetheart. I just can’t bear the thought of something happening to you. When I saw that fucker on top of you, I-I could have killed him.” His face became flushed again at the mere memory. You nodded and just squeezed his hands, knowing that explaining the situation again wouldn’t help. He dropped his head.

“Don’t you understand, Julie? W-What if I lose you?...Who would annoy me all day?” he added, after looking up again with a small smile. You forced a smile to match his while trying to ignore his vulnerability in the former half of the statement.

“Oh, I’m sure you would find someone in a heartbeat. You’re Elvis Presley.” His face grew serious again.

“No. Not someone like you.”

“Elvis..” you whispered, pressing your lips together as you felt your face begin to crumple, the emotions of the whole day finally catching up to you. Did he really mean it or did he want to distract from the actual conversation you were having? You hated how your voice trembled when you spoke up again. “We should really talk about-“ He put his hand on your cheek and watched you with a tender look in his eyes.

“No, you don’t have to say anything. I don’t wanna hear any more of it. I’m just glad we’re getting along again. I don’t like arguing with you.” Well, so much for that.

“Me neither,” you eventually uttered with a small sniffle, your eyes burning. You didn’t know if it felt more like giving in or giving up.

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s all good again. Don’t worry. I-I won’t bother you with this again, okay? It’s all good again. All good.” He mumbled almost meditatively and guided your head to lay against his shoulder, your cheek brushing against his coarse chest hair.

You weren’t convinced of how serious he was about not bringing up the topic again, but for now you’d take it, since he left you no other choice. You knew it must be horrible inside his head and he really couldn’t help the way he was sometimes. He just wanted the best for you. It showed in the way he gently stroked your hair and shushed you, as if soothing a frightened child. And, for the second time that day, you thought you felt the feather light brush of his lips, this time against your temple, as if assuring you that everything was okay. As if he’d read your mind. It made you feel hot and cold at the same time.

Right now you didn’t have the energy to fight against the comforting feeling of his embrace and his affection and just let yourself sink into it. His ability to make you feel completely at ease, his softness, warmth and smell, combined with the rhythmic stroking of his strong hands almost lulled you to sleep.

You felt a sudden calm wash over you, the weird buzzing in your head and the tingling feeling of anxiety on your skin slowly disappearing. The silent promise that everything was going to be alright and that he would take care of everything for you felt like a safety blanket.

“Hey, E?”

He answered with a ‘Hmm?’ and you felt the vibrations of his chest against your cheek.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know... for being there. The whole thing really stressed me out.”

“Well, you know, Julie baby, I have healing hands,” he said, shrugging as if it was the most normal thing.

“I think so too,” you chuckled. Not ironically, like you did so often. It was genuine this time, The more time you spend with him the more you thought he actually possessed some kind of magic, influencing everyone around him. Sometimes that was really no other explanation. He grinned at you, his eyes twinkling.

“So... what now, magic man?” you asked.

“...We could watch The Godfather again, so you can fawn over Marlon Brando?” He proposed. You laughed.

“You know, every day I regret it a little bit more that I told you about this silly childhood crush.”

“When I asked you, you said he was your favourite actor,” he retorted a tad accusingly, a little pout on his face to emphasize his point.

“Yes, I realise my mistake now,” you said with a hand over your heart, feigning shock.

After a few seconds though you weren’t able to hold your back your laughter and an involuntary giggle escaped you. He started smiling as well, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You now knew you had actually bruised his ego with that statement back then. He asked you this particular question only a few days after you met him and you naively answered with the first thing that came to mind, not really knowing the gravity of it. Not really knowing... him. How important these things were for him. Looking back, it was definitely some kind of test that you failed miserably, and he made sure to remind you of that faux pas every now and then, probably still a bit offended and wounded.

“... Do you want me to read to you again? Maybe... um you can try to go to sleep a little earlier tonight, what do you think?” you offered, trying to change the subject. Thankfully he bought into it.

“Mhm.. you always take such good care of me. Like a mama.”

“Well, thanks for that,” you answered, a bit unsure if the second part was really a compliment or not. He scooted closer, laying his head on your shoulder and throwing an arm around your middle, his hand finding its place at your waist.

“...No, I mean it, Julie. I-I really admire that about ya.” He raised his head again, looking deeply into your eyes. “A-And I don’t think I tell ya enough,” he whispered and squeezed your sides.

You felt your pulse quicken and let out a shuddering breath. Was it nervousness? Was it the stress? Was it anticipation? Excitement? There was certainly no denying that you liked the way his hands felt on your body.

“I’m sorry if I’m like this to you sometimes. I-I can’t always help it... My head is just so fucked up sometimes I know I can be a nasty asshole... I just w-want you to know what you mean to me,” he stammered with a frown. You knew it was hard for him to get these words out and you adored and hated him for saying them out loud.

“Elvis, you aren’t any of those things. And-“

He closed his eyes and gently nuzzled his nose against yours, making you stop mid sentence. He was so incredibly tender with you, even the fact that the tip of his nose was nearly freezing due to the cool room temperature didn’t deter you from leaning into his touch.

“...Yes, I am. I’m a selfish bastard who can’t even keep an agreement he made. A promise to the woman he adores.”

Every rational thought you had was thrown out of the window at this. The only thing you knew, felt, was him. This pull between you two had been there from the beginning and you so desperately fought against it. There had been many instances, many battles where you almost surrendered yourself to him, but you always managed to put your rational thoughts first.

Now, with his strong hands on your body, his beautiful face so close that you could feel his hot breath over your lips and the words that just slipped past his marshmallow ones, you felt something snap within you.

You leaned forward and eagerly pressed your lips against his, a surprised squeal escaping you at the same time. You were about to pull back and apologise, but that thought was quickly thrown out the window when you felt him kissing you back fiercely.

The bed under you creaked when he shifted his weight, moving to lay almost on top of you. His chains dangled from his wide chest and you reached around to pull him even closer to you. He complied and leaned down even further, his rounded belly now pressing up against you. A gasp escaped you at the feeling of his weight pushing you down into the mattress, utterly trapped and at his mercy.

One of his ring clad hands moved up from your hip to gently cup your cheek. The cool metal felt good on your burning skin and you felt Elvis smiling into the kiss. His lips were so incredibly soft and hot as they sloppily worked against yours and you weren’t able to form one coherent thought. When his hot, wet tongue slipped out to trace over your bottom lip you couldn’t contain a little groan.

You reached up to tread your fingers through the coarse hair on his chest, stroking up and down, while he tightened his grip on your waist. The contradicting roughness you felt against your hands versus the wonderful softness against your lips was an intoxicating combination. It was just so very him. He pulled away from you, allowing you to catch your breath and you looked at each other, breathing heavily.

“...Elvis, this isn’t good,” you whispered, a half-hearted attempt to stop him. To stop yourself. Both.

He licked his lips and trailed a lazy finger over your hip.

“Ya don’t like this?” he asked, looking at you from beneath his shades incredulously.

“Oh god...I- I do,” you stammered helplessly after he had rubbed soothing circles over your hip for almost a minute.

He smiled and leaned down to bury his face against your neck, peppering soft, sweet kisses along your pulse point, making you giggle. Then you felt his warm hand gliding under your shirt, pushing the fabric upwards until your bra was exposed. His attack on your neck stopped and he leaned back to watch you, biting his lip. What a pretty picture you were for him, with your face wonderfully flushed, biting your lip and breathing heavily. Your face grew even more hot under his intense gaze and the way he licked his lips and smirked down at you sent shock waves to your core. You quickly pulled the shirt over your head and dropped it onto the floor next to the bed. Ugh, still too hot.

“Lord have mercy,” he breathed, as he watched your chest rise and fall quickly with every laboured breath you took. He cupped one breast in each hand and his lip curled, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Ladies, you two look real fun. You can be my new best friends,” he cooed as he squeezed them together and leaned down to nuzzle into them with a playful growl. You laughed and the motion made them jiggle, much to his delight.

“E, you’re being silly,” you giggled.

“No, I’m being serious. I need to play with these before every show now. Will ya let me? Best stress balls ever, I’ll tell ya.”

“You are impossible. Can’t take you nowhere,” you replied with a grin and gently stroked his cheek.

“Let an old man have some fun, Julie baby,” he mumbled with a smile. He softly kissed your collarbone before carefully hoisting you up, his hands on your back, to unclasp your bra with his nimble fingers.

You let out a surprised ‘Oh!’ when he hastily pulled the undergarment off you and tossed it onto the floor. His eyes roamed over your form for what felt like hours, a mix of appreciation and concentration in his gaze, as if trying to memorize every little detail. It made you throw your arms over your face, a weak attempt to hide the fact that you were as red as a tomato. He clicked his tongue and reached up, wanting to move your arms away, finding it incredibly cute how flustered you were. He gently ran his fingers over your skin.

“Sweetheart, let me look at you,” he sang.

You stubbornly refused to let him see you and possibly laugh at you, and he quickly realised you wouldn’t budge. He smirked as he decided to alter his tactic. You felt his hands wandering downwards along you neck, over your chest and onto your stomach. He briefly paused there, his fingers drumming against your skin, before beginning to tickle your sides which caused you to squeal and laugh so hard that your stomach started to ache.

“E, stop!” you finally gasped, trying to catch your breath.

Eventually you moved your arms and swatted away his bold, exploring hands, making him grin triumphantly.

“You’re not playing fair!” you laughed.

“All is fair in love and war. Never heard of that?”

You wanted nothing more than to wipe that goofy, smug grin off his face when he leaned down to kiss the tip of your nose.

“...You’re such a pretty baby.” He whispered and rubbed his cheek against yours, reminding you of a cat, his sideburns tickling you. “Pretty, pretty, pretty.”

He mumbled into your cheek over and over again and you wrapped your arms around his wide frame. His hips started to move, slowly thrusting up against you in a steady pace and wetness pooled between your legs when you felt him growing against your clothed cunt. You let out a high pitched moan and his soft tongue licked a long stripe across your cheek in response. He felt your nails digging into his back, your fingers cramping and he softly whined against your ear, making you throb even more. God, it had to be a criminal offence to make such sounds.

You eagerly moved your hands to open the buttons of his deep v neck shirt, needing to see, feel his chest and stomach in their entire glory. It also felt unfair that you were almost naked and he was still fully clothed. After the first two buttons were open, you slipped your hand inside and stroked his soft belly. Suddenly he jolted away as if he’d burned himself. You drew back your hand and saw some of the insecurity you’d seen earlier this day flash in his eyes. But then it was gone again as quickly as it came and instead a stern look took over his beautiful features.

“Sweetheart, no,” he said determinedly.

“Why not?” you whined and reached out to fumble with the remaining buttons. He grasped your hands in his and lifted them to his mouth, kissing the back of them two, three, four times.

“...This is about you,” he muttered as he released your hands and moved to caress your bare stomach. You got the impression this statement wasn’t entirely true.

“But-“

“No buts, stubborn little lady.” He shook his head, his eyes trained on his fingers as they traced invisible patterns around your belly button.

“What happened to you liking it when I take care of you?” you pouted while lightly playing with his chains that were still dangling over you.

He reached up to brush some hair from your face and caressed your cheekbones with his knuckles.

“Please, Julie... let me show you,” he whispered with a sudden urgency in his voice, his eyes shining pleadingly under the tinted glass.

You removed his shades to get a better look at them. His deep blue eyes were almost completely black, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was also this intense vulnerability again, which overwhelmed you every time. You could tell how important this was for him right now and slowly nodded. Then you leaned forward and planted a quick kiss against his lips, which he almost anxiously returned, one hand coming up to softly knead your breast.

He eventually pulled away from you and moved down your body, gently kissing each pebbled nipple once, making you arch up against his skilled mouth before he trailed feather-light kisses along your stomach. He sat down between your legs and his hands skimmed over your hips until they stopped at the waistband of your pants. He briefly lifted you up, his hands on your butt and began to pull them down slowly. You watched with anticipation as he exposed more and more of your bare skin in slow motion, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration again. He did that a lot.

After your legs were finally completely bare under his praising eyes, he ran his hands up and down along them, whistling appreciatively. Then he gripped the back of your left knee and lifted it until your calf rested on his shoulder.

“Your legs, sweetheart,” he groaned and tapped against your thigh. “When I see you striding around with these in your lil’ platforms... Lordy, I just wanna be wrapped up in them. Every. Damn. Time.”

He turned his head and brushed his lips across your calf, the possessive grip on the back of your knee not faltering and his hot breath causing goosebumps to form on your skin. He pushed your knee back towards you until his soft mouth arrived at your ankle. Then he pulled off your shoes and tossed them off the bed, making them clatter as they landed next to the rest of your discarded clothes.

You raised your head when you felt his teeth grazing your skin, gently biting down on your ankle. He briefly kissed the light bite marks and moved up your calf again. The way his eyes were closed in bliss and his breathing ragged was almost too much for you to handle and you threw your head back into the pillow. He almost seemed to enjoy this more than you, the thought making you feel even warmer inside.

You promptly sat up again and wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to feel his velvety lips against yours again after the rest of your body got so much sweet attention from them. You held onto the hair at his neck when you felt his tongue lazily gliding over your bottom lip and moved your hips against his, feeling the slight bulge in his trousers. You reached down, your hand gliding over his crotch, feeling him half hard against your palm. He swiftly caught your wrist and brought it up to his cheek, shaking his head.

“Nuh uh, Julie baby, forget it. I already told you, this is about you. You really gotta to learn how to listen,” he chuckled, fingers gently tugging at your earlobe. “Now lie back, sweetheart, let me take care of ya. I’ll handle it.”

He hummed, his big hand sprawled across your chest, gently forcing you back against the pillow. You wordlessly stared at him as he moved back between your legs, his gaze lingering on the panties you still wore. He leaned down to get a better look at them and hooked his fingers under the waistband, toying with it.

After briefly meeting your eyes again and taking in your flushed face, he pulled them down, his hands grazing over your legs again. Your toes curled when he bunched your panties up in his fist with a grin.

“Sweetheart, these are soaked. Why didn’t ya say anything? Cat got your tongue again?” he cooed. You answered by wrapping your leg around his back, pulling him closer to you.

“Oh, I see we’re eager today, Julie baby? No words, just straight to the point. Hold on, let’s see what I can do about that,” he rumbled and lightly kissed along your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to your glistening pussy.

Just when you thought he’d pay attention to where you needed him most, he moved away again and started peppering your other thigh with sweet kisses and kitten licks.

“E! I swear-” you moaned, and tightened your leg around him, growing more and more impatient with him, the throbbing in your core nearly driving you insane.

“Oh, now she can talk again. What do you want, sweetheart?” he mumbled as he rubbed his cheek against your skin, barely able to conceal the smile tugging at his lips.

“That tickles, stop!” you laughed and moved to scoot away from him, but his hands quickly shot out to grab your hips, effectively holding you still.

You held onto the satin bed sheet when his mouth moved over the supple flesh of your thigh again, kissing and sucking at the soft skin there, surely leaving one or two hickeys. After for what felt like hours, you finally felt his hot breath ghosting over your clit, the tingling feeling in your lower belly growing stronger. You wanted to thrust up to him, desperate for any sort of friction, but found that he still had your hips in an iron grip, his fingers digging almost painfully into your skin. Each time you attempted to free yourself he tightened his hold, making it impossible to move. A whimper escaped you when he softly kissed your folds, his nose bumping into your mound.

“Quit the teasing!” you cried out, and he smirked up at you like he was having the time of his life.

“Julie baby, why are you so impatient? I told ya I’ll take care of ya,” he reminded you and licked a long stripe along your clit after deeply inhaling your scent. It made you throw your arm over your face again and you bit your hand to muffle the moans escaping you when he began to gently suckle at your sensitive nub.

One of his hands moved up to your breast and began to fondle it again, lightly pinching your nipple. You felt like your whole body was on fire, sweat forming on your forehead and you desperately wished someone would drop a bucket of ice water over you. Elvis’ moans and grunts, combined with the wet slurping noises made your ears ring and your legs began shaking from pleasure. You placed a hand over his, still gently massaging your breast and squeezed, encouraging him to increase the pressure, making him hiss.

“Damn, sweetheart... You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he grunted, voice muffled as he was still buried between your legs.

You slowly felt your orgasm approaching and grabbed onto his hair, desperate for something to ground you. You pushed his face harder against your pussy, his skilled tongue greedily trying to catch every last drop of your arousal and you nearly passed out when you suddenly felt him insert two fingers into your hole. You moaned and arched against him, your fingers and toes flexing uncontrollably when he curled his fingers inside you, his lips sucking on your clit even harder than before.

“E, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you just managed to get out before shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, a feeling of weightlessness in your bones. It only spurred him on as he continued throughout your orgasm, desperate to get each and every little sound out of you.

When you started wriggling against him from overstimulation he pulled away from you with a stupid grin plastered on his face and withdrew his fingers, making you shudder once again. He gleefully put them in his mouth, sucking off remains of you.

“Ya taste so sweet, I can’t get enough of that.” You attempted to lean up on your elbows to kiss him, but found that your muscles were still rather limp. “Was that alright, Julie baby? Did I make ya feel good?”

“E, are you joking? You’re the best.” You smiled, your fingers ghosting over his lips. “What about you, though?” His warm mouth engulfed your finger, briefly sucking on it.

“Mmh, if I only knew before that it was that easy to tame ya.”

“Don’t get cheeky now, Presley,” you huffed.

“Ah, there she is again. I might just-“ He lazily grinned and slipped his hand between your legs to cup your overstimulated pussy again, making you jump.

“God!” you gasped when he drew back his hand and smiled innocently, while you playfully glared at him. You reached up and played with his collar. “...But really... let me take care of you now.”

“Nah, it’s alright, sweetheart... Little Elvis is more than happy to see ya, believe me. But he’s just a bit tired today, it was a long day. Ya understand that, right?” You hesitantly nodded.

“...Okay, E. Next time,” you mumbled and gently ran your hand through his hair. He laid down his head on your thigh and absentmindedly began drawing patterns on your lower belly again, lips puckered as if deep in thought.

After a while, his eyes grew more and more heavy and you watched him battle his sleepiness. It gave you time to begin reflecting on what had happened and you quickly found that it gave you a massive headache. Was this a one-time occasion? Was it a slip-up? Would it become a regular thing? You had just muttered something about a next time without thinking. Lord have mercy!

As long as you weren’t sure about the nature of this new layer in your relationship with him you weren’t to eager to let anyone else know. That’s something you were sure about. The only thing.

You shifted slightly, your current position not at all comfortable, which caused Elvis to rouse again. He gave you a sleepy smile and clumsily crawled on top of you again, eyes half lidded and dazed.

“God, what are we going to do now?” you thought out loud.

“Mmmh, I wanna cuddle with ya,” he muttered and smushed his lips against yours with a loud smack.

“...We can’t tell no one.” you whispered, regaining your senses and staring up at the ceiling. He hummed.

“...Whatever you say, Mommy,” he cooed and buried his face in your neck as his soft stomach pressed up against your side once more, his weight on top of you immediately comforting.

“I mean it, E,” you insisted, hoping he’d manage to be serious for just a moment. He wasn’t really known for being good at keeping secrets.

“Mhm. Me too. Lordy, you’re so soft and warm, sweetheart,” he slurred and closed his eyes after a quick peck to your neck.

You sighed with a smile and pressed a kiss against his forehead while wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight. There was no use in overthinking the situation right now. He smiled into your neck, still distinctly thinking about the sounds you made while he pleasured you. It felt like a lullaby.

You made a mental note to have this particular talk with him in the morning. Or, technically, afternoon and hoped he would understand.

“Good night, darling,” you murmured and dosed off with your hand resting on his chest, feeling, monitoring, his steady breathing like every night. Except everything was different now.

#elvis presley #elvis #big daddy elvis #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis fanfic #ellie writes

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hazelthebasil08 · 3 months ago

Text

A little scene I wrote for some practice and fun.

It’s mainly Angst and heartbreak

Very Slight mention of smut but no actions also cheating.

————————————————————————

“Leave” his voice cold as he points toward the door.

“Alex…” I whispered.

“I don’t care, Lila” he says sternly. “I don’t care about you, or your stupid projects, or- or anything about you.”

Tears streamed down my face as he continues to talk.

“I want to be with Grace, I love her… and that’s… thats just how it is. So you need to leave.”

I still couldn’t comprehend what I was hearing. My 5 year relationship is over. Gone. Like it never happened. Like none of it mattered.

For what? Because Alex cheated. No. He completely fell in love with another girl. And I didn’t even see it…

Suddenly a nagging feeling starts in my brain. It’s overwhelming and uncomfortable but as it keeps building I start to get angry.

I look at Alex.

“Are you kidding me right now!?” I snap. “We bought this house together. You know… because we were in a relationship!! I own this house just as much as you!”

The more I let it out, the angry and louder I got.

“So I’ll be damned if you try and kick me out! What are you going to do anyway!?”

“Invite grace over just so you can f*ck!?” I screamed at him.

“Lila-” he starts.

“No” I cut him off. “You don’t get to talk, not after everything you’ve done, everything you’ve put me through!”

But then suddenly it’s like a weight has been lifted. And I laugh.

Because what am I even fighting for right now? He’s already gone. It won’t help yelling at him or arguing over the house. It doesn’t even matter what he does after this.

I look at him. Examining his appearance. His baby blue eyes I used to look into, I thought I saw my future in those eyes. And his freckles that match his laugh perfectly. His blonde hair that I used to run my fingers through during the late nights when we talk about anything and everything.

It’s gone. It has been for a while. Why am I fighting for something that won’t fight for me.

I laughed again.

“Why are you laughing?” He asks frustrated.

With another laugh I tell him “I’ll leave… one condition.”

His brows furrow with annoyance. “What do you want.”

“I’ll leave. I’ll even have my things out by the end of the week, but I want my name taken off the house.”

“You know I can’t pay the mortgage by my-” but I cut him off.

“I don’t care. Put Grace on it if you’re desperate. If if you won’t do that… then you have to leave.” I state simply.

He looks at me with disbelief. I may have been crying earlier but I’m over it now. Or maybe I’m just numb, either way I’m ending this conversation.

“So?” I ask.

“Fine.” He agrees while looking at the floor. “We can figure out the paper work next week.”

“Then it’s settled.” I say satisfied. “I’m going to go pack a bag and I’ll be by tomorrow to start gathering my things.”

Alex doesn’t answer. Instead I hear him opening the fridge as I walk up the stairs.

….

After packing my bag, I head back downstairs. I ignore Alex standing in the kitchen doorway as I head to the front door.

After getting in my car, I take a deep breath and look at the house I’ve lived in for the past year. I feel… free.

I’m not sure how to really describe it. I know getting back on my feet is going to be hard. But I can do it. No, I will do it. For me. Nobody else.

#writing #creative writing #breakup #heartbreak #angst #writers on tumblr #writing romance #romance #writing exercise #writing cause I’m bored #art #writers #original

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forumkedis · 1 year ago

Note

can July 29th also be "what is laerfhel and uvhao day?

Laerfhel is from Interior Emanations and appears to be a spread made of lard and garlic. I could have s w o r n that uvhao was an alternative name I came up for it for out in the boonies but I cannot, for the life of me, find anything on my thought process about it in my notes, which is pretty damned weird. I have a lot of those things sketched out in the drafting document for the Abomination, because, as I've sometimes mentioned, the original plan was to linger way, way longer on that holiday and really carve into the cultural differences between these rich city ghersit and even their best rural equivalents as well as the ones between the haves- and have-nots within Orafine itself, because I thought that was interesting, but most of it got axed.

Related pivot to several completely different topics under the cut.

For example, Anne is bilingual, just like the good and proper city ghersladies, but she would rather die than speak to them in it, because she's super, super uncomfortable doing so. She can understand it spoken somewhat slowly and/or pick out enough to get the gist spoken well, and she can read and write (we'll get back to that) in it, but it is a very, very second language to her. Artur is fluent, but he speaks with a heavy, heavy accent, and Aloysius is sort of somewhere in between - more than survival, less than conversational, probably gonna have to repeat himself sometimes for the accent and errors. Lettie has the strongest Continental in Orafine other than Brother Srebron at this point, just because she's the only one who uses it. Right behind her would be the other Srebrons, with Frederic Sr. at the lead and Harma and Fred jostling somewhere behind him*. But It's still Lettie's second language, and she has a strong pidgin tendency**, which is why when she went to meet with Lady Martin Miss Blaire reminded her to watch it - Tainish also has formality indicators, so it reminded Lettie to use the highest levels of formality, which at this point in her life simply includes the code-switch to textbook Tainish, much like an English speaker might switch to elocutionary recieved pronunciation if they were in certain high society settings.

Also, Anne can write! The Grises are one of the most upper-class families in Orafine, so they have more use than most in the town. The Srebrons get pretty much all of the travelers coming to see them, and ship hounds all over the country, so ditto. Anne is also extraordinarily intelligent and a good study - she's the model of the life Lettie can best hope for in Orafine. Most of the other women in town probably really can't, and those who can are going to mainly be the upper-class girls. Being able to write would also be a great way for, say, a three girls of uncertain-suspected-efghersit parentage and dishonourable matrilineage to end up in extremely respectable marriages***. The schoolhouse puts to good use ladies who can write, but having a personal in-home tutor for their children is a massive boon for any man whose family is reliant on the skill. And, to be frank, the village's gene pool could use a little more efghersit input - especially in those best-off families.****

Anyway, the food culture is super different in Orafine and central Durlyne city, but so are the actual culture-cultures, and I was largely going to play with that in relation to all the festivities, but then... stuff happened and I had to shift a major chunk of the actual plot that was needed for that section to later (though I do think it'll be more gratifying there anywayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy so fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine) so some of that has temporarily fizzled out to be picked up later in a different way. Lettie's also acclimated, largely, to Durlynian urban culture, because she's been at school for a couple years. While we sometimes get peeks into her earlier experiences with that, Anne still had her job of illustrating the dissonance more fully for us to see, even if the full arc has changed trajectory. But because all this info was cut, a lot of it still exists in drafting, so I can go look at it and be like, okay, this is something they refer to in Tainish while the Durlynians refer to it in Continental or are translating a known Continental name for it into Tainish or are like can you please be more goddamn specific (munakhiwellul which is literally just "fermented stuff" but can be contextually used to specifically refer to a local apertif), while this other thing has a name in Orafine that is specifically just its name (like simolaa, and I could have sworn this was the category uvhao fell into), or this has a name in Durlyne that is specifically just its name (laerfhel), or this doesn't have a special name, it's just called what it is, so it doesn't matter how that gets written (stuffed pig, sweet potato dumplings)

* Then Artur, then most of the other town businessmen, then Al, then Anne, then the schoolhouse ladies, then, like, everyone else in reverse age order

** So do the Durlynians, but in reverse. Lettie, when speaking Continental, is pretty comfortable tossing a Tainish word out if she needs to say something she doesn't have the Continental for and just moving on, because she comes from and is in a predominantly Tainish-speaking society. Everyone around her knows Tainish, and if she's speaking Continental in a group for one of the few who don't, someone will either fill in the non-speaker, they'll catch it from context, or someone will helpfully supply Lettie with the word at next opportunity. They may or may not judge her for doing it, but it simply isn't a notable impediment to communication. The Durlynian Silvers, though, use something more akin to a full Creole, blending Continental grammatical constructions into their Tainish, using Continental words as slang that is sometimes divorced from its native-speaker meaning and/or connotation, and Tairet-ifying Continental words to create new Tainish ones. The difference is like an English speaker in their language class forgetting the Korean word for being well-spoken and just throwing out "uhh... charismatic" before moving on (Lettie) whereas the other is an entire vocabulary of whatever the the K-pop sphere means when they say "charisma" because it definitely isn't "ability to speak engagingly". But, because they are an urban population, they're also going to be able to code switch depending on their audience to either include or freeze out outsiders - this even happens occasionally to Lettie, who usually reacts by thinking about something else or finding an opportune way to circumvent the issue, like shoving cake in her mouth. There's even an additional dynamic available to urban Silvers who aren't from a high-falutin' ~society~ rank, which has briefly come up before and will probably come up again in a less fraught but more direct way later - both times with David, because he isn't from that ghers.

*** Anne and her sisters are not of high-class parentage, but they were somewhat-ostensibly ghersit (no one was inclined to waste the resources to check with them all being girls anyway, particularly because the truth could, rumouredly, have instead turned out to be any number of perfectly upstanding non-efghersit men and their legally-assumed father wouldn't involve himself in the controversy and then promptly died), so they still got to go to school. Anne really, really lucked out with Artur; her sisters less so. Anne and Artur also largely married for love - Artur asked for her and was able to use a lot of her personal merits as rationales to argue his case, they weren't a made match - and Anne's incredibly affluent marriage and subsequent hardcore fulfillment of it largely secured her younger sisters' upward betrothals, too.

**** It's significant enough a problem that that's literally Artur's role as a ghers elder, and as a result, he's one of the most powerful men in the entire town now. That was what Frederic Srebron and his father and his father's father also did in their seats, and they were so influential because of it (and being the town's most notable market producer) that the only thing preventing Artur from unquestionably being in that same position is a semi-absentee elder who just shares their name.

#aldish culture #fantics #fanfic #fanfiction #Austen's Aldish Abomnination

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the-archxr · 3 years ago

Text

cherry

marc spector x female!reader

summary: marc made you a promise during your most recent encounter. one that he intends to keep, no matter where you two are.

a/n: *gif is not mine, it’s from pinterest* a couple people asked for a part two to my most recent fic, ‘it’s worth it, it’s divine’ and of course, after I got this idea, I had to. this fic can also be read on its own, you don’t need to read the other one to really know what’s happening (although both have smut and we’re all thirsty bitches so)

warnings: +18 content, like this, is pure porn, multiple orgasms, over-stimulation, oral sex (f receiving) honestly that’s all this fic is, fingering, size kink, lots of dirty talk, marc calls reader ‘baby’ again cause that’s his new brand, body worship, public sex, mentions of sexual acts from the other fic, more canon divergence

word count: 3k

main m.list | moon knight m.list

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•••

“Fuck, Marc, just—oh my go—“

A large hand places itself over your mouth, robbing your body of any breadth.

“Shh, you don’t want them to hear you, do you baby?”

You shake your head aggressively, feeling him smile against your core.

“Good.”

Then, for the second time in ten minutes, Marc gives his full attention to you, and goes back to what he was doing…

Eating you out in the hallway.

A sudden nudge of his nose makes you gasp, though it’s stunted as you bite your lip, nearly drawing blood. Your mouth is already raw from his earlier assault, but he’ll stop if you make any more noise. So all you can do is hold on.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

It hadn’t even been a full week since you last saw him. Since you two had sex against Hathor’s statue and you rode him until you both came beneath the glittery night sky; since you had the most mind-numbing, earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

You hadn’t seen him since neither of you really interacted with each other outside of the pyramids. But today was yet another impromptu Council meeting.

This time, apparently, it was because of Khonshu’s doing. Khonshu wanted to talk, which meant that Marc was going to be there, standing before all of you as though the two of you hadn’t fucked each other’s brains out a couple nights before.

Not that he was subtle anyway.

Hathor, of course, found it to be incredibly amusing. So much so, that she wouldn’t stop talking your ear off as Marc’s eyes and devilish smirk consistently found yours during the briefing.

It’s not that you were ashamed. Not at all. Fuck, if you could’ve, you would brag about that entire night to everyone you knew.

Everyone except the Ennead.

Because you’re positive Horus would be less than pleased to hear that Hathor’s avatar got dicked down in the main room, much less by the avatar of the god they hated the most.

So you kept quiet and averted Marc’s gaze as much as possible. But your lack of reciprocation did nothing to quell him. In fact, it only seemed to egg him on more. Making the entire meeting incredibly difficult to sit through.

You could feel his stare on you the entire time, even when Isis and Osiris took turns berating him. Even when Khonshu spoke through him, somehow his gaze never left yours. It was this feeling that limited your involvement in the conversation. Luckily Hathor didn’t try to make you talk, because you certainly wouldn’t be able to. You wouldn’t be able to speak to him without thinking of the look on his face as you sat on his cock. You wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the way you screamed his name and begged him to let you cum.

So you kept your eyes to the ground, trying to both tune out the goddess's comments and the meeting at play to the best of your ability.

And then the Council was dismissed. Horus hadn’t even finished his sentence before you were out of your chair and heading for the hallway.

Why are we walking so fast? Don’t you wanna say hi to your friend?

Hathor’s voice was playful as she thudded behind you, laughing to herself as she went on and on about Marc.

You’re the only person I know who runs from someone who gave them a mind-blowing orgasm, ya know, is what she said to you.

You never responded to her, far too focused on navigating the halls as quickly as possible until you were free.

But then he cut you off.

And so here you were: your head thrown against the wall with Marc’s face stuffed between your thighs and that familiar tightening sensation returning like a blazing fire.

“Marc…” you call out to him. He chuckles, misinterpreting it as a moan. You move your hips against him (ignoring the twinge of pleasure that radiates down your legs), to get him off of you so that way you can reason with him.

You need to tell him that you want him. So fucking bad. But you can’t have him here. Especially with the other avatars still congregating in the next room.

“Marc, honey.” With a huff, Marc stands up straight, face and chest incredibly close to yours. The air around the two of you grows thin, and suddenly, you feel light-headed. “The other avatars, they’re still here. We can’t—you can’t…”

His hand tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear before settling his palm on the side of your cheek. “Baby, I’m sure they’ve done much worse things.” He leans down, nipping and suckling at the hollow of your throat. “Besides, they won’t know if you don’t make any noise. I made you a promise…” A finger comes up to your lips and separates them; the pad of his thumb dragging your bottom lip down. “And I am a man of my word. Now…can I go back to my meal? I promise to make you feel just as good as last time, baby.”

You whimper along with a barely-there nod; body involuntarily folding into his. He grins. “Wonderful.”

And with that, he falls to his knees again, yanking your shorts and underwear down from your knees to your ankles. He holds them until you step out of them, before neatly folding the garment beside you.

He starts just underneath your breasts, leaving scorching kisses through the fabric of your t-shirt as his hands run up and down your bare legs. They leave goosebumps in their wake as he slowly edges to where you want—need—him most. He descends down to your cunt, nudging his nose into every curve, slowly mouthing at your hip. His palm splays across the expanse of your thigh, kneading the flesh there.

He’s slow this time around. His desire is not as rushed or hungry. There’s a different sort of passion to his actions.

Puffs of his hot breath hit your pussy, until he’s widening the space between your thighs and kissing you right at the junction of your left thigh.

“Mhmm, missed you.” He mumbles to himself before moving in. His lips wrap around your clit, slowly massaging the little bundle of nerves until every one of them has been turned on. He hums at his own ministrations, and the vibration stings the base of your spine. He toys with you, the ashes he left in his wake a couple days ago reigniting in an instant.

Your hand shoots to his scalp, fingers carding through his hair mindlessly. A feeble attempt to make yourself busy as his mouth does its work.

All thought of the Ennead walking in on this leaves you as he laps at your dripping arousal. He acts like a man on death row like you’re his final meal and he’s going to enjoy it in every way he can. He’s messy; all tongue and teeth and feather-light kisses that make your bones shake. His shoulders hold your body in place against the wall as his head dips and moves in the low glow of the hallway light. You’re nearly off the floor; only his body, and your tiptoes supporting you, as he pulls your hips forward to meet his mouth.

The noises are obscene. A mix of grumbles, hums, and breathy moans echo around you until all you can hear is the sound of him enjoying the taste of you.

He promised you last time that the second time you came was going to be on his face. And with the way the pleasure sears through you, you guarantee that he’s going to get what he wants.

Your back arches into him as your grip on his hair tightens. You feel the way he tries to calm himself down at that. “You’re doing so good, baby.” Another swirl of his tongue. “So. Good… Can tell you’re close.”

You sigh, head lolling to the end of the hallway. You can hear the faint voices of the avatars—still present and chatting as you are being brought to an impending orgasm. It’s an interesting contrast; knowing that they are blissfully unaware of how Khonshu’s avatar has been bringing you to your climax for the second time in this fucking pyramid.

You do your best to be quiet; to keep your sounds to a minimum so as to not alert them. But then his tongue flicks your hole before it slips in and you're slapping your free palm against your mouth.

Your eyes are screwed shut as your hips gyrate at a much faster speed. “Marc…” you whisper, freeing your face of your hand as a particularly loud moan tickles the back of your throat. You hold it there. Desperately trying to keep your release under control. Except he makes it so very strenuous.

Because he’s dangling you over the edge. So close, that just one more stray movement would have you tumbling over the cliff, a mess of sweat and cries as you fuck his face.

“You’re holding back, baby. C’mon. Cum on my face. Wanna taste you for real.” You let out a low grunt at his words. He can still feel you holding your orgasm in, which seems to only frustrate him. And it’s that action alone that makes his hands tighten around your hips as his tongue moves in you faster. A desire to toss you over the cliff and watch as you unravel.

The feeling is all-consuming. You need to cum. So, so badly. But you won’t. You can’t. They’ll absolutely hear you if you do.

But then you feel his hips against the lower part of your leg and you realize he’s grinding himself on you. Marc dry-humps your bare leg, loudly groaning at the friction of his jeans and your trembling body. He’s getting himself off as he eats you out, and it’s that thought that has you crashing.

Your jaw falls slack, movements coming to a halt as you hold him against you. You white-knuckle the fist full of curls as you quiver beneath the weight of his body. Thankfully, no noise escapes you. Just the occasional squeak as your mouth stays open in a silent moan. You came on his face; the same way in which he promised you; the same way in which he wanted.

But he keeps at his pace. Keeps licking and sucking at you, even after your high has gone.

“Fuck, baby.” He moans. “That was good. You’re so good for me.” He bites at the curve of your hip bone, before soothingly licking at it. “But I think you can do better. Think you can be louder. What do you say hmm?” You squint at him through half-lidded eyes and a hazy mind. “Think you can give me a couple more?”

“Couple more?!” Your voice shrieks, the sudden attention of what he’s demanding rattling around your brain. And then you realize how loud you were, and you practically melt into the wall out of embarrassment.

You let out a loud sigh. “Fuck, Marc. Someone’s—you kept your promise. Please. You—you made me feel good, please. I promise.“

He clicks his tongue against his cheek as he shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t think I did. I think…” he palms you then, the heel of his hand pressing deeply into you. “I think I need to make sure that you feel good.”

His fingers tease your throbbing entrance mercilessly as he awaits a response. Though you come up with nothing as you rack your brain for something. Anything. Part of you knows the dangers of you getting in trouble by a far-too-curious Council member, and wants to protest Marc’s efforts. But the other part of you—the part that is still incredibly turned on by the way he pats your folds like an instrument—knows you never wanted him to stop. You wanted him to pull every ounce of pleasure he possibly can from you.

And that’s when you make your decision.

Looking down at him, you inhale deeply, hoping it’ll give you as much confidence as possible. “Give it to me. However many you can just—please…fuck me, Marc. Fuck me.”

He’s stoic for a moment. A brief flicker of shock until his face contorts into a wide grin. “Are you sure, baby? I don’t think I can stop if we get goin’.”

Raising an eyebrow, you bring your hand to the back of his head, eagerly pushing him into you. “I want to cum on your face.”

“…God, I thought you’d never ask.”

Figuratively and literally, he dives back into you. Your lips are swollen and puffy and you’re nearly numb as he continues to eat you out. There’s hardly any build-up this time. Instead, he’s just licking everything, everywhere until you can hear your wetness. It’s dirty—fucking filthy as his head bobs between your thighs.

The stimulation is blinding; boiling beneath your skin to the point where your heartbeat feels like it’s coming from your throbbing pussy. He paws at you, desperate to taste every inch of you. Desperate to hear every sound possible come from you. He flattens his tongue; swirls it around your aching bud, nips, sucks, and shoves it back into your entrance. He falls into a rhythm; a mix-up of different actions that make you want to cry. “Fucking shit, Marc. More, please. Wanna’ cum.”

He doesn’t stop; determined to know every single thing about you. Inside and out. To memorize the way you cum. To know the way you feel tightening around every part of him. To have your thighs shake around his head; to have you gush on his tongue. He continues his pattern, ever-so-slightly increasing his speed with the pitch of your moans. “Fuck, fuck. Marc, I’m—holy shit, I’m gonna cum, gonna—I’m coming! Fuck, I’m coming!”

You nearly fall off the wall into him as your orgasm rips through you. You scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he fucks you through your high. You’re gasping in between each wave; each ebb and flow of your release affects a different part of your body until you fall limp and your grip on his body ceases.

Immediately—as though the man doesn’t need to breathe—he’s standing up, body fully engulfing you as he breathes into your neck. He’s huge (you know he is, every part of him). And the fact that your body seems so small in comparison to his, makes you wet all over again. “Want one more, baby. Think you can do that?”

You don’t respond. Simply, you just crash your mouth into his. You taste yourself on his tongue as it explores everything it can. The act is filthy; painfully sexy as you groan through flash images and reminiscent feelings. Somehow you can’t get enough. Your body feels like it’s floating. It’s nearly in complete ecstasy. But you know have another one in you. You’re not fully satisfied. You can feel the desperation for one more release deep in your bones.

You just need one more.

You don’t speak, at least you don’t think you do. You don’t voice your desires into existence. But regardless, Marc knows. Because then he’s dragging two fingers through your slit, collecting your cum before dipping the digits into your aching hole. Your chest heaves almost instantly. Your body opens itself up to him, fully allowing itself to feel everything. To feel the building of your third orgasm.

Fuck, just one more…

He pumps his fingers a couple times inside you before curling them near your cervix, mimicking a come-hither motion. You moan into his mouth, his throat eager to swallow every little sound you make.

“God, baby, just like that.” Your eyes have rolled into the back of your head at this point as he uses his thumb to stroke you while his other fingers pump in and out. In and out.

“That feel good, honey?” He ponders, feigning innocence. You can tell he’s watching the way his fingers fully sheathe themselves in your pussy. The way they disappear, then reappear covered in the remnants of your orgasm and the perpetual arousal; the beginnings of your third climax. And fuck you’re almost there. You’re so stimulated, so fucking horny that he’s already brought you there. You’ve started to ride his hand, wanting to feel him as deep as possible, until you’re sore and bedridden and can’t think about anything other than how hard he makes you cum.

“Fuck.” He growls into your neck. “Gonna cum again, baby?”

You nod, grinding down onto his fingers as quickly as your aching body can muster. The sounds of his wrist slapping against your mound drive you mad; crazy for the way they move inside you. You can feel the bend of his knuckles and the base of his fingers where they meet his palm. They curl and glide with ease as he rubs you in just the right way. His actions are fast. So frenzied and erotic. So deliciously hot that you can’t tell the difference between the heavy pounding of his fingers or the growing knot right above your pussy.

“Harder,” you cry. “Fuck, Marc, don’t stop. M’gonna cum.”

“Open your eyes, baby. Wanna watch you.”

Willing yourself to open them, your fingers go down to his hand buried between your folds. You grab it, feeling the way the muscles flex and ripple beneath the skin as they move with you. Gasping, you arch into his chest, maintaining eye contact as you watch his pupils dilate.

And then the coil breaks. It’s a hard snap that renders the lower half of your body completely devoid of any feeling. Whining, you shove your head into his neck, biting his shoulder as your vision goes blurry. Your climax is hard and goes away just as quickly as it came. Yet your body still shudders. Your contentment lives in the afterglow of your euphoria and allows you to move slowly against his hand until you come back down from space.

Marc presses kiss after kiss—all gentle and loving—into your hair. He doesn’t remove his fingers from your aching pussy, but he doesn’t move them either. Just keeps them there for a moment as he breathes in your scent.

“My turn.”

•••

Moon Knight Taglist (+18)

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rubyreduji · 2 years ago

Text

My Heart Has Gone To You | 01

pairing: lee jihoon x f!reader genre: smut (minors dni!), college!au, fwb, f2l contents: mentions of jealous/territorial jihoon, use of bunny as pet name, smut [explicit unprotected sex, switch!jihoon, spanking, minor praise kink, slight overstimulation, mentions of squirting, creampie, shower sex, fingering, jihoon aftercare king] w.c.: 4.1k a/n: i would like to note right now that jihoon and y/n are going to be in hard denial for like 75% of this series so i am apologizing right now. also it's not really stated but y/n and jihoon have had their fwb situation for about ten months when the fic starts

m.list | next >

“There is a difference between fuck buddies and friends with benefits.” You roll your eyes at your roommate, who also happens to be your best friend. The two of you are laying on your bed in your campus apartment as your friend teases you mercilessly.

“Oh really? Care to indulge me?” You want nothing but to wipe that smug smirk off her face.

“Fuck buddies are just people who consistently hook up. You guys aren’t friends and you don’t hang out outside of sex, it’s strictly transactional. Friends with benefits, you guys are friends. You hang out, you enjoy time together, it’s not a relationship that’s built around sex, sex just happens to be apart of it,” you explain.

“Ah, so you and Jihoon are friends with benefits, not fuck buddies, got it.” Sana is still grinning at you, knowing that her words are getting under your skin.

“Jihoon and I are not friends with benefits,” you huff. You’ve explained this to her before and at this point she just likes to bring it up to tease you.

“Are you sure? Because it’s sure as hell not Soonyoung coming over every other night to blow your back out.”

You glare at Sana and she laughs at her own joke about your shared friend. “Okay this conversation is over. I have to get ready for work anyways so get out.” You usher the other girl out of your room while she’s still laughing to herself. “And he does not blow my back out every other night!” You yell before slamming the door shut, muffling Sana’s even louder laughs.

You call Sana your best friend, but if you are being truly honest your best friend takes the form of the 166cm hard working music god named Lee Jihoon. You two had met in high school and you both ended up at the same university; Jihoon majoring in music composition and minoring in vocal performance, you majoring in photography and minoring in business. You weren’t particularly close in high school, casual friends at best, but once you got to college and had a couple gen ed classes together you two were inseparable. Now in your third year of university you spend most, if not all, of your free time together and even if you aren’t free you can often be found together. It isn’t uncommon to find you working editing pictures while sitting on the comfort of Jihoon’s studio couch as he sits at his desk playing around with new sounds.

It’s just easy around Jihoon. You guys click right in place with one another and you know that no matter what, you and Jihoon will be together forever. You two have an understanding of one another that you can’t even begin to explain. Which led to the situation that you were fighting with your roommate over earlier.

After several failed relationships and even more failed hookups you ended up in a drunken night with your best friend where you complained about all of your failed attempts to get laid and how it was difficult to find someone satisfactory on top of your busy schedule. It was then that Jihoon suggested that you two hook up together for convenience. He is also incredibly busy and you both know you have incredible chemistry so it just makes sense and it cuts out the hassle of “having to deal with strangers and weirdos” in his words.

That night you found yourself in Jihoon’s bed. You two could barely keep your hands off each other as he kissed down your neck and sucked marks into your bare skin as he thrusted into you hard and fast. You came several times that night, on his tongue, fingers, cock, thigh, all of it. It was the best sex you’ve had and when you woke up the next morning it wasn’t awkward at all. You two just got dressed and went to get breakfast together.

After that you two had agreed to go to each other when you needed your fix. Whether you’re stressed or bored or just plain horny you always go to Jihoon, and he always goes to you. You guys aren’t always aggressive as you were the the first night when you fuck. Sometimes it’s slow and sweet, other times it’s passionate and drawn out, other times it’s quick and assertive. You enjoy it all and you enjoy even more how it doesn’t seem to ruin your friendship with Jihoon. If anything you guys are even closer than before.

You guys don’t label it as “friends with benefits” though, because it feels wrong. It implies that sex is the main way to defy your relationship when that’s not how you and Jihoon are. You are best friends who just happen to be having sex out of convience and comfort. Your friendship means more than those stupid labels so you guys don’t allow them.

As you pull on your jacket your phone pings with a text and you smile. He is always right on time. You grab your bag and make sure you have all of your belongings before bidding Sana a goodbye and rushing down the stairs of your apartment to where Jihoon is waiting outside. Due to his schedule being free, he always walks you to work on Wednesdays and Thursdays. You greet him with a wave and a wide smile which he reciprocates. Your hand easily slips into his as you two start your walk down the street. You technically work two jobs but the one Jihoon is walking you to is your job as a bartender in a restaurant close to campus.

“So how’s your day been?” You look over at your best friend. You’re around the same height as him, if not a little taller. It’s a fact that doesn’t bother you or Jihoon but your friends like to tease the short boy when you wear heels out and are a couple inches taller than him.

“It’s been busy. I’m just glad to get out of the apartment. Soonyoung has been particularly insufferable lately.” You laugh at the mention of Jihoon’s roommate and one of his best friends. Jihoon pretends he finds Soonyoung insufferable but you both know deep down Jihoon adores the tiger obsessed boy.

Like you and Sana, the two were randomly assigned roommates and made quick friends and decided to be roommates even after their freshman year. Unlike you and Sana though, the two boys live with two other boys named Jun and Wonwoo. He likes to complain to you about how he lives in a house full of cat lovers when he prefers dogs.

Soon the two of you get to the restaurants and Jihoon is stopping in front of the building. He squeezes your hand tight before letting it go.

“Are you free after work?” He asks you.

“The newspaper meeting got canceled so I should be, why?”

“Could I come over later? I’m serious about Soonyoung.”

You only laugh and nod, telling him you’ll text him when you get off work. You drop a kiss on his cheek before heading into your job.

“F-fuck Hoonie, slow down.” You gasp as Jihoon pounds into you brutally.

Jihoon came and picked you up from your job and while on your way back to your place Sana texted you that she was spending the night at your friends Momo and Jeongyeon’s apartment. Jihoon, who was reading your texts over your shoulder, smirked at you and you knew then that you were in for a long night.

As soon as you walked into your apartment the door was kicked closed and Jihoon had you pressed up against it. His lips were on yours, his fingertips already pushing the hem of your shirt up as he gripped your waist.

Now you are being pressed into your mattress, your legs wrapped around Jihoon’s waist. You’re both stripped of all your clothes, a trail of them left behind from the front door to the bed, and Jihoon is unrelenting in his pace as his hips snap into yours. His right forearm rests by your head as he braces himself on it, leaning over your body. His left hand rubs up and down your torso, stopping to flick at your nipple ever so often. He whispers soft praises to you that are muffled as his mouth sucks and nips at your chest, shoulders, and neck. You whimper as he thrusts into your g-spot over and over again. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into you even more. Your finger nails dig into his back which only seems to encourage Jihoon even more.

You’re feeling light headed when all of a sudden everything stops and you go from being overstimulated to understimulated. Jihoon is pulling out of you and unwrapping your limbs from his body as you whine and beg for him to stuff you full again. Before you can even process what’s happening Jihoon is picking you up and turning you over before shoving your face into your pillows. His hand sits firm on the back of your neck, pressing you down, while his other hand pulls your hips up in the air and soon he’s thrusting right back into you. You didn’t think it was possible but he’s somehow plowing into you harder and faster than before. His hand lets go of your hips to bring it down again on your ass, hard. The impact makes you arch your back more and push your hips back into his to meet his thrust. He smacks your ass a couple more times and you know that your skin is most likely red by now.

“Shit, baby, you feel so good,” Jihoon groans. Both of his hands are now holding your waist as he pounds into you. “Always so good for me. So nice and tight. Pretty little cunt taking me so well. Mmm, this is all just for me right?”

“Y-yes Hoonie, nob-body else gets me like y-you do.” You can barely get your words out. You can’t focus on anything other than how good Jihoon feels inside of you. The way his cock rubs against your walls, his tip pushing deeply into you, his width filling you up deliciously.

You and Jihoon aren’t dating but you did both agree that you shouldn’t hook up with other people while you guys were fucking. Jihoon told you it was because of STIs and that was part of the truth, but the other part of the truth, that he didn’t tell you, is because Jihoon is territorial and he doesn’t want other people touching you when you’re his. Dates are fine, no guy you go on a date with will live up to your expectations anyways. He just doesn’t want anyone else to fuck you when your pussy belonged to him.

Below him you dig your fingers into your sheets to try and ground yourself. You feel your orgasm coming on to you as your thighs tremble and high pitched moans leave your throat.

"M'so close. Need'a cum." Your words slur together as you signal to Jihoon about your quickly approaching orgasm.

"Been so sweet to me. C'mon baby, cum for me."

Jihoon pulls your body up so your back is flush to his chest. His one hand gropes at your tits as the other moves down to rub quick tight circles into your clit. His mouth once again attaches to your neck and with a final snap of his hips you're sent over the edge. You feel your pussy clench hard around Jihoon before your pussy is gushing, causing Jihoon's own orgasm to wash over him as he releases his load into you. He murmurs small praises to you as you both climax. He thrusts shallowly as you ride out your highs, your body still trembling a bit.

Jihoon twists your bodies so when he lays down you guys are resting on your side, Jihoon spooning you. He doesn't even bother pulling out, he just wraps his leg around you and pulls you closer to his body, arms wrapping around your waist as well.

"You okay babydoll?" He murmurs into your skin as he presses soft kisses into the back of your shoulder. Only nod and slide your arms on top of his, interlacing your hand with his.

You two lay like that for a few more minutes before Jihoon starts to shift around. Because he's still inside of you, his cock bumps up against your walls and you whimper a bit and clench down on him, causing Jihoon to groan himself.

“Baby we gotta clean up. You definitely squirted all over me.” You whine a bit but don’t protest when he pulls out of you. The feeling of being empty after being stuffed full for so long takes a second to adjust to as Jihoon scoops you up in a bridal carry and brings you to the bathroom that connects to your room. He gets the shower hot and you can barely stand as Jihoon starts to clean you off.

The feeling of his hands running over your body and massaging your muscles makes you hum. You always liked post sex showers with Jihoon. He always makes sure to take the best care of you as he soaps up your body and works out all the knots in your body. The feeling of him pressing into you as the hot water cascades down your bodies is heavenly and you never want this feeling to end.

“Jihoonie,” you sigh as you feel his lips start to suck on the sweet spot on your neck. His hands snake around your body to cup your breasts. He kneads at the plush flesh and his right hand moves to pinch at your nipple and roll it between his fingers. You let out a choked moan as he pinches particularly hard which causes Jihoon to buck his hips into yours. His dick is already hard again as he starts to grind into your backside as one of his hands moves down to tease your clit.

“Y/N,” he whines. After rough sex it isn’t uncommon for Jihoon to get all soft and needy for you. He claims it because he wants to make up for being so rough and he wants to enjoy a sweeter moment with you.

“So needy for me Jihoonie,” you coo and you reach up behind your head to bury your hands into his wet hair. “So insatiable even after what we just did.” You tease him but you know he can feel how wet you already are.

“Can I please fuck you again? I need it so bad.” His voice is breathy as he talks, wavering a couple times. “Please bunny?”

His begging along with the nickname used causes you to break and you nod. He spins your body around and wraps one of your legs around his waist as he lines his cock up to your entrance. Slowly he pushes in and you both let out your own groans at the feeling. Jihoon thrusts a couple times into you before reaching down to grab your other thigh, lifting you fully into the air. You feel you back press into the cold wall of the shower. The sensation is quickly forgotten as your mind fills with pleasure as Jihoon thrusts deeply into you. His pace is a lot nicer and slower than earlier but you love it all the same.

One of your arms wraps around Jihoon’s shoulders while the other is brought down to his face. You close the space between you and connect your lips together. Jihoon hums into the kiss and presses a bit harder. Kissing Jihoon feels comfortable and natural, like it’s second nature for you. His tongue licks at the bottom of your lip and you open up allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Your hand buries itself into Jihoon’s hair as he starts to pick up the pace of his thrusting. He steadily pounds into you, hitting your spot repeatedly. He sucks and bites at your bottom lip as he reaches down to play with your clit once more. You can tell he’s getting close but trying to get you to cum before he does. You chuckle at his actions before pulling your mouth away from his.

“It’s okay Ji, you can cum,” you whisper into his ear before biting at his earlobe. That’s all it takes for him to reach his orgasm. He lets out a punched out sob as you feel his warm cum fill up your cunt, his hips stuttering as he does.

He pulls out of you and lets your legs fall back down to the ground but he doesn’t let you go and he pulls your body back into his. His hand slides down your torso and he teases your seam before sliding two fingers into your pussy. You clench around them as he finger fucks his cum deeper into you. Your hands grip his muscular arms tightly, trying to find some purchase to ground you.

Jihoon smirks as he adds another finger and quickens his pace. His thumb brushes up against your clit and all of a sudden you’re moaning loudly and clenching against his fingers as you cum all over his fingers. Jihoon helps you through your orgasm before pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them up to his mouth to suck them clean.

With a pop Jihoon pulls his fingers out of his mouth. “Always taste so sweet for me,” he hums before pulling you into him and burying his face into your neck. You two stand like that for a while, just holding each other, before the water starts to run cold and you two shuffle out of the shower.

Jihoon dries you both off before wrapping you in the towel and telling you he’ll be back with clothes. After about ten minutes your best friend is back not only with clothes but a glass of water. A pair of sweatpants hangs lowly on his hips and you down the glass of water before pulling on your own pair of pajama pants and one of his hoodies. When you’re fully dressed Jihoon grabs you and picks you up again, this time in a koala carry.

“I changed the sheets as well,” he mentions as he lays you both down onto the bed. You thank him as he pulls the covers over both of you. You snuggle into his side and he pulls you tight to him. You bury your head into his chest and feel your eyes droop with exhaustion before drifting off to sleep.

When you wake up your muscles are sore and your bed is cold. Your brow furrows as you wonder where Jihoon went. You sit up and look at the time. 7:53. Your classes today don’t start until 9:00, and Jihoon’s start even later so you know he’s not on his way to class. He also has plenty of clothes at your apartment and he had his school bag with him when he picked you up yesterday so you know he’s not back at his apartment getting ready either.

You stand up and stretch, your whole body protesting as you do. Your legs are still a little shaky when you stand up but it’s not bad enough where you can’t stand. You pull off the clothes you wore last night and pull on a pair of jeans and a random t-shirt that honestly might belong to Jihoon, you can’t even remember at this point. You put Jihoon’s hoodie back on and then trudge into the living room area of your apartment.

Finally in the common area of your apartment you can now see where Jihoon went off to. He shoots you a grateful look when he sees you emerge from your bedroom. He’s sitting at the kitchen counter while your roommate flounces around the kitchen, talking animatedly. You weren’t expecting Sana to be home this morning and obviously neither was Jihoon who is being held hostage by the Japanese girl.

You don’t even acknowledge your roommate as you walk over to Jihoon and drape yourself over his shoulders. You snuggle into his neck for a second before pressing a soft kiss into his cheek.

“Good morning,” you murmur and he hums, the vibrations reverberating into you.

“Morning pretty girl, you know you didn’t have to get up yet.” He turns in his seat to fully wrap you into his arms and pull you into his lap.

“Yeah, but who else would have come and saved you from Sana,” you whisper so the other girl won’t hear you and he laughs.

“She’s making breakfast for us. Told me that we needed something to ‘refuel our energy after an invigorating night’.”

Sana is actually the only person in your friend group who knows about your arrangement with Jihoon. Whenever you guys have sex it’s typically at your apartment and it’s hard to avoid Sana because she lives there as well. Sometimes you go over to Jihoon’s place but that’s only after he is fully convinced the boys won’t be home for hours. You guys were already incredibly close before hooking up so nobody else really questions your actions towards one another and Sana was luckily compliant when you asked her not to tell the others, but that doesn’t stop the endless teasing when you’re alone with the girl.

There isn’t really a reason to keep your hook ups with Jihoon a secret but you didn’t want to complicate anything in the friend group and you didn’t want to be teased even more. In your mind it just isn’t anyone’s business what you, and subsequently Jihoon, do in bed. Sana only found out because one night you thought she was out of the house but it turned out she was just taking a nap and when she woke up she found you and Jihoon in a…compromising position on the couch. The conversation after that made you red in the face and you could barely look at your roommate for the next three days.

“Good morning!” Sana sing-songs at you before placing two plates down onto the counter. “Enjoy your breakfast you two! I’m off to class!” With that Sana grabs her bags and practically skips out of the apartment.

“Well she was cheerful,” Jihoon mutters before he lets you off his lap so he can eat properly.

“She just likes to tease me about you, that’s all.” You roll your eyes at your roommate’s antics.

Jihoon only nods and eats a bit off his plate before turning his attention back to you. “You’re gonna go to Cheol’s Halloween party right?”

Seungcheol is a good friend of Jihoon’s and a casual friend of yours. He’s in your bigger group of friends that is actually just your friend group and Jihoon’s friend group combined to make one extremely chaotic group. It started your freshman year of college when you and Sana made friends with Momo, Jeongyeon, and a girl named Nayeon who is a year older than you. Your group had then mixed with Jihoon’s group that consisted of him, his three roommates, and three boys who are also a year older than you two, Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Joshua. Over the years it’s grown to add more people and now you guys are a group of twenty-three.

You have been so busy with everything going on in your life (midterms, two jobs, costuming for the theatre department, working on the campus newspaper, marketing the Fine Arts Showcase, and working on your own photography portfolio) you haven’t had much time to spend with your friends. Which is why you were sure to get the day off to go to Seungcheol’s party.

“Yeah, the girls are super pumped about it, but I’m not even sure what costume I should wear.”

“What if…we went together. Like, we had matching costumes,” Jihoon suggests nonchalantly.

“That’s an amazing idea, Hoonie!” At our excitement a grin spreads across Jihoon’s face and he leans over to give you a quick peck on your lips. You giggle at that again and pull him in close, connect the two of you.

His breakfast forgotten, he pulls you onto his lap again so your bodies are flush against each other. Your fingers grip at his hair as Jihoon sucks at your bottom lip, his own hands under your shirt, splayed against your bare stomach. His hands start to travel up higher before you’re pulling away breathless and whiny.

“I want to Ji, I really do, but we have class.”

The short boy curses under his breath before letting you slide off his lap. His cards a hand through his head before nodding. “Yeah okay. Let me walk you to class?”

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #woozi #lee jihoon #woozi smut #woozi fanfic #woozi x reader #lee jihoon x reader #lee jihoon fanfic #lee jihoon smut #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #rru.fics #rru.mhhgty #rru.writes #★ mdni

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jjungkookislife · 2 years ago

Text

Available Ch. 2

pairing: namjoon x f. reader

genre: s2l, fake dating au, future smut [18+]

summary: You’ve run out of time to find a date to your high school reunion. While having a drink at the bar, you meet a handsome stranger who agrees to be your fake husband for the night.

wc: 999

warnings: alcohol use, mean girl, mention of plastic surgery (joon gets a little mean but i have nothing against it), MC's ex (who insinuates cheating on his wife), groping?

a/n: from this request

date: August 14, 2022

Stepping into the ballroom makes your nerves run wild. Namjoon offers you a reassuring squeeze.

"Smile," he advises as you walk in. You greet the person at the door, get your nametag, and head deeper into the ballroom. You're in awe of the elegance. The chandelier in the center of the room is enough to make a statement.

"Someone's waving over there," Namjoon informs you, leaning in close to whisper, his breath ghosting your skin.

"Fuck," you curse. "Here we go."

"Angela!" you exclaim as your best friend comes over. You lost touch for a few years but had reconnected the past week in hopes of seeing each other here. She says your name, pulling you into a tight hug that Namjoon rescues you from when your eyes widen and your hands flail at your sides.

"Oh! Hello! I'm Angela," she introduces herself to your fake husband. You hope she doesn't see past your ruse. Nervously, you bite your lip and hope the stranger you’ve invited pulls through.

"I'm Namjoon. I'm her husband," he says easily.

"How long have you been married?" Angela asks with a friendly smile.

"Three years," you lie as you hold Namjoon's hand. Angela nods, looking down at your hands and noting neither of you wore a ring.

"They're getting cleaned. Unfortunately, they weren't ready for tonight," Namjoon answers with a frown. "But that's okay. We were thinking of upgrading her ring, anyway."

"Ooh," Angela gushes before turning her head. "My husband is around here somewhere. But the rest of our friends are at that table if you want to join us."

"Sure, we're just gonna get a drink first," you tell her. She nods and excuses herself in search of her husband.

"That wasn't too bad," Namjoon says as he places his hand on your lower back to guide you to the bar set up across the dance floor.

"It could have been worse. We haven't bumped into Vanessa yet. She was a real witch in high school. Always trying to one up me for no reason," you huff as you reach the bar. Namjoon chuckles.

"So the mean girl? No problem." Namjoon holds up a hundred-dollar bill and the bartender comes quickly. You get your drinks and step aside to overlook the party. There are few people on the dance floor, most searching out their old buddies. You frown when you spot Vanessa. She's on the arm of an attractive man, though not nearly as gorgeous as Namjoon. You smile into your drink.

"What's got you smiling, baby?" Namjoon asks as he looks over the crowd, not noting anyone out of place. This wasn't the normal situation he'd find himself in, but when he spotted you at the bar earlier, he was going to start a conversation. He didn't think it would lead to this, but who was he to turn down this opportunity?

"There's Vanessa. In the blue dress with the dark brown hair down to her ass," you point her out and Namjoon takes a moment to find her. He stares until Vanessa looks your way. You down your drink as she approaches, a fake smile on her face.

"Wow! Is that you?" She smirks as she says your name. She's taken aback by Namjoon's pretty face and broad frame, but smiles nonetheless.

"And this must be your hired date. How much is she paying you? I'll triple it," Vanessa sneers.

Namjoon glares at her, tongue pressed to his cheek. Vanessa visibly winces. "You couldn't afford my rate. I'm a plastic surgeon and I can tell whoever you went to isn't nearly as good as me. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my wife and I are needed elsewhere."

Namjoon takes your hand in his as he leads you away from a gaping Vanessa. You revel in her expression before following Namjoon.

However, just mere feet from Angela's table, your ex appears. What luck you had to run into everyone you wanted nothing to do with.

"Daniel!" you gasp when he steps in front of you, cutting you off from the table.

He grins. "Hey, it's good to see you! You look good. So good." Daniel licks his lips.

Namjoon scoffs. "Hello, I'm her husband. Dr. Kim Namjoon."

Daniel nods. "Cool. Anyway, you look beautiful. I've missed you."

"Are you serious?" Namjoon mutters.

"Daniel. What are you doing? I'm here with my husband. You dumped me ages ago. Move on!" you roll your eyes. "Besides, aren't you married?"

"She doesn't have to know." Daniel shrugs.

Namjoon's jaw ticks. He's seconds from punching this man.

"Baby, let's go get another drink," Namjoon says, leading you away from Daniel.

"Thank you. I swear he's even more of an asshole now than he was back then."

"Seems like it," Namjoon chuckles. He takes your hand and leads you to the dance floor.

"Joon!" you gasp as you wrap your arms around him. He leads you on the floor easily, your head on his shoulder as you glide across the floor. You can feel several eyes on you as he spins you. You smile at him, and he returns it, his hand on your cheek as he leans forward, giving you plenty of time to deny him.

You don't.

Your lips meet his and your heart beats faster as you kiss him on the dance floor.

Nothing matters but you and Namjoon.

When the kiss ends, you're tugging Namjoon off the dance floor to a secluded area in view of Vanessa and Daniel, both steaming with jealousy when you press Joon to the wall.

Namjoon smirks. "What are you doing?"

"Giving them a show," you respond as you kiss him again, your hands gripping his tie. Namjoon moans against your lips, his hands going from your hips down to your ass.

"Fuck, Joon," you moan rather loudly.

Namjoon licks his lips. He grabs your ass rather roughly, spurred on by your moans.

"What are you doing?" you pant.

"Just making sure they know you're mine, baby."

thank you for reading! ♡ if you liked it, please let me know! 💌

<< previous // next >>

#bangtanarmynet #btshoneyhive #namjoon x reader insert #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n

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matsur1 · 2 years ago

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Warnings: Shinichiro x f!reader, angst, death, depression, suicide [kind of?] andddd idk what else- but if there's more then pls lmk<3

word count: 1.2k words!

A/n: This is a one time thing (for now I guess?-) that I did bc I was inspired by a tiktok, also can't tell if this is a sad ending or a happy ending💀 anyways enjoy reading!! SORRY IF SOMEONE ALREADY DID THIS PLOTT AKJSHDUFADF IF SUM1 ALREADY DID PLS LMK SO I CAN DELETE THISS (cz they might think I stole their plottttt) tiktok inspiration link: https://www.tiktok.com/@sohndehr/video/7101730597776772379?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7080717004572182017

You were in your father’s shop as usual, doing duties as he told you to. You listed down all the things found in your father’s shop until you heard a voice.

“Um, excuse me miss,” he had an appealing, mid-low voice.

You turned around to see who the customer was, and you replied, “Ah yes, is there something you need?” The black-haired man hesitated and stuttered, “Can I get your numbe- I mean- uh- do you guys have any motor parts available?” You chuckled at his stuttering and “mistake”, but you decided to say, “Mhm, we do.”

“Oh okay, can I take a look at them and see which ones I could buy?” He once again asked. “Sure!” you stated.

While you led him into the motor part section of the shop, you decided to tease him a bit, “By the way, I don’t mind giving you my number at all.” He blushed and denied, pretending not to know what you were talking about.

Later on, when he was done paying for the things he bought. He mustered up all the confidence he had and smugly asked you, “So, where’s that number I was supposed to get? Don’t tell me I gotta pay for that too!” You giggled at the humor he had and gave him a little paper with your number written on it. You both then told your goodbyes, and both your day went on with a big smile on your faces.

After giving the black-haired man your number, he immediately texted you that night as soon as he finally finished with all the things he needed to do. He started the conversation by texting you, “Hey! It’s me from the shop. I forgot ask you your name earlier. My name’s Shinichiro Sano! You can call me Shin in short.” The both of you from then on got to know each other even more. Not to mention, he also kept bragging about his siblings.

Finding out that Shin came back to his homeland, Japan, made you sad but he promised you that he’ll go back to the Philippines along with his siblings next time! And of course, time came when you both officially became a couple!

One day he sent you a message. Reading, “Hey y/n! I know it’s been months since we last got to see each other in person. And trust me I miss you very much!!! I’ve been working hard to save up money so me, Mikey, Emma, and Izana could visit you there! Mikey keeps getting mad at me because I tell him about you all the time. I’m certain that even though I haven’t told Emma and Izana about you yet, they’d love you!!!! Won’t let them steal you away from me though. Anyways, just a bit more patience princess. We’ll be able to see you very soon!!!!! Love you always and keep safe, alright? I’ll see you soon.

Love, Shinichiro”

And that letter was no exception to Shin’s letters giving you a smile that reaches the ears and butterflies in your stomach. You were very excited to meet his siblings too, of course! You had a strong feeling that you’d get along with them very, very well! You sometimes would even have a hard time sleeping at night, not being able to hide your excitement. Even during the day, your father would always tease you for always having so much energy, asking you what you’re always excited for.

And that excitement didn’t last long, after a month of Shin sending that letter to you. Today, you also got another letter sent in the mail. You got excited, thinking it was from Shin. Checking the letter only to see it was from Shin’s grandfather. Written down was, “Hello dear y/n, I’ve heard a lot about you from Shin-chan. You truly are a kind woman to our Shin and we’re always grateful for that. He never had a girlfriend once in his life and knowing that his first girlfriend is a respectful woman like you makes me happy for him,” You smile at the kind words given by his grandfather, until… “However, I’m sorry to be the one telling you this but, Shin has passed away. I wish to invite you here in Japan and attend his funeral. Make sure to kindly ask your parents for permission first. I’m really sorry y/n. We hope to see you here. I’m sure Shin would also want to see you one last time.” You weren’t expecting this at all. After all, he promised right? He promised he’d see you again in person. Tears kept dripping down. Your father noticed you and asked you what the matter was, but no words were able to leave your mouth. Nothing but the cries of a woman in love losing her partner.

After you were finally able to calm down a little, your father allowed you to go to Shin’s funeral.

Finally, you reached Japan. Shin’s grandfather got Shin’s friend named Wakasa to pick you up from the airport and bring you into the Sano household. The bus that you rode with Wakasa was pretty empty and quiet. You look outside the window, sorrow taking control of your eyes. “So, you’re Shin’s girlfriend?” he politely asked. After seconds of waiting, he got no reply, so he decided to break the silence once again, “He kept bragging about you to basically everyone he meets up with. He always goes “My girlfriend’s like this and that.” Wakasa chuckles, trying to remember the countless times Shin bragged about you. "He never shuts up.”

You feel tears cloud up your eyes once again, but you decided to wipe it off, not wanting to cause a ruckus inside the bus. You sniff, “Aren’t you sad about his death? Aren’t you his friend?” You curiously ask. “Well, of course, I am. But I know Shin, and he wouldn’t want his loved ones to sob gallons of tears for his death, maybe a whole bottle would be acceptable for him, but never a gallon. He’d surely get mad.” He replied trying to make you cry less.

You finally arrive at the Sano household. Slowly walking over to the casket, you saw Shin’s picture. His innocent smile wanted to make you sob right then and there but you pulled yourself together, remembering what Wakasa had told you. You were able to hold back your tears, not until you saw Shinichiro peacefully resting inside his casket. He was wearing a black suit. A suit you were supposed to see in yours and Shin’s wedding. But instead of a wedding, it was at his funeral.

You fell onto your knees. You heard other people crying but what caught your attention was two little voices that seemed like Mikey and Emma. You heard a little girl ask, “Mikey-nii, who is that girl?”

“Shin-nii’s first and last girlfriend,” Mikey replied in monotone. “Oh… that’s, sad… They were just two people that are in love...” Emma muttered.

In the end, you still cried about a gallon of tears. And those tears lasted for months. You decided to lock up yourself inside your room, never having any appetite nor energy to go out. You just couldn’t find any motivation anymore. No matter how many reasons this world could give you, it was different without Shin. Until the time came, you knew it was your turn.

“Shin...” you whispered, then your eyes slowly shut off. You saw a vision of a blurred black-haired man. Slowly, your visions were finally able to identify who it was.

“We meet again, my princess.”

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fireofjudgement · 3 years ago

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Mismatched (Part 1)

Fandom: All of us are dead

Pairing: Su-hyeok x f!reader, Gwi-nam x f!reader

Summary: You've had many bad dates in your life but the one with Su-hyeok was something you wanted to forget as soon as possible. With your career on the line and your whole life being a string of failures and disappointments, a boring relationship wasn't something you wanted to add to the mix.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: this fic is strictly 18+, minors and empty blogs do not fucking interact or you'll get blocked on sight, pre-zombie apocalypse/office au, swearing, mentions of vomiting, alcohol, cigarettes and weed, mentions of sexual harassment and one night stands, reader parties and drinks a lot, sexual content: grinding, kissing, groping, public sex, protected vaginal sex, sex with a stranger, additional tags to be added in the next chapters

A/N: here it is, after I kept talking about it for so long! I really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope you will like it too. It's going to be my first longer series and I'm not sure how often I'll update it but if you want me to tag you for the next chapters, let me know! We're definitely in for a ride :)

Loser from Tinder [7:15 pm]: Hi y/n :) Thank you for a great night, I've had so much fun haha :) Hope to see you again soon!

Loser from Tinder [8:06 pm]: It's Su-hyeok by the way :)

Loser from Tinder [9:42 pm]: I hope you got home safe!

When your phone lit up with a notification from Su-hyeok for the third time that night you almost threw it against a wall. The only thing that stopped you was the ridiculous amount of money you paid for it. You really had to stop purchasing the most expensive products to impress people who didn't even care enough to remember your name.

The problem was that people who did care didn't impress you in the slightest. Like Su-hyeok for example. He was handsome, he was intelligent, he always said please and thank you and he opened the door for you every time. He listened to what you had to say, he was polite to the waitresses and he paid for dinner - the list went on and on. And yet..you found him extremely boring. You couldn't imagine spending the rest of your life with someone who had the personality of a chicken sandwich, no matter how nice he was and how well he treated you and everyone else around him.

You started thinking about your date earlier that evening. You didn't expect much, you never did when it came to your Tinder matches. A nice dinner, company to go see the latest movie, maybe a one night stand. Clearly he expected something else, something more. Something you definitely weren't ready to give yet, especially to a complete stranger. Thinking about it now, maybe you could have been just a little bit nicer to him. Yeah, laughing out loud probably wasn't the best reaction to him giving you flowers as soon as you arrived. It just seemed like too much. You made it very clear during your conversations that you're not looking for anything serious. It baffled you that he didn't seem to realize he crossed a line. And he kept crossing it, over and over again, even after your date was done.

Annoyed by his repeated attempts to contact you, you decided to do what you've always done in situations like these - ghost him. You didn't like confrontations, you didn't care what he would think of you and besides, you had more important things to worry about right now than hurting some random guy you matched with on Tinder while drunk. The restaurant he picked was too pretentious anyway. And why did he have to wear a tie? You couldn't stand how hard he tried, despite not even knowing you.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you refreshed the site. Still no response. You applied for your dream job over a week ago, after months of hesitation and self doubt. Now you started to think you should have listened to the voice in your head telling you to just give up and apply somewhere else. You couldn't help but sigh at the prospect of working for another crappy corporation that didn't give a shit about the employees, in a position you were overqualified and underpaid for, with people who had no other joy in their lives than looking over your shoulder, waiting for you to make even the slightest mistake.

And to think that you were once this energetic, goal oriented person who truly believed she'd get wherever she wants, as long as she works hard and treats people with kindness. Bullshit. A few years of unpaid internships and sexual harassment at your work place later, you realised hard work and kindness will only pay off if you match them with big tits and a sheepish smile. Who cares about passion, knowledge and experience when the most common corporate currency nowadays were blowjobs.

Why was life so difficult, so unfair? You worked so hard, always tried your best and so far it's gotten you nowhere. Unable to stop the tears that started running down your cheeks, you allowed yourself to dwell in your sadness, even if just for a moment. Crying wasn't a sign of weakness, you learned to accept that, even though it was difficult and the complete opposite of what your parents forced you to believe your entire life. But you were already sad enough, you should probably stop thinking about them. It's never done you any good.

You looked at your phone, it was 10:30 pm. Not too late to go out, have some fun. Maybe have a drink or two. Forget about your date, forget about your failed job application and about your parents. Forget about everything that was making you feel miserable, making you feel like you were a failure. And so, with newfound energy you got up and started to get ready. You didn't know where you'll go or what you'll do but one thing you knew for sure, the last thing you needed at the moment was staying home, alone with your thoughts and insecurities. Tonight you won't let them consume you. You'll try at least.

After putting on your favorite outfit and doing your hair, you left your apartment in search of something, anything that would help distract you but everything looked the exact same - every bar, every club, every restaurant. Every establishment played the same music. All the guests looked the same. Every man that tried approaching you was wearing similar clothes, talked in a similar way, used the same corny pickup lines. No, you did not believe in love at first sight, no he didn't have to approach you again. Yes, you did have a name and no, it wasn't "mine". You most certainly didn't fall from heaven recently.

You were tired. Maybe you should have stayed at home afterall. At least you could be yourself there. No acting, no pretending to be someone else to please people, make them like you. Why did it even matter if they liked you anyway? Why did you put in so much effort for people who didn't care? Maybe that's why you hated Su-hyeok so much. You two weren't that different. Unfortunately for him, he reminded you of everything you hated about yourself.

Fuck, you were still thinking about him. Why? It was time to move on but why was it so difficult this time? It's not like you had a good time with him, you didn't remember anything he told you about himself. Clearly, you needed more alcohol. Having visited most of the establishments you knew in the city, you were running out of options. Luckily a quick Google search provided you with a new address, a place you haven't been to before. Maybe that's what you needed.

However, after you finally got there, you had to admit that it looked just like all the other places. Maybe even worse, with all the spilled alcohol and trashy music, the smell of weed, sweat and sex attacking your senses before you even entered.

Hesitant at first, you decided to go in, maybe it would look better on the inside. It didn't. It looked exactly like you pictured it. At least nobody there knew you, nobody seemed to care about you or the fact that your first drink quickly turned into two, then three..until you stopped caring too. You finally felt better, no negative thoughts clouding your mind. You felt free. Deep inside you knew those feelings were temporary, incredibly fragile but you chose to ignore that fact. It got easier with each drop of alcohol entering your system.

Before you knew it, you found your way to the dance floor, your body moving along to the music, touching and grinding against the people around you. You didn't care anymore if they all looked the same, if anything it will make it easier to forget them the next morning. You knew you'd want to forget just how many lips you allowed to touch yours, how many hands explored your body that night, how many sweet nothings were whispered in your ear.

Just when you finally cleared your mind from all the trivial bullshit, finally lost yourself in the music, you found something that might have been worth remembering. Or someone. You didn't know what it was about him but he looked different than all the other men you've met that night. Or any other night. Maybe it was the alcohol talking but you could feel your whole body warm up just from the way he looked at you. Like a predator waiting on his prey. And you fell right into his trap, without him even making a move. His sole presence made you want to be closer to him, touch him, let him take over control.

You didn't remember walking over to him nor did you remember what he said to you, you definitely didn't remember how the two of you ended up in the club's bathroom together but you were happy you did. Not only did he look better than other guys, he tasted so much better too and he was a good kisser. So much so that you couldn't wait for his lips to explore your whole body, your head tilting automatically, to give him better access to your neck and shoulders. Nobody you've seen that night, or the night before, could compare to him and you didn't even know his fucking name. It wasn't necessary though, his touch and kisses the best introduction, your bodies expressing more than any words could.

Even with all of the alcohol in your system, you still made sure he was wearing a condom. There was no stopping you now, your clothes quickly getting pushed aside, his dick sliding into you and stretching you out before you could even blink. Your whimpers and moans muffled by his kisses, his lips never leaving yours as he pounded into you, your back slammed against the wall over and over again. Neither of you cared if someone would see or hear you, your pleasure was too overwhelming.

It wasn't long before you felt yourself getting close to an orgasm, his dick hitting all the right spots inside you. You clenched around him, your legs wrapped around his waist desperately trying to make him go even deeper. You felt him smirk against your lips, it wasn't hard to notice just how needy and fucked out you were already. With a few more deep thrusts you were thrown over the edge, wave after wave of pleasure hitting your whole body. He came not long after, his lips still connected to yours, your walls fluttering around him making it hard to last any longer.

After you both calmed down, an awkward silence fell between you. It wasn't your first quickie in a public restroom, obviously, but you couldn't help but feel like this time was different, you weren't sure why. For some reason you didn't want to leave a bad impression on him. Luckily, before you could say or do anything to ruin the moment, he quickly straightened his clothes before flashing you another smirk and leaving the now quiet place without a word.

If your body wasn't so sore, your thighs still covered in your arousal, you'd think nothing ever happened. That all of this was some sort of dream. When you finally left the bathroom, he was gone, no sign of him ever being there, ever speaking to you. Well, to be quite honest, you didn't talk too much, if at all. Downing one last drink, you decided you had enough for the night. It was time to go home and once again forget about everything that happened.

You never remembered the way home or entering your apartment, or undressing and getting into bed. Each time you woke up past noon, smelling of sweat, sex and cigarettes, a bad taste in your mouth. Sometimes you'd throw up, sometimes you'd cry, remembering all the shit you've done the previous night. But today you woke up way too early, with a massive headache, tired and confused. What the fuck was that noise and why didn't it stop?

It took you way too long to realise that it was your phone ringing. For some reason you put it right next to your bed. Too annoyed to ignore the call much longer, you looked at the screen. An unknown number. Who the fuck was trying to reach you at 8 am on a Wednesday? You finally picked up, ready to tell whoever was bothering you, to kindly fuck off, when you heard a soft female voice on the other end.

"Good morning, is this l/n, y/n?"

"Uhh..yeah?" You slurred, still unsure who the lady was and what she wanted from you.

"Great! I'm calling regarding the application you sent to our company last week, do you have a moment to talk to one of our recruiters? They'd explain all the details about the position. If you're still interested, of course."

#all of us are dead #all of us are dead netflix #all of us are dead x reader #all of us are dead fanfic #aouad #aouad x reader #aouad fanfic #yoon gwi nam #gwinam x reader #lee su hyeok #suhyeok x reader

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tendouluvr · 4 years ago

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not telling them you’re pregnant - f!reader

- fluff, sliiiight angst maybe

- characters: suna, sakusa, semi

- warnings: pregnancy (i don’t go into detail of giving birth or anything), cravings, morning sickness aka throwing up, two mention of the act of sex in semi’s, some cursing

- wc: 1.4k, 888, 946

a/n: it’s f!reader cuz pregnancy but there’s no specific pronouns/gendered terms used

also idk how suna got so long, he was the last one i wrote for bc i couldnt think of anything lmao

[2. iwaizumi, atsumu, kageyama]

SUNA

#! suna has been practicing late into the night the past few weeks

#! there’s a big game coming up and the entire team is feeling the pressure and adrenaline from the crunch time

#! you haven’t been feeling too good lately, a lot heavier and more tired than usual

#! thinking it was just stress from work and the missing presence of your boyfriend, you pushed through it and thought it would go away in the next few days

#! unfortunately, luck wasn’t on your side and you started to get sudden needs to throw up

#! it didn’t take you long to realize why your physical and mental drive have been down lately

#! you’re pregnant

#! or you believe you are

#! you bought a few tests, some of different brands so you can have a variety, and headed home to confirm your suspicion

#! a few minutes later, staring back at you was multiple positive symbols and the bolded ‘PREGNANT’s

#! taking a few deep breaths, you decided to tell suna tonight once he comes home

#! you thought it was better to let him know as soon as possible

#! it wouldn’t hurt anyone plus the faster you rip the bandaid off, the easier it’ll be to deal with it

#! so you waited

#! and waited

#! until 11pm that night, when suna finally came through the front door

#! “tarō! how was practice? can we talk?” you hurriedly greeted him

#! he was taken aback, not expecting you to be right beside him and in his ear as soon as he came in

#! of course you weren’t, you made sure to put some space in between you and him

#! but suna was stressed and tired, so everything is intensified to him at the moment

#! “can you back up?” he mumbled, pushing his way from in front of you to walk to the kitchen

#! “oh, sorry. can we talk?” you sheepishly smiled, hoping he would say yes

#! you’re not blind, you can tell that suna was tired but you really didn’t wanna put this off

#! you were just gonna tell him, he gets surprised, you both talk it out, and then go to bed and continue figuring things out tomorrow morning

#! but before any of that can happen, suna bluntly told you, “no. i’m tired. i’m sure whatever it is isn’t a big deal. can it be tomorrow? i wanna sleep.”

#! you didn’t get to answer before he was already walking away to the bedroom

#! understanding where he was coming from, you mentally agreed to talk to him tomorrow. one day wouldn’t change anything and you’ve seen plenty of people not tell their partners until a few weeks in

#! he was right, it wasn’t a big deal (yet)

#! so you waited until tomorrow

#! and waited

#! and once again, he came home late

#! “hey! can we quickly talk, babe?”

#! “i’m tired. tomorrow, okay?”

#! “oh, okay. night, rin!”

#! “g’night.”

#! night came and there was still no talk

#! this continued on for about 2 weeks, you finally choosing to not care anymore and just let him find out whenever he finds out

#! technically, you could’ve just blurted out a simple, “i’m pregnant.” any point during your nightly five seconds conversations

#! but seeing that he really was tired, springing it onto him would either put him in a full body shock for three days or he just doesn’t fully process your words until three days after

#! a month has passed, your stomach was still barely showing like most women at their one month mark

#! you decided to book an appointment for a checkup, it’ll be while suna’s at practice

#! and that doctor appointment was the exact reason suna found out

#! he was at practice when komori entered the gym

#! he had a doctor’s appointment for his annual checkup, and that’s where he saw you

#! you didn’t see komori, busy reading the directory to find your way to the right office

#! but he saw you on the way out. seeing that you looked a bit busy, he chose not to greet you and just quickly walk to his car lmao why is this funny to me

#! entering the gym, he greeted everyone and apologized for his tardiness even though it was excused

#! walking up to suna, he tapped him on the shoulder and quietly told him, “i saw yn at the hospital earlier. it’s been awhile since we all got together huh, they looked a bit different.”

#! ok so komori, being the smart person he is, deducted that you were pregnant when he saw your finger pointing at the ob/gyn office

#! and he genuinely thought suna knew so his comment was suppose to be a small joke that was meant to tease suna and his sex life

#! suna, however, was confused

#! look different? did you get surgery?

#! “what do you mean?”

#! komori rolled his eyes and gave a sweet smile at suna, “congrats you two! when were you gonna tell the rest of us?”

#! suna: 👨‍🦲 huh

#! “are you guys not pregnant?” he blinked at suna’s frozen reaction

#! suna became unresponsive so komori just walked away mumbling to himself about being sure he read the sign right

#! a loud whistle blew and it shook suna out of his daze, everyone got ready to play a practice game of 3 vs 3 while suna ran over to the coach

#! “hey coach, um i think there’s an emergency at home. can i go? ok thanks.”

#! his coach just stares after him as he sprints off, you think? is there an emergency or not?

#! suna quickly drove home, he may or may not have speed a little, and entered the apartment

#! “yn? baby?” he called out only to be greeted back with silence

#! probably still at the hospital....what were you doing there? he thought to himself while rummaging around the house to find anything that could give him somewhat of an idea

#! he was digging around in the bedroom when you came home, his head so frenzied he didn’t hear the front door open

#! but you heard the ruckus from the bedroom and immediately went into fight or flight

#! panicking, you took out your phone to call suna while quietly opening the front door to make your way back out before the intruder catches you

#! the phone rang and rang until it was picked up. “suna?” you whisper-yelled into the speaker. you had a habit of calling him by his last name when you were freaking out. he noticed and was equally alarmed

#! “what’s wrong?” he whispered back just as panicked

#! “there’s someone in our apartment. can you come home?”

#! “huh? oh, are you home?” he cackles into the phone speaker making you move the phone away from your ear, “it’s me, sweets, c’mere.”

#! you warily walked on your tiptoes over to your bedroom, peeking your head in and what a surprise, it is suna

#! “jackass! why are you home?!”

#! “why didn’t you tell me?” he cut straight to the point

#! “huh?”

#! “you’re pregnant. when were you gonna tell me?” his voice sounding stern, but the quiet smile dancing on his face tells a different story

#! “i tried.”

#! “huh? what do you mean?”

#! “all those times i asked if we could talk. i was trying to tell you.”

#! his heart dropped, eyebrows furrowing, while he stared you down

#! suna became unresponsive once again, standing there trying to think back to the first time you asked him

#! two weeks ago

#! “i’m sorry,” he quietly whispers

#! “hm? i..it’s fine....i was a bit sad, but i’m over it. at least you know now,” you casually shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal

#! “no. i shouldn’t have pushed you aside like that. even if you weren’t pregnant, even if you had just wanted to tell me about some stupid video you saw that day, i shouldn’t have told you off. i’m sorry, i love you a lot and you deserve so much better.”

#! “tarō, shut up. i accept your apology and i forgive you, now make it up to me by giving me a back massage while i show you the ultrasound pictures!”

#! he kisses you before lifting you up bridal style making his way to the bed

SAKUSA

#! contrary to popular beliefs, sakusa is not an obsessive germaphobe who finds everything disgusting but you

#! he wouldn’t be playing volleyball if he was that afraid of germs,,,,,

#! yes, he cringes if random little kids grab onto him after games because 1) he’s drenched in sweat and that feeling is not fun

#! 2) he doesn’t even know themmm

#! and 3) he wanna go home

#! but sakusa loves you and if you happened to get pregnant, he would love your kid(s) just the same

#! however, he never told you this. he never really had a reason to voice this out loud

#! so when you actually did get pregnant, you were confused

#! the only interactions between sakusa and kids you’ve seen multiple times were the moments between him and his fans

#! you guys have been to family parties and his nieces, nephews, and cousins looooves him

#! maybe it’s the fact that he’s a tall looming giant and they just want to climb

#! but besides those moments, you don’t recall him ever telling you upfront that he wants children of his own

#! and the constant stress and pressure he always seem to be working around also doesn’t help reassure you in any way

#! being an athlete for a living means always watching your body, health, and looks for the cameras (but omi could care less about the last thing)

#! he also has to make sure whether or not he’s working well with his teammates, practice and improve on anything he’s having problems with, and deal with atsumu’s dramatic ass

#! you’re an overthinker and because of that, all of these reasons were just reasons for you to postpone the pregnancy news to your long term boyfriend

#! it wasn’t too hard anyway, considering practice runs late sometimes and he’s busy majority of the time doing other stuff

#! when you guys do have alone time together, you both are so focused on one another that you actually forget that you’re pregnant and you never told him

#! you’re about to hit the three months mark now — time goes by fast — and sakusa has noticed you and your body changing

#! at first he just thought you were going through a phase of cravings and a bit of bloating, so he didn’t mention it and just let you be

#! he never got to witness you getting morning sickness because he goes on early runs or he was just out doing morning errands so he wouldn’t have to deal with it later that day

#! so when he caught you in the kitchen cutting up a lemon, the last thing he was expecting you to do was bring the lemon directly up to your mouth

#! “uh, what are you doing?” his deep voice caught you off guard, effectively stopping the hand that was holding the lemon

#! you just stare at him, not wide-eyed, not surprised, just stare

#! “eating a lemon.”

#! “i can see that.... why exactly?”

#! “dunno, the baby i guess.” you casually shrugged it off before popping the lemon slice into your mouth

#! “ah-,” he opened his mouth to stop you from eating the lemon, your words not fully processing in his mind, but cut off midway and froze when he finally realized

#! hearing him pause like that made you suddenly remembered that you never told him you were pregnant

#! you slowly turned back to look at him, mouth still slowly chewing the lemon slices

#! a moment of silence later, he unfreezes and just starts stiffly walking towards you

#! he grabbed you by the shoulders, made you look him in the eyes, before whispering, “you’re pregnant?!”

#! “y-yes..”

#! his eyes were wide, black pupils expanding as he stared you down, his lips slowly curving into a small smile

#! “you’re pregnant....,” he whispers, mainly to himself, hugging your head into his chest

#! “mhm, get off me i’m trying to eat,” you gently pushed him off but he wouldn’t budge

#! “omiiii please, if you get off i’ll give you a slice,” you tried bribing him. he couldn’t tell if you were being serious or just teasing

#! “no.”

#! “um ok, two slices?”

#! “no.”

#! “omi!”

#! he giggles before opening his arms to let you go

#! “why didn’t you tell me?”

#! you didn’t reply right away, making him start to overthink

#! did you not want the baby? or did you not want a kid with him? did you not want to be with him anymore? or was it not his?!

#! he childishly shakes his head side to side at the last question. he knew you wouldn’t do that

#! but you were still silent, making him nervously glance at you from the side

#! “sorry, piece of lemon stuck in my teeth. i just forgot to tell you,” the words easily flowing out of your mouth nonchalantly

#! sakusa’s fingers were literally about to start twitching from anxiousness beside you

#! a sigh of relief was heard from him and you turned to look at him

#! “you okay?”

#! he doesn’t answer, just gives you a smile and goes back to hugging you from behind

SEMI

#! you were currently sitting on the couch in your shared apartment waiting for semi to come home

#! he’s been on tour for a few months now, you both kept in touch by facetiming, texting, calling, and any other methods of virtual communication

#! you would tune into the live recording of all of his performances when you had time so you could watch him

#! a few weeks into tour, you suddenly felt different than usual but shook it off as nothing and probably just you missing your boyfriend

#! you believed that until one morning you were woken up by the sudden urge to throw up, dashing to the restroom as fast as your drowsy body can go

#! it was then that you realized you might be pregnant

#! the night before semi left, you both had sex to enjoy your last few hours together before he had to leave for a few months

#! with the new realization, you quickly dressed yourself to make a short trip to the store to pick up some tests

#! after half an hour of looking at yourself in the mirror, trying to wrap your head around this, you finally opened the first box

#! a few minutes later, all 5 tests were lined up on the bathroom counter showing positive

#! you stared at the tests, trying to make sure you weren’t reading it wrong

#! once you began to understand the responsibility of being pregnant a few hours later, you made a mental note to go out and buy some food for yourself the next day

#! you decided to sleep off the rest of that day

#! through all of the facetime calls with semi, you never once told him you were pregnant

#! you knew that if you told him he would freak out and either demand to go back home, or stay but all of his attention would be on you being pregnant alone at home for the rest of the tour

#! so here you are now, sitting with a 4 1/2 months baby bump waiting for your beloved to come home

#! it was around 6pm when the front door opened, sounds of shuffling bags and heavy steps could be heard from the musician

#! he cursed under his breath when he almost tripped over a duffle bag with some of his loungewear, calling out for you as he walks further into the apartment, “baby? i’m home!”

#! he was about to speak up again when he saw you asleep on the couch

#! bouncing his way over, he got onto his knees at the edge of the couch to observe your face. god i miss you, he thought to himself

#! he gently shakes you awake, you jolted in surprise not knowing you fell asleep in the first place

#! “hmm- what?,” soft murmurs falling from your lips as you adjusted your eyes at your surrounding

#! “eita!” he grinned at you, both of you pulling each other into a hug

#! “fuck, i miss you so much.” he whispered into your ears before placing his face into your neck

#! “i miss you more.” you tightened your grip around him making him move up on the couch to get more comfortable

#! you both moved around until he had you cradled in between him, your back against his chest

#! his hands going under your his shirt to caress you there when his movements stopped right on top of your stomach

#! it was silent as his warm hands rubbed your stomach in circles, the gears turning in his head

#! “are you- you feel- why’s your tum so round and hard?” he quizzically asked, still rubbing your stomach

#! “pregnant.” your voice a low whisper, he almost didn’t catch it

#! “what?”

#! “pregnant.” you repeated, a bit louder this time

#! “huh?”

#! “pregnant!” you sighed, moving his hand so you can get off of him

#! he grabs your wrist to stop you from walking away and turns you to look at him

#! “you’re pregnant?!”

#! “i just said that. yes.”

#! you knew you sounded blunt and a bit mean, it wasn’t his fault he doesn’t know at all, but your hormones have been making you crankier and it’s out of your control

#! “sorry. yes, i’m pregnant.”

#! his eyes continuously darts up and down from your eyes to your bump

#! “how long?”

#! “since you left.”

#! “was it the night before?” he was referring to your act of intimacy the night before he left

#! “yea.”

#! “wow. why didn’t you tell me?”

#! “because.”

#! “‘cuz what?”

#! “because i know you. you would either stop touring and come home, or stay but lose focus. i was just trying to not distract you because i know how important your career is to you. and because i thought that you’ll be having a six months break after this tour before your next comeback, i would tell you when you came home. i’m sorry if you’re ma-,”

#! “i’m not mad. oh don’t cry, babe, look at me.”he carefully cups your face, “it’s okay, it’s okay. i get why you kept it from me. and now that i have no schedule for the next six months, i can be there for you until the end of your pregnancy and the beginning of our baby’s life alright?”

#! you weakly nodded against his palms, and he brings you back down to lay your head on his chest as you both softly talk about the past months without each other

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pan-fangirl-345 · 3 years ago

Text

Promise Me You Won't Fall In Love

Summary: You and Tsukishima have been friends since you were kids, and you made a promise not to fall in love with each other. But of course, everything's fine and great until someone (both of you) fucked up and caught feelings.

TW: swearing, mutual pining, unrequited love (it is requited later), minor harassment (not a lot), and there is some derogatory talk from an extra that doesn't even have a name (Kei puts him in his place, I promise).

A/N: So this wasn't requested, but I've been thinking about this one a lot recently and I wanted to do something with it, hence this.

Note: Anything in italics is a memory! Well, not all of it, but the longer sections. Most of the time the one or two word-er things are simply emphasized, that kind of thing.

"Tsukishima, your girlfriend's here to see you!" Sugawara told the middle blocker, and he turned to see you leaning against the wall near Yachi and Kiyoko, laughing at something they were saying to you.

"She's not my girlfriend," Kei muttered, walking over.

"Kei! I knew you'd be here," you said, digging through your bag. "One of the girls in my class wanted me to give this to you."

You handed him a bright pink envelope with black sparkly writing on the front, his name scrawled in almost perfect handwriting.

"Another love letter?" he asked, taking it.

"Probably, I've stopped asking. It makes them think that we're together," you told him, crossing your arms.

Kei sighed, opening the letter with little fanfare.

He scanned through it quickly, rolling his eyes.

One thing he had noticed was that the letters he had been getting were really sucky poetry and fancy words. They knew nothing about him worthwhile and he was pretty sure they just wanted to check off the 'I have a boyfriend' box on their high school checklists.

Kei made a noise of disgust and walked over to the nearest trash can, dumping the letter in.

"I'm assuming that's another no?" you asked, smirking at him, already knowing the answer.

He nodded, ignoring the smirk on your face.

You, Tadashi, and Kei had all been friends since middle school. Kei had known you longer, since you lived in the same neighborhood, but you had kind of adopted Tadashi when you had heard about him being bullied, hence why Kei and you were actual friends now. Tadashi was the link between the two of you that had stuck. Being forced to make conversation as some of the only kids in the neighborhood had simply made you acquaintances.

"If you knew I was going to say no then why would you give me the letter?" Kei asked.

"Because I'm hoping you'll broaden your horizons," you offered, waving your hand dismissively. "Besides, it sends the wrong message if I just throw them away without giving them to you. Not to mention, a lot of the girls don't like me to begin with because I'm one of the few people you can tolerate for more than a few minutes at the time. You've never had a girlfriend, Kei, even if they aren't girlfriend material, couldn't you at least make a few more friends?"

"I can barely deal with you and Tadashi, I don't need anymore friends," Kei told you, and you laughed.

"Keep telling yourself that Kei. I'll see you guys later, alright?"

Tadashi and Kei nodded, watching you leave before they rejoined practice.

"Are you sure she isn't your girlfriend, Tsukishima?" Sugawara asked, watching the blocker with mild interest.

Despite being second years now, their former upperclassmen were showing up more as tournament season drew closer. Though Kei also suspected that they were being nostalgic and that they missed their underclassmen's chaos.

"I'm sure," he assured the former setter. "Why?"

"Nothing, just a hunch," he murmured.

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

"Guys, do you ever wonder how many people see you on the side of the street and think, 'Wow, they are the most beautiful person I have ever seen'?" you asked, as you hung upside down on the monkey bars.

"I think the blood is going to your head, (Y/F/N)," Tadashi teased.

"No, I'm serious," you said, turning to look at him. "I was thinking, earlier, about how Kei keeps getting all these love letters, and it made me wonder how many people see me as attractive, but never say anything. I don't think it's very many," you admitted, "but I wonder if they are out there."

Tadashi sighed, putting his hands on his forehead in an exasperated manner.

"(Y/F/N)," he said, sounding almost breathless, "just because Kei is getting letters doesn't mean that people don't find you attractive."

"I'm not saying people don't find me attractive," you said, swinging yourself up onto the bars again. "I know someone in the world must have standards that low, but just because they find me attractive doesn't mean they would date me."

"Why are we talking about this?" Kei asked, annoyance riddling his tone.

"Technically Tadashi and I were talking about it," you told him. "You were simply listening to the conversation."

"That doesn't tell me why this is the topic of conversation," he countered.

"I'm just saying! Kei keeps getting all these letters, and it makes me wonder if these girls actually think that they're in love with him. Attraction is really just a release of chemicals in the brain from when we were simply a species trying to survive. But that's not love," you said.

"So what's love to you?" Tadashi asked, curious.

"I think real, true love is when you see something that reminds you of them and you smile, even without realizing it. I think it's when it hurts to see them hurt, but you stay by them instead of seeking revenge, knowing they need you in the moment. I think it's the little inside jokes that mean nothing to people around you, but it's everything to you. I think it's knowing that there are plenty of people that are better than you out there, but wanting to stick around to be better for that person, to prove that you're worth it.

"I think it's seeing all the broken pieces, and loving them all anyway. It's remembering the little things. It's being able to sit in complete silence and know what the other is saying just because of the way their eyes crinkle. It's knowing that they have the power to break off new pieces, and trusting that they won't. It's when . . . instead of breaking pieces of yourself so that they can handle you, you stay whole. If they choke, you know it's not love, not really.

"It's knowing that you can stand on your own two feet, but leaning on them anyway. It's knowing that you are your own person, but wanting to share it with someone anyway. It's feeling free and wild, but content to stay still, because you trust them. For me, I feel like love is knowing that someone would read with me on a window seat, watching it rain, but they would also drive just a little too fast down older roads with the windows down so we can pretend, just for a moment, that we're in a shitty music video."

You smiled as you turned yourself upside down on the monkey bars again.

"I think it's kind of like what we have, but more romantic."

"You've been reading too much fanfiction," Kei muttered.

"Maybe," you admitted. "But maybe that's because I want to be able to spew romantic bullshit like that when I finally find a guy that likes me for me. I realize that, realistically, I'll probably never feel like that. Or at least, I won't feel it enough to put it into words like that. Fantasy never lives up to reality after all. But it's a nice thought."

"So, you don't think you'll ever find something like that?" Tadashi asked.

"I think that I'll either end up married to a man that was good enough, or on my own with no social life except you and Kei. I'll rely on work to keep me entertained."

Kei snorted.

"What's so funny you overly salted French fry?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"If I ever think you're marrying a man that's just 'good enough', I'll say 'I object!' at the wedding," he told you.

"Oh yeah?" you asked, smiling. "And why's that?"

"Because you deserve more than that," he said, looking you in the eye. "(Y/F/N), you are not the kind of girl that should end up with 'good enough'. You're too . . . free for that. Although, maybe independent is a better word. You would wither with just 'good enough', and that's not something I'm willing to let happen."

"Aw, so you do care about me," you cooed, swinging yourself upright onto the bars. "And don't worry Kei, we both know that Tadashi and I will never let you settle with 'good enough' either."

"What about me?" Tadashi squawked, and you laughed.

"Come 'Dashi," you chided, "we all know that you won't end up with 'good enough' even if you try."

His cheeks went pink and you laughed again.

Kei, as much as he pretended otherwise, really loved seeing you and Tadashi laugh like this. It reminded him that there were people who didn't see just the bastard act that he threw up to protect himself.

He loved the way your dimple appeared when you gave Tadashi that real smile, not the smirk or the grin you gave people. He loved seeing Tadashi carefree and not hiding behind his hand when he laughed or smiled.

He loved being able to sit and watch the two of you interact, but know that he could pop into the conversation whenever.

"Kei, that look on your face is kind of creepy," you teased, sliding to the ground to ruffle his hair, a small way of telling him you didn't mean it. "What's it for?"

"Nothing," he muttered, hoping to the heavens that his ears weren't turning pink, though they probably were.

"Come on Tsukki," Tadashi said, giving him a look, "we've all been friends for years. We know you better than that."

"I'm just glad is all," he murmured.

"Glad for what?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, leaning over them to look at his face.

"You. Tadashi. You know, my friends," he confessed.

Damn it! His ears were definitely pink.

But he didn't shove you off.

Most people assumed that Kei was a jerk all the time, and while that might have been true for anyone else, you and Tadashi were the exceptions to his rule.

You and Tadashi had been friends with him for almost your whole lives, and both of you had been there during the brother debacle.

You and Kei had lived in the same neighborhood for years, and had been a part of more than a few conversations that had been forced by social convention, and your mother had been good friends with his in high school, though they had lost touch after that.

You had noticed Tadashi being bullied in class and had stepped in, defending him and deciding that he was more worth your time than the other kids.

Which led you to Kei, when you found out that he had helped Tadashi on the playground, even if that had never been his original intention.

The three of you had become a trio of sorts in your later years, though your reputations weren't the most . . . innocent.

Kei had always had a sharp tongue and a quicker wit, and his irritation seemed to have no limits.

You were on level with him, though you were much harder to set off than he was.

Tadashi never really provoked, but he watched as the two of you eviscerated anyone that insulted him.

Kei was ruthless with people who made comments on you and/or Tadashi, never giving them a chance to get another word in, though they had often tried, simply making themselves seem more like idiots.

On the other hand, you tended to let people hang themselves with their own tongues, before using that quick wit and sharp tongue to gut them like the pigs that they were.

Tadashi had little confidence on his own, and he tended to be more affected by words than you or Kei, so most of the time he let you and Kei handle people, but every once in a while, he would be set off.

Nothing was scarier than Tadashi getting pissed. He was rarely ever confrontational, but when something set him off, it was terrifying. He got really quiet, and he never raised his voice. There was a quiet kind of fury that radiated from him when he got like that, and if you and Kei used your words to eviscerate, Tadashi used his to give someone hypothermia. He would make them get colder and colder before their brains tricked them into thinking they were too hot, and then ended them.

All three of you were terrifying in your own ways, but that didn't mean you were like that all the time.

Kei wasn't an asshole all the time, and he enjoyed receiving hugs and other types of physical affection, he was just shit at reciprocating it and letting others see that more 'vulnerable side of him', as he put it. He was better at fixing problems logically. He helped you and Tadashi study, or sometimes bought gifts to make you both feel better, little things that still made your days.

Tadashi was someone who might not be confrontational, but he was very good about getting you and Kei out of your heads when something did hit a chink in your respective armors. He knew that both you and Kei were more affected by what people said than most people were led to believe. He was also a very good listener.

You were the giver of physical affection when the boys needed it. Kei tended to need it more than Tadashi, since Tadashi had his moms who were more than willing to give hugs. Kei didn't like his mother thinking anything was wrong, and he didn't completely trust his brother anymore, so physical contact was kept to a minimum.

Tadashi was okay with giving Kei affection, but most of the time, when it came to Kei, you were the one he went to.

You had asked him once, why he always came to you.

"I sometimes think Tadashi puts me up on a pedestal," he had admitted. "He knows me, and he's my friend, but sometimes it feels like I can't disappoint him. I don't feel that way with you. Besides, your short enough that hugging you feels better. Plus, Tadashi is all bones."

"We're glad for you too Kei," you told him, leaning your chin on his shoulder.

Tadashi nodded, taking a seat beside Kei.

Kei's heart clenched, like it often did when he was reminded that he really did have great friends, and his ears got hotter.

"Alright, enough of the mushy stuff," he muttered, trying to wave you and Tadashi away.

"Come on Kei," you whined softly, gently bumping your head with his, "we all know that you have a heart! Don't be that way, it's just us."

Kei made a small noise, and you laughed, releasing him so that you could sit on his other side, peering up into his face with your adorable fucking doe eyes.

"You know you don't have to pretend with us," you murmured, leaning on his shoulder, taking his hand.

"Yeah, we've all been friends for long enough Tsukki," Tadashi agreed, leaning his head on Kei's other shoulder.

"I hate you both," he muttered, trying to hide his face in his hands.

"Nuh uh," you said, pulling away to pull his hands from his face, sounding like a child. "No hiding from us."

You took his hand again, and for a while, all three of you just sat there, enjoying each other's company.

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

"Tsukishima! You're girlfriend is here again," Suga said, gesturing to where you were walking through the doors of the gym, laughing with Yachi.

"Again, she's not my girlfriend," Kei muttered.

He remembered, suddenly, about the promise you had both made when you were middle school and boys were starting to notice girls and vice versa.

"Kei and (Y/F/N) would make such a cute couple when they're older," your mother had told his, smiling as you both chatted at a neighborhood barbeque, being two of the only children there that could hold an intelligent conversation.

At that point, you and Kei were more than acquaintances, but you weren't exactly friends yet either.

Neither mother had realized that you and Kei had overheard, and when Kei had glanced at you, your nose was wrinkled like it did when you were grossed out by something, your expression mirroring his.

"Promise me something Kei," you had said, turning your attention back to him. "Promise me that you won't ever fall in love with me."

"Why not? I mean, I won't, but I want a reason," he had said, arms crossed as he looked at you.

"Because we're friends," you had said, like it had been the simplest thing in the world. "And because if we ended up falling in love and dating that means Tadashi would feel left out all the time and I won't let that happen. So promise me."

"I promise not to fall in love with you if you promise not to fall in love with me," he had offered.

"Deal," you had told him, offering him your hand to shake on it.

"Ah, Kei, there you are!" you said, smiling at him. "There's another letter. Based on the amount of hearts on it, another confession."

"Keep it," he muttered, pushing your hand away when you went to hand him the letter.

"Kei, I don't want to carry around another one of your love letters," you said, wrinkling your nose. "These aren't for me, and they make me sick, so please, for the sake of our friendship, take the damn thing off my hands so I can wash them."

He sighed, a pained sound that had you laughing, and took the letter, slipping it into his bag, wondering if the girls at school would ever take a hint that he wasn't interested.

"Why is Tsukishima so popular with the girls?" Hinata wondered out loud. "His personality is so crappy."

"And I don't think I've ever heard him say a nice thing to anyone," Kageyama added.

"That's because you guys are irritating to Kei," you interrupted, turning to them, arms crossed and hip cocked out to the side. "Most of the time, he's helpful and respectful. You two just aren't the kind of people he would voluntarily hang out with."

"Rude," Hinata cried, then pouted, "but true."

"The only people Kei really rips into are people he doesn't like, doesn't respect, people who disrespect Tadashi or me, or people who betray his trust. You two are options one and two."

"He just seems like an unfeeling asshole, even after three years of knowing him."

"I think it's the opposite actually," you told them.

Kei could feel your eyes on the back of his head, either unaware that he could hear you or uncaring that he was listening.

"I think he feels all of it, at one hundred and twenty percent. He just acts like that to avoid getting hurt in most cases. In your case though, he really does just not like you. Or, more accurately, he doesn't like that you two are so clearly passionate about something when he gets scared of something hurting him if he cares too much. Like Tadashi told you once, Hinata, if Kei didn't at least like volleyball, he wouldn't be here. Just think about it," you told them.

"(Y/F/N)!" Tadashi called. "We're still studying at your place right?"

"Yeah, just like always," you assured him. "Kei, you still have the spare key, just let yourselves in."

He nodded, spinning the ball in his hands as he watched you walk away.

"Tsukishima, are you one hundred percent sure that she isn't your girlfriend?" Suga asked, eyebrows raised at him.

"Three hundred percent sure," Tsukishima grunted as he served the ball.

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

"Why do you never accept any of the confessions, Kei?" you asked, looking at him from over the top of your textbook.

Your head was hanging off the side of your bed and your socked feet were crossed at the ankles, resting on your wall.

Kei's neck hurt just looking at you, but he didn't say anything to you about moving.

"Because they aren't my type," Kei muttered, checking his notes before writing down an answer on his paper.

"What is your type?" you inquired, rolling onto your stomach, setting you book to the side. "Because I don't think I've ever seen you take an interest in a girl." You frowned, then added, "Romantic interest I mean."

Kei wondered what other interest you had thought he might get out of that, but he decided not to question it. Despite knowing you for years, and being as close to you as he was, you still managed to be somewhat of a mystery to him.

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"Yes, because I want to be able to set you up when you decide you're ready for a relationship!" you said. "Tadashi and I would make great wingmen. Well, wingman and wingwoman, but you know what I mean."

Kei actually turned to look at you at that one.

"You're serious," he muttered, noting the look on your face.

"Yes! Unless you don't think you're going to want a romantic relationship, which is completely okay too. I just want you to be happy is all."

"You know what makes me happy?" Kei asked, pausing to let you answer, but instead you stayed quiet, watching him with those damn doe eyes. "Getting my homework done and not having to deal with confessions from girls that don't know the first thing about me."

Kei heard your small chuckle, and as he went back to his homework, he found himself smiling.

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

Kei had always known that, objectively, you were very pretty (he had heard enough from his classmates over the years to have it verified), but sometimes you did something, and he would realize all over again.

Today you had laughed a little harder as he ripped into someone, and you had given him one of those dimpled smiles that he adored so much, and he had stood there blinking for a moment before he cooled his expression again.

Kei didn't really understand why he got so mad when someone flirted with you in the hallways, or when you came to cheer the team on during games.

He had always assumed that it was merely because you were such good friends, but then he had realized that no one else got that mad, they didn't feel the same painful burning in the pit of their stomachs at seeing you with another guy.

Asking Suga had done absolutely nothing, the setter had merely suggested that Kei was jealous, which was absolute bullshit, and he wasn't desperate enough to contact Bokuto or Kuroo yet, though he might be at the point of asking Akaashi.

He would know if he liked you the way that the older setter was implying. He would know if he was in love with you.

Right?

Kei could worry about that later, right now he was more interested in getting that guy's hand off your shoulder and away from your neck.

"(Y/F/N)," Kei called, striding over, back straight. "The game's about to start, we've got to go."

"Kei!" you chirped, smiling at him, moving to his side immediately, giving the guy that had been bugging you a sugar sweet (and utterly fake) smile over your shoulder. "See you around never, hopefully!"

Kei pressed his lips together to hide his smile, letting you wrap your hand around his.

"Was that guy bothering you?"

"A little, but you got there just in time," you told him, your hand tightening it's grip for a moment before you let him go. "Thanks for always having the most amazing timing Kei!"

"Yeah, whatever," he told you, bumping your shoulder with his.

"Seriously, what is it with the girls that hang around with us and wandering off?" Daichi asked when you walked into the gym with Kei.

"Sorry guys! I just wanted to buy a key chain," you said, holding it up, grinning. "It's not my fault that athletes can't take no for an answer! Sometimes I think your on-court determination bleeds over into everyday life."

There were some nods, and Kei watched as the guy that had been bothering you stepped onto the other side of the court.

He followed the guy's eyes to you, where you were laughing at something Kageyama said.

Did- Did that moron just lick his lips at you?

Kei felt that burning sensation in his stomach again.

Kei didn't realize that he had been glaring until he heard your voice right next to him.

"Anyway, good luck guys!" you told them, affectionately ruffling Tadashi's hair, hip-checking Kei on your way into the stands, flashing him that damned dimpled grin over your shoulder.

"Hey, Blondie!" the guy called. "You, Glasses! I'm talkin' to you!"

Kei turned to see the guy from earlier smirking at him.

"Dude, your girl is so hot!" he said.

Kei felt the entirety of Karasuno tense behind him as they realized what was going on.

"Yeah, she is," Kei agreed.

"Think you'd be willin' to share her with me? I promise I'd take good care of her."

"Oh shit," someone muttered, and Kei saw red for a moment before he got himself under control.

"Is your ass jealous about the amount of shit that just came out of your mouth?" Kei asked, putting his hand on his hip.

Using insults like that was never really his thing, but he was really pissed right now.

"Hey, Tsukki," Tadashi said quietly, "you might not want to-"

"What did you just say to me?" the guy asked.

"Hey, Kei!" you called from the stands, waving at him to catch his attention. "Leave the smack talk for when you actually win! Block his spike down his throat for me, alright?"

He nodded, giving you a grin that had you giving him one right back.

"God forbid if she was a guy and they were on the same team," Suga muttered, and the others nodded.

"Alright, time for the game to start," Daichi said.

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

Kei did as you asked: he blocked every single spike that the guy tried to send over the net, and Kei could already tell that the guy was pissed at the end of the first set.

He was spiking more and more aggressively, which was screwing up aim to the point where Kei didn't even really need to block.

"Go Karasuno!" you cheered, smiling at the team from the stands.

Kei, every time he felt his anger getting out of control, looked to you in the stands to calm down.

Finally, the scumbag was so out of control that he was switched out with another wing spiker.

From there, the game was easy.

By the end of it, Kei hadn't even needed to look for you in the stands. Not only had he memorized where you were, but no one else on that team pissed him off as much as that scumbag did.

As soon as the ball landed on the other side of the court, and it was called, you were running down from the stands, running for him.

"Kei! You were so great!" you cheered, wrapping your arms around his neck, jumping at him.

He wrapped his arms around your waist to keep the both of you from falling over, and he buried his face in your neck as he set you down.

"Oh my gosh, Kei that was so amazing! I think that's the best you've played all season! Seriously! Some of those blocked looked like they would've ripped my arms off, that was so cool!" you gushed, holding onto his forearms.

Kei nodded, giving Tadashi a look over your shoulder for a moment, letting him know that it was okay for him to go on ahead.

"Thanks for blocking the slime ball for me Kei!" you said, smiling up at him. "And what did he say to you that got you so pissed off? I haven't seen you that mad in forever!"

"It was nothing," he told you, "it was stupid."

"Are you sure?" you inquired, looking up at him.

"Yeah, I'm sure the team will tell you about it later."

"Alright, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay," you told him, "'cause you looked really pissed. I haven't seen you that pissed off since that one guy tried to make Tadashi cry."

"I don't like it when people make you uncomfortable like that," Kei said. "It really pisses me off."

"Is that why you kept looking at me during the game?" you asked, and Kei wondered if any other girl would've been so honest with him about something like this, or if it as just the fact that you had both spent so much time together growing up. "I noticed that you always looked at me whenever you had the chance."

Kei nodded, gesturing with his head towards the doors, so that he could catch up with the team and talk with you at the same time.

"Yeah, that was one of the reasons. It kept me focused on the scumbag's spikes, and it calmed me down enough so that I didn't punch him whenever we were across the net from each other."

"I kinda wish that you had, but I also know that it would've gotten you ejected from the game, which is not something I want to happen. Anyway, thanks Kei," you told him, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, always," he said, putting his hand on your head.

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

It was when you were over at his house Sunday morning when he realized that he might need to call Kuroo and Bokuto.

You, Kei, and Tadashi had had a sleepover, but Tadashi had left early to spend some time with his moms, so Kei had woken up to you with a hand on his chest and his arm numb from where it was pillowing your head.

The three of you had been sitting on Kei's bed watching a movie, but Tadashi had tipped over sometime near the halfway marker, and Kei had fallen asleep not long after that, so he could only assume that you had fallen asleep sometime after Tadashi had left this morning.

Kei turned on his side slowly, not wanting to wake you up, wrapping an arm around your waist softly.

He toyed with your hair, twisting it in his fingers gently, brushing it behind your ear, threading his fingers through it.

He wasn't ready to get up for the day yet, so he laid there with you, wondering how it would be ten years in the future.

Would your hair be longer? Would you cut it shorter? Would you dye it? Would you have kids by then?

That last one had made him pause.

He had always known that short of you dying or some huge falling out, Kei was in no way going to be able to get rid of you or Tadashi, but he had never even considered dating you, let alone anything beyond that.

So why was he wondering what your kids would look like? Why was he wondering how many you would want, if any? Why was he questioning how many stray animals you might bring home after work?

He sounded like every lovesick fool that got his heart broken in those weird movies that Tadashi liked to watch.

Kei glanced down at your face, and he suddenly found himself unable to think of a reality where he didn't wake up like this for the rest of his life.

When had he stopped seeing you as his little sister, or the annoying female friend that all of his classmates admired? When had he started seeing you as someone he could fall in love with, if he hadn't already?

But even with this new revelation, he couldn't bring himself to pull away from you.

Kei loved it when you both bickered like you hated each other, and he loved when you were able to throw back any insulting thing he said to you. He loved being able to have real conversations with you, but he also liked just sitting quietly with you.

This though, this was by far his favorite thing, seeing all the stress gone from your body, seeing your face without any kind of mask on, he adore seeing the calm serenity that came with sleep.

"Mm, Kei?" you asked sleepily, glancing at him. "What time is it?"

"Still early," he murmured, tucking you into his chest again. "Go back to sleep."

"M'kay," you said, nuzzling in close.

Kei waited for a minute before he grabbed his phone and his glasses from the side table, texting Kuroo.

Normally, he would've talked to Tadashi, but Kei didn't want to drag him into anything until he knew for sure, just in case he was wrong.

Kei: I have a question for you

Kuroo: What's up Tsukki-poo?

Kei: First, don't call me that

Kei: Secondly, and this is completely hypothetical, but how do you know when you love someone?

Kuroo: Aww, is my little kouhai in love with someone? How cute!

Kei made a face, taking a deep breath and glancing at you quickly before he turned his attention back to his phone.

Kei: Just answer the question

Kuroo: We're talking hypothetically?

Kei: Yeah

Kuroo: Can't you use the internet for this stuff? Why ask me? Why not ask Freckles? Or the pretty setter on your team?

Kei: The internet would tell me I have cancer, not that I might be in love with someone

Kei: Secondly, as for the setter comment, I'm assuming you mean Suga

Kei: Thirdly, he would go tell Tadashi, and then the possible love interest, and I don't want to deal with any of those things

Kei: So, please, for the sake of my sanity, just answer the question

Kuroo: Alright, alright. Jeesh. Hypothetically, if you were in love with someone you might start noticing their presence more

Kuroo: It would feel almost like you have a compass where the needle points to them, and you can't turn it off. You notice the little things more than normal, and you know them. I mean, really know them. They feel almost like a part of you

Kuroo: Seeing them hurt hurts you. You constantly feel the need to make sure that they're okay. Even the little things that kind of annoy you are a huge part of what you love about them

Kuroo: You find yourself smiling at them, even when they're doing something completely mundane, and you could recognize their voice in a crowd. Suddenly, they went from just another person, to someone that you could find in a crowd, even if they blend in enough that they normally fade into the background

Kuroo: Hypothetically speaking, of course

Kei was surprised by how much his mentor was able to type out in such a short amount of time, but in the end, he was most surprised by how much it lined up with what you had told him earlier. The basics were the same, and Kei sighed, realizing what this meant for him.

Kei: How to I make it stop?

Kei: Hypothetically

Kuroo: When I figure that out, I'll let you know

Kei blinked at that, then sighed again.

Kei: Thanks, Kuroo-san.

Kuroo: Sure thing Skinny, let me know how it goes

Kuroo: Hypothetically, of course

Kei couldn't help but chuckle softly, and he set his phone aside, wondering whether this was going to change anything, and how long he had been in love with you.

He had always noticed the little things about you, it was just a part of him being perceptive, and he had grown up with you, so he automatically knew you better than 80 percent of the people you went to school with.

But he was more in tune with your presence than even Tadashi was. And he had always managed to pick your voice out in a crowd.

He glanced down at you, and suddenly, instead of being worried about if he was in love you, he was more worried about whether you loved him back or not.

Kei debated texting Tadashi, but he decided that it could wait, and he wanted to enjoy this time with you unhindered.

Kei knew that he was never going to say anything unless he was sure you felt the same way about him.

For one thing, you were nice enough that it was entirely possible that you would date him just because you were too nice to say no. For another thing, he wasn't the kind of guy to make a move if he thought it wouldn't lead to a win. Not to mention, that if you he did ask you out and you said no, that might make things awkward in the friend group, and Kei didn't want that to happen.

He had gone this long, right? What was a few more weeks?

But, of course, things didn't go the way that Kei wanted them to.

As the end of a semester approached, as well as the end of the year, projects piled on, as did speeches and tests.

Kei had always done well academically, and he wasn't as stressed as some of the other people he knew, like Hinata and Kageyama.

You seemed to be feeling the pressure too, even though Kei knew that you were going to be getting some of the higher grades in class, just like always.

You were freaking out more than usual, and Kei realized that he needed to do something if he didn't want you to overwork yourself.

He found you on the swings at the park by your house.

He had gone over to make sure that you had eaten something, but your mother had told him that you had gone out earlier, and that she didn't know where you were.

"Hey," he said, announcing his presence as he settled beside you.

"Hey Kei," you replied, staring at the ground in front of you like it held the key to the universe.

"Are you okay?"

"No," you admitted. "I'm so nervous and freaked out that I can't eat anything. I have that weird mineral deficiency so drinking water just makes me really dizzy and I almost passed out when I stood up at the end of the day and there's nothing I can do about it! Not to mention that, once again, I got stuck with the morons that aren't going to do anything to help me with the project so I'm stuck doing everything by myself. For some of my classes, that's okay, I can just tell the teacher that they didn't help, but for some of them they're going to give me that bullshit lecture about working together. I have no idea what to do my speech about for that one class, and I have so many back to back tests that I think I might forget everything!"

Kei let you ramble, watching the way your hands moved around, trying to communicate the stress and anger and nerves that you were experiencing all at once.

He watched the way yours eyes widened and squeezed shut to add extra emphasis. He watched the way you glanced over at him to make sure that he was still paying attention, to make sure that you weren't annoying him, the way you smiled a little bit whenever you noticed that he was watching you and that you weren't annoying him by talking.

Somehow, you started talking about the constant love letters that he was getting.

"I mean, I get that some girls feel the need to have a boyfriend," you said, rolling your eyes, "but I have bigger things to worry about than their attraction to you, you know? One girl gave me a letter the other day, and I was so tired that I didn't realize what it was, and I started to read it and I was caught between wanting to laugh, cry, and hurl all at the same time."

Kei perked up at that.

"It made me kinda sad too," you admitted, your voice quieting. "I mean, it must really suck for you, getting all these letters claiming that they love you when they don't even know that first thing about who you are. I mean, it was hilarious that she even thought that you were interested in getting a girlfriend, and it was sickening how many times she used the words 'hot', 'sexy', and 'unadulteratedly handsome' to describe you."

Kei knew he made a face at that, with the way you laughed, before you continued, your voice even quieter than it had been, "But it made me sad to think that you keep having to read these things. They claim that they love you, that they want to be with you, and they don't even know who you are. Not in a way that matters at least. I don't know, it was just kind of depressing I guess."

You glanced at him, turning to face him.

"I hope you don't mind, but I started throwing them away. I'm getting sick and tired of being their carrier pigeon, and I really hate thinking about you having to deal with them all the time. If they want to confess they can find another way to do it."

"I don't mind, at all," he assured you, and you smiled at him.

But then your smiled faded into something similar to a frown.

"Hey, Kei?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember that promise we made when we were kids?"

"How could I forget? You never shut up about it during middle school," he teased.

"I broke that promise," you whispered. "That was one of the reasons that those letters made me so upset. As someone who has loved you, really loved you, for longer than they've known about you, it made me sick to read some of the things they said. I know that that makes me sound like some kind of possessive bitch, but it's true."

Kei stared at you, wondering if he had just heard that right.

You were in love with him? And had been for more than three years?

Kei felt like the breath had been knocked out of him.

"What's with the face Kei?" you asked. "I thought you knew already."

Kei didn't think that his eyes could get any wider than they were at that moment.

"Y-You . . . I-I what?"

"Come on Kei, you had to have noticed by now," you said, looking more concerned by the second. "I mean, it's not like I act the same way around everyone else that I do around you."

Kei let his brain process the things that you were telling him before he managed to squeak out, "You mean, like a friend thing right?"

You bit your lip, checking his face for something, fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

"No, Kei," you said finally. "I mean like, I want to be your girlfriend kind of love."

You weren't looking at him now, and he was worried you were taking this the wrong way. He didn't want this to end in a misunderstanding so he sighed dramatically.

"So, you're telling me that I could have confessed months ago and avoided the entire overthinking part of my recent internal panic?" he asked, watching the way your brows furrowed with confusion, the way your head whipped up when you finally realized what he was saying to you.

"A-Are you saying that the feeling is mutual?" you asked, eyes wide as you both looked at each other.

"Yes, you dumbass," he teased, smiling softly at you. "I broke that promise too, so it's okay, since we both broke it."

Now you were the one staring at him in disbelief.

Then you were off your swing and pacing in front of them, waving your hands around like a madwoman.

"Holy shit, you love me back," you muttered, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye every few seconds, like you were worried he would disappear. "I-I don't know what to do from here. I never thought that I would get this far. Is . . . is this where we talk about whether we want this to be a serious thing?" you asked. "Is this where we agree that we love each other but we pretend like nothing's changed? What am I supposed to do in this situation?"

"For one thing," Kei said, standing so that he could wrap his hands around your wrists, gently making you look at him. "You could calm down and let me get a word or two in before you make yourself black out."

You nodded, taking a deep breath.

"For another," he continued, "you and I should go back to your house. Your mom is worried sick about you, and you need to eat something before you pass out. We can have a serious talk about what this means once you aren't in danger of passing out from exhaustion or malnutrition."

"Okay, but only because I know that you're going to make me do it anyway," you told him, making him laugh.

You both walked in silence for a while before you asked, "When did you realize?"

"A few months ago," he admitted. "I think I've always known, but that guy- the slimeball that I blocked- got on my nerves enough that I knew it wasn't some platonic 'protect a friend' thing. I started seeing it more and more after that. I talked to Kuroo-san about it when I was nearly 100 percent sure, and that solidified it for me I guess, that night you and Tadashi stayed over and we watched that horrid slasher film. I woke up and you were right there by my side, and suddenly I couldn't imagine waking up any other way."

"That really was a horrible movie," you muttered. "I didn't think you were going to be the cheesy one today, but then again, you are always surprising me. And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I was worried it would make things awkward, and I didn't want to say something and be wrong, you know? Besides, you can't say anything. How long have you known?"

"Do you remember the summer before our third year in middle school and we all stayed at my grandparents' camp for three weeks?"

"That long? We were- what?- twelve?"

"Yeah. I remember that there was a thunderstorm the first night we were there, and I got up in the middle of the night because I couldn't sleep, so I stood on the deck, in a tank top and shorts because I wanted to. I don't even remember how long I had been out there when you wandered out. I remember calling you a dumbass because 'What if I was a murderer?' and you just called me short.

"We both stood there for a few minutes, and when I shivered, you wrapped your arms around my waist from behind me, pressing your chest to my back and calling me an idiot for wearing something so light in the middle of a thunderstorm. Instead of doing the sensible thing and getting a blanket or a jacket, you just hugged me and stood there with me until I couldn't stand it and we went inside."

Kei remembered that. He had seen you standing out on the deck when the lightning had flashed, and he had been worried when you weren't in your room, so he had gone out to check on you.

You had looked so happy, standing there in the rain, listening to the thunder crash in the distance.

He had wanted to stay with you, so he had.

It was one of the first times he had decided that he didn't care what it looked like, he cared for you, and he was going to show it somehow.

Kei slipped his hand into yours, interlacing your fingers together.

You glanced at him, but you didn't say anything, just squeezed his hand and walked with him.

When you both got back to your house, you grabbed a plate of food and plopped down at your desk in your room.

Kei lounged on your bed while you ate, watching you flip through a textbook and scribble notes in between bites of food.

When you pushed the plate to the side, your turned to face him.

"So."

You both locked eyes and chuckled.

"I already told you what I wanted out of this," you told him, shrugging. "I'm fine with whatever we decide, but that's my best case scenario ending for this."

"You make this sound like a business meeting," he teased, watching you stand up to move next to him on your bed.

"What do you want from this, Kei?" you asked, glancing down at your lap.

"I want you to be my girlfriend," he admitted. "I want to glare at guys that think they even have a chance with you. I want to kiss you for good luck before a game, all that sappy shit that everyone says that I wouldn't be into."

You smiled, laughing a little breathlessly for a moment before you comprehended everything he said.

"All of it?" you asked, turning those damned doe eyes on him again.

"All of it," he confirmed.

You chuckled softly, taking his hand again.

"Good. Me too."

"Good," he replied, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

You giggled, something that made Kei stop for a moment, because you weren't the type of girl to giggle, at anything.

He smiled softly at you, and he wondered how much shit he was going to get from his team with you around, but he realized that it wasn't anything he needed to worry about yet.

Then he remembered something else.

"Hey, do you want to cause a little chaos?" Kei asked you.

"How so?"

"Remember how I said I talked to Kuroo-san?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, he wanted me to let him know how it went," Kei admitted. "I have him, Bokuto, Akaashi, Lev, and Hinata in a discord group chat. I want to try something, if you're okay with it."

"What do you have in mind?" you asked, arching an eyebrow, a smirk on your lips that said you were up for almost anything.

Skinny: img.jpg

Skinny: Thanks Kuroo-san

five people are typing...

Kei laughed, leaning over to show you the chaos that had ensued when he had sent the group chat the photo of you kissing his cheek.

You giggled at the many exclamation points and question marks, snickering at Kuroo's reply.

"I love you," you told him, kissing his cheek again.

"I love you too," he said, ignoring the calls that were coming through on his phone as he leaned over to cup your face in his hands.

517 notes · View notes

adelheidvonschicksal · 3 years ago

Text

182 Centimeters | Tall!F!Reader x Surprise

A great boon has been bestowed upon Aoi Todo. First, he got to meet Takada in person. Second, he gained a brother. Third, he was able to fight a special grade all in one month.

Is there anything else that could make this trip perfect?

Todo didn't think so until he lays eyes on you, standing in the middle of the hallway with luggage tucked under one arm and the other holding onto a rolling suitcase. He remembers now about Mai mentioning a late edition transfer student who was going to be joining in the school games a little late. He only wishes Mai had warned him about the other thing about you. The fact that you are an amazon in the flesh.

"She has to be 187," Todo thinks upon first seeing you and sizing you up from a respectable distance. "No, she's definitely closer to 185. Definitely, 185," he corrects as he tries to measure you by judging how far your head was away from the top door frame. When he glances down at your feet, he realizes his stupid mistake and smacks himself on the forehead. "I'm such an idiot. I forgot about her shoes." Taking your soles into account, he finally narrows down your height range. You have to be 182cm. An even 6 feet. That makes you taller than even Takada!

Todo's eyes widen upon the realization.

You had half his attraction factor right there; and with his help in training, you would definitely have the second half. He knows plenty of exercises that would make your ass look great and have the rest of your body strong enough to toss any curse. You guys could make training into dates, and dates would lead to the two of you making kissy faces. Aoi can already picture it. Naturally, you'd be admiring him, shirtless and glistening with sweat, unable to take your eyes off him. Then, you'd grow embarrassed when he would call you out on it and try to look away like you were never staring in the first place. Luckily for you, he wouldn't mind if you wanted to look at his chiseled chest a little while longer. Or better yet, touch it.

Todo isn't sure what he's done to deserve such luck. Perhaps the world is rewarding him for finally breaking his record of 1000 sit-ups in an hour or maybe it's the limited-edition lucky Takada-chan charm that arrived in a mail a week earlier working its magic?

Either way, this might be the best year of his life, Todo decides.

That is until he hears a familiar voice.

"Hey there! How are you doing?" Yuuji asks loudly as he walks up to your person. Todo should've known. Of course, his brother would sense best girl material walking into the building.

"My name is Yuuji. What's yours?"

"I'm (Name). I'm a new student here. I'm a little lost actually. Could you help me out?"

Even your voice sounds so cute! You were so perfect.

That means Yuuji had no chance with the way he was doing things now. Despite Todo wanting you for himself, he could never leave his brother to make such an embarrassment of himself. If the two of them are to battle for your love, it has to be a fair battle.

"Yeah, the dorms are thi—" Yuuji yelps as he's suddenly tugged away from you and dragged around the nearest corner, leaving you in a confused state where you stood.

"What’s the big idea?" Yuuji asks, breaking free from the grasp that held him.

"I'm trying to save you, brother! What do you think you're doing walking up to a woman like that so casually?" Todo asks.

It takes Yuuji a few seconds to realize that Todo meant you were the woman that couldn't be so casually spoken to since he's fairly sure you're a first-year like him. "I'm pretty sure she's the same age as us, dude."

This is worse than he thought. He's definitely going to have to give Yuuji the rundown on how to properly ask a girl out. "That doesn't matter. She's still a lady that requires finesse if you're going to try to ask her out," Todo says.

Sadly, they are too busy in their discussion to notice you getting impatient for Yuuji to return or to notice another one of your classmates passing them and heading in your direction. You are just thankful to finally have someone help walk you to your dorm and not ditch you instead.

For the rest of the day, Yuuji is stuck with Todo lecturing in his ear. The first time being at the baseball game against the Kyoto school.

"First, you need to set the mood. And by mood, I mean you need to get her attention on you. Do something to impress her without her knowing you're trying to impress her," Todo instructs as you round home base on long legs, which Todo claims is made for a goddess. You were able to get a score for the team thanks to Fushiguro's sacrifice bunt, and the two of you take a seat in the dugout.

"Shouldn't you be helping your team?" Yuuji asks Todo after seeing him compliment your score. Todo sighs. Obviously, Yuuji needs more lessons.

Eventually, Yuuji steps up to the plate for his turn. Naturally, he hits a home run. As he rounds home, he sees you applauding loudly. Your eyes perfectly on him. It definitely feels good to have a cute girl's attention, and Yuuji realizes that he did really want to ask you out. He wonders if Todo thinks that's a good way to set the mood.

The next time Todo decides to instruct Yuuji is after they all take their showers and decide to rest up before dinner. "Next, you need to leave a letter under her door. Something to pique her interest and make her want to meet up with you."

Luckily, Yuuji has seen this before in anime. "Right, right. I heard of that actually." He easily drafted a letter and slid it under your dorm door. It sounds like you're talking to someone else on the other side so Yuuji hopes you'll see it in time so the two of you can meet up in fifteen minutes.

"Finally, make sure the place you meet up is scenic," Todo says, nodding his head and closing his eyes to repeat the steps in his head as he follows his brother to the school's courtyard. Impress? Check. Letter? Check. Scenic meet-up place? Check.

It isn't until he feels Yuuji's hand on his shoulder and a quick thanks that Todo realizes his mistake. Yuuji rushes away from him to the other side of the courtyard where you're waiting with the letter in hand.

"My name is Yuuji. I don't know if you remember me from class."

"Oh, yes, I know! You hit that homerun. It was really great."

Todo stands in shock.

...He was so busy trying to teach that he actually forgot to pursue you first!

"Really? Thanks! I was just trying to make sure I actually hit it. I wasn't expecting it to go so far." Yuuji laughed. "So, (Name), I was wondering if you wanna go out together?"

Todo could cry. Actually, he already feels the tears coming down his face, but his brother could at least be happy. And if his brother is happy, that's all he needed!

"I'm sorry," you say sweetly. "I only showed up because I didn't want to stand you up, but the truth is I already like someone, and I wouldn't feel comfortable going out with someone when I have a crush on another person."

Todo's ears ring with your words. You already like someone!

"Oh, well, that's too bad, I guess. Thanks for telling me," Yuuji says with a disappointed yet understanding smile while Todo finds the opportunity to scoot in the middle of your conversation.

"Excuse me but your crush wouldn't happen to be on me by any chance?" he asks, hopeful.

You force a smile onto your face and tilt your head. "Sorry...Have we met?" you ask, nervously.

Todo gasps as he feels his world crashing down. Your date. Your marriage. Your kids. All gone, and it’s all black in his memory after that. The next thing he can recall is sitting in the eating area with Itadori. He remembers this heartache once before. "It's just like with Takada-chan..." he mumbles heartbrokenly.

"I told you already. We never went to the same middle school, and you never confessed to Takada," Yuuji grumbles, but Todo knows that Yuuji is only trying to make him feel better. He is so lucky to have such a good brother.

"Who...Who do you think it is anyway?"

Yuuji pauses.

He actually wonders that as well.

Then, they hear your voice ringing through the dining hall. Immediately, both sets of eyes are on you.

"Fushiguro-kun, I wanted to thank you for helping me get settled into the academy. My mom gave me a buy one, get one free for a sushi place for when I made some friends, so...I was wondering if you wanted to be my plus one?"

Then, Yuuji finally gets it. He had been ignoring the small conversations happening around him the entire time thanks to Todo's interruptions.

The Hall.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for the dorms. Gojo-sensei was supposed to show me, but he got sidetracked so I've been sort of left on my own."

"Of course, he did. Geeze, that guy." Megumi sighs. "You can follow me. I'll show you where some empty rooms near the other girls are."

"Thank you so much! I'm (Name) by the way."

"Fushiguro," he states plainly and simply as you struggle behind him with your luggage. "Is that stuff heavy? Want me to help you carry it?"

”Yes. My arms got numb while I was waiting. Thank you so much!”

The Game.

"Out!" Gojo says. Fushiguro rounds first base to head back to the dugout, but you at least made it home to score. You head to the dugout as well.

"That's too bad, Fushiguro. You'll get it next time," you say, sitting next to him.

"As long as Kugisaki made it to second and you made it home then it's fine. I'm not really too hyped up on winning anyway."

”Oh. I was really looking forward to seeing you get one.”

”Too bad. Guess you’ll have to wait,” and by “wait” Megumi had meant probably not ever but you laughed anyway even though you had got what he meant.

”I don’t mind waiting.”

The Dorms.

"Kugisaki-san said you could summon different shikigami animals."

"That's true."

"Would you mind showing me sometime? I love animals."

"What is your favorite?"

"I really like rabbits. Are you able to summon those?"

"Not at the moment, but I’ll show you when I learn it. How do you feel about dogs instead?"

”That cute dog was yours? That’s amazing.”

And now.

"Yeah, sure. I wasn't really in the mood for anything at school anyway," Fushiguro agrees, and your face lights up with a glow that could rival sunshine. Yuuji thinks if he squints he can see the anime hearts starting to dance over your head but Fushiguro didn't seem to mind.

Itadori could almost laugh. That's a new record in anyone ever befriending Fushiguro. The two of you must have hit it off really well. Yuuji smiles. In that case, he couldn't be upset. That must mean fate has something in store for you guys, and he didn't want to get in the way. "I guess girls really do like that cool, quiet type."

Meanwhile, Todo is crying in defeat. How could a woman like you like Fushiguro?

"He's so boring though..."

#yuji itadori x reader #aoi todo x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x y/n #megumi x reader

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strawberrymilkgeorge · 4 years ago

Text

Part Seventeen. The Bugity Stream

warnings: swearing, dream is jealous, kinda angsty word count: 4k (not including pictures)

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist wattpad

a/n: heheheeee bugity stream!! barely any dreamsy interaction and we don’t read the actual bugity fanfics, but lots of pouty dream :/ and we’re seeing stuff from a new person’s POV (also, elmo and i 389757% have come up with lore for the foxtrot fic that they mention in this chapter..... side fic??) everyone say THANK YOU HARVEY FOR BEING AN AMAZING BETA (@hungoverhellhound) ur the best :) also also, 🦀 anon suggested using discord people’s names for twitch chat so i did!! (i asked beforehand and everyone who wanted to be included was) it was fun adding that little bit so hehe hope mushroom field likes their comments

ANYWAY, ENJOY THIS PART!!!!!!!!! and as always, thanks for all the positive comments and stuff yall really make me cry /pos

**********

George’s POV

George left the messaging app when he received a spam of notifications from Dream on Discord telling him to call him as soon as possible. He knew it wasn’t an actual emergency, which is the only reason he took his sweet time rising from his bed and meandering over to his desk. George fell on his chair with a huff, taking a deep breath before pulling himself closer to his desk and opening Discord. He picked up his headphones and slid them on, preparing himself for the loud voice his best friend was about to use. After pressing a few familiar buttons, he could hear his best friend's frantic cry for help through his headphones.

“GEORGE.”

He tried his hardest not to roll his eyes. “Dream.”

“I'm-I’m going to literally—GEORGE. What am I supposed to do?”

“About what?”

“You know what!” Dream huffed, exasperated. “The stream!”

“You don’t even know what it is, why are you being so weird about it?”

“I’m not being weird,” he defended.

“Yes, you are,” George countered. “You’re, like, panicking, I dunno.”

“Because it’s Quackity! He’s probably gonna make, like, a proposal video or some shit to show her and then everyone is going to ship them and she’s going to forget about me and—”

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you tell her you like her.”

Dream scoffed. “Oh, so they can make fun of me for it? No, thanks.”

“She wouldn’t make fun of you for liking her,” George reasoned. Definitely not. “Why would Bugsy make fun of you for that? Or for anything in general?”

“Okay, maybe not, but she’d definitely be weirded out or not believe me. I can’t tell her yet. It… it has to be the right time.”

George thought it was rather cute that Dream cared so much about his confession being perfect, whereas Quackity was doing everything he could to make Dream just say it. Dream had been stressing over how to tell her he liked her for a few weeks, constantly running ideas by George before telling him to forget it and coming up with new plans. He could see how important it was to Dream that he did it right. They just needed to figure out what “right” was.

“Fine, but I’m just saying if you told her already, you wouldn’t have to be so worried about this.”

“Should I be? You make it sound like me panicking is justified! WHAT ARE THEY DOING?”

“Stop being so dramatic!” George laughed. “She isn’t going to forget about you and if he proposes to her, we can just ask to join the call and we’ll all yell at Quackity for you, okay?”

“No, I wanna yell at Quackity.”

“Well, he said he’s not going to let you in the call so…”

“He did? When did he say that? Wait, why won’t he let me in?? What are they doing??”

George laughed at the franticness in Dream’s voice. “I’m not allowed to say.”

“George!”

“I can’t!” he said as he threw his hands into the air. “I literally can’t!”

“Oh come on, you’ve never kept a secret in your life but now you decide to?”

George shook his head. If only Dream knew how many secrets he was actually keeping, it would be obvious just how good George was at not spilling things.

“George, just tell me what they’re doing,” Dream begged, his voice now somber and genuinely worried instead of frantic. “Please.”

“I can’t, Dream. I’m sorry. But really, it’s going to be okay.” Hating the seriousness of the conversation and the oddly soft tone of his voice, George changed the subject. “Oh, look at that, Karl wants to join the call. I’ll add him,” he said quickly, knowing Dream wasn’t going to say anything about how much he liked Bugsy around her best friend. In Dream’s eyes, Karl was unaware of his feelings for Bugsy, and George assumed he wanted to keep it that way.

“Wait, George before you—” Dream started softly but was cut off by the sound of someone joining the call.

“Hey, Karl!” George greeted obliviously.

“Hi! Neither of you are streaming or recording or anything, right?” Karl asked.

“No,” Dream answered bluntly.

“We’re just waiting for Quackity to start his stream and we’re gonna watch together.”

“Oh, yeah!” Karl cackled. “You really wanna see it, Dream? Even though Quackity will probably hit on Bugsy?”

“Yeah, why should I care?” he faked disinterest, even though everyone in the call knew he would definitely care if that happened. “It probably will be funny, to be fair. And since Bug will be too busy to talk to me, I guess I can still, you know, hear her voice…” he trailed off to an almost inaudible volume and George smiled, deciding not to tease the younger boy for the sweet sentiment.

“I'll watch it with you,” Karl said. “We can all make fun of them together.”

George noted the long pause of silence before Dream softly asked, “Do you know what they’re doing, Karl?”

“Yup!”

“W-what is it?”

“Mmm, can’t say! Sorry!” Karl chirped in fake obliviousness. “Why do you want to know?”

George rolled his eyes; he knew what Karl was doing, pretending like he didn’t already know Dream would be jealous in hopes that Dream would spill to him. It’s like he and Quackity enjoyed causing Dream pain, pushing him to the edge in situations where he couldn’t vent his feelings, forcing him to keep it inside and build it up in an overwhelming pile of emotions.

“Just… curious,” Dream lied.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” Karl said nonchalantly. “I’m gonna be honest though, George, can I just say, I’m a little annoyed with them.”

George laughed. “Really, why?”

Karl hummed, choosing his words carefully. “It might mess things up,” he said softly.

“Yeah, I’m starting to see what you mean by that,” George admitted vaguely. In the few minutes he had been talking to Dream, he could already tell it wasn’t going to go over well with the blond boy.

“Can you guys just… tell me what they’re doing?” Dream tried again, the desperation spilling out of him. “Why is it a big deal? What would it mess up?”

Karl giggled again. “Bugsy and Quackity like keeping their fans on their toes, you know? As Bugsy’s number one fan it would be the worst to tell you.”

“Well, I’m also Quackity’s number one anti right now so it cancels out,” Dream reasoned. “So you can tell me.”

“Aw, he admitted he’s her number one fan!” Karl teased.

Dream groaned when he realized he wouldn’t get anywhere by repeatedly asking the same question. In other words, he gave up. “When are they supposed to start?”

“Um, soon I think?” George answered vaguely as he opened Twitch on his other monitor. “He’s not live yet but he Tweeted earlier that it would be around now.”

There were a few moments of silence before Karl spoke up. “So, how have you guys been today?”

“Mm, pretty good,” George admitted, scrolling through Twitter on his phone and pretending to not hear Dream’s pitiful sighs. “Kinda slow, but not bad. What about you?”

“Good, actually. Bugsy, Naomi, and I went out for lunch earlier which was fun. Speaking of…” Karl giggled. “Naomi? And you? What’s up?”

George felt himself turn red at the mention of their relationship, whatever it was. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“I have,” he admitted happily. “I just want to make sure your stories line up.”

“Karl! No, that’s-that’s… I’m not telling you anything now.”

“George doesn’t talk about feelings, Karl. He’s not going to tell you. I know his side of the story though,” Dream said. “He’s told me.”

“What did he say?”

“I could tell you,” Dream bargained, attempting to get the information he wanted in any way possible, “if you tell me what Quackity and Bug are streaming.”

Karl cackled. “Woah, woah, woah, Dream. I don’t need to know that bad. Dang, you’re really impatient!”

“Yes, okay!” Dream snapped, annoyance in his voice. “Sue me for wanting to know what super top-secret thing that the girl I really like and the boy who constantly publicly flirts with her are doing! Because it’s obviously not just a cooking stream or roblox or else you guys wouldn’t act like the FBI put you in charge of keeping it from me. And don’t give me that garbage and ask why I assume it’s something flirty just because it’s being kept from me. I know that all of you are aware of how much I like her so Quackity is definitely doing it on purpose. Literally everyone except maybe Y/n knows I like her, I know that. So yes I want to know and yes I’m worried about what the fucking stream is.”

George and Karl were silent for a few moments, processing his rant. Maybe Karl was right, maybe it was stupid of Y/n to try to make him jealous this way. Sure, jealous Dream was entertaining, but when was it too far? Would Dream think them reading fanfiction together was funny at all or just purely exasperating? George started to think the latter was more likely.

“Shit,” Karl mumbled. “Dream—”

“Dream, I promise there’s nothing to actually be worried about,” George tried reassuring.

“Yeah, you’ll probably get jealous and it’s very understandable if you do but… Quackity’s just messing around,” Karl added.

Dream took a deep breath and almost on cue, George got a notification from Twitter that Quackity had tweeted.

“He’s live,” Karl announced softly and they waited to hear Dream’s reaction once he saw the title.

It came softly, a voice of disbelief ringing through George’s headphones. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Hey, you’re already trending for your joke, that should make you happy,” Karl offered and Dream knocked something over on his desk.

“Shit,” he mumbled through the mic. “Shit, shit, shit. I spilled my—shit.” A few seconds passed and George took the silence to share his screen with the others so they could watch the video together. “No, Karl, that doesn’t make me feel better. It’s not really a joke. I mean, I’ll play it off as one but… wait, don’t share your screen,” he told George. “I don’t want to watch this shit.”

“You said you did.”

“That was when I didn’t know what it was,” he replied as if it was obvious. “I don’t want to watch them read fanfiction together.”

“He doesn’t actually like her,” Karl reminded gently.

“I don’t care, it’s still embarrassing for me! It’s just a fat reminder that she doesn’t like me back and that she’s not my girlfriend.”

George wanted to slam his head against a wall. He opted for his desk instead, his forehead coming in contact with the wood with a loud THUD. It was so hard to keep his mouth shut and not just tell him about Y/n’s feelings.

“It’s, like, Quackity is rubbing it in my face that she doesn’t like me. What an asshole.”

“That’s not what he’s trying to do,” Karl said. His voice sounded as in pain as George felt. Which one of them was going to break first and tell Dream?

He didn’t know how to use words that weren’t ‘Bugsy likes you, dipshit’, so he tried something else. “It might still be funny—”

Dream wasn't laughing. Nothing about this was funny to him. “George.” Frustration was evident in his sharp tone.

“I don't get what the big deal is—”

“They're-they’re reading fanfiction! It's just gonna be a bunch of, like, romantic stories about them and, what, I'm supposed to just watch?”

“You don't have to watch it if you don't want to. I'm sure Quackity won't mind losing one viewer—”

“George, I'm being serious.”

“Calm down,” he said gently. “It's just Quackity. We told you already, he doesn't like Bugsy like that.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m okay with this,” Dream mumbled.

George took a deep breath. He did understand how Dream was in an uncomfortable situation, and even if it wasn't a big deal to him, it was to Dream.

“Hey, Dream?” Karl started gently.

“What?” he spat. He sounded like he was seconds away from disconnecting and hiding in his bed or punching a wall or doing whatever it is Dream does when he’s upset.

Karl hesitated for way too long before saying, “We can do something else if you still want to hang out with us. I don’t want to force you to watch it if it really will upset you.”

Dream breathed deeply. “I’m being dramatic,” he admitted softly, reminding George of a little kid getting reprimanded by an adult. “We can… watch it, I guess.”

“You’re not being dramatic if that’s how you feel,” Karl reassured. When did he become a therapist? George sat back as he listened to them, biting his lips in order to not spill Y/n’s secret. “If it really does make you upset, then that’s that. You’re allowed to be jealous, I mean, I understand why you are. That was literally Quackity’s plan, we expected you to be.”

“I’m not allowed to be jealous, though,” Dream countered lightly. “She’s-she’s not my girlfriend. She’s allowed to do what she wants. I have no right feeling like… like…” he trailed off and sighed.

George raised his head to look at Dream’s Discord icon empathetically.

“I didn’t know you liked her this much,” Karl admitted. “I just thought… well, I don’t know what I thought.”

George agreed. They knew Dream was whipped for Bugsy and that watching a stream of Quackity and her read fanfiction together would piss him off a little, but this was different. He sounded utterly heartbroken.

“I really do,” Dream mumbled, his voice muffled by what George assumed was his hands on his face.

Internally screaming at himself to tell his best friend something that was guaranteed to make him feel better, George wrung his hands together. He looked at his second monitor, which still showed Quackity’s starting soon screen. “Dream?”

“What?”

“Tell her.”

“I can’t, it has to b—”

“It has to be perfect, I know,” George interrupted impatiently but gently. “Tell her soon.”

Dream’s next words came in a soft, embarrassed tone, no longer defensive and combative but rather nervous and contemplative. “What if she doesn’t believe me? Or she thinks I like her for the wrong reasons?”

“Do you mean because you haven’t seen her?” Karl asked sincerely. “Because of that idea her ex got stuck in her head?”

As if suddenly realizing he was in the presence of the person who knew Bugsy better than anyone, Dream’s voice perked up. “Karl,” he paused. “Can you promise me that you won’t tell her anything I tell you?”

“Yes,” Karl replied quickly. “I promise. I want to help you and if that means not telling her, I will.”

“You heard on Quackity’s stream that she and I were FaceTiming? Like, that I’ve seen her?”

“Yeah,” George and Karl replied together.

“I’m still bitter that I found that out from watching a stream instead of from my best friend,” Karl muttered, “but continue.”

George laughed through his nose at Karl’s comment before Dream explained his concern. “Since I didn’t tell Bug that I like her before I saw her, I’m worried she’ll think I only like her now because I know what she looks like. See my problem? If I told her before, she wouldn’t believe me but if I tell her now she might think it’s because of her looks.”

“Oh,” Karl said, his voice muffled behind his hand. “I see what you’re saying. Hm, that’s… I think... I could be wrong, but I’ve talked to Naomi and we both think she’s, like, realizing you don’t need to see someone to like them.”

“How do you figure?”

Karl hesitated. “Not important. But, I think it would be fine if you told her. I think you’ve proven that you like her for more than her looks and she’s blind if she couldn’t tell you liked her before.”

George nodded to himself. “Yeah, Naomi has mentioned that to me too. I think you guys are right. And yeah, Dream, you’ve clearly liked her before so she would understand.”

“What if it makes things weird between us?” Dream asked. “You know, telling her.”

“Trust us, it won’t make things weird.”

“How should I—”

Dream was interrupted abruptly by Quackity unmuting his stream and yelling, “CHAT! HOW ARE WE TODAY?” and laughing loudly.

George flinched at the sudden change in mood. Just as he and Karl were calming Dream down, Quackity went and made the air tense again. George could feel Dream’s anxiety slowly growing.

“Again, we don’t have to watch,” Karl offered but Dream made a noise in protest.

“Let’s watch.”

The atmosphere was tense to say the least, occasional comments trying to lighten the mood about Quackity or Bugsy being funny or stupid, but overall the voice call was quiet. George had no idea what to say to Dream and he could tell Karl didn’t either. Having the chat open wasn’t helping either.

user43: GEORGE IS HERE HE’S GONNA SNITCH TO DREAM libbbyyyyyyyyy: george george george he’s watching venus: bugsy simps getting FED today user13: wattpad writers watch out ItsRainingPastels: this is so funny!! Bugity interactions are amazing Chrimsss: foxtrot???? user71: READ. FOXTROT. cantaloupe: ajsdkfhj please the look on his face when bugsy said “that could be us” user92: FOXTROT NEXT FOXTROT NEXT user48: i'm surprised dream hasn't barged into chat or their call to yell at quackity yet noraimp: i’ve been saying bugity supremacy all along and no one believed me until now hungoverhellhound: stop saying foxtrot i WILL CRY user11: SUCK IT DREAM, BUGSY AND QUACKITY ARE BETTER FOR EACH OTHER bexwastaken: i miss dream :(

George took the liberty of closing the chat so Dream didn’t have to see it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled softly. Apparently that was a good choice on George’s part.

“Chat just gets in the way,” he excused, trying to place the decision on his own reasons rather than embarrass Dream by acknowledging that he knew seeing all the comments was bothering the younger

“This story is actually kinda funny,” Dream admitted. “Well, it’s super cringey but… it’s funny that Bug thinks it’s funny.”

Karl made a small whine in adoration. “That’s so cute.”

“Shut up,” Dream mumbled. “Or I won’t tell you anything ever again.”

“Were you going to?”

“Yeah, maybe, I guess,” Dream said. “If that’s okay with you. You know her better than anyone and… I obviously need advice or nothing is going to happen.”

“Dream,” Karl started formally, “I’d be honored to give you the best Bugsy advice I can offer. And to hear you say cute things like that about her because it’s adorable. I’m sure ranting about how cute she is to George is like talking to a brick wall.”

Dream hummed, a small laugh escaping him. “Yeah, that’s pretty accurate, actually. He’s not very responsive. He doesn’t get it.”

“I’m sure she’s pretty and all, I’m just not good at talking about people’s feelings,” George defended.

George tuned back into the stream as Quackity and Bugsy laughed loudly. “Oh my gosh, holy shit that was wild,” Quackity exclaimed.

“Yeah, what the heck? That was so funny,” Bugsy admitted, still laughing lightly.

“Okay, okay, one down. Guys, stop spamming Foxtrot in my chat, what is that? Is that a fic? I said I already picked everything out, don’t suggest things.” Quackity looked at his phone and laughed. “Wait, I did pick that one out, actually.”

George assumed the chat was going wild and his curiosity got the best of him so he opened it.

user66: READ CHAPTER 10 hungoverhellhound: NOOO NO DON’T READ IT PLEASE I CAN’T HANDLE THIS TODAY venus: this isn’t going to go well libbbyyyyyyyyy: laksjdhjkh try not to fall in love with each other after this one ItsRainingPastels: ive heard things about this fic… everyone cries cantaloupe: YES YES noraimp: are they reading foxtr…. oh no user52: SKIP TO CHAP 10 bexwastaken: dream come get your girl smh Chrimsss: we’re about to watch bugity become real because of this fic user10: it starts slow, do chap 10 or 16!!!! user88: quack isnt in it until later lol

“They said it starts really slow though? I’m not in it until chapter 3?” Quackity scoffed. “Fine, we’ll skip ahead.”

“People are saying ‘Chapter 10’ so that one must be good?” Bugsy suggested and Quackity complied.

George closed the chat again when he registered Dream’s silence and apologized under his breath.

“Try not to fall in love because of this fic?” Quackity read. “Can’t happen because we already are in love, chat.”

Dream scoffed, mirroring Bugsy’s reaction. “In your dreams, duck boy.”

“You are, actually,” Quackity teased.

“Shut the fuck up, Quackity,” Dream grumbled to no one, and George couldn’t help but laugh a little at that.

Foxtrot — the fanfiction the chat was raving about — was really good. At least the chapter they read on the stream was. It was so well written and soft and George hadn’t heard Dream speak in a good 15 minutes. George didn’t dare look at chat after they finished reading that one, opening his phone to text Quackity instead.

“Hold on, one second, chat,” Quackity said, faking a British accent as he looked at his phone. “One second, chat.”

George looked up and saw Quackity smiling at his phone as he set it on his desk and returned to the stream. “Okay!”

George set his phone on his own desk before hearing Bugsy laugh. “Dream just texted me.”

“What did he say?” Quackity asked nervously.

“He’s…” she trailed off and laughed. “He wants to know if I’m leaving him for you. He said, ‘I understand if you have feelings for him after that’. Oh my gosh.” She giggled and George heard Dream laugh through his nose.

“Dream,” Karl laughed. “Why?”

“Do you realize how suspicious it would be if I didn’t make some sort of appearance during the stream after all the things I’ve said on Twitter and stuff? I had to joke around for the chat.”

“Fair…” George said.

“Is he watching?” Quackity asked Bugsy as if George hadn’t just told him they were. “Dream, go away. We aren’t letting you in VC. Just accept the truth,” he laughed loudly.

George shook his head to himself as he realized how much this wasn’t a joke just to mess with the fans. If it was, Quackity would have let Dream into their call so everyone could witness Dream be jealous but instead, he was almost banishing Dream to be jealous in private. The fans not seeing how Dream was actually feeling made it more real somehow. Quackity really wanted Dream and Bugsy to own up to their feelings.

“I want to strangle him,” Dream confessed jokingly. “At this point, I don’t even want to be in their call because I don’t have the energy to play up being sad. I’m just really sad.”

“I told him to stop reading actual cute ones, so it should be fine now,” George announced. “That last one was too much.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Quackity, I’m not falling in love with you,” Bugsy stood her ground with a laugh. “Not happening, bud.”

“We’ll just have to read more until you do,” Quackity cackled and George heard Dream huff.

The stream didn’t last too much longer, Quackity apparently not wanting to take the joke too far even though he already had.

“Thank god that’s over,” Dream mumbled as George unshared his screen and closed Twitch.

“It wasn’t too bad, right?” Karl asked slowly.

Dream hummed. “It was pretty bad, Karl.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed.

“But now it’s over and you can go back to talking to Bugsy and have her full attention,” George said positively.

“How am I supposed to talk to her after that?”

“Like normal?”

“What if she brings it up?”

“Then you say, ‘Bugsy, I don’t want to talk about this because I like you’,” Karl suggested. “Simple.”

“Okay, you are no help. No longer coming to you for advice.”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding. Just… tell her it was funny but don’t elaborate. She’s good at picking up on when people are uncomfortable, she’ll drop it.”

“Or tell her you like her,” George agreed and Karl laughed as Dream groaned.

“No. Not yet.”

“Not yet,” George mimed. “But soon.”

Dream took another deep breath. “Soon.”

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snackhobi · 4 years ago

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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.

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