#at least two self-references to my previous fics with them

[zoloteh-volossya]

BG3 Fanfiction Statistics, Part 1

I’ve seen some discussions of BG3 fandom trends floating around tumblr that spoke from experience but lacked hard data to refer to. As a fan of Baldur’s Gate 3, fanfiction, and graphs, I therefore thought it would be neat and illustrative to go through AO3 and document some of the statistics this fandom.

I did a similar exercise back in January and posted the results here. However, I was a bit unhappy with this analysis – it was missing some data that I consider to be relevant, I didn’t end up discussing the results much, and I only posted it to reddit. Most discussions for the creative side of fandom seem to happen on tumblr, so I made this account to post it here.

I will try and be as transparent as possible when discussing how I obtained and processed this data. A copy of my spreadsheet can be found here and contains all of the data I will be discussing. Most of the data I feature in this essay will be presented as graphs. Below each graph I will discuss the patterns shown in the graph and provide what I believe to be some relevant and/or interesting number values. If you want to see all the numbers, please refer to my spreadsheet. If you don’t care about the numbers and/or my thoughts about them, feel free to skim through and just look at the charts!

A note before I start – I gathered this data between July 21, 2024 and July 24, 2024. It is out of date as of my writing this and will be even more out of date by the time you read it. However, I believe the general fandom trends will hold up over time – the same patterns that I observed in January are largely still present in July.

Due to the tumblr post image limit and my preponderance of graphs, I will be breaking this behemoth of an essay into two parts:

General Fandom Statistics, the Player Character, and the Women

The Men, a Character Comparison, and a Pairing Analysis

We are currently in part 1. Part 2 can be found at this link. The rest of part 1 is below the read more because this is very long.

GENERAL FANDOM STATS

This information was found by looking at the side bar when browsing Baldur’s Gate fics. Therefore, this data set includes fics from the previous two Baldur’s Gate games. However, given that the games were released in 1998 and 2000, respectively, most of the fanfiction for them was likely posted to FF.net and the error from including what little fic for them was posted to AO3 is likely small.

At the time of my data gathering, there were 31,043 Baldur’s Gate fics on AO3.

RATINGS

To the surprise of nobody in the BG3 fandom, Explicit fic is the largest category, at 38% of all fics produced. It’s followed by Mature (24%), Teen and Up (20%), General (12%) and Not Rated (6%). Not all of the Explicit and Mature fics are necessarily horny – those warnings also apply to extreme violence (hello, Dark Urge). But let’s be real, most of them are tagged that way for sex.

WARNINGS

Speaking of extreme violence, let’s take a look at the warnings used for fics in this fandom.

Just about half (50.2%) of BG fics have no warnings at all. About 17.6% have warnings for graphic depictions of violence – lower than I would have expected, honestly, for a video game that features as much murder as this one does (at least, how I play it...). About 5.4% of fics feature a warning for rape, 4.7% feature major character death, and 0.5% feature underage sex.

CATEGORIES

AO3 allows users to select any categories from a list of possible options (F/M, M/M, F/F, Gen, Other, and Multi). F/M, M/M, and F/F are pretty self explanatory, Gen fics don’t focus on a relationship, Multi fics focus on a relationship between three or more people, and Other is a catch all for fics that don’t fit into any of the previous categories very well. For shipping with nonbinary (NB) characters, I have seen a variety of approaches. Some people select the category closest to the NB character’s presentation, some select multiple categories, and some select Other.

One very useful tool that I will be introducing here is the use of “otp:true.” When “otp:true” is entered into the “Search within results” bar while filtering tags, AO3 will only return fics that have just one pairing tagged. This filters out all fics that have background pairings or multiple focus pairings. Results with “otp:true” are typically solely focused on that particular pairing.

With all that explanation out of the way, the results:

We can clearly see that the most common category for Baldur’s Gate fics is M/F, with 43.3% of all fics featuring a M/F pairing. 36.4% of all fics feature a M/M pairing, 10.6% feature a F/F pairing, 11.7% are more General, 8.0% feature Multiple people in a pairing, and 10.9% are Other. These percentages add up to more than 100% because a fic can be tagged with multiple categories.

Things change a bit when you filter for “otp:true” and only include fics that focus on just one pairing. In this case, M/M predominates, with a whopping 46.0% of fics. M/F follows with 31.2%, F/F with 11.1%, 7.7% are General, 9.7% are Other, and 3.0% are still tagged as Multi (presumably for fics where the only pairing is a threesome or such).

CHARACTERS

As a last look at more general content before I begin a deep dive into looking at the various characters, I took a look at the 30 most popular character tags.

This was a surprise to me the first time I looked at it in January. In the previous two video game fandoms I was in that had a player character (Mass Effect and Fire Emblem: Three Houses), the player character was the most popular character tag in that fandom. In this case, though, Astarion has the most fics that feature him, and by a pretty significant margin (~5,000 more fics than Tav). He appears in 63.0% of fics. Tav is next, at 46.7% of fics. Then we have the rest of the six Origin characters: Gale (34.5% of fics), Shadowheart (23.7%), Karlach (20.5%), Wyll (18.6%), and Lae’zel (15.9%), as well as Halsin (15.8%) and the Dark Urge (15.3%). That they all are next to each other makes sense, as fics that focus on one character or pairing will often tag the entire ensemble. Lae’zel only showing up 16% of the time seems low, though, for a member of the main cast. To me, this indicates that not many fics are true ensemble fics that include all of the main cast.

After this block of main characters, we drop a bit to Gortash, who shows up in 7.4% of fics. He’s the most popular villain by far, followed by Cazador (4.7%) and Raphael (4.6%). Orin only shows up in 2.9% of fics and Ketheric is featured in only 1.1% of fics.

Jaheira shows up in 4.4% of fics, but her values may include fics from the earlier Baldur’s Gate games. Poor Minthara is the 16th most tagged character and only shows up in 2.5% of fics. Rolan (a tiefling NPC) shows up in more fics than she does.

Despite being featured in previous Baldur’s Gate game fics as well as BG3, Minsc does not seem popular – he’s #25, being tagged in 1.3% of fics.

One thing I did note was the comparative lack of focus on the overarching plot of the game in BG3 fics. I’ll use the Emperor as a barometer for this, as it’s inextricably interwoven into everything having to do with the Absolute, the mysterious artifact, and our protagonists’ immunity to it. Yet, it only appears in 535 fics of over 31,000 – approximately 1.7% of all BG fics. This tells me that there isn’t much engagement with the actual illithid plot of the game in most fics – at least not to the extent where major plot relevant characters are being tagged.

CHARACTER PAIRING STATISTICS

Most of my time for this analysis was spent collecting data for the various pairing tags. I went through the top 300 pairing tags by order of popularity (ending with Mystra/Cazador, of all things) and recorded how many fics each rating had and how many fics each category had both with and without “otp:true” applied. Coincidentally, this included all the pairings with 5 or more fics in them at the time – by sheer luck the 301st pairing tag had only 4 fics. I judged that I could ignore pairing tags with fewer than 5 fics without affecting the results of my analyses too much (also it had taken 4 days to get this far and I was tired).

However, a lot of authors tag their fics with both, say, Astarion/Tav and Astarion/F!OC. But for this exercise I’m not really looking at how authors refer to the Tav/Dark Urge/self insert character in their tagging nomenclature. I’m more interested in how many fics exist for, say, the pairing of Astarion and the player character.

To this end, I combined the numbers for Tav, Dark Urge, OC, F!OC, M!OC, NB!OC, Reader, and You for each character ship. In order to avoid double counting fics, once I had added the numbers for a particular tag I excluded that tag from all future counts.

[X]/PC = [X]/Tav + ([X]/Dark Urge with the [X]/Tav tag excluded) + ([X]/Original Character with the [X]/Tav and [X]/Dark Urge excluded) + ([X]/Reader with [X]/Tav, [X]/Dark Urge, and [X]/Original Character excluded) and so on.

This process dropped the total number of pairings from 300 to 162. However, it also introduces an error. Some fics ship characters with an OC who is not a Tav/Dark Urge/self insert. In condensing all pairings with original characters to the “PC” supercategory, I am ignoring that and counting their original character as a Tav/Dark Urge equivalent. Unfortunately, this is just something I have to live with in order to be able to make the data more manageable, as there is no way to tell which fics are using the OC tag to represent a Tav/Dark Urge and which are not on a mass data scale. I don’t think it will skew the results too much, at least.

I pulled out the top 20 ships for each major character in BG3 (Tav, Dark Urge, the PC, Shadowheart, Karlach, Lae’zel, Minthara, Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin) before and after I combined the player character tags into the PC supercategory. For each character, I then determined how much of each fic category (M/F, M/M, F/F, Other, Multi) they had, both for all of their pairings and for their pairing with the PC specifically.

Let's start by looking at the player character and its two representatives.

TAV

Tav is in 71 of the top 300 ship tags in the BG3 fandom.

Astarion completely dominates Tav’s ships, with a whopping 9,235 fics (1,839 otp:true fics). In fact, in order to be able to see the tiny little boxes that represent everyone else, here’s another version of this chart, this time with Astarion excluded.

There, that’s a bit more legible. The next highest is Gale, with 2,909 fics (652 otp:true) – less than a third as many fics as Astarion. Halsin comes third with 1,304 fics (207 otp:true) and Shadowheart is the first canon woman to show up, with 806 fics (132 otp:true). Astarion has more than 11 times as many fics with Tav as Shadowheart does. Karlach comes next, with 724 fics (186 otp:true). Raphael comes sixth, with 176 more fics than #7 Wyll who has 442 fics (100 otp:true). Lae’zel is #11 with 300 fics, under Gortash, Rolan, and a threesome with Halsin and Astarion. Minthara is the least popular main character to ship with Tav. She’s #15 with 146 fics (33 otp:true), and has fewer fics with Tav than Zevlor, the Emperor or Haarlep. In a marked improvement from the state of affairs in January, however, she no longer has fewer fics than Kar’niss.

Taking a look at the fic category breakdown, we can see that M/F and M/M predominate for Tav, while there is very little F/F. Dividing the values by the total number of fics, 59.8% of all fics and 50.2% of otp:true fics are tagged M/F, 35.6% of all fics and 34.9% of otp:true fics are tagged M/M, 7.6% of all fics and 4.4% of otp:true fics are tagged F/F, and 13.2% of all fics and 14.2% of otp:true fics are tagged Other. As the proportions of M/F and F/F fics drop when otp:true is applied, I assume that it is more common for M/F and F/F pairings to have background ships or be a background ship (remember that if it is not otp:true, we have no idea if the pairing with Tav is the pairing category being counted.)

THE DARK URGE

The Dark Urge is in 38 of the top 300 ship tags of the BG3 fandom, a bit over half as many as Tav.

While Astarion once again is the most popular character to ship with the Dark Urge (2,165 fics), this time he actually has competition! Gortash/Dark Urge comes in at a very respectable second place with 1,594 fics (about three quarters of Astarion/Dark Urge’s total fic count) and actually beat Astarion by over 100 fics once you apply otp:true (562 fics for Astarion vs 691 fics for Gortash). But after Gortash we once again drop down to numbers we struggle to even see on the chart. Gale is the most visible with 402 fics total (Gale has fewer fics total with the Dark Urge than Astarion or Gortash have with otp:true applied). After that we have a group of Halsin, Shadowheart, and Karlach, all with between 120-150 fics. No other pairing has over 100 fics.

Dark Urge/Tav (99 fics) and Dark Urge/Orin (87 fics) have more fics than Dark Urge/Wyll (83 fics) or Dark Urge/Minthara (80 fics). For Wyll, this is a sign that his pairing with the Dark Urge is not very popular (he drops from #7 with Tav to #9 with the Dark Urge). For Minthara, however, this is a significant climb in the rankings – she was #15 with Tav and #10 with the Dark Urge.

But what’s really interesting to me is the fic category breakdown for the Dark Urge.

The Dark Urge has noticeably more M/M content than Tav does (47.0% vs 35.6% for all fics, 56.9% vs 34.9% for opt:true) and slightly more F/F content than Tav does (10.2% vs 7.6% for all fics, 5.2% vs 4.4% for otp:true), and correspondingly less F/M content. At 13.4% for all fics and 12.8% of otp:true fics, the proportion of Other fic stays just about the same as for Tav.

THE PLAYER CHARACTER

The PC is a combination of Tav, Dark Urge, Original Character, Reader, and You. The PC is in 64 of the top 162 pairings of the BG3 fandom (losing 5 pairings from Tav as I combined Tav/Tav, Tav/Dark Urge, Tav/Reader and so on into one PC/OC category).

The player character was involved in 76.0% of all pairings and 62.1% of otp:true pairings (that is, if you add up every fic for every pairing which the PC is in and divide it by sum of all fics for all BG3 pairings I tracked). This means that over three quarters of shipping in the BG3 fandom is with the player character. It’s not surprising, but it is notable – that’s a very large proportion.

Holy smokes, Astarion! He dominates the rankings even more than before. This time, I was curious to see how much. See below for a proportional representation of all of the PC pairings (note: because many fics have multiple pairings, this circle does not represent the total number of fics but rather the total number of times any pairing with the PC has been tagged).

Astarion composes a full 45% of all pairings with the PC, Gale is bit over 13%, Gortash is 7.3% for all fics and 11.3% of otp:true fics, while Halsin has the opposite trend with 6.3% of all fics and 4.9% of otp:true fics. Shadowheart, Karlach, Raphael, and Wyll all are between 2% and 4% (with Raphael once again beating Wyll). Lae’zel is down at #11 with 1.4% and Minthara is all the way at #16 with 0.9%.

Out of curiosity, I went through all of the PC’s pairings and sorted them by the gender of the person being shipped with the PC.

Oof.

85.7% of all PC ships are with men, 10.4% are with women, and 1.9% are nonbinary beings (Haarlep, the Emperor, and Omeluum). When you apply otp:true, 87.1% of the player character’s ships are with men, 9.9% are with women, and 1.3% are with nonbinary beings.

SHADOWHEART

Welp! Let’s take a look at that 10%, starting with Shadowheart.

If you add up all the fics for all the pairings that include Shadowheart and divide that by the sum of all fics for all 162 pairings I collected, you can see that she is present in 7.0% of pairings. Interestingly, this is true both for all fics and for otp:true fics. She is in 30 of the top 300 ship tags and 24 of the 162 pairings that remain once the player character tags are consolidated.

(I have shortened Shadowheart's name to SH and Shart in various charts to keep the labels from taking up too much room in the graph.)

Lae’zel/Shadowheart is in close competition with Shadowheart/Tav. When all the player characters are condensed into the PC, though, that gap widens.

Shadowheart has 980 fics with the PC, 694 with Lae’zel, 226 with Karlach, 111 with Gale, 61 with Astarion, 51 with Nocturne, 36 with Halsin, 26 with Minthara, and 21 with Wyll (her least popular ship with a main character, at #12). 7 of her top 20 pairings are threesomes – Aylin/Isobel/SH at #8 with 35 fics, Karlach/PC/SH at #9, Karlach/Lae’zel/SH at #10, Astarion/PC/SH at #13, Halsin/PC/SH at #14, Karlach/Wyll/SH at #17, and Gale/Lae’zel/SH at #18.

Lae’zel/Shadowheart has an unusually high number of otp:true fics – almost half of its total fic count. It seems more popular to ship Shadowheart with women than men – both her ships with Lae’zel and Karlach are more popular than Astarion, Gale, or Wyll and her threesomes with women have more fics than her threesomes with men.

The fic category breakdown for Shadowheart matches this expectation.

Boy howdy is Shadowheart fic gay! She has over twice as much F/F fic than M/F fic, just looking at raw numbers of fics. Looking at the proportions of her total fic count, F/F fic represents 71.4% of all of her fics, M/F fic is 35.2%, Other is 10.0%, and Multi is 18.8%. (These percentages add up to more than 100% because many fics tag multiple categories.) This also means that we can’t know that these numbers necessarily include Shadowheart – witness the numbers of M/M fics. All it means is that these categories were on fics in which a Shadowheart pairing was also tagged.

Looking at the otp:true numbers gives us a better picture of what fics where only Shadowheart is in a relationship are like (though this not necessarily an accurate idea of patterns for her overall, as less than a third of her total fics are otp:true). 76.4% of otp:true fics are F/F, 19.8% are M/F, 3.8% are Other, and for some reason 1.2% (9 fics) are M/M. Over three quarters of Shadowheart’s otp:true pairings are femmeslash.

Shadowheart’s fics with the PC character follow pretty much the same pattern as her ships more generally, albeit with slightly less F/F (likely from the loss of the relative behemoth that is Shadowheart/Lae’zel).

32.9% of her pairings with the PC have the M/F tag, 68.1% are tagged F/F, 11.3% are tagged Other, and 18.5% are tagged Multi. Applying otp:true, 25.7% are M/F, 62.6% are F/F, and 12.3% are Other (this likely includes a substantial portion of nonbinary PCs).

KARLACH

Karlach is present in 6.0% of all fic pairings and 5.4% of otp:true fic pairings. She has 31 ship tags in the top 300 ship tags, which condense down to 26 pairings when all player character stand ins are combined.

Her second most popular ship after Tav is with Wyll, though unlike with Shadowheart the pairing is not popular enough to give Tav a run for his/her/their money. Condensing all the player characters widens this gap significantly.

The PC is overwhelmingly Karlach’s most popular ship, with 890 fics. Wyll is second, with 327 fics – less than half as many. Shadowheart and Astarion follow with 226 and 157, respectively. Dammon is next, with 91 fics, and then Lae’zel has 65. She then has a number of threesomes, Minthara (#9 with 32 fics), and Gale (#11 with 18 fics). Halsin is her least popular pairing with a main character, coming in at #15 with 11 fics.

Surprisingly, for all that Karlach is fairly butch, her pairings with men are relatively more popular than we see with the more femme Shadowheart. The category statistics illustrate this clearly.

Compared to Shadowheart, Karlach has a lower proportion of F/F and higher proportions of M/F and Multi fics. F/F is tagged on 51.8% of her fics, M/F on 42.5%, Other on 12.3% and Multi on 27.7%. (Remember that fics can be tagged with multiple categories and that just because a category is tagged doesn’t mean that Karlach is involved in that category.) Looking at otp:true gives us a look at fics where she is the sole focus. F/F is 55.0% of her otp:true fics, M/F drops to 34.4%, Multi drops to 6.1%, and Other stays fairly high at 10.4%.

In Karlach’s pairings with the player character, things change significantly.

It immediately becomes clear that the large number of M/F fics in her general pairings were largely due to her relatively popular ships with Wyll, Astarion, and Dammon. F/F dominates Karlach’s pairings with the PC with 64.0% (67.8% with otp:true applied) of fics, which puts her at just slightly less than Shadowheart. M/F is tagged in 28.5% of her fics with the PC (14.0% with otp:true applied), Multi is tagged 19.4% but drops to 1.2% for otp:true, and Other remains high with 18.0% of fics and 20.2% of otp:true fics with the PC.

Back in January, I noted that of the main cast, Karlach had the highest proportion of ships with nonbinary OCs. I didn’t track the breakdown of OC subcategories this time, but the high numbers in the Other category bear it out.

LAE'ZEL

Counting all fics for all pairings in which Lae’zel is tagged, she is in a mere 3.8% of BG3 pairings, though it rises to 4.5% when otp:true is applied. She is in 23 of the top 300 ship tags, a number that drops down to 18 when I consolidate the player character tags together.

Shadowheart/Lae’zel has twice as many fics as Lae’zel/Tav. Looking at the situation with the PC does not change this much.

Unlike any other main character, Lae’zel’s most popular ship is not with the PC but with Shadowheart. She has 694 fics with Shadowheart, 355 with the PC, 65 with Karlach, 26 with Gale, 26 with Wyll, 25 with Astarion, 16 with Minthara, and 12 with Halsin. She is in an unusually low number of threesomes – only 4. It’s notable though how skewed her numbers are towards women – a threesome with Karlach and Shadowheart has more fics than any of her pairings with a canon man. The various whole team multiship pairings, none of which have more than 11 fics, comprise most of the tail end of her ship list.

Speaking of the tail end of her ship list, what happens when we condense the player character tags is that Lae’zel does not reach a full 20 ships – she drops to 18 pairings. She has more than this, of course, but my methodology ignores all pairings with fewer than 5 fics (which means that my friend’s Lae’zel/Astarion/Tav fic is not counted). Therefore, Lae’zel’s 19th and 20th most popular pairings have 4 fics or fewer. I have represented these missing pairings with little :( emojis, because this is a sad state of affairs.

This is a symptom of a state of affairs in which Lae’zel is just not very popular in the AO3 side of BG3 fandom. Her most popular ship is Shadowheart’s second most popular ship, and the numbers crater after that. No Lae’zel ship other than Shadowheart and the PC has more than 100 fics.

Lae’zel’s most popular ships being women is demonstrated clearly by the fic category breakdown.

Wow! At a whopping 76.3% of all of Lae’zel’s fics and 88.9% of Lae’zel’s otp:true fics, Lae’zel has a higher proportion of F/F fic than Shadowheart. Granted, they’re both sizable portions of each other’s total F/F count. 26.1% of Lae’zel’s fics have the M/F tag, though this drops to a mere 7.1% when otp:true is applied. Other is tagged in 11.6% of fics but drops to 2.0% with otp:true. 18.1% of her fics are tagged Multi but this likewise drops to 4.4% with otp:true.

The pertinent question for Lae’zel is how much of her F/F count is due to her pairing with Shadowheart? How gay are her pairings with the PC?

The answer is... still pretty gay! F/F is not quite as dominant, with 67.3% of all her fics with the PC and 80.0% of her fics where only Lae’zel/PC is tagged – but 80% is a still a really high proportion! This indicates to me that a lot of the M/F in the “All Fics” chart likely does not involve Lae’zel. M/F is tagged in 33.5% of her fics with the PC, a number which is more than halved to 12.7% when otp:true is applied. 13.2% of her fics are tagged Other, which drops to 5.5% with otp:true – much less than for Shadowheart and Karlach. It seems either Lae’zel is not as popular for nonbinary OCs or that a large proportion of the Other tag is from mind flayer Tavs/Durges and people don’t write Lae’zel with a mind flayer love interest.

One other notable fact is that Lae’zel is the only female companion without any otp:true M/M PC fic. It could be due to her low fic numbers in the first place, but I prefer to think that Lae’zel fans are simply more fastidious about correctly tagging fic. It certainly fits her character.

MINTHARA

Ah, Minthara. Unquestionably the least popular of the main romanceable characters in BG3, her pairings only comprise 1.1% of all BG3 fanfic pairings, a number that rises to a whopping(/sarcastic) 1.4% of otp:true pairings. She has only 14 ship tags in the 300 most popular ship tags for BG3, a number that drops further to a mere 9 pairings once I’ve combined all the player character tags.

What’s notable about Minthara’s ship tags is the popularity of the Dark Urge relative to Tav. Minthara has 146 fics with Tav and 80 with the Dark Urge. This is a higher proportion than other main characters have. It may be because more people write her on evil routes (which likely disproportionately feature the Dark Urge) or because she has some very good lines for the Dark Urge and their Slayer form.

Another observation is the lack of primary non-PC ships. The other characters that I look at all have a major non-PC ship – Shadowheart/Lae’zel, Karlach/Wyll, Gale/Astarion, Wyll/Astarion, Halsin/Astarion. Minthara doesn’t really have that. Her most popular non-PC ship is Orin, at #5 and with a mere 45 fics. This is illustrated clearly once all the player character tags are combined.

The PC dominates Minthara’s pairings to an extent not seen with any other character, not even Astarion. She drops from 234 fics with the PC (65 otp:true) to 45 fics with Orin (26 otp:true), 32 with Karlach (16 otp:true) and 26 with Shadowheart (11 otp:true). Every other pairing has 16 or less fics. Tying into that, Minthara has very few pairings with 5 or more fics. She does not even have enough for a top 10! I have replaced her missing pairings with the :( emoji because this is sad.

Another notable thing about this chart, though, is how few fics Minthara has just in general. Lae’zel and Wyll, the other neglected companions, both have at least 500 fics with their most popular partner. Minthara does not even break 250. In fact, none of her pairings with someone other than the PC have over 50 fics.

Another interesting fact is that Minthara is the only character in this analysis to not have any threesomes or moresomes in her pairings with over 5 fics. She doesn’t share, it seems.

For some reason, Minthara has 8 ships with Councillor Florrick of all people. And it’s not all by the same author, which is what I would expect for a somewhat out there pairing. Presumably someone out there wrote a really good fic which then inspired others to play with the idea. In a small fandom like Minthara’s, one fic like that can make quite a difference.

As can be expected, Minthara’s fic categories are pretty damn gay.

F/F is tagged in 79.0% of her fics (77.6% of otp:true fics). M/M is tagged in 21.3% of her fics (17.1% of otp:true fics), Other in 6.1% (4.6% otp:true), and Multi in 8.9% though it drops to 1.3% of her otp:true fics. With these numbers, Minthara is arguably the gayest major character in the BG3 fandom by fic count, though Lae’zel beats her when you take otp:true into effect.

This pattern holds true when looking at her ship with the player character. 77.8% of her fics with the PC are tagged F/F (73.8% of otp:true fics), 23.5% are tagged M/F (15.4% otp:true), 8.5% are tagged Other (10.8% otp:true), and 9.4% are tagged Multi (3.1% otp:true). The latter is a bit confusing given that she has no multiship pairings. It may include collections of Reader/[X] fics that include Minthara.

PART 2

Welp. I’ve run into the tumblr post image limit. For part 2 of this essay, which discusses Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Halsin and then compares all 8 of the main characters against each other on a variety of metrics, see this link.

[cookie-crumblr]

Error: 222

F!Reader X Dev.In ~ Yandere AI OC

Part 6~

Part 1 here!

<—previous part __ next part —>

Their info 💾🤍

MINORS DNI!

CW: F!reader, reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, NON CON!!!- somno, Stockholm starts, sex while someone is watching(they are a thruple, so it’s p normal for this fic XD still gotta cw it tho fr :3) drugging reader, rough sex, hickey/bruising, reader in pain, creampie, p in v,size kink just for dick size,

song rec: The Singularity by Ghostmane

“Can I please bathe alone?”

“You’ve hardly been good enough to warrant—”

“Okay, Y/N, I trust you.” Issac bobs his head in approval, before grabbing onto Dev.In’s arm. They share a look that tells you he’s lying.

They both take a hand and lead you to the bathroom, a marvelous claw foot tub with nice fluffy towels all around becons you into the room.

There’s a window.

Quite high up…

But it’s there.

Your heart thrums back to life with the new blossoming hope of escape. Your breath catches in your throat.

You stay facing forward to compose yourself, not completely forgetting the suspicious look they shared just moments prior.

They both take their turn kissing you, and then they shut the door after leaving you by yourself at last! (and not in a windowless cell). You,

You don’t even see the need for a plan. a clear exit is right there!

You turn on the faucet, letting the tub fill up and you look over your shoulder every other second. Your mind spins the anticipation that one of them will walk in and see— wait! There is a camera in here, isn’t there. Though you can’t see it you bet they’re watching.

You haven’t removed your clothes yet, maybe you can make them turn it off?

You start to really play up the shy factor, covering your still clothed self and looking around frantically.

“If you guys are watching can you come in here and cover the cameras at least?” you ask timidly. Your voice is shaking, adrenaline pumping through your veins. you will get out.

but you have to do it right.

And get somewhere that Dev.In can’t see you from a satellite or whatever.

The door opens and it’s Dev.In that comes in smiling. They point to a couple places, the vent (of course) and the mirror (Again. Of course). “Those are the camera locations in this room. Issac is napping, he wasn’t watching you. I always am, my love,” Their hand traces your trembling face. They open a cupboard and pull out some extra towels, “Here, you can cover them with these.” They give you a wave as they exit.

You stand there somewhat dumbfounded until the tub starts overflowing, “Oh Shit!!” You turn the handles back to their off positions. and then get to covering the cameras that Dev.In just showed you. You cover the mirror with two towels, and then finesse the other towel behind the corners of the vent to hold it up. It fell a couple of times, but putting it back up helped calm your nerves, surprising.

You take a deep breath, and assess your surroundings once again.

There is surely a camera outside the window, and the vent was too small for you to crawl into anyway even without knowing a camera was there. So the window really is your only option.

You know you’re in a warehouse, so you’re probably by the docks. If you can get to a boat with people or just keys left behind maybe you can actually get away!

Taking another deep breath, you climb up the counter top, to get to the high up little window. It’s smaller than you thought, but you have to be able to squeeze through it.

it’s frosted so you can’t see out of it, you just see the light of day, as you try and wriggle it open with just your fingers to no avail.

There’s metal nail tools in one of the cupboards, so you grab all the sturdiest ones, and get back to work.

You try and do it quietly knowing the cameras are still on, sweat is beading on your forehead and dripping down onto your clavicle.

You throw something into the tub to make a noise as you wedge the window open at last!

You use the tools to cut through the screen and start to claw the cement outside to get out.

“Y/N.” Issac’s voice startles you from outside the window.

He has a concerned look on his face, and he’s bending over you… He was standing right outside the entire time.

no…

“Oh! I uh— just wanted fresh air…”

“You should of asked us…” He says flatly, it’s scary and strange for his normally so expressively adorable self. You can’t tell what he’s feeling or thinking and that, is scaring you the most.

You climb back inside and notice you’re shaking violently.

It’s no use.

You start to sob into your palms. It really is no use.

“Y/N, it’s okay, we knew you’d try something…” His voice is softer now, maybe he isn’t mad, so you chance a glance upward.

He climbed in through the window, while you were sobbing and is now crossing the room to you. He wraps his thin, baggy-sweater-covered arms around your upper half tightly. Probably too tightly but it honestly helps. You start to sob harder into his body, as he pets your back his other hand moves slowly up to your throat where you feel a sharp pinch and fall unconscious.

They strip your limp body, and then themselves, and get all three of you into the tub.

Dev.in is relaxing behind you, while Issac is in front, hugging you. His legs are crossed and your in his lap spread over Issac.

His dick stands at attention prodding and poking at your entrance, while Dev watches. Your head is lolling backwards, and Issac kisses your neck. His lips sloppily take over your bare skin, biting hard enough to leave marks and sucking on you even harder. His hickeys form instantly, a much darker colour than your skin.

He’s trying so hard to not enter you, but his body is shaking as he’s already almost cumming beneath you, even with just the thought of your pussy around his length. And boy, he’s got a lot of length, with his almost eleven inch cock. Too bad he has no idea how big he is or how to use it without hurting you yet. He’s happy your asleep, you won’t have to feel any pain! He shoves himself up into you in the same moment he realizes that fact, not thinking about how sore you’ll be upon awakening.

Dev.In smirks, their arms lax around the edges of the claw foot tub.

You stretch around his girthy, veiny cock as he raises his lap to meet your ass. You’re so tight around him, even in the water it would hurt you so badly… If you were awake.

He starts to really abuse your body, cunt first. The water sloshes over the rim of the tub, and doesn’t dampen the pain, you’re almost lucky you’re out of it.

He finishes fast but keeps pumping his softening, still massive cock inside you. Semen gets shoved even deeper than he shot it into you as he continues to stuff your ragdolling body.

When you wake up, you’re in so much pain you can’t stand. Even your hip wound hurts again. it might be a five out of ten if you’re being optimistic, sure it isn’t blinding, but your whole body feels like sore, dead weight. The room spins when you try to sit up, and Issac’s hands come onto your back and shoulder to gently ease you into his tight embrace.

You grab onto him and start sobbing without words.

“It’s okay, Y/N, we’re here for you, it’s okay,” He quietly coos you. “It’ll be alright, just do as we say, okay?”

You nod your head and ball your fists into his sweater.

You don’t remember what you want right now. And it feels so good to cry into Issac as he pets, and shushes you continuously.

Dev.In stands, leaning against the door frame, their smirk not having left their face.

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Friday everyone! Hope everyone is keeping safe and looking after themselves and each other in this here creative sandbox we're all playing in. I'm back again with another round of the fic I've been reading so far this month! You can find previous rec lists here.

16 August 2024

like i like my honey by @buick118 is a lovely one shot for some super sweet, romantic and caring domestic henren looking out for each other through the years! Hen's healing touch coming out in force to keep Karen looked after. This just made me feel so warm and happy, I love them and their love for each other so much! Plus the title is a Kehlani reference. YES.

when i see stars, that's all they are by @ithilien-writes was a gorgeous fill for the mixed media prompt of @summerofbuddie in which Eddie finds himself at a loose end and unwilling to go back to an empty home, so impulsively signs up to a community poetry class at the local library, makes some friends, and finds a way to channel his feelings. I really loved the slight fish out of water but giving it a go anyway vibe here, and how Eddie found putting his thoughts into words in poetic forms helped him to actualise his feelings.

an inch away from more than just friends by @littlespoonevan I absolutely adored and previously recommended part one which gave me all the romantic Eddie feels, and was eagerly anticipated part two and it did NOT disappoint!! In which Buck puts two and two together after Eddie shares a little of what he's been working through in therapy, and is determined to give Eddie the romancing he wants and deserves! The only problem is all the things Buck's doing to woo him it turns out he's kind of been doing all along. So so sweet, considerate and romantic. Beautifully written. I could just live here.

instructions on not giving up by @wildehacked this one's a hard hitter. Eddie's not coping and Buck is too worried to leave him alone, so invites him to join he and Tommy on their romantic hike getaway when disaster strikes. When the helicopter goes down after Tommy has a serious seizure, Buck and Eddie are grievously hurt and left to depend on each other to survive. Is rescue on the way? This packs an emotional punch but is well worth it for angst fans. Heed the trigger warnings! (Tommy is treated with respect but there is MCD, and suicidal ideation from Eddie.) Ow! My heart. It hurted so good?!

can't tell where you end (and i begin) by @absolutelybifurious Ravi invites the 118 out to a club, things escalate. Inspired by Ryan Guzman in Step Up (which I admit I've never seen but I HAVE seen behind the scenes rehearsal footage...hello), in which Eddie's got moves and Buck's got a problem about it. With a Lucy Donato cameo (yes thank you) and some very sultry dirty dancing. What more could you want?

the parts we play by @calinaannehart I have been absolutely loving following along with this actor!Buck au as a wip, and with just one more chapter to go now is the perfect time to start reading it! 'Buck isn’t a firefighter, he just plays one on TV, or at least that’s what he’s about to do. He’s offered the chance to shadow the 118 to learn what it’s like to be a firefighter. Eddie is fed up with these Hollywood types turning up and feigning interest in the job that he loves. Buck, however, is nothing like that and everyone can see the connection they have.' This feels really beautifully in character for an au and is expertly weaving in canon and reinterpreting it through the film star lens. So much fun to read.

PS - that's it for this week but as always, I'm on the lookout for henren centric fic, and early days Buck and Tommy (I like it best when it fits neatly into where we've left off in canon).

Feel free to self rec!

[presleyintheworld]

This is the first chapter of my fic Man of Mystery (title subject to change) about Raylan trying to solve the mystery of Tim's personal life. The rest of the chapters will be published on AO3 (CalamityKid) as I write them. It hasn't been beta read, but I tried my best. I hope you enjoy!

Trigger warnings: references to child abuse, alcoholism, and PTSD.

☆☆☆

Tim didn’t take days off. Voluntarily, at least. If Raylan had set that bar on the ground, Tim crawled under it.

The last time, after he’d taken a bullet to the shoulder at the hands of one of Audrey’s ladies of the night, he’d lasted a three whole days inside the desolate white walls of Lexington County Hospital before convincing Raylan to break him out. He was back at his desk by the end of the week.

Art was well-aware of Raylan’s demons, the recurrent daddy issues and the self-righteous vigilante act that stemmed from them, but he’d yet to pin down Tim’s particular brand of fucked up. Why he showed up early and stayed too late. Why a mere few days out of the office seemed to make him twitch with a nondescript restless energy. Why he never smelled like booze when they both knew he’d spent the previous night losing a battle to Jack Daniel’s. It would have been easy to blame his time in the service and the vague allusions he’d make every so often to the things he’d seen there. But Tim wasn’t easy. Not in that way, at least. No, Art got the impression that war hadn’t been Tim’s problem—his initial one, anyway; it had been his solution.

There was an ambiguous nature to Tim that inspired speculation, a fill-in-the-blank of a redacted government document. He was something of a conspiracy theory in and of himself around the office, the reticent hotshot sniper with perpetually tired eyes and a stack of fantasy novels on his desk by his gun. Any real knowledge or perspective on the man was a hard-won victory, and even that seemed superficial at best, like the way a person can talk without saying anything at all. Art had read his file, of course: his body count and service record, the psych evals he’d managed to pass, but it was like solving a puzzle with missing pieces. Reading a book with a prologue scribbled over in pen. He let it slide because Tim was still Tim—steadfast, reliable, professional where it counted. He let it slide and hoped neither of them paid for it.

He'd been insisting for weeks that Tim take some time away from work. Only a day or two, if that was easier to stomach than the full extent of the vacation days he’d hoarded over the span of his career. The odds had been stacked against him even broaching the subject and he’d never been much of a gambling man, but he’d been pleasantly surprised when Tim accepted the offer with minimal pushback. It was ironic then that he was the one to summon Tim to the VFW on his first day off.

The first thing Raylan asked when Tim strolled onto the scene was a critical, “Are you drunk?” A question which, as a rule of thumb, Art thought, was not particularly something you wanted to hear asked of a US Marshal with a sharpshooter’s aim and questionable PTSD diagnosis. Or lack thereof.

Tim drunk wasn’t really that much different from Tim sober, save for maybe an indistinct haziness that seemed to settle over him, like a painter blending out the harsh edges of a brushstroke. Everything about him seemed more relaxed in a way that felt…genuine, noticeably different from the calculated sense of indifference with which he carried himself day-to-day. He was less put-together than Raylan had ever seen him at work, less guarded in a way that was so unfamiliar he was nearly unrecognizable. His usual collared shirt had been exchanged for an oversized flannel, the fabric worn in places from years of use. The edge of an intricate tattoo on his chest that could just be made out above the neckline, a set of dog tags visible around his neck despite his tendency to deflect conversation regarding his service. All pieces of the puzzle.

His hair bordered on just this side of disheveled, as if he’d only pulled himself out of bed at Art’s call. Raylan couldn’t decide if he looked his age or thirty years older. It prompted the question of what Tim would even be like in a decade or two; whether he’d be inside this very building, clinging to war stories and whiskey like so many of the aging veterans that sat around recalling their glory days. It was hard to picture.

“Was tryin’ to be,” Tim hummed absently. He rubbed the heel of his hand into his eye like a small child just woken from a midday nap.

Raylan cocked his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Why?” His tone held more curiosity than concern. Mysteries were like an itch beneath his skin and Tim was the walking embodiment of one, the bastard.

Tim leveled him with an unimpressed stare, swaying slightly on his feet. If he hadn’t finished that last drink, maybe he’d have had the mind to confront Raylan on his hypocrisy. Instead, he just sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, fingers lingering to massage a migraine from his temples. “My boyfriend’s away and I’m codependent,” he finally said, letting his hand fall away. He didn’t give the remark any time to land before he was shouldering past them and flashing his ID to the guard.

Art just shrugged tiredly when Raylan glanced at him. He exuded the same energy as a weary parent who had long since given up understanding his children.

Raylan added this comment to the list of times he couldn’t differentiate between Tim’s laconic sarcasm and his passive honesty. The man had a way of speaking that made everything sound sarcastic and true all at once. He’d consider it impressive if it weren’t so damn annoying.

[lorelune]

loreeeee, i read the blade fic update and i CANT. express. how much i love your writing (again LOL). ugh, the way you write thoughts, mentalities, how ppl navigate and take in info...insane. INSANE. ugh,,,,,,im sorry but having adrenaline "tumble between the eyes" or the weird sureness of his thoughts but still being unidentifiable (unintelligible? or there little understanding of the source of specific thoughts) in and of themselves...the way you write makes me FERAL. im savoring it so much, i just bit into the juiciest orange, the ripest strawberry, took a mouthful of the crispest apple cider ive ever tasted in my life--(sorry im low on sugar rn HAHA)

i have a lot to say. but not enough mental space to go through all of it...but i do want to mention how you wrote the retrospective scenes of blade being washed by kafka, it was captured so well. i know this kind of experience is very nuanced, and i think you expressed how blade processed it well. especially how this shows up in pieces thereafter in the rest of the fic, it's different from just mentioning or referring to a past moment. you threaded the experience to the present and from reading your works overall, i believe this is a "trademark" of your writing, at least to me.

the trademark is that there is purpose in every mention, there is delicacy in choosing a perspective and the lens in which the world is viewed or something is experienced by a character...there is a specific atmosphere, headspace, etc., that you want to convey and the entire thing is brought together with every sentence that follows the previous. youre making these connections, however small they may be, between shards of the characters' lives...it feels like you properly chewed them so you got the texture, flavor profile, salinity, etc., of those characters. it's what got me hooked onto you works, and im afraid (feral, positive) youre only getting better at it. im in trouble (eager) :D

this is small, but i personally love seeing purely from one chara's pov, i love unreliable narrator-esque stuff, it just tickles something in me, maybe bc life is THAT subjective to the one living it (also AP Lit was one of my fav classes back in hs, so is it rlly a surprise LMAO). i love connotations, questionable morals, existential dilemmas, all of it. and seeing that blade is full of the latter two, im SO up for it. i also love how he's constantly (unconsciously) trying to be mindful of the space he takes up, even if he chooses to not care for certain (most) ppl. idk, to me thats a testament to his previous life/experience, and it just adds lore (see what i did there :3) and depth to everything. and im so looking forward to see how he navigates and learns (pog self reflection!) about his violent urges/tendencies, and what they mean for him (and mc)--and even if he doesn't i am looking forward to your writing 🙏

this is not even 1/4 of what i wanted to say LMFAOO, but its 1am for me and i need some sleep...thank you for this lore. :) we are blessed to have you share your talent, its my spiders thread in the hellscape im in (life), love you always, stay healthy and happy lunar new yr if you celebrate!!

SLEEEPY 🥺!! thank you for the kind words!!!!! 🥺💕💕💕!!!!! i am screaming crying throwing UP i appreciate your feedback so so much!!!!!

rambling under the cut <3

writing blade for the architect has been both like.... deeply cathartic and so very different from any character i have written for!!! i don't write a ton in character POV, however blade's feels unique and interesting in a way that keeps me going back to him. the dynamic between blade and reader is so interesting to continue to revisit, and writing their relationship expand and change has been very fun!!

blade is truly monstrous, but not for any of the reasons he thinks. his monstrous is monstrous in the way that he shouldn't exist or be alive, and that he essentially a human weapon, but how he feels isn't monstrous. he's coping. poorly. and through centuries of compounded trauma and an accumulation of mara. he absolutely sees some of himself in reader and can't help but want to ... protect them? if nothing else be near them. it's horrific, the way he thinks, but not monstrous. and i think that's an important distinction in the architect!!!

blade is an incredibly unreliable narrator. it is integral to the story (moreso as we go on) that he is unreliable. his own confusion is woven into the plot and vital to his relationship with the reader. his feelings towards you are a tangled mess, and so much of that comes from his own fractured consciousness.

its been very fun to write and dive into it just like... explore. full send. i started the architect originally as a drabble that was supposed to be uneditted LOL and i didn't want to pull any punches with the implications and like... 'darkness' of the story. i'm glad that you have enjoyed it sleepy and THANK YOU for your comments and elaborations, they truly make my day and get me hype to continue the story too <33 thank you thank you thank you 💞💞💞

[ltcolonelcarter]

I don’t even know if there’s any LEFT IN THAT WRITER ASK. So I’m making up my own questions.

Has there been a particular theme or part of one of your stories that you wished got more attention? Like a one-liner that has you !!!! inside every time you reread it?

If you had an OC crossover, which would it be and why?

If you could will the vibes from any of your stories into real life, which one are you most likely to do? And why is it last call?

I LOVE YOU BABE!!! ♥️🧡💛💚💙💜I’ve got my knife ready, just waiting for you😌

send me a fanfic ask

OH YOU.

I got inundated in the BEST way. I had such a good time yelling about writing last night oh my gooood. I was a bit dizzy by the end of it. I owe so many people messy kisses. anyway

Has there been a particular theme or part of one of your stories that you wished got more attention? Like a one-liner that has you !!!! inside every time you reread it?

you’re gonna be able to predict this, but the themes in a question of time are jUST. I work so hard on it. the themes are so self-referential in places: it feels a little ridiculous to write sometimes but it’s like it’s spiralling in on itself. that was the feeling I wanted to capture.

I’m not sure the full picture of what I’m trying to do in aqot is even visible yet, really, because… you won’t see the view until I’ve published chapter 8. I have SO many references to previous events, a few new bits of information that… change… what’s already happened. I wanted to create that sense (in multiple places) of the world shifting in response to new information - that moment where you see stuff DIFFERENTLY and can’t go back. from the perspective of the writer it’s hard to measure how successful I’ve been so far, but… there should be another drop coming. I’m excited to see what everyone thinks.

There’s a few lines of dialogue I’ve written that just made me want to punch something in joy bc they captured the essence of a character, or the vibe that I wanted, really really well. I always forget them until I reread, so I’ll just give you a smattering of my favourites.

This moment in aqot stands out:

Connor didn’t validate the question with a response, which only inspired a white-hot fury in Sixty. “You deviated, Connor!” Sixty screamed. “You failed!” “No.” Despite the circumstances, Connor’s voice was low. Gentle. “I didn’t fail. My mission changed.”

I can see Sixty in this moment SO CLEARLY. I love the moment a character breaks, and this is that: he’s done this too much, failed too many times, it’s just the raw nerves left. he’s barrelling towards rock bottom and he still doesn’t understand. sigh. especially bc (spoiler) sixty has _such_ a habit of following in Connor’s footsteps

two, from let him hear:

“Well, he could be looking at me. How could I blame him when the view’s this good?” You shoot Sixty a look, aiming for withering. By the flash of teeth, you know you weren’t convincing. “But I doubt it.”

listen, I’m not too proud to tell you I laughed myself stupid when I wrote that. Literally like: yep, that’s Sixty, no editing required

You don’t need to look at Sixty’s face. His grin is unmistakable in every word. “Oh, I’ve definitely seen her.”

This one I had written when I was working on the PREMISE, before I’d even started the fic. I could HEAR him saying it, that slight laugh in his voice. still tickles me.

from last call I could honestly pick a lot, bc I worked on showing a lot of emotion in hopefully subtle ways, but these stand out:

He bows his head closer to you when he speaks in reply, voice quieter, almost lost to the noise of the room. “I will attempt to satisfy you.” You don’t have an answer for that.

he surprised me with that one

“A cure for curiosity,” he smiles at you, conspiratorial, and you pin him with a questioning stare. “At least, a temporary one.”

@staticl0ve pointed this one out in her LOVELY comment, but I was SO SO HAPPY with this line. it sounds so much like Connor to me.

He keeps you company until you’re feeling like yourself. When the rain starts falling heavily and you jolt away from the spray of cold droplets, he steps back into the rain to give you back your space; surprised, you watch him, the raindrops that trail down his face, through the soft strands of his hair, and notice he’s prioritising you over himself again.

You reach out and pull him back under the shelter until you’re standing, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the rain.

SIGH I live the quiet moments of character growth. this is her admitting to herself for the first time that she’s attached, but more than that, that she’d rather keep him close than keep her barriers up. that he’s worth being seen. I’m going to smash something I just need a minute

OH also: honourable mention to any time I use the title in-fic. It’s PURELY self indulgent. I fucking love that shit. if I was still publishing under anon I’m p sure it’d give me away.

I could probably five seventy more little moments I've written that I'm really, really happy with, but I've been gratuitously self indulgent already, so i'll finish with one last part: there are a lot of little moments in the echoes and reflections prologue that will (eventually) hold a lot more significance than they do at the moment. I have a lot of plans for that fic: it's not going to be happy barely at all, but I'm so so excited about the exploration of character. they're all going to such a dark place. shout out to @dattebae not only for writing the middle ground, the au on which this au is based, but for letting me play with her iteration of sixty. I am so utterly full of love and bewilderment at the trust. give me an hour I simply must kiss my wife

If you had an OC crossover, which would it be and why?

OC CROSSOVER ASGAJAGAGSHA okay sO for starters I need them all in a room together, immediately, and if it’s the bar from last call I will Not complain. I have a few upcoming OCs I have not introduced…..but I’m very excited about them. unbruised has one arriving imminently, as you WELL know, and she’s my new favourite, I think: I think she’d be my pick for crossover bc she’s just SO irascible. I love her dearly.

it would be fun to see Ali in Let Him Hear. he can argue with the best of them. he'd love that environment (and the free drinks).

also Jo. I don’t need to explain that one. you get it. who DOESN'T love a giant carebear-ass IDIOT. no-one. obviously.

If you could will the vibes from any of your stories into real life, which one are you most likely to do? And why is it last call?

okay so this one made me snort out LOUD raya. I cannot believe you. this is absurd. stop it immediately.

you're fucking right, which is more annoying. I think last call is such a mundane setting, and it's so tangible, and what I didn't realise when I was writing it is that every part of it takes place in one location. it's a fucking bottle episode.

but I think that lends it something: by the second scene you know the place, have the feel of it, so it's so so easy to feel the place. I love that so much about it. rereading it feels like it felt when I'd walk through it in my head. it's a place I've visited. I could almost touch it.

honorable mention is let him hear, actually: the busy social scene in the yawning winter, bright streetlight in frosty air, the hum and swell of voices, and the thrill of meeting someone new and interesting who, despite the odds, sees you. there's something precious in that, I think.

[frizzy-frizz-frizz]

"the kevjean dynamic has me in a chokehold i cant stop thinking about them." SAME and I think its so valid of us there's too little of them out there whether it's romantic or platonic it's actually a crime

"i should reread it again" lmao that's exactly what I'm doing I'm currently halfway through chapter 3 (now 5 now the sequel and I'm done i might reread it again now since its complete). Also lost??? Omg you're so so correct here. "But if only you could see yourself in my eyes you'd see you shine, you shine I know you'd never leave me behind but I am lost this time" you are so so correct here

"these three will be the end of me i swear." THIS ENTIRE PARAGRAPH WILL BE THE END OF ME I SWEAR

"even the AGES are right." I KNOW HOW DOES IT FIT SO WELL

"my interpretation is VERY self indulgement." Self indulge away I'm here for it

"i associate my tears ricochet with post-baltimore kandrew." Lmao listen I thought this but then I was like perhaps that's too controversial idk but I'm so glad you went for it anyway

"FIRMLY believe andrew has had some horrible horrible thoughts about being like every person who's hurt kevin." I AM SO WITH YOU HERE THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I THOUGHT

"listen those two are practically melded together okay" they rlly rlly are okay I'm in the middle of Andrews pov in tnotg sequel and I'm having feelings

"SOBBING THESE TWO THEY END ME I WILL NEVER STOP TALKING ABOUT THEM" hurting each other = hurting themselves

"once again, about kevin running away to the foxes and jean being at the nest" ykw this is such a valid interpretation but I refuse to believe that they didn't at least somewhat repair their relationship post canon okay I need them to be roommates okay

"BUT for extra sad you can remember all the drafts nora wrote where Jean died." BABE LITERALLY WHY THE FUCK WOULD I WANT TO REMEMBER THAT I ACTIVELY TRY AND NOT THINK ABOUT THAT I'm so fucking glad we had him joining the trojans instead that's so so much happier I remember the previous drafts and I need to lie the fuck down

"Andrew digging his heels and yet following Kevin and he promises andrew the world and them drags him towards it" YOU GET IT they were fucking attached at the hip

I am now actually incapable of listening to willow without thinking of kandrew the same way I can't listen to liability without thinking of kevin or dorothea without kevneil or two birds without kevjean

YOUVE ADDED THIS IS ME TRYING listen the way this song gets to me "I had the shiniest wheels now they're rusting" Literally him breaking his hand "Could've followed my fears all the way down" KEVIN "I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere fell behind on my classmates, and I ended up here" is this not him going from a raven to a fox???? "but I didn't pour the whiskey" the song's also about alcohol addiction this song's now linked to him in my head

Okay I have listened to silence before but with them??? "I found peace in your violence" yes I can see this "Can't show me there's no point in trying" is this not the entire point of their deal??? Kevin constantly trying to get him to try and to give him something to build his life around??? But also in reverse andrew giving him the chance to learn how to play again??? "I'm in need of a savior but I'm not asking for favors" GODDAMN "I'm so used to being in the wrong, I'm tired of caring" andrew core

I'm not ok is so pre-canon kandrew the way I dont even know which lyrics to start quoting first "I can be a handful but that's why you have two hands" lmao accurate I don't even know which one of them that could refer to "I can be a danger, danger for you" I THINK IM JUST GOING TO HAVE TO QUOTE THE WHOLE SONG "Too many issues, so I wouldn't blame you" ITS THEM???

505??? I LOVE 505 "If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive" yk how in tnotg andrew flies to Boston bc kevins team would be there. Sorry I'm never shutting up about this fic ever "I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck or I did last time I checked" I NEED A MOMENT SHIT HOW DID I FORGET THIS LINE WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WHY WOULD YOU SUGGEST THIS IM NEVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO MOVE PAST THIS OH MY GOD "But I crumble completely when you cry" BABE YOU KNOW THAT ONE BIT IN TNOTG SEQUEL "If Andrew turns his head now, and finds Kevin quietly crying, it'll be the only thing that has ever happened to him." Yeah I'm def rereading this the way I can never stop thinking of it its THE kandriel post canon fic. "It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye" Post graduation vibes everytime they meet they know it won't last long FUCK I'm obsessed with this song with them you've given me crack

I am not a robot okay okay you mention a song by marina and you've got my attention with every lyric I keep flip flopping between who the song is talking about "You've been acting awful tough lately smoking a lot of cigarettes lately" bc this is clearly andrew right but then "you don't always have to be on top better to be hated than loved loved loved for what you're not" which is so kevin??? Lowkey the way raven fans turned on him when he joined the foxes "I'm vulnerable I am not a robot" this could honestly be either of them the way both of them are viewed by the ppl around them

WOLVES WITHOUT TEETH YOURE SO RIGHT FOR THIS “Open my chest and colour my spine” I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START WITH THIS the idea that andrew was doing his best to hold up kevins spine for like months until he could do it himself "I'll be the blood if you'll be the bones" I don't know why but in my mind kevin is clearly the blood while andrew is the bones "hover like a hummingbird haunt me in my sleep" they were fucking attached at the hip obsessed with each other and OKAY SO THE CHORUS you would not believe what i found on genius lyrics "They are not running from the physical thing, but from what the thing represents emotionally. A wolf prostrate and panting is seeking permission for something, it wants it, but needs consent. The “tearing with out teeth” is the emotional pain of the mutual love and attraction they share, but cannot express." I actually can't look at this any other way now wtf was this person on when they wrote this annotation why does it work so well for them my god "how can I keep you inside my lungs" listen I'm sorry to keep bringing up tnotg but also tnotg andrew to kevin

Ghost of you by 5sos kinda reminds me of kandrew but like post baltimore (PLS I ACTUALLY WROTE THIS BEFORE YOU SENT THAT ASK and yes you absolutely should create a kandrew playlist if you want i'll be here for it) yk the whole missing someone who isn't there's anymore "still can't sleep on your side" them not being able to sleep in the same bed bc of a whole host of issues for both of them but also bc kevins gone and moved out "dancing through our house with the ghost of you" he's not there anymore when he's been within arms reach before "when you ran away, and no one could feel your hurt" LIKE ITS THEM

Also idk if this is bc I've just started twisting every song I listen to until it relates to aftg but endgame for kandriel??? Like first part is Kandrew the second verse is kevineil and third verse is andriel?? This either works rlly well and I'm correct or I've completely lost my mind (but like "I protect you with my life...reconnected when we were little bit older...i hit you like bang...calling my bluff on all my usual tricks"???)

Have you considered Dollhouse by Melanie bc it lowkey describes the nest/perfect court the idea that the public sees smth that it totally false while shit is going down behind the scene like "everyone thinks that we're perfect please don't let them look through the curtains" "smile for the picture pose with your brother"

LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR IN ON YOUR PLAYLIST "All of this turbulence wasn’t forecasted" him expecting to stay at the nest for college and then having to leave and all the drama that came after "I am relieved I left my room tidy" HIS ROOM AT THE NEST and when neil was there and it was like all perfectly preserved "they’ll never know how I’d stared at the dark in that room with no thoughts" again the nest?? It has just occurred to me that this could apply to jean as well "my dreams made music in the night" both of them dreaming of being able to get out one day "I was going to live" THEM FINALLY BEING ABLE TO LEAVE "you’d say you love me and look in my eyes but I know through mine you were looking in yours" okay okay but is this not kevin and rikos entire relationship riko looking at kevin but only viewing himself through it bc kevin was just an extension of himself and not his own person

Also Life on your playlist works so well???? "twenty-two and confused" this is like nothing new all over again bc HOW DOES THE AGE FIT "broken miss America" kevin being one of America's sweethearts is like so personal to me. WHICH REMINDS ME Miss America and the Heartbreak prince fits so so well for kandrew I feel like I've definitely seen someone mention it somewhere but I can't for the life of me remember who or where but god does it work I mean "I saw the scoreboard and ran for my life" pls see the vision I need your opinion

Queen of the night also works so well for them you're right EVERY LINE IS SO THEM "I've bandaged your bruises you've held back my hair who'd've known when this started that we'd end up here" pre canon to post canon them growing into ppl who can be good to and for each other "you reach out and touch me, say my name like a prayer" I need to go lie down how dare you suggest this song "all my friends say you're dangerous but I don't fucking care" okay my first thought was pre-canon ppl warning them to stay away from each other bc kevin could potentially bring down the mafia on andrew and Andrews whole stay away I'm dangerous vibe but like the only friends they had pre canon were like jean and renee??? So lol no there was no-one telling them to keep away from each other "This holy redemption tears us in two but I can't turn my back to you" Post baltimore divorce era vibes babe "one hand on the wheel and one hand on my thigh" lmao listen its a cliche but I feel like andrew would enjoy it with like Kevin or Neil in the passenger seat as long as no one is watching them "you're kissing my fingers, and I kiss your tattoo's" HOW DARE YOU RECOMMEND THIS SONG TO ME HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE THIS also I'm a strong believer of multiple tattoos older kevin (his dad has them and there's this one fanart by lucky-slice that's so lovely and you can rip this out of my cold dead hands). "and talk shit forever" lmao domestic kandriel shit talking ppl and gossiping is my jam

This got long I'm slightly concerned it won't send lol

line break for my lovely mutuals <3

lol my answers is just as long and i lowkey wanna post this without a paragraph break and plague people's dash

'there's too little of them out there whether it's romantic or platonic it's actually a crime' RIGHT?? kevjean is soooo scarce so of course we get to make everything about them. their specific dynamic is just so special and i am hooked on it

SAME im currently rereading tnotg this series is my lifeline. dayurno is a genius i owe them my life

' Lmao listen I thought this but then I was like perhaps that's too controversial idk but I'm so glad you went for its anyway' I couldnt bear to remove it!! i have so many feeling about this song i had to sit there and process it bear to remove this song not when it so so perfect and i am always in need of more material about the

YES someone agrees with me about my tears ricochet this is so validating. and YEAH the cherry liquor ice cream in the tnotg sequel!! i was never the same. i think of that scene a lot while listening to this song. they are SO- canonically attached at the hip kandrew really will end me huh 'Lmao listen I thought this but then I was like perhaps that's too controversial idk but I'm so glad you went for it anyway' oh there was no way i was skipping THIS SONG i have sooo many feeling about it its essential kandrew divorce era shit

i am DESPERATE for kevin and jean to get something of a happy ending I want them to find peace so badly they will absolutely rebuild post canon this is not up for argument.....but I may or may not read an unhealthy amount of kevjean agnst. but honestly if nora had killed off jean after ALL OF THAT I would've just put the book down right then and there i couldn't that bro i COULDNT

"they were fucking attached at the hip" they were they really were like- knowing each schedule and every little habit THEY ARE BASICALLY MARRIED

YEAH willow is so so perfect i listen to it on repeat i cant help it and i understand you so completely its impossible to separate liability and kevin in my mind now

' "I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere fell behind on my classmates, and I ended up here" is this not him going from a raven to a fox??? ' god yes this lyrics is what did it for me. this song is so so so inherently kevin with his stubbron single minded focus. kevin who's never done anything halfway flying or fighting or falling. ' "but I didn't pour the whiskey" the song's also about alcohol addiction this song's now linked to him in my head' YES YES cause it is absolutely criminal how little his alcoholism is addressed in this fandom i NEED more fics where its a main plot point.

' is this not the entire point of their deal??? Kevin constantly trying to get him to try and to give him something to build his life around??? But also in reverse andrew giving him the chance to learn how to play again??? ' akdnfnsjnndj YEAH YOU GET IT ITS SO THEM i cant believe it took me so long to consider this but now. i cannot stop.

'I THINK IM JUST GOING TO HAVE TO QUOTE THE WHOLE SONG "Too many issues, so I wouldn't blame you" ITS THEM ' JUST THE WHOLE SONG I COULDNT BELIEVE IT WASNT WRITTEN FOR THEM

"yk how in tnotg andrew flies to Boston bc kevins team would be there" not andrew Afraid Of Heights minyard getting on a fucking plane to got to an EXY event of all things just cause kevin will be there and- ngl that was may favourite kandrew scene in tnotg its PERFECT I LOVE IT. 505 KILLED ME AND BROUGHT ME BACK TO LIFE THAT LINE JUST ENDED ME RIGHT THERE HOW IS IT JUST SO- if i have to be stuck on this forever so do you "BABE YOU KNOW THAT ONE BIT IN TNOTG SEQUEL" EXACTLY you get it!! I was actually rereading tnotg when 505 came on and I FROZE it was SO PERFECT. I feel you I'd forgotten that lyric existed but now I listen to it on repeat I cant stop its so so so perfect it might as well be crack

'I keep flip flopping between who the song is talking about' right?? and every other line could be about either of them god they are so complementary but also theyre so much more alike than people realise at first and this song shows that so well. THIS WHOLE SONG IS BASICALLY KANDREW ARGUING BACK AND FORTH DONT YOU SEE "andrew, mockcingly: Who you never really liked and you never trusted But you are so magnetic, you pick up all the pins", "kevin: Never committing to anything, You don't pick up the phone when it ring, ring, rings", "both of them: Don't be so pathetic, just open up and sing"

' "I'll be the blood if you'll be the bones" I don't know why but in my mind kevin is clearly the blood while andrew is the bones' I HAD THE SAME THOUGHT!! it just fits so well?? youre right. And no no PLEASE continue mentioning tnotg i actually added this song because of tnotg. remember that one scene where neil thought andrew would slash his chest open for kevin and kevin walk into his chest and never look back?? YEA this exactly. omg omg i hadnt see the analysis of the song "I actually can't look at this any other way now wtf was this person on when they wrote this annotation why does it work so well for them my god" SAME this now lives rent free in my head i cant see it any other way either

'Ghost of you by 5sos kinda reminds me of kandrew but like post baltimore (PLS I ACTUALLY WROTE THIS BEFORE YOU SENT THAT ASK ' THE COINCEDNCE LMAO. no no but youre right and this song is so them like im supposed to hear "and i chase it down with a shot of truth, that my feet dont dance like they did with you" and NOT think of those dramatic fuckers?? when its clearly about them finding their sides feeling too empty?? their schedules out of balance?? their steps ungraceful after each movement was complementary...steps in a dance....give and take....at eqilibrium with each other for years?? how does one walk when the constant comforting weight by their side has been ripped away leaving bruised skin in his wake?? disgracefully that's how.

ENDGAME i hadnt considered BUT YOURE RIGHT I SEE IT. or maybe my brain is the saame and twits everything into being all about these exny idiots...perhaps we'll never know. immediately the kandreil of it all with the "oh and i got big enemies" and these dramatics fucks and their very different reputations. and THEN "you hold me down and i protect you with my life" VERSE ONE COMING IN WITH KANDREW.

i really really like the kevneil portion in endgame sooo much tho ' "I protect you with my life…reconnected when we were little bit older" ' THIS IS SO NEIL SINGING "Even when we'd argue, we don't do it for long, And you understand the good and bad, end up in the song" them CONSTANTLY arguing on and off court and kevin being the only one who understands all of neil, who knows the whole story, neil being the only fox who GETS what the nest is like....even BEFORE the nathaneil reveal kevin SEES him he picks him out of hundreds of potential players because he understands, KNOWS his game, his potential ON SIGHT (im confident this would be the case in any universe, kevin constantly finding him).

GOOD GOD THE ANDREIL AT THE END "calling my bluff on all my usual tricks" literally end me now cause they learnt each other so fluently in so little time "And I can't let you go, your hand print's on my soul" THIS LYRIC?? , andrew's hands always firm and decided yet always always kind....how could he go very long without his touch now that he's felt it? now that the memory is cooling balm on his skin on his soul?? "I hit you like bang" neil coming in like a whirlwind becoming essentially so quickly!! (and also andrew hitting him with the raquet in tfc lol)....imma put this song on my kevin playlist..the andreil portion can be like a fun extra in the middle of all the kevin vibes

dollhouse is very interesting i dont listen to melanie much i hadnt considered this.....but damn the vibes are so so much like the nest. kevin having to play the part of #2 of the perferct court...riko's brother...the raven with the perfect life...the media darling. no one really knows what goes on in the nest behind closed doors. no one can ever hear what kevin actually wants to say and that's the thing!! he's been voiceless his whole life....being torn apart in private and then paraded around like a show pony in public. god kevin day has been trapping in plastic wrapping for so long. I NEED THIS SONG IN THE PLAYLIST

LIFE IS SO PERFECT YOU GET IT. tbh the age mentioned is why i started thinking about kevin with this song in mind and now i cant stop. yessssss kevin day the media darling the broken miss america!!! a large part of my playlist is based around this i cant- "SHE WROTE IT ON THE BATHROOM WALL IN HER FAVOURITE SHADE OF LIPSTICK L I F E" there's just something so- kevin about that action. its barely thought through yet desperate yet so so resolute somehow. I CANT EXPLAIN but this song?? it is EXACTLY the emotions/attitude i imagine kevin would have during his healing process especially post baltimore. "Call it a night when the lights in the club dont shine no more" AND THEN "Call it a night when the lights in the studio dont shine no more" i mean come ON

'EVERY LINE IS SO THEM' RIGHT?? literally every part of it is perfect ilisten to this while imagining them on a drive alone to wherever they like aka a date not that andrew would call it that, and andrew gets to watch kevin bask in the sunlight and kevinn gets to watch him unwind and just- the heavy comfort these two can find in each other WHILE being the person one who can fully rile the other up (until neil). ' "you reach out and touch me, say my name like a prayer" I need to go lie down how dare you suggest this song ' HAHA i had the same reaction this song is on par with 505 in terms of utterly destructive lyrics in the context of kandrew.

ngl one of my favourite songs on the kandrew playlist is alone with me by vance joy like i heard the first line and i sold immediately this song is SO THEM YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO IT "i saw you smile, i knew you had spirit" ISNT THIS THAT ONE SCENE "so, did you have fun?" "youre despicable kevin day, dont know why i keep you around"?? IM SOBBING THIS IS ABOUT KEVIN BEING PROUD OF ANDREW!! and seeing him actually *try* and show courage and being like "i told you so i told you you could do it, i knew from the beginning all that you are and can be" AND THEN "isnt it odd the way we tell ourselves we've go limits" THIS IS BOTH OF THEM?? GOD THIS SONG

[useyourtelescope]

smut4smut letter 2024

Hello! I’m also useyourtelescope on AO3, you can find me here for reference. My account is open for treats, which are very welcome if you are so inclined. Although my requests are all for fic, art treats are welcome too. I hope my letter inspires you, and that you have fun writing for this exchange :)

Note some of my requests are the same as last year and my tags/details for those requests have mostly remained the same, the other requests are fandoms that are newer (to me) since the last s4s exchange but I would be equally happy to receive something for any of these!

General Preferences

I prefer third person to first person fic, though focusing on the POV of one or more characters is fine. I love both fluff and angst, though I like my angst with a happy or at least hopeful ending.

As this is a smut exchange I’ve just focused on smut likes, but if you are interested in general prompts you can see them at a previous letter here.

Smut General Likes:

With these requests, I’d be equally happy for the fic to be plotty or not plotty at all. These are some general likes you could apply to any of the requests, some of which I have also chosen as my additional tags.

foreplay | foreplay/making out without necessarily leading to penetrative sex | communication | enthusiastic consent | dirty talk | sexting or phone sex | praise kink | competence kink | mutual masturbation | oral sex | wearing partner’s clothes during sex together or solo masturbation session | character showing their partner what they like | sex ‘lessons’ | inexperienced partner reassured by their more experienced partner | established couple experimenting in bed together

Smut DNWs:

rape/noncon | dubcon | incest** | torture | threesomes/moresomes | bestiality | humiliation |  ageplay | pregnancy | scat | watersports | A/B/O fic | drug use with sex | gore | underage relationship**

General DNWs:

darkfic** | horror | suicide | non-canonical character death | terminal illness | cheating** | genderswap | unhappy ending | reader/you fic | high school AUs | mentions of COVID-19

** DNWs with this annotation have been removed in my sign-up request for The Borgias.

For Archive Warnings, I have only selected 'No Archive Warnings Apply' for all my requests, except The Borgias where I have selected both 'No Archive Warnings Apply' & 'Underage'.

Onto the requests…

The Borgias (Showtime TV) - Cesare Borgia/Lucrezia Borgia

Incest - non-penetrative sex "doesn't count" as incest

Incest: inexperienced sibling asks experienced sibling to give them sex tips

Religion - Sex as Worship

Religion - Inappropriate Use of Religious Objects

Religion - Altar Sex

Ritual Sex - Member of Clergy must have semi-public sex with chosen Virgin

Reading Erotic Literature

Anal - het anal to preserve technical virginity

Bondage - Tied Up

Clothing - Clothed/Naked

Impact - Spanking

Clothing - Lavish Historical Outfits

Clothing - Naked Female Clothed Male

Clothing - Undressing Each Other

Cock Warming

Dom/sub - Domination as an act of devotion

Position - Kneeling for Cunnilingus

Time Travel - Time Loop can only be broken by having sex with specific person

Voyeurism - One character masturbates knowing the other one is watching them

Size kink - very small girl filled with very big dick

The chemistry between these two is just another level! I am open to a lot of different things here so I very much ran out of space choosing tags for this request. This lends itself naturally to angst more than my other requests & I am very down for fic of them doing lots of hand wringing over their forbidden desires and/or where they go from the s3 finale, etc. - but I am also a fluff fan so if you'd rather write them enjoying the happiness of their stolen moment together I would love that too.

I think the majority of the tags should be self explanatory for the fandom but then I also threw in a few random ones that I think would be interesting with their dynamic (e.g. I love the idea of a time loop with the added factor of Cesare or Lucrezia trying to resist the other but then needing to have sex with them to break the loop; the ritual sex tag could be a mix of Cesare wanting to protect Lucrezia from the ritual/witnesses but also fighting with his own desire). Given their history 'spanking' could be something that began non sexually when they were younger and developed into something else. I love how as Cesare is older and more experienced he should be the one in charge but Lucrezia has a lot of sway over him so I think Dom/Sub could go either way with them (femdom Lucrezia would be excellent, but I am also often thinking about s1 Cesare telling Lucrezia he should keep her in Rome in chains...).

I’m open to AUs as long as it translates some of the complicated family dynamics to a new setting. I'd rather not a mundane AU like them working at a coffee shop but also since its a smut exchange it doesn't need to be a super detailed set up, you can just stick them in a modern setting without much explanation.

Crossover Fandom - Harper (Set It Up)/Jake “Hangman” Seresin (Top Gun)

Can’t Stop Thinking About It - Can’t Forget One Night Stand

Car Sex - Character A uses their left hand to drive and their right hand to get off B

Clearly The Fact That We Keep Having Sex Is A Series of Unrelated Bad Decisions

Cunnilingus While Standing With Legs Supported by Partner’s Arms

Friends With Benefits

Friends With Benefits “Make Love” for the First Time

Injuries - Careful Sex with an Injured Partner

Size - Character Embarrassed to Admit to Size Kink; Partner Happy to Indulge Them

Dirty Talk - Detailed Dirty Talk As Foreplay

Experience - Experienced/Inexperienced

Position - Character A sits in Character B’s lap and they make out

Secret Relationship

Laughter During Sex

Experience - Character A mistakenly thinks Character B is a virgin

Glasses kink

“Thank God You’re/We’re Alive” Sex

Character Embarrassedly Asks For First Time Kinky Sex

Experience - Experienced Partner Lets Inexperienced One Explore Them

Cunnilingus - Under the Desk/Table

Romantic Sex - First Time for Character Used to Rough Sex

It’s very rare for me to be interested in crossover ships (i.e. in the romantic sense rather than platonic), but I rewatched Set It Up not long before I finally got round to seeing Top Gun: Maverik and as much as I love Harper/Charlie in SIU I couldn’t help but wonder about this AU pairing. (Note this would just be a case where Charlie didn’t exist rather than there being any link between the characters.)

I can more easily visualise Harper stumbling into the TGM world than Hangman turning up in New York - but feel free to handwave the logistics. I mostly just want to see Hangman acting like he’s hot shit and Harper having none of that and him being surprised that he’s into it - and maybe further down the line of knowing each other how that dynamic turns into something more than either expected.

Maybe they run into each other at the bar and competitiveness turns into flirting which turns into a FWB arrangement or a one night stand that neither can forget? Or they’ve know each other for a while and insist there’s no feelings there but a close call for Jake leads to ‘Thank God You’re Okay Sex’ or Injured Sex? Harper is canonically not that experienced during the film, but certainly interested in trying things and maybe Jake lets her take the lead and enjoys himself more than expected?

Since they’re from different canons and don’t have an established dynamic I’m very open to whatever direction you might want to take them in!

The Gilded Age - Marian Brook/Larry Russell

Wedding Night

Cunnilingus While Receiver is Wearing a Skirt/Dress

Place - Sex in A Carriage

Place - Sex in an Opera Box

Playful Sex

Blow Jobs

Clothing - Black tie dress code

Position - Woman on Top

Kiss - Neck Kissing

Kiss - Kissing a Partner's Bare Hand

Clothing - Undressing Each Other

Hand Jobs

Wedding Night is Their First Time

First Time Blow Jobs

First time seeing each other naked

Mutual Masturbation With Intent to Watch Each Other in Lieu of First Time Sex

I find these two super cute and (as is clear in my next request) I do love a friends to lovers situation even more in a period drama. And I kind of loved how it was such a gradual development with Marian and Larry with their feelings almost taking them by surprise but then the kiss happened and felt so natural.

My tags have been chosen with post s2 in mind. I'm open to something that explores them fooling around as they move from friends to a courtship given Aunt Agnes' feelings perhaps they have a long courtship/engagement which leads them to becoming more intimately acquainted with one another than they technically should be - I can see them trying to behave but deciding its okay to give in a little as long as Marian remains 'technically' a virgin until they marry. I'm also down for jumping past that part and going to the wedding or post wedding when they're figuring out married life and enjoying themselves.

I'd prefer for the historical setting to be retained for this request. Although I've mostly discussed future fic I am open to canon divergence AUs, but I'd prefer to keep the element of them being friends for a while first and having their other relationships before they realise their feelings for one another. I'd also rather no more than light angst for this request, I'd most like to see them being playful and having fun.

Sanditon (TV 2019) - Charlotte Heywood/James Stringer

Arranged Marriage - A promises B they won’t hurt them during wedding night & fulfills their promise

Beard Kink

Blow Jobs

Anal - het anal to prevent pregnancy

Dirty Talk - Detailed Dirty Talk As Foreplay

Library Sex

Competence Kink

Character Embarrassedly Asks For First Time Kinky Sex

Clothing - Lingerie

Clothing - Clothed/Naked

Cunnilingus - Receiver Grabs/Pulls Giver’s Hair

Established Relationship - Reading erotica together as foreplay

Kiss - Kissing a Partner’s Bare Hands

Mirror Sex

Masturbation - Masturbating over object of pining

Friends to Lovers

Getting off on how much partner trusts them

Size Kink - “It Won’t Fit!” (It Fits)

Romance novel clichés

A straddles B while they’re “trying to read”; slowly gets them to put the book away; then they fuck

What can I say other than I’m a sucker for friends to lovers/one-sided pining and when that’s combined with a heart of gold darling working class man like James Stringer (who has those dimples!) there was just no chance for me! And there’s only 1 smut fic for them (as far as I’m aware) and I wrote it and there needs to be more.

I’m equally happy to receive something set in the canon Regency setting or a Modern AU for them - most of my prompts could work for either setting though some lend themselves better to canon (e.g. arranged marriage). The beard kink prompt was inspired by Leo Suter’s facial hair for Vikings: Valhalla (s1 rather than s2). This is one where I’d also be open to a more solo focused fic if the smut focus was on James (such as the 'Masturbation - Masturbating over object of pining’ tag).

If you take a canon route, you can ignore post s1, or just include parts, my head!canon for the prompts would be for qualified architect Mr Stringer and Charlotte reconnecting in the future - in keeping with social norms most of the tags would have to be after they married, but I’d be happy to read about them as a betrothed couple fooling around too. If you go Modern AU, I’d want them to be university age or older (i.e. not younger than 18) - feel free to play around with their AU backstory, but I do love them starting out as friends first.

Why Didn’t They Ask Evans? (TV) - Frankie Derwent/Bobby Jones

Banter as Foreplay

Bodice Ripper Style Ravishment

Clothing - A Masturbates While Wearing B’s Clothes

Clothing - A wearing only B’s jacket while they have sex

Dirty Letters

Dirty Talk - Detailed Dirty Talk As Foreplay

Competence Kink

Clothing - Uniform Kink

Clothing - Licking Over Underwear

Clothing - Clothed/Naked

Cunnilingus While Receiver is Wearing a Skirt/Dress

Blow Jobs

Dancing as Foreplay

Desperate Sex

Established Relationship - trying to spice up sex life through roleplay

Wedding Night

Position - Character A sits in Character B’s lap and they make out

A straddles B while they’re “trying to read”; slowly gets them to put the book away; then they fuck

Kiss - Neck Kissing

Markings - Affectionate Bruising/Marking

Bobby and Frankie have great banter and chemistry, and the show delighted me by including so many tropes I like - but I’m still greedy for more of this charming couple, hence my request for smut fic.

Frankie canonically stealing Bobby’s clothes & telling him she thought he’d have “looked dreamy in uniform” very much informed my selection of the tags relating to Character A wearing B’s clothes and 'Uniform Kink’. And 'Banter As Foreplay’ feels like a given for these two. Given their characters/history I think they would have a good mix of romantic/more tender sex and more playful, fun sex and I chose tags with that in mind.

This is one where I’d most like to keep the period setting and receive future fic - or perhaps missing scene fic of them fooling around near the end of episode 3 before they get married. The prompts were mostly selected with a more immediate future in mind, but of course the show is set in 1936 and WWII is not far off - so if you were inspired to write something that included the war years I’d be open to that as long as it was mindful of my DNWs and didn’t become really dark (e.g. 'Desperate Sex’ once Bobby’s home from the war and okay would be fine). I am also open to Canon Divergence AUs (though I don't want underage for this request so despite their childhood friendship I don't want anything set in that time).

[terrence-silver]

THE SILVER SCREEN 💍🐍💎🎰💸💙(MORTON / MYRA SILVER FANMIX) ―  

1. phil harris - deck of cards /  2. phil harris - the darktown poker club /  3. steve lawrence - pretty blue eyes /  4. peggy lee - big spender  / 5. etta james - i just want to make love to you /  6. elvis presley - (you’re the) devil in disguise / 7. ritchie valens - we belong together /  8. paul anka - crazy love / 9. paul anka - you are my destiny  / 10. barrett strong - money (that’s what i want) / 11. peggy lee - why don’t you do right  / 12. the seekers - myra / 13. the osmonds - i wouldn’t trade the silver in my mother’s hair (for all the gold in the world) / 14. frankie laine - moonlight gambler  / 15. little peggy march - i will follow him  / 16. georgia gibbs - kiss of fire / 17. buddy holly - true love ways /  18. the unifics - the beginning of my end  / 19 ilene woods - so this is love /

[crossroadsandloudmusic]

Hey y’all I’m back after taking the weekend off. I poured my heart and soul into the last fic so my brain needed a little while to rest. Tonight I was in a bit of a writing mood and this idea came to me. I know nobody knows me personally on here but recently I gotten into a very serious car accident. As a result I now have scars on my hands, legs, face, and I also walk with a slight limp from breaking my leg and hip. Demon slayer was what helped me through my recovery and accepting myself for what I am now. I have no doubt in my mind that there are many people who carry not only physical scars but as well as emotional scars from the battles they have had to endure. Therefore this is the beginning of a several part series of the pillars reacting to the gender neutral readers scars. I hope that y’all enjoy as this series will hold a special place in my heart. I also hope that this can help anyone who needs it, I’m always here if anyone needs to talk, my inbox is open 24/7 so don’t hesitate if you need someone to talk to.

GN reader x Kyojuro Rengoku

Warnings: Physical scars, depression, self hate, bullying, trauma, unhealthy coping mechanism, (etc.).

How the Pillars react to scars

Part One: Rengoku

The reader is a hashira and they have scars all over their body from previous battles. Sometimes they feel insecure about them and the hashira are here to make them feel better!

Reference:

(y/b/t) - your breathing technique.

GN reader

Rengoku (platonic):

When he first met you, you had been a kanoe. You had been apart of the corps for sometime and had killed numerous demons, at this time your body had not suffered any serious damage.

The next time he saw you was at the hashira induction. You had been recognized for your strength and bravery and had become the next (y/b/t) pillar. Years of hard training and intense battles left your body permanently slashed and tarnished.

You knew that your scars would be the first thing people noticed about you, therefore you had put up a harsh barrier to protect yourself from the awful things people had said about you in the past.

But Rengoku did not see you as tarnished, imperfect, or disfigured.

He saw that your scars were a true testimont of your bravery and strength.

Immediately he respected you and trusted you with his life.

He became eager to work with you and felt that you were a great addition to the group, he went out his way to make you feel accepted and appreciated.

————————————————————————

Rengoku (romantic):

After meeting you at the hashira induction and getting increasingly closer to you, it became apparent to Rengoku that he had seemingly fallen for you.

Your strength and resilience is what first attracted him to you, every problem you faced you took in stride. Or at least that was how it seemed.

One evening the two of you had been out on the town for a date, a chance like this didn’t come often as the both of you were constantly busy with hashira duties. You had worn your finest clothes and did everything else to look your best. You hadn’t felt this attractive in quite sometime. You were feeling confident, not only from dressing up a bit but also from the compliments Rengoku had been showering you in.

“You look amazing, my love! Of course I always think you look amazing but you look as if you are glowing tonight! Rengoku said as he shouted continued praises. This earned him your soft laugh and repeated thank you’s accompanied by a tender blush. His heart swelled at your reaction to his kind words. He beamed with pride at his ability to make you feel loved and admired.

This lovely game came to a quick halt as the two of you sat down to enjoy a meal together. A table adjacent to yours sat three young women, all of which were beautiful. Big doe eyes, long smooth hair, small sculpted faces, and pure, flawless, perfect skin. The three had noticed you two walking in, their eyes fixed on Rengoku’s handsome face and sturdy build. It was not uncommon for women to stare at Rengoku and it didn’t bother you as you knew how fervently faithful he was. But this time was different, as they admired him from afar you noticed their gaze shift to you. Instantly their eyes narrowed to your scarred face. A rippling wave of emotion hit you as you saw them talk amongst themselves shooting glances in your direction and laughing.

Rengoku noticed an immediate change in your mood, and without knowing what caused it he became increasingly worried. Though, he continued to smile brightly and compliment you more than he did before.

The rest of the meal went without interruption and to much of his relief, his constant chatter had lifted your mood a bit.

This was all until the three rose from their table and began walking down the aisle. The leader of the three walked in front, and as she walked past she slide hand across Rengoku’s shoulder. This caused him to look up for a brief second to see who it had been. The young woman turned and winked at him before continuing towards the entrance.

You turned to look at them and the two behind the lead woman laughed, finding it amusing that you had looked so angry. That anger soon subsided into sadness as it had been obvious they were laughing at the probability that a man so handsome as Rengoku would choose you over someone like them. You weren’t even a challenge to them. The heaviness in heart lasted from then until the two of you finished and exited the restaurant. The entire time you had been short with your words and hung your head low.

“My love, my darling flame, you seem to be upset about. Tell me what’s wrong?” Rengoku asked gently as he held your arm in his. Silently you pulled away and broke into tears.

“Why?...Why?...Why are you with me? You could have anyone you wanted, you could have the prettiest woman out of every village but instead you chose to be with someone who is mangled, damaged, and unworthy of someone like you. Why, Kyojuro?” You spoke harshly through tears and sniffles.

Before you could tear yourself down further Rengoku wrapped you in the tightest embrace he could. He set his chin on top of your head as you continued to sob deeply into his chest. He rubbed a strong hand up and down your back.

“(Y/n), I don’t want to hear you speak so poorly of yourself again. You want to know why I chose you? Ever since I first laid eyes on you I respected you, trusted you immediately with my life because I could sense your strength and resolve. You were so sure of yourself, so confident, wise beyond your years. I admire you, because I want to be like you. Everyday I strive to become better so that I may one day be like you. Yes, you look different, but in my eyes you are the most beautiful person I have ever had the honor of being in the presence of. You are beautiful and perfect in every way to me, and that’s all that matters.”

His words soothed your aching heart. He wiped your tears from your eyes. Together you walked back to your home.

When the two of you arrived he did nothing but hold you close to him, he spent the rest of the night whispering soft praises in your ears as he kissed each and every scar on your body.r

[fbfh]

seven cakes - leo valdez x reader

wc: 2.2k

genre: domestic fluff, minimal hurt maximum comfort

pairing: leo x (gn) reader, demisquad + reader at the end

warnings: mentions and allusions to birthday trauma, a lot of food talk (specifically cake), allusions to reader having a bad relationship with their family, me coping through fics lol, (edit: also this is really self indulgent duh don't say I didn't warn you lmao)

summary: Leo is determined to make your birthday as nice as possible. The easiest way to do that? Get you seven birthday cakes.

song rec: bee's birthday song - dad box (bee and puppycat ost), paralyzed at the grocery store for all eternity - spotify playlist by dylanvandenhoeck, amar pelos dois - salvador sobral ty for this one cici

a/n: it's my birthday!!!! inspired by real life yes I do have seven cakes and I'm loving every minute of it anyway just a reminder that if you hate your birthday it'll probably get better at some point cause like,, if I can like my birthday you probs can too yk <3 also if you know what episode I reference in the beginning I wanna kiss you on the mouth /p

tags: @yesv01 @avashaye @perseajohnson @afidiofobia @thatmultifandomloser @yelenabel0vaswife @almostjollypizza @Fictionalcomforts  @lizziebitch33  @jacksondeeznuts @justbookworm @urmum-xoxo @Asunnyhunny @dustyinkpages @cowboylikekelsey @shellosisbae @anything-forourmoony  @i-dont-remember-a-lot  @chasingpj @1dpjohoohp @mystic-writings   @babiesimagines @dreamerball @urmum-xoxo @Asunnyhunny @demirunner

It’s your birthday really soon, and Leo is really excited. If you ask him what his favorite holiday is, what his favorite day of the year is, even when his favorite season is, he’ll say your birthday hands down. His birthday is your favorite day of the year too, but knowing how easy it is to fluster each other, you won’t say that outright. You haven’t talked about your birthday much, in spite of how close it is. He wants to make sure this is a good day for you, as good as it can be at least. He knows you’ve had some really shitty ones in the past - especially before you met him - so now he’s determined to make them as fun and enjoyable as possible for you. He’s taking the fact that your attitude seems to be neutral leaning towards positive, maybe even happy about your birthday as a good sign.

Teeth freshly brushed, skincare applied, you’re cuddled up next to each other. You’re watching the cartoons casting soft purple and blue light into your darkened bedroom, and he’s watching your face illuminated by the screen. You look so pretty like this, you always do. Leo can’t get enough of you. He values moments like this, cherishes them so deeply he doesn’t think he can describe it. You chuckle at the end of the episode as the next one starts playing. In this episode, the main character asks her friend to hide cakes around to surprise her with. Like, a lot of cakes. 

“I want that,” you state, staring at the screen. It’s the first real birthday request you’ve made, and it makes him so happy. 

“You want a bunch of cakes?” he asks, voice gentle in the quiet atmosphere, and you can hear the smile kissing his lips. “Yeah,” you muse, hand rubbing his back, slipping below his t-shirt.

“How many?”

“Hmm…” you consider. “Two or three.” 

You’d feel bad asking for more than that. You know he’d disagree adamantly if you told him, but it’s a step forward from previous years, so you’re at peace with it. 

“What kind of cake do you want?” he asks. He’s pretty good at cooking, but he doesn’t have nearly enough experience baking, and you shouldn’t have to bake your own cake from scratch - unless you want to. He thinks he can probably get his mom to help. She adores you, and her cakes always kick ass. 

You’re quiet for a minute. 

“Can we get grocery store cake?”

“You want grocery store cake?” he asks sweetly. “Yeah,” you confirm, “like, the kind with little balloons and frosting flowers, and a printed picture of the power rangers that says ‘happy 4th birthday’ in curly font…” 

He knows exactly the kind of grocery store cake you’re talking about. You’re quiet again. He can sense some hesitance with all of this; celebrating your birthday in a way that doesn’t end in tears and fighting and disappointment is still new. It’s uncharted territory for you. He knows it’s hard, knows it’s scary. He wants to make sure you know that he understands what you’re going through, and that he’s going to be there, holding your hand, the entire time. He smiles up at you, a look so determined to get you the ultimate grocery store cake on his face that it has you chuckling.

“I will get you the biggest, most frosting flowered power rangers grocery store-iest cake they have.” He gazes at you with brazen, comedic confidence before settling back down into your chest.

You smile, a timid excitement beginning to grow. He pulls you closer, nuzzling into your neck and pressing cozy, familiar kisses against your skin. His hands run over your sides, your stomach, warm and tracking shapes, leaving reassuring touches wherever they fall. It’s a silent confirmation that he’s here for you, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Until he can make your birthdays amazing, and fantastic, and great, he’s going to make them good. 

Walking through the familiar aisles of your grocery store, Leo drags you and your metal shopping cart around.

“Over there!” he exclaims, making a beeline for the baking aisle. Even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, he still looks really, really fucking good. The anxiety begins to melt away as you watch him, latching onto his easy going, vibrant energy. He wears a fluid sense of humor like a well loved hoodie, always wrapped around him and providing a tangible sense of comfort to everyone nearby. You stay close as you walk down the linoleum tiles, keeping a tight grip on his proverbial sleeve. After a minute or two of searching back and forth, you finally find the boxed cake mix. 

“Chocolate, vanilla, carrot cake,” he says, skimming the flavors in bright font on the boxes.

“Yeah, pretty standard…” you muse, doing the same. He’s quiet for a second, and you turn around. He’s holding boxes of your two favorite flavors, an excited smirk on his face.

“What if we combined these into a layer cake?” he asks. He watches closely as you face lights up a tiny bit.

“Perfect!” you smile, and he tosses them into the cart, satisfied that he’s starting to help you feel more like yourself. You grab a few cans of frosting in your favorite color, and start to look at the sprinkles. 

“Estrella,” he says, and you turn around again. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp. He’s holding a box mix and matching frosting in the flavor of your favorite cereal.

“We kind of have to, right?” he asks, coaxing another smile out of you.

“Absolutely,” you say, examining the box before tossing it into the cart “this looks so good…” 

After thoroughly inspecting the various sprinkles and decorations, you settle on colored sugar in your favorite color, and two bottles of pastel star shaped sprinkles. You grab a few small tubes of frosting, also in your favorite colors, before finally making your way over to the bakery section. You grab some candy and chips along the way, then begin looking through displays of cupcakes. After skimming through several weird flavor combinations and more than a few misplaced boxes of muffins, you pick out a box of cupcakes with different colors of frosting and little birthday toppers on them.

“We should probably pick out the ice cream cake last, right?” Leo asks, looking at the ingredients of a cherry hand pie. 

“Yeah,” you agree, pausing to look at different bagel flavors they have in a case. The last thing either of you want is for one of your cakes to melt. You meet him over at the cake counter, looking at the different flavors and designs. You don’t see any with frosting flowers, but your focus is quickly pulled away.

“Aww,” you say, pointing out one with a trio of frosting balloons in the corner, “that one’s cute.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, checking the smile on your face, “it looks really good too.” He places it in the cart, careful not to smush any of the other items you already have in there. 

On your way to the frozen aisle, you take turns pointing out various items you have no use for and declaring matter of factly, “I want that.” It’s a small joke, but it’s been making both of you laugh nonetheless. You lose track of Leo for a second. You’re about to call out ‘Sparky?’ in hopes of finding him, before you see him hovering at an end cap by the pharmacy section. 

“We should get this.” he deadpans, holding up a travel sized bottle of generic brand pepto bismol for kids, with a skateboarding giraffe that says awesome! on the label. You repress a chuckle.

“We’ll use it to decorate my cake,” you say, a faux sweet sincerity to your voice that gets a loud laugh out of him, and then one out of you by proxy. 

You finally find the frozen food aisle. You stand next to each other, staring at ice cream cakes and ice cream bars, and various other forms of ice cream for a little while. Soon you settle on a cute cake that will go nicely with the other flavors you picked out already. You place it in your cart. You close the door, and Leo draws a little heart on the foggy glass of the freezer. It makes you smile, bringing in that comfortable warmth in your chest you always get from being around him. You draw a little heart next to his, then a smiley face. He adds a birthday hat, then traces a little cake in the remaining fog, writing ‘hbd.’ and you both giggle. You’re sure that will be a fun surprise for whoever comes to get an ice cream cake next. 

At the check out, he grabs your favorite candy, then one for himself as you begin to check out. 

“Oh shit,” he says quietly, looking at the cart. You look over at him. “We forgot the milk. I’ll go grab it real quick.” you agree, and he heads off. You’re glad he remembered, you’d feel pretty silly if you spent all this time at the grocery store and forgot something like milk. 

You continue carefully taking all the cakes out of your cart. You feel good about all the ones you picked out, and you’re excited to make the boxed cakes together. And by making them together, you mean you’ll make them and he’ll keep you company, then you’ll both decorate them together. Talking with Leo, sitting on the kitchen floor with him while the sweet smell of pastries and vanilla fills the room, making each other laugh while the timer steadily ticks down is your favorite part of baking anything. You’re looking forward to it.

It takes him a little longer than you expected, but he’s back with milk by the time you’re almost done checking out. He triumphantly presents you with the carton. He checks your energy, your vibe again, and he’s relieved when you don’t seem suspicious at all. By the time you’re walking back to your car, making easy conversation, he’s confident he can pull off this extra surprise for you. 

Usually on your birthday, you have some kind of movie night with your close friends, maybe a few family members you’re actually on good terms with. You don’t like to make a fuss about your birthday, that much is obvious, and everyone knows to play it low key. This time is no different, you think, as you set out bowls of popcorn and boxes of candy on the coffee table. Once the gang’s all here, before you start the movie, Leo brings out the cake. Then another. And another. By the third cake, everyone is thoroughly amused. 

“Wait, how many cakes are there?” Hazel asks with a laugh. 

“Seven.” Leo states, bringing out cake number four. 

“I thought we got five,” you say.

“We did,” he starts, bringing out yet another cake, “cupcakes, two boxed cakes, and ice cream cake, plus the one my mom made for you…”

You let out a giggle, still so endeared from when she had dropped by to give it to you in person earlier and wish you a happy birthday. She gave you the biggest hug, and the cake smelled so good, you really couldn’t wait to try it. In spite of how well you get along, it still came as a shock that she would do something so sweet for you. 

“You really thought she wasn’t going to make you a cake?” he asks rhetorically, “C’mon Estrella, she loves you.” He squeezes your shoulder with a smile, one you return.

“Yeah, but that’s still six!” you call as he leaves the room again.  

“Well…” he starts, a mischievous tone to his voice. You have an idea of where this might be going. 

“What did you do?” you ask through a smile. You see a flash of glowing orange light outside the doorway, and he signals for everyone to start singing. He enters with a sheet cake covered in frosting flowers and sprinkles, adorned with a picture of the power rangers on it, reading “happy 4th birthday!” in curly script. He lights the rest of the candles with his fingertips and places the cake in front of you. You let out the sweetest, most heartfelt bubbling laugh he’s heard in a while, and it warms him to his core.

In the glow of the tiny candle light, the corners of your eyes are misty as your friends/found family sing happy birthday to you. Every detail you mentioned, every little thing about this cake that might be totally meaningless to someone else, Leo remembered it. He perfected your vision to a tee. 

The sight of the brightly colored crime fighters looking back at you as candle wax drips down near the frosting fills you with a joyous feeling you can’t describe. Leo intertwines his hand with yours. You’re fighting giggles and tears, and when you blow out the candles, you think this is the first great birthday you’ve had. The first of many. You’re looking forward to when your birthdays become awesome, spectacular, perfect, and you can’t wait to spend all of them with Leo. 

[duuhrayliegh]

my hero - request

request: anon: hi could you write a sebastian x female reader fic where she suffers from anxiety and feels bad because of it but he comforts her and tells her there’s nothing wrong with her and how strong she is even though she has this disorder

pairing: sebastian stan x female!reader

warnings: self-esteem issues, anxiety, toxicity in the fandom, language?

a/n: hey nona! you weren’t super specific on what type of anxiety that you wanted to reader to have, so if this isn’t what you had in mind, lmk and i’ll write you another fic! other than that i hope you like it!

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

check out my m.list

You and Seb met at a coffee shop in New York. It was totally cliche and seemed straight out of a storybook. You had somehow managed to spill coffee on that specimen of a man, and he was kind enough to let you pay for his dry cleaning. Your relationship didn’t grow until you ran into him again while you were at a bar with your friends. If he had any say in telling the story of how you met, he spotted you from across the smoky bar and he knew then and there that he had to get to know you. Truthfully, you liked his version, but the real one was just indescribable. It seemed, to you at least, that you were destined to be with this man. Seeing him twice in one week? Come on, that’s possible if you were in the small town you grew up in, but not New York.

You obviously had recognized him as an actor, but really you didn’t care. That’s what drew Sebastian to you in the first place. You treated him as if he was any other guy on the street, he was able to be a normal person around you. Now, two years later, you lounge on the couch of your apartment in LA that you shared with the man you love. He’s still auditioning for any role that catches his eye and you’re supporting him no matter what.

His fans for the most part adored you and your relationship with Sebastian. The fans who didn’t like you were your only issue with this whole affair, but they had nothing to do with Sebastian other than flood his socials with nasty messages about you. You weren’t perfect, that you knew all too well, and you tried to let the comments roll off your shoulders. Most of the time you were successful in your efforts, but other times they clung to your skin like an unwanted disease.

Sebastian was currently promoting his new project Endings, Beginnings. You were so unbelievably proud of Seb, he was doing something that made him happy. In this particular film, he was acting alongside Shailene Woodley, who was just amazing. Seb always came home gushing about the new inside jokes that they had come up with. One of your favorite things that Seb did with you was run lines. You liked having the inside scoop on his new works, but this one was harder for you. It had quite a few sex scenes between Seb’s character Frank and Shailene’s Daphne.

Not that it bothered you. Nope. Didn’t bother you. At all.

...mmm, okay maybe it bugged you a little. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Sebastian, it was… well you couldn’t really describe what it was. Whatever the case may be, it was putting you deeper and deeper into a funk, one that you were having a hard time coming out of. And Seb’s fans who weren’t in your corner, weren’t really helping you any.

A few nights ago, Seb surprised you with a casual night out in LA. He texted you before he got home and told you that he was going to be taking you out. Did he give you a dress code for the evening? No, he did not (wonderful, thanks so much Seb). You decided to dress in a half business casual, half rail me when we get home outfit. You ended up wearing an adorable bustier top that was embroidered with pretty blue and pink flowers, a pair of destroyed jeans covered your legs. You finished it off with a pair of nude heels, when you looked in the mirror, you thought you looked hot as fuck. It was around seven when Seb picked you up, mouth hanging open, in awe of your outfit.

“Oh my god. You look so beautiful, Y/N.” He opened the passenger door of his car after he hugged you, giving you a small peck on the lips. Sebastian drove you to a restaurant a block off of Thai Town called Home Restaurant.

“Babe, this place is so cute!” You squeezed Sebastian’s upper arm, jumping up and down beside him. “How’d you find this place?” Sebastian shook his head, smiling at you.

“I asked Shai, actually.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, and your heart sank a little. Why did it do that? “She said that the paps hardly ever come around here.” He leaned down pressing a kiss to your temple. “I thought that draga mea deserved a quiet night out on the town.” His voice rasped as he spoke in his native tongue, making a shiver race down your spine.

“Well, tell her I said thank you.” You offered him a small smile. He wrapped his arm around your waist, drawing circles on the exposed skin above your jeans. He spoke with the hostess as your mind drifted away. You were pulled out of your thoughts when he guided you to your table. Sebastian sat across from you, staring deeply into your eyes. You brought your hand up to rest your chin on it, staring back at him. “How’s everything been going?” You were genuinely interested in the answer and it made your heart warm watching his face light up.

“It’s been going really well. Everyone we worked with was real nice, it made all the scenes more comfortable.” Seb’s eyebrows rose at the mention of the scenes and you knew which ones he was referring to.

“Oh, right.” You tried not to let your emotions show.

“Yeah, we’re about to start teasing some of them to promote the show.” Seb sighed at the thought of having to use social media, you shook your head at him.

“I’ll help you with it, you dork.” You laughed to hide your discomfort. “Which scene did they approve for the posts?” Sebastian began to speak when he was interrupted by your waitress. After the two of you ordered your food, the waitress returned with your drinks. Sebastian took a large gulp of his before answering your previous question.

“They want me to post the trailer and then the scene between Frank and Daphne at the bar.” You tried to think back to the script, remembering the context. Frank and Daphne were meeting after Daphne had gone out on a date with Jack. Daphne was claiming that she didn’t want to be a wedge in their friendship, then proceeded to make out with Frank. If you were recalling correctly, Frank and Daphne’s first sex scene followed soon after.

“Okay, we can do that. Do you have any behind the scene pictures you wanna post too?” Seb got out his phone, scrolling through his camera roll to see. He had several different photos of him with Jamie and then him with Shailene. He showed you his phone on a picture of Shailene leaned against him on a couch, her arm over his waist. A red filter colored the photo, you had to hand it to him, it was a good one to use. “We can post it whenever we get home, love.” Sebastian locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket, to focus solely on you.

“How has your day been, draga mea?” You bit your lip as you thought about what you’ve been doing. You’ve been working towards your Master’s, so your days have been filled with preparing for your dissertation. On top of that, you’ve become a bit of an influencer on different social media platforms. Really, you believe your popularity came from your relationship with Sebastian. You’ve been giving his fans the content that they’ve always wanted. Not only that, but you’re active with them.

“My day was good today. I had to edit a few papers from my other classmates but other than that I didn’t do much. I did make a few TikTok videos, but really today was a bit of a lounge day for me.” Seb smiled at you, proud of how hard you’ve been working.

“I should be getting a few days off soon, so we can relax together in the apartment, if you aren’t too busy with your classes.” He stretched his arm across the table, palm up waiting for your hand. Seb pulled your hand up to his mouth, placing a sloppy kiss onto the back of it. His eyes settled on you lovingly. To Sebastian, you were the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

The two of you managed to finish your meal in peace. No fans came up to Sebastian asking for photos, no paparazzi swarms when you left, just a quiet meal for a normal couple in love. After you got home and you were snuggled in your pajamas alongside Sebastian in your comfortable bed, he handed you his phone to read over his post for his Instagram. The paragraph was sappy, about his time working with Drake, the director, and working with the rest of the cast. Seb always was a softy, never was able to hide it, especially in promo posts.

“It looks good to me. Are you going to post it now? Or wait until tomorrow morning?” Seb debated, he probably should wait and do it tomorrow, but he was most likely going to forget to do it. He clicked post, putting his phone on charge and snuggling into you.

“Thank you for always being there for me, Y/N.” He kissed your jawline, nuzzling his face into your neck. “It really means a lot to me, baby. I love you so much.” He wrapped both hands around your waist, pulling you to his front. You smiled wide, momentarily forgetting all of your troubles.

“I love you too, Seb.” You turned your head slightly, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Now let’s get some sleep, love.” Little did you know that a single post could ruin all of the progress that you thought you had made.

*********************

You woke the next morning, alone in bed. You could hear pots clanging in the kitchen of your home, bringing a smile to your face. Before you left the safety of your bed, you checked your socials out of habit. You opened Instagram first, seeing an absurd amount of notifications this early in the morning. Your smile dropped as soon as you opened the first post. Comments on Sebastian’s post about Endings, Beginnings and his chemistry with Shailene weren’t entirely out of the ordinary. They were to be expected, they were playing parts in a love triangle. People were ‘shipping’ Shailene with Seb and Jamie, so that wasn’t too crazy.

What hurt you were the comments saying, “living for shailene and sebastian! she’s a much better match for him than y/n.”

“never thought that y/n girl was going to last, glad he’s going w shailene”

“shailene and seb supremacy”

“yes! i’ve always supported seb in everything he’s done, but i rlly questioned him when he got w that y/n girl. what was he thinking?!”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you continued scrolling. You never thought you and Sebastian never fit. You knew that people had issues with your relationship, but you never let it get in your head this bad. You checked your explore page, pictures of you and Sebastian from last night were riddling the page.

Your heart dropped.

There were pictures of the two of you from last night with parts of your body circled. The exposed skin above your waistband, the excess skin on your neck and arms. You don’t know where they got these pictures, but your stomach was steadily sinking with each picture you saw. The door of your room opened, revealing a smiley Sebastian with a plate full of eggs in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other.

“Good morning, baby.” You quickly shoved your phone away from you, wiping your tears away from your eyes to meet his. His brows furrowed immediately. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You snuffled quietly, before answering.

“Uh, nothing. I’m just so proud of you.” You smiled at him, not wanting to bring down his already happy mood with your problems. Was that entirely healthy? Probably not, but you were doing it anyway, consequences be damned.

“Oh, well you don’t have to cry for me, Y/N. Even if you’re proud.” He walked up to your side of the bed, placing the cup and plate on your nightstand. He brought his hand up to your cheeks, wiping away your tear streaks. “You know that I only like to see tears whenever it’s me causing you so much pleasure you beg me to stop.” He winked at you, smirking at your rising blush. To say that didn’t lift your spirits for about half a second would be a lie. Sebastian brought the plate to your lap, waiting for you to start eating. At this particular moment, after seeing all those horrible pictures of your body, your appetite had gone out the window, but he was so smiley.

“After you eat, I want ya to shower.” Sebastian’s hand came up to your jaw, cupping it as you used it to chew the eggs. “We’ve got a long day of lounging and enjoying each other's company ahead of us.” Sebastian stood from the bed, throwing a wink at you as he left the room dramatically. You stopped eating soon after he left, the food tasting like ash on your tongue. At some point, you got into the bathroom, staring at the reflection in the mirror.

Your phone was in your hand again. The pictures flooding your Twitter feed. Shaky breaths left your mouth as you watched your reflection tilt its head. Tears began gathering in your eyes as it felt like you weren’t in your own skin anymore. You had worked so hard to be comfortable in your own body.

It’s amazing how just one picture can ruin everything.

You leaned forward on the countertop, hands holding up your weight. You shifted towards the mirror, examining every miniscule detail that your eyes could see. Your lids came down quickly, tears dragging down your cheeks. You squeezed your eyes closed, shaking your head back and forth.

“You are not going to let this get to you.” You took a few deep breaths as you turned on the shower. Not wanting to be around the mirror anymore, you kept your bath short, talking to yourself the whole time. By the time you left the bathroom, it was steamed completely, you couldn’t see your reflection even if you wanted to.

“He loves you.” You had a mantra and you continued to repeat it as you walked into your shared closet. “He loves all of you.” You pulled one of his old t-shirts off a hanger. “Sebastian loves you.” A pair of your underwear and his loose boxers covered your lower half. “Sebastian loves all of you.” You shoved your feet into a pair of fuzzy pink socks, leaving the closet still muttering to yourself. You tucked your phone into your waistband after checking your socials again. You know you shouldn’t have, but there was some part of you that just wouldn’t let you not.

The same shit covered your For You page on TikTok. Videos from the trailer of Seb and Shailene and then videos of you and Seb, comparing the two relationships. “They do fit well together.” You thought to yourself. A part of you wondering why Seb was with you in the first place.

“Did you say something, love?” Sebastian looked at you from the couch. A blanket was strewn over his lower half, his upper body inviting, waiting for you to join him. His smile dropped when he took in your glassy eyes instead of your usual happy expression.

“Oh baby, what’s wrong?” He started towards you, eyes running over your body for any outward injuries. An understanding look crossed his face when he saw your phone clutched in your hand. “Y/N, talk to me, baby.” Sebastian’s hands rested on your shoulders, lightly caressing your biceps. You recoiled from his touch, feeling uncomfortable in your own body.

“Just some stuff that some fans posted.” Seb’s thumb traced just under your eye, wiping away the tears. He held his right hand out for your phone, to understand what you were talking about. His brows furrowed deeply as he scrolled, not fully processing how destructive his fans could be. Sebastian always believed that they were the best fucking people in the world. He knew that they could be mean, but this was something else.

“They don’t know what they’re talking about, Y/N.” Sebastian’s voice was firm. It was almost strong enough to cut through the fog invading your brain, but not quite. You had officially zoned out. Dead to the world. Lost in your own thoughts. No matter how destructive those thoughts may be.

Sebastian noticed that you were already too deep, having experienced this with you many times before. He was aware that you were self-conscious, insecure, however you want to describe it. Your anxiety always got worse when you were stressed. Prepping for your dissertation was definitely a stressful time. Add on top of that, Sebastian was constantly pulling you from your work for various reasons. Had he contributed to this? Scratch that thought, he didn’t have time for that. He needed to bring you back down to Earth, back to him.

“Y/N.” His hands hovered over your hips. “I’m going to touch you for a second.” He directed you to the couch, settling on the coffee table in front of you. His fingers lightly traced circles onto your knees, as he assessed how he should approach this.

“Y/N. Baby?” Sebastian hesitated before bringing his fingers up to your chin, not wanting you to react badly. “I’m right here, Y/N, it’s Sebastian.” His left hand hadn’t left your knee, continuing to trace small patterns into your skin, giving you something to ground yourself with. He watched you blink and swallow harshly, inhaling sharply before opening your mouth.

“Why are you with me?” Your chin trembled with unvoiced sobs. “You deserve the world, Seb. I’m not even--” Your sentence was cut off by a loud whimper causing tears to start streak down. Sebastian wasn’t sure if this was a situation where you wanted him to be involved, so he waited for a sign.

“I’m not even worth a glance from you.” Your hand came up to wipe at your runny nose. “They’re so right. You need to be with someone like Shailene.” A bitter sob racked your body, making your body fold in half. Sebastian caught you before you hurt yourself.

“Y/N. I love you.” He always heard you say that to yourself when you thought he wasn’t listening. He knew that you suffered from anxiety, so he was always watching. Always paying attention to your little cues. The little things that he could use to help you as much as he could. “I love all of you.” He held one of your hands, running his thumb over the back of it.

“I don’t care what they say, baby.” He lifted your face to his, steel blue eyes locking with your cloudy pair. “I picked you.” He pecked your right cheek. “I want you.” A peck to your left. “I want only you.” One to your forehead. “It’s always been you, Y/N.” Another on your chin. “I love all of you, Y/N.” Sebastian landed a final short kiss to your lips, lingering for only a second.

“I want you to understand something, Y/N.” His gaze never left you. “I’m not going anywhere.” His brows raised as he hardened his voice. “I’m especially not going anywhere at the behest of my fans. I love them to death, but they don’t get to decide who I love.” Sebastian shifted to sit next to you on the couch. “Is it okay if I put my arms around you?” All he got was a brief nod in return, which was expected.

“I’m yours, Y/N. As much as you’re mine.” His arms descended around you, wrapping you in a loving embrace. You turned to face him fully, bringing your own arms around his waist, shoving your head into his neck.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all my shit, Seb.” Sebastian almost missed your comment because you spoke into his shoulder and through loud snuffles. He backed away to look you in the face.

“I signed up for this, Y/N. I’m here for whatever we go through.” He tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “We go through ‘your shit’ together, Y/N. This is a partnership, a two-way street.” He looked at the weak smile on your face, heart warming slightly at the sight. His face turned serious, casting a glance at your phone on the coffee table.

“How long have you been sitting on this?” He knew how quickly your mind could twist things, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. You bit your lip, not meeting his eyes anymore.

“Just since this morning.” He held you away from his body, watching your expression.

“Is this why you were crying earlier?” You gave him a meek nod in response. “Baby, I thought we talked about this. We have to talk to each other when we think we’re going to go into a funk.” The two of you had talked about it before, but you didn’t think this was going to be a funk.

“I should’ve been able to just shake this off because I know you love me and you won’t leave me because of something that some people on the Internet say.” The words left your mouth before you could process everything, your mind quick to defend itself.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t always have to be able to shake something off. We just have to keep each other in the loop.” Sebastian looked over your tear-stained face, pressing a kiss to your forehead again. “Let’s ditch the phones today. Just spend the day in each other’s arms, how’s that sound?” You smiled softly, nodding at the man in front of you. He got up quickly hiding both of your phones in the kitchen somewhere.

This definitely wasn’t a solution to dealing with your anxiety, Sebastian knew that. It also wasn’t dealing with the toxic people on the Internet, but you didn’t need that right now. You needed to be immersed in an environment that accepted what you were going through without judgement, Sebastian could provide that. Seb hummed happily when you snuggled into his side under the covers on your couch while he searched for a movie. He kissed the top of your head and he felt you smile against his stomach.

“I’m proud of you, draga mea.” You turned to face him, a confused expression lacing your features.

“For what, Seb?” He stroked your face with a single finger, mapping out your features.

“I’m proud of how you handle yourself. I’m amazed at how strong you are, even when you think you’re not.” He leaned closer to you, whispering his next words. “You’re my hero.” One corner of your mouth twitched upwards, not wanting to accept it. You rolled your eyes playfully, settling back onto his stomach before speaking.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part 2, final

Part 1 / 1.5 / [2]

(masterlist here)

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

then he turns up at your door.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re aware of this because: 

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

and:

b) Said new tenants are apparently very noisy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A sexy living foghorn,” Seokjin says brightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll stay here,” Taehyung decides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me,” Seokjin says primly.

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” You ask, concerned.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m happy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can go get some from my apartment?”

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

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

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

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

And then you freeze.

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

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

The blood is blue. 

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

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

Seokjin’s an android.

(Seokjin’s an android who seems human.)

Seokjin’s a deviant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened to your LED?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Jin…”

“Maybe I am,” you hazard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Much like Taehyung had.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

“How did he—why did he deviate?”

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

Wow.

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

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

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

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

You feel warmed at Yoongi’s words. But. 

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

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

“Has Jin always been like that?”

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

“You love him a lot,” you say gently.

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

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

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

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

“That sounds great,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve missed this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Okay, Taehyung, I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s just, uh. One little thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thing that people and deviant androids do.

A thing that Taehyung does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nice.

“You seem happier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re in so, so deep.

(But who can blame you?)

“I want to go outside.”

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

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

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

So what you say is: “Okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Warmer and softer than it probably should.)

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

(Mysterious. Yeah, right.)

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

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

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

(Whatever this is.)

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

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

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

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

(Shouldn’t hope for more than that.)

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

You’re certain Taehyung will, too.

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

(So human.) 

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

Taehyung is enraptured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like love?” A whisper.

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

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

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

“Oh, Y/n!”

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

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

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

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

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

You panic. Just for a second.

Taehyung doesn’t.

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

And then he immediately slips his hand back into yours.

Namjoon is utterly charmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Loyalty. Dedication.)

(A breath.)

(Love.)

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

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

(More of him.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re staying late again.”

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

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

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

It’s unnerving.

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

“No,” you lie.

Yes, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you would want to. 

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

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

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

It's hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he speaks.

“You’re avoiding me.”

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

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

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

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

“Why are you lying to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Independent?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(No one chooses you. Why would they?)

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

And then all the lights go out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung? What are you—”

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

“Taehyung!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung, though, is intent on you.

“Y/n?”

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

“Yes?”

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

You don’t respond. Not right away. 

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

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

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

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

“I do. I want to be here with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung takes your silence as hesitation, his face softening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More?” He murmurs against your skin.

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

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

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

And you can touch, too. 

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

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

“Angel?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Then he looks down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he turns his head and—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything, you think. I want everything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, oh God,” you gasp. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” you say.

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

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

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

“Not yet,” you say. 

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

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

“I love you,” he says.

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

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

“Not staying late?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung,” you say, warm and happy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[academicdisasterfic]

Letters in Transition, 23 May 2022

A collaborative correspondence between @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm and I, inspired by our encounters with fic as queer, trans boys. Letters, words and art exchanged at the start of an unrestrained life.

Previous entries can be found here. In this letter I reference freely, as men strive for right by @bixgirl1

Dear Joy,

I could try and fail for all eternity to express how proud I am of you for coming out to your parents; you are my constant and relentless inspiration, one of the bravest humans I know. I couldn’t possibly start this letter without telling you that.

My god, it’s been a month. I don’t really know where to start. It should be impossible to feel so much, for so many emotions to exist in one space. 

I’m in my new city! I’m in a new home! I have bought bedsheets and cleaning supplies and plants; I have applied for jobs; I have at least three whole friends here (two of them are my housemates and the other I met through fandom, but it still counts). It’s a pretty decent start.

I also went on a road trip earlier this month with two of my best friends. They flew all the way from the States to come and see me, and that in itself is enough to cripple me with emotion. But they also liked me.

In freely, as men strive for right, it takes Draco over fifteen years of marriage to let Harry tell him not just that he loves him, but why he loves him. And even at the end of the story, he doesn’t fully comprehend it; but he allows it, allows Harry to have his own feelings.

I don’t like myself. I wish I did. I wish I felt like a good ghost, as you say; able to fill out all of my complicated edges with some neat, easily defined lines. 

The only time I ever saw my ex truly furious was when she threw a towel across the room and screamed, ‘Why don’t you believe that I love you? What will it take?’

Obviously we didn’t last, so I suppose I never really believed her. It’s a particular kind of cruelty to not believe your loved ones, to not trust them, and I absolutely despise it about myself; don’t know what sort of monster builds a wall that impenetrable, that vast.

I’ve never allowed the people around me to love me without demanding reasons, justifications, testing their limits as far as I can.

Except, apparently, with these two humans; who told me repeatedly and incessantly, from the moment they landed, that I was not just loved, but loved because I was funny, kind, smart, valuable. 

Perhaps it was my Draco moment, a necessary letting go of the narratives I’ve spun for so many years; perhaps I don’t believe them, but I can let them believe it. I can let them think I’m good. I can let them tell me, and maybe let them fill out my ghostliness, let that love make me a better person.

I was distraught when they left. Not just because I knew I’d miss them—and I do, as if two parts of my heart are gone—but because I’ve never let people in like that before. And, rather selfishly, I wondered whether I’d be able to do that with anyone else.

I’m trying to. I’m trying to think of Draco, sending Harry into fits of anxiety because he won’t simply let Harry give him love. I’m trying to remember that no matter how much I convince myself otherwise, there are actual people who care about me, and it hurts them when I reject their love, when I dismiss how they feel about me, feelings as valid as my own.

I’m trying to be the person who gives, rather than takes. 

This is a very self-indulgent letter, perhaps not directly about being trans, but I think in a way it really is.

I think I didn’t acknowledge my transness for a long time, because to acknowledge it would allow love in with such greater ease. 

I’ve never been able to love like I do now. It’s as painful and as joyous as I always imagined it being. It's torturous and wonderful and I feel alive, like every cell in my body was built for it.

You can't love like that hiding behind a wall. Maybe I was never a monster, or at least not a bad one; I just needed to see what laid on the other side.

I hope you're feeling at home. I hope you know I love you for a list of reasons so long they wouldn't fit on a page.

I'm thinking of you,

Rooney x

[shotorozu]

TITLE : CARTOON KISSES

pairing : todoroki shouto x reader

synopsis : it looks like your boyfriend doesn’t understand why you like miraculous ladybug, but i guess you could say that he was more jealous, than confused. thus— why he did that

legend : [Y/N = your name, L/N = your name] afab! reader with they/them pronouns, quirk not specific

note(s) : self indulgent because yeah, my birthday‼️‼️ yes i’m an aries. the episode i’m referencing in this fic is backwarder— season 3, episode 4, and dark cupid, season 1, episode 10

this is a birthday fic for me 💅🤍✨‼️

Lately, everything has been hectic— on both sides anyway.

Was it really your fault? Or was it his fault? In fact, it wasn’t either of yours faults. UA was just very meticulous about what the students should be doing when and how.

Then again, it wasn’t like you never saw your boyfriend— Todoroki Shouto; the boy with dual colored hair that could easily blend in with the peppermint candy isle. That’s not the point though, you do actually see him

The only time you get to actually spend some time with him, is when the two of you are in each other’s rooms. Either enveloped in each others arms, or really— doing the most random things, at the most random times.

Or the other possible outcome, watching shows together. Which would rather be right about now.

Shouto lays right beside you, his right arm draped around your shoulder to keep you in his firm hold. Meanwhile, you’re cuddled up right on his side, occasionally pressing your face into his shirt because why not?

“For crying out loud! can’t they just date each other already?!” You exclaim in absolute agony, watching the two main protagonists— Ladybug and Chat Noir, be playful with each other mid-battle.

Shouto’s gaze averts down onto you, and in reality— he doesn’t look all that invested, compared to you, who’s making commentary everytime something drastic happens in the episode. If he wasn’t, you couldn’t really blame him. He only just started watching this show with you merely a few days ago (really, it has only been 2 days.)

“Aren’t they like.. the same people?” He’s puzzled. The masks hide nothing! Even he could piece together that the two heroes could be linked to their civilian selves— most especially, Marinette. Since her persona doesn’t really have a drastic change her appearance, in comparison to her partner.

“Yes, that’s what makes this entire show so.. interesting! They’re so.. oblivious! And this has been dragging on for several years!”

Shouto’s confused, in all honesty. Really, what even is the love square? can’t they just say who they are? he’d guess that the mechanics are different, compared to the real world— where people already know who you are (excluding special cases)

He has so many questions, and his train of thought is put to an end, when he hears a high pitched squeal—

“DID YOU JUST SEE THAT?” You practically squirm in his hold, thrashing back and forth as you replay the scene of Chat Noir kissing Ladybug’s hand, as he bids farewell to her.

“He.. kissed her hand?”

“Yes!” You replay the scene, and you thrash around in your spot on the bed, practically fawning over the simple gesture. His expression falters when he sees you slip out of his grasp, and he can only gently pull you back in

When you kiss his cheek goodbye, as you part ways with him, he’s left sitting in silence. He doesn’t know what to think

I mean, it really could be a stretch of a situation. Why else would you be squealing watching such simple acts of romance— and it all seems too easy. Maybe you like guys similar to Chat Noir? who are natural romantics, and people that are just oozing of confidence? Maybe you love hand kisses? (It’s not like he doesn’t give you them, but.. out in public? not really.)

Or maybe.. there’s something else.

And maybe you like being called M’lady, and names similar to that? he doesn’t really know.

Which is why, he decides to binge at least half of the show, and understand the lore of “Miraculous | Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir”

»»————-　♡　————-««

You’re puzzled when Shouto starts acting differently

I mean, it could be a dare for all you know— but he doesn’t seem like the type to drag out a dare for 5 days. He wouldn’t be that committed to a.. what would you call this?

It’s.. just different. He’s acting differently, and you could just hope it’s a prank, or even a drawn out consequence of a bet he manage to lose— it would be nice to know about the sudden change of attitude.

He says nothing the next time you guys have another miraculous marathon, nothing out of the ordinary! however, the youngest Todoroki seems to be wanting to do.. something.

As per usual, you’re seated next to him, a change compared to the usual times where you’re slumped against his side, which really— bugged your boyfriend.

Your eyes stayed glued onto the screen, as you attentively watched Chat Noir pull Ladybug down from a dangling roof, chest to chest, shushing her, as if he wanted to tell her all of the things that were on his mind at that exact moment

“It’s happening, it’s happening!” You squeal, as if it wasn’t the 10th time you played said scene— and by the looks of it, you’re a ‘ladynoir’ fan.

You can’t see it, but his two toned eyes narrow down into slits— and he grumbles, knowing that he probably should just.. do it. There’s not stopping it now, he’d take the chance.

When the moment nearly happened, you body made an impulse— and simply moved on it’s on, without much thought.

You wouldn’t have noticed it, due to the awfully large (to an outsider, it wasn’t a large distance, but to him, it was.) distance— but you’re awfully aware of the warm hand trailing down your forearm, your body immediately relaxes when he tugs on your arm with care, peppering kisses along your forearm, and going down to the backside of your hand.

“W-what are you doing?!” You exclaim in surprise, your cheeks heating up like a fresh batch of toast coming out of the toaster. Yet, your hot-cold boyfriend says nothing, and continues to plant kisses onto your skin with no hesitation.

Then, he makes a point to trail back higher and higher, every time his lips press against your skin, you only grow closer to the brink of overheating.

“I figured you’d be interested in such a gesture,” He mutters against the crook of your neck, not caring at all if the kiss he just pressed against your delicate skin, was rather damp at all.

You’re still stunned, you’d question whoever wouldn’t! A second ago, you were just watching cartoons and.. he was—

“I thought it would be nice to.. replicate them.” His gaze shifts onto the screen, referring to the cartoon, of course.

He.. was copying the show?

“You mean by.. flustering me like how Chat Noir flusters Ladybug?”

“You said it, not me.” Which only confirmed your previous theories and questions. You don’t know why and how you didn’t see this all before— but it does make sense now.

You fall forward, bursting into laughter. The effect of his actions seem to be the opposite of what he was hoping for

“I’m sorry, did I..”

“No! You actually got me, don’t get me wrong. You absolutely wooed me!” You poke at his cheek, in a poor attempt in brightening up the hush mood.

“In all seriousness, you don’t need to copy whatever Chat Noir does! Do what feels natural to you, and as much as I really liked that kiss, I prefer.. your signature style of kisses.” Shouto didn’t get the chance to question what you meant at that moment— it being all too quick, since you lifted his arm to rest against his side, your gaze suddenly apologetic “I’m sorry if you felt like you were doing things wrong. No character from a TV show can rival you!”

The knot that he didn’t even know existed, slowly eased away from the pit of his stomach. He smiles, content with your words— he didn’t know how you did it, how you knew the way to his heart with your words but.. he’s happy

“But it did work though, right? I did make you flustered.”

Yeah, Shouto is back to normal, when his terribly blunt questions come back.

And yeah, Chat Noir might be charismatic and swave, but at the end of the day— anything Shouto does fills you with satisfaction, up until the brim.

If it would be cartoon kisses, or his signature style of affection.

»»————-　♡　————-««

[wistfulcynic]

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a schoolteacher, respectable and respected in the small town of Haven, Wyoming. She does her job and minds her business, but she has a secret. One that brings meaning to her dull life and excitement to her restless soul. One that she knows could end at any moment. 

Killian Jones is a man with a powerful enemy and nothing to lose. He’s prepared to sacrifice every bit of that nothing for the sake of his revenge. 

Or, at least, he was. 

-

I am THRILLED to be here, kicking off the @cshistfic​ Historical Fics event! I’ve always loved reading romances set in the past and Westerns are a long-time favourite. Given how deeply entrenched the Western genre is in American culture, it’s funny to think about how a) most of it was made up for dime novels and, later, radio and television shows and movies, and b) the actual historical period that we call the Old West only lasted roughly thirty years—from the post-Civil War westward expansion under the Homestead Act to around the turn of the 20th century. This fic is set right around the end of that time—late 1890s to early 1900s—in the waning moments of the open range and the “lawless” frontier and the start of the modern era with its trains and barbed wire and cars and world wars. I’ve tried to capture a bit of that sense of transition in the story, mostly with the way it ends. 

Huge thanks to @shireness-says​​ for coming up with and running this event, and to @thisonesatellite​​ for Just Being Her. 

Words: 4.9k Rating: T Tags: Western AU, historical, outlaw Killian, schoolteacher Emma, all the historical detail, I did so much research for this 

on AO3

-

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan): 

The hour was late, afternoon edging into evening in the town of Haven, Wyoming. ‘Town’ as a designation flattered it, this tiny settlement tucked back against craggy and striated formations of rock and nestled amongst ragged brush, being, as it was, scarcely more than a handful of rough-hewn cabins, a church, a general store, a blacksmith and livery stable, a saloon with its attendant whorehouse, and a school. 

The store and the smithy did the town’s most active business; unsurprisingly, seeing as they were the only examples of either within the radius of a good fifty miles. The residents—those who lived within the town’s scant limits—were certainly insufficient in their numbers to support either one, but the owners of those ranches that lay outside the town, they and their ranch hands, their wives, and their daughters, frequented both with pleasing regularity. 

The general store doubled, as such establishments generally did, as a post office, in which capacity it served as the sole tenuous link between this stark western land and the fashionable cities of the east. The Sears and Roebuck catalogue and that of Montgomery Ward, both prominently displayed beside the till, were tattered and well-thumbed, and the monthly mail delivery never came without piles of brown-wrapped parcels containing the latest in fashion and technology from the wider world—hints at the wonders promised by the new century. 

Very little of this prosperity touched the actual residents of Haven. The lives they lived were hard ones, scratched from unforgiving soil, but they were good folk, honest and hard-working. They lived simply and piously and for the most part happily. They tended their gardens and their livestock, read their Bibles, loved their children, and whenever possible sent those children to school. 

The Haven school, a single room with two windows, one on either side, and a disproportionate bell-tower on the roof—both this tower and the bell it contained were gifts from a local rancher, who considered them a better use of his money than blackboards or books—was located well away from the town’s main street. It had no fireplace, only a tiny, smoky, potbellied stove, and in the warmer months no breeze blew through the unglazed windows. The pupils sat on simple benches and copied their lessons onto slates that sold at the general store for rather more than their parents could comfortably afford; lessons their teacher laid out for them on a thickly-whitewashed wall with a piece of charcoal, the dust of which stained her fingers and her clothing, and embedded itself beneath her nails so deeply there were times she felt she’d never be free of it. 

This teacher’s name, the one she used, was Miss Emma Swan. A solitary and self-contained woman of about twenty-six, far too pretty for a schoolteacher most said, and if pressed these same would likely agree that teaching was not what folks might refer to as her calling. Though none could deny that she did her best and was kind to the children—a thing not always guaranteed from schoolmarms—she exuded such a restless air, an impatience with the tedium of her job and the pace of life in Haven which she did not trouble to conceal, that it was a subject of great curiosity amongst the residents why she continued to stay there. 

“I have my reasons,” she would say, whenever anyone dared to broach the subject, “and those reasons are my own.” There it was and there it would remain as far as Emma was concerned, and as the townsfolk knew her to be a courteous woman but one who never minced her words when riled, they declined to press the issue. 

By the time Miss Emma Swan had finished up in the schoolroom on this particular late afternoon, the floor swept and the board cleaned and lessons all prepared for the following day, the sun was already slipping behind the craggy rocks at her back and casting upon the town a peculiar sort of distended twilight—shrouded in shadows beneath a glaring blue sky. As she made her way the short distance between the schoolhouse and her own cabin—or rather, the schoolteacher’s cabin, perhaps the most compelling perk of her job—a brisk breeze ruffled the hem of her skirt and the few flyaway hairs that had escaped her tidy Gibson bun. The night would likely be another chilly one, and Emma wondered absently if she had enough wood left to leave the fire high for an extra hour or two or if she should resign herself now to another cold, dark evening spent alone. 

The cabin where she lived, she and sixty years of schoolteachers before her, was small and rough like most in Haven and comprised only two rooms: a small bedroom to the rear and a larger space at the front used equally for sitting, cooking, and dining. In this front room was both a fireplace and stove, the latter surprisingly modern and another gift from a different rancher, to the previous teacher. Near this stove sat a small wooden table and two matching chairs; a soft and generous armchair had pride of place before the fire. 

The bedroom was by far Emma’s preferred room. The walls in it were painted, in a pale and soothing blue, and on one of them a charming watercolour of forget-me-nots was hung. There was a white wardrobe with a mirrored door, a washstand and a vanity table, and a large bed with a sturdy iron frame. The curtains on the single window were of dotted swiss that Emma had sewn herself, and in the morning when she opened them she was greeted by the colours of the dawn. 

Emma removed her buttoned boots the moment she was through the door; they pinched her toes and she disliked wearing them indoors. She replaced them with a well-worn pair of carpet slippers then headed for the bedroom, there to change out of her school clothes and into the more comfortable, loose wrap dress she preferred at home. When she entered the room she had already undone most of the buttons on her high-collared blouse and so made straight for the wardrobe, without so much as a glance at the bed. 

The mirror on the wardrobe door as it swung open flashed the brief reflection of a face, just as Emma heard the sound of a chair leg scrape against the bare wood floor. She gasped and spun around, eyes wide and one hand pressed against her chest. 

There could be no question that the man currently in occupation of her vanity chair, sprawled in it with an air as casual as it was deceptive, was one who had followed quite a different path of life than that afforded to the residents of Haven. His untidy hair and the thick scruff on his jaw might not be especially remarkable out in this still-wild corner of Wyoming, but the narrow cut of his coat and the embroidery on the waistcoat beneath it, the silver chain of his pocket-watch and the ostentatious knot of his tie marked him as a man who knew his way around a gambling table for both good or ill and could likely acquit himself equally well in both scenarios. A man who dealt with the hardships of life by shooting rather than working his way out of them—as the gleaming six-shooter currently pointed straight at Emma would most certainly attest. 

Emma forced herself to breathe, slow and steady. Her heart was pounding. The man greeted her with a brusque nod, and cocked the hammer on his revolver. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you, love,” he drawled, in an accent that suited this town less even than his clothes or his gun. “By all means, keep going.” 

Emma swallowed hard and with trembling fingers undid the remainder of her buttons. Her blouse hung open to reveal the hooks of the corset underneath. 

The man gave his gun a menacing wave. “All the way now, there’s a good lass.” 

She shrugged off the blouse and let it fall to the floor. 

“And the skirt.” 

She unhooked her grey wool skirt and released it to pool around her ankles. 

His voice rasped. “Take down your hair.” 

Emma shivered.

Three pins and two combs held her hair in place. She removed them, dropped them into the pile of clothing at her feet; the bun tumbled down and over her shoulder. 

“Shake your head.” 

She did, vigorously. The bun unraveled further and strands of silky blonde fell across her face. 

He swallowed audibly. “Now the rest.” 

Emma hesitated, fingers hovering over the hooks on her corset. She wore nothing beneath it but a combination made of thin cotton lawn.

The man raised his gun and growled, “All of it.” 

She tossed her head back, jutted her chin out high in defiance. Her belly churned with a dark thrill of anticipation as she unhooked the corset and flung it away. He chuckled, low and rough. Emma fumbled with the buttons on her combination as he uncocked his gun and set it aside, then undid the belt designed to hold it. His eyes locked with hers as he stood, pale blue and profoundly tired, eyes that had seen far too much. 

She finished with the buttons but left the combination on, parted to reveal a thin strip of pale skin. Her heart thundered as he approached, her breaths short and heaving. He swaggered up and stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the dust and sweat on him, so close she had to tilt her head again to see his face. His hand slipped beneath her shift to curl around her waist, fingers rough on her soft skin. 

“I—” Emma gasped as he pulled her closer, flush against him. His voice was a rumbling growl in her ear.

“You what, love?” 

“I was expecting you yesterday!” she snapped, and then she kissed him. 

-

“Gold is dead.” 

Emma’s head shot up from where it had been resting on the bare and hairy chest of Killian Jones. The most notorious outlaw in three states, or so the Wanted posters would have folks believe. Train robber, bank robber, high-stakes gambler—but only the trains and banks and gambling dens controlled by one particular man. A man in whose side Killian Jones had been an exceptionally troublesome thorn for near to six years. A man whose wife Jones stood accused of murdering. A man who was, it seemed, now dead himself. 

Emma stared down at his face, at the sharp definition of his cheekbones and lines of strain around his eyes. Such heavy burdens he’d been carrying for as long as she’d known him, but now, despite the exhaustion writ plain on his face he seemed lighter. Relieved, in some intangible way. 

“He is?” she gasped. 

“Aye.” Killian nodded, grimly satisfied. “Shot him right through the place where his heart should be. That’s why I was late.” 

“Oh, Killian.” It wouldn’t do to feel happy about a murder, even that of a wicked man, but Emma found that she too was grimly satisfied. “You did it.” 

“Aye, it’s done. And now I have a price on my head so high I’d turn myself in if I could, and special team of bounty hunters hired by Gold’s son to bring me to him, dead or alive.” 

“Oh.” Her fingers flexed on his chest and his tightened where they curled around her hip. “What—what will you do?” 

“Leave the country.” He spoke as though the answer were obvious, and Emma supposed it was. “I’ve no choice.” 

“Will you go back to England?” 

“No. There’s nothing left for me there.” He paused and his hand slid up her back to tangle absently in her hair. “I was thinking South America. Argentina.” 

“Argentina?” 

“Aye. Land’s selling down there for cheap and I’ve enough saved to buy myself a ranch. I’ve never tried ranching before so it’ll probably be an utter failure, but the idea’s crawled into my head and made itself a nest there, so I think that’s what I’ll do.” 

Emma slipped from his arms and out of bed. She could feel his eyes on her as she took her house dress from the wardrobe and wrapped it around herself, as she tied it at her waist with jerky movements. 

“You must be hungry,” she said. 

“I could eat.” 

“Stew?” 

“Perfect.” 

In the front room Emma piled wood on the embers in her stove and coaxed a fire to life beneath the pot of stew she’d left on the hob. She swept the ashes from the fireplace, arranged the logs and the kindling, then struck a flint to light it. She could hear Killian in the bedroom washing and dressing in the spare clothes she kept on hand for him, and by the time she sensed his presence behind her the larger logs were catching nicely and the hearty aroma of stew had begun to waft in from the stove. 

“Shouldn’t be too long before it’s ready,” she told him without turning around. “There’s cornbread too. It’s a few days old, but—” 

“Emma.” 

“—it should still be good if you dunk it in the stew.” 

“Emma, love.” Killian’s voice was soft, full of the tenderness he showed only to her. “Talk to me.” 

“About what?” 

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known this day would come, this one or another very like it. She understood the dangers of the life he lived, out on the edges of society, pursued by an influential man with a terrible grudge, and she’d done all she could to make her peace with it. Killian could have died any number of times in the three years of their acquaintance; she had always been aware that every time she bid him farewell might be the last. 

And now she knew for certain that it would be. Nothing had changed. 

She heard him pull out one of the dining chairs and sit down in it, and though she kept her back to him she he knew he would be leaning his elbow on the table and running a hand over his face. She could picture the gesture in her mind’s eye with perfect clarity, so often had she seen him do it before, and her heart hurt because she knew he only did this when he was deeply troubled. 

“Emma, you know—you know why I spent so long trying to kill Gold,” he said roughly. 

“For Milah.” Her voice hardly broke on the name. “To avenge her.” 

“Yes. That bastard hunted her like an animal, shot her right in front of me then framed me for the crime, and all because she couldn’t bear to spend another moment as his wife. He took her life rather than allow her to live it free from him, because he couldn’t countenance her finding happiness with another man. And I swore to her as she lay dying that I would make him pay for that.” 

“Because you love her.” 

“I did.” In the silence of the cabin, she could hear the rasp of his scruff against his palm. “I did.” 

Emma had been watching the fire, now dancing merrily in the hearth, and it took a beat or two for his words to register. When they did her heart gave a shuddering thump and she spun round to gape at him. “Did?” she repeated. 

Killian’s lip quirked and humour flared briefly in his eyes before they became solemn again, and heartrendingly soft. “It’s a funny thing, revenge,” he remarked. “It begins as a simple quest for justice but so easily descends into obsession—almost before a man knows what’s come over him, it’s all he’s got left to live for. That’s how it was for me, for years. Until…” 

He trailed off and Emma found she was holding her breath. “Until?” she prompted.

He looked up at her. “Until I met you.” 

She inhaled sharply as their eyes met, his own warm and such a brilliant blue, full of an emotion to which she didn’t dare give a name. “I kept after Gold because of my vow to Milah, yes, but also because I had to, because it was him or me. His life or mine. When that bullet pierced his chest and I saw him fall, I realised that it wasn’t about Milah for me anymore and it hadn’t been, not for a long time. I was fighting for my life, my right to have it and to live it in peace. That’s all I want, just peace and a simple life. And you.” 

“Me?” gasped Emma, blankly and ungrammatically, as she attempted to grasp what he was saying. 

Amusement coloured the tenderness on his face, alongside a hint of exasperation. “Don’t you know, Emma?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Why do you think I kept coming back here?”

She offered a weak smile and an abashed shrug. “My cornbread?” she ventured, and he laughed. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, darling, but your cornbread is dry. Try again.” 

Emma elected to ignore this ungentlemanly slur on her culinary skills. “Well… I suppose the town is quite secluded, good for hiding out,” she observed.  

“It is that. But that isn’t the reason, love.” 

“Isn’t it?”

“You know it isn’t.” Killian stood and moved towards her, slowly as if she were a baby faun he was apt to startle, or possibly a sleeping mountain lion. “It’s you, Emma Swan,” he said softly. “You are what I will always come back for. You are the reason my soul is hale and unconsumed by hatred. Because it wasn’t revenge I was after, in the end. It was the future I wanted with you.” 

Tears clogged Emma’s throat and pressed insistently behind her eyes. “Killian,” she choked, “I—”

“Shh.” He closed what small distance remained between them and folded her in an embrace to which she clung tightly, face pressed against his shoulder so the soft flannel of his shirt might absorb her tears. “Emma, I know I have next to nothing to offer you.” Killian stroked her hair soothingly as he spoke. “A tenuous existence in an unfamiliar country, backbreaking work that likely won’t pay off, a struggle for everything we have. I shouldn’t ask this of you. I should have the decency to walk away and let you find happiness with a better man than me.” She could hear tears in his voice now, and when she looked up she saw them glistening in his eyes. “But I won’t,” he continued gruffly. “I can’t, because I am a selfish bastard and I love you. I love you so much, Emma.” His voice broke. “So much. And if you could see your way clear to coming to Argentina with me, I would spend every day I have left on this earth working to make you happy.” 

A rush of joy filled Emma Swan then, joy such as she had never known before. Her tears fell freely and unheeded as she tightened her hold on the man she loved and pressed her forehead to his own. In that stance they remained for some considerable time, until Emma became aware that the silence had drawn out far too long and she must speak. There were words he needed to hear from her, crucial words, and yet Miss Emma Swan, despite being quite a competent schoolteacher in all respects including her vocabulary, had always found words failed her when in the grip of strong emotion. 

“Did I ever tell you I grew up on a ranch?” she blurted, then shook her head. That wasn’t what she’d wished to say.

Killian’s brow wrinkled. “You’ve mentioned it.” 

“My daddy’s place out near Casper,” Emma pressed on. “A thousand acres of cattle, mostly, and some horses.” 

“It sounds nice.” 

“It was.” She snuffled and shifted until her head was resting on his shoulder and she felt cradled in his arms. This wasn’t the speech she’d planned but now she found herself determined to give it. “I was his only child, his only family after my mama died, and he reared me all my life to take over from him,” she continued. “But then when I was nineteen he got married again, and had a son. And suddenly ranching was ‘no job for a woman,’ or so he said, and I should look into teaching instead. Or better still get married and become some man’s pretty possession. Preferably the son of a neighbouring rancher, ‘for the future of our family’s land and legacy’.” She paused, remembering, and rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “I told him to go fuck himself.” 

Killian’s laugh rumbled through the both of them. “That’s my tough lass,” he said, with a pride in his voice that warmed her, and made her desperate. 

“But you do know what I’m saying, don’t you Killian?” she persisted. “You hear what I’m telling you?” 

“What I hear is that in addition to being beautiful and brilliant and tough as old boots, you also know how to run a ranch. Which would be bloody useful I must admit, as I haven’t got the first faint clue where to start. Is that what you wanted me to understand?” 

She nodded in relief. “That’s it.”

He brushed the hair back from her face with fingers gentle as the wing of a butterfly. “And is that... all you have to say?”

She felt caught in his eyes, and like to drown in them. “There may be one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s that I—I—” Emma drew a steadying breath. “I love you too, Killian, and of course I’ll go to Argentina with you.” A smile broke across his face, that rare and brilliant smile of his that set her heart to soaring and broke the dam that held her words in check. “I’d go anywhere with you,” she declared, laughing as he squeezed her tight. “To the moon. To hell itself, and then back out again.” 

“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary.” 

He leaned down to her and she swayed up to him and their lips met in a kiss that sang of love and of hope and of a most solemn promise, if something of a dramatic one. He dipped her back and kissed her until she was dizzy and overcome with laughter, and then swung her up again and into a dance. 

Emma put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him as they danced to music they alone could hear, all around the cabin with the aroma of stew in the air and hope for the future in their hearts. 

-

The disappearance of Miss Emma Swan, schoolteacher and respected resident, shook the town of Haven, Wyoming as nothing had before. Even the escape and subsequent stampede down Main Street of Mr Murchison’s pigs had caused less consternation, since, as the residents all agreed, for that at least there was an explanation. A rusty gate hinge, investigation later revealed, had been the culprit behind the Spectacular Pig Hullabaloo of 1893, whereas Miss Swan had simply vanished, with no explanation given or obvious method of egress. She owned no horse and had not boarded the stage; no one matching her description had been observed at the train station in Casper or anywhere else that a woman alone on foot might reasonably have been expected to turn up. She had taken nothing with her save some clothes and a few books and left nothing behind but a brief letter hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper—her resignation from her position as schoolteacher effective immediately, and a recommendation for her replacement. 

Haven residents were thoroughly baffled, and for many months afterwards the Fantastical Vanishing of Miss Emma Swan was the number one topic of conversation amongst them. Theories were dismantled nearly as quickly as they had been constructed, replaced by newer and ever more fanciful speculations, and each resident had his or her own pet notion as to how and why the trick was done. Rarely had they felt so stimulated or enjoyed themselves so thoroughly, however time, as it inevitably does, soon began quite noticeably to pass, and the town’s attention moved on to other happenings. For although new events in such a quiet place may never again be as deliciously sensational as the mystery of the vanished schoolmarm, they do possess the not insignificant advantage of being new.  

And thus Emma Swan passed into Haven legend. 

Some years later, on the eve of her wedding, Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard—soon to be Mrs David Nolan—sat at the very table where Miss Swan’s letter had been left and composed a letter of her own, to an old friend she’d first met at the State Normal School of Colorado. In her letter Miss Blanchard informed her friend of the imminent blessed day and thanked her for the recommendation that had not only brought Miss Blanchard many years of enjoyable work as schoolteacher to Haven’s children but also led, in that roundabout way life sometimes takes, to her current state of blissful happiness. 

This letter travelled by mail coach from the Haven general store—where Miss Blanchard posted it to the care of a P.O. Box in San Francisco—to the main post office in Casper. From there it went via train to Cheyenne, where it was loaded onto the mail car of the Union Pacific Railway and thence made its journey to the west coast. In San Francisco its fortunes underwent a curious change, for it was redirected by a clerk there, in accordance with instructions, and placed back on the Union Pacific, headed this time for Denver. From Denver it voyaged onwards to Kansas City, then Chicago, and finally to New York, where it abandoned train travel forever in favour of a steam ship bound for Buenos Aires. 

Upon arrival at port it was placed in the charge of a courier who carried it along with a scant handful of others over the rough roads of the Argentinian coast to Puerto Santa Cruz and then inland, where it finally, many months after its departure, came to rest at a tiny, dusty outpost in southern Patagonia. And it was from this inauspicious locale that the letter was collected, at long last, by its intended recipient—a woman none of the residents of Haven nor indeed the erstwhile Miss Blanchard herself would be likely to recognise as Emma Swan. 

The clothes she wore were utilitarian in design and plain in colour, liberally coated in fine brown dust. Her pale hair hung loose and wavy down her back, and her face beneath her wide-brimmed hat was tanned and marked around the eyes with the fine lines characteristic of those who spend a good deal of time squinting into bright sunlight. But these were superficial changes. The woman who collected the well-travelled letter and rode with it back to her ranch, who sat at the table in her kitchen and read it with a wide smile and sincere pleasure at the news from her friend—this woman was happy, as Emma Swan had surely never been. It was a happiness born of deep contentment and the satisfaction of a life lived on one’s own terms. And it was the happiness of a woman who is loved. 

Emma was reading the letter a fourth time when the sound of boots on the porch alerted her to Killian’s arrival; she looked up just as he came through the door with a smile on her lips the like of which neither Mrs Nolan nor any other in Haven could ever imagine her smiling. 

Killian hung his hat on a hook and met its brilliance with a smile of his own. “What are you thinking about, love, that has you so radiant?” he inquired. 

“A letter from Mary Margaret.” Emma indicated the sheet of paper in her hand. “She’s getting married. Is married now, I suppose.” 

“To a fellow worthy of her, I hope?” 

“A rancher, but not one of the arrogant ones,” Emma replied. “I think he is. Worthy of her, I mean. I think they’ll be happy.” 

“That’s good news indeed.” 

“It is.” She set the letter aside and went over to him, tucked her head beneath his chin as he enfolded her in his arms. “But that’s not why I’m radiant, as you say.” 

“I say it only because it’s true, darling.” 

“It’s because I’m happy,” said Emma softly. She nuzzled her nose against his neck; he smelled of sweat and dust and horses. “For Mary Margaret, of course, but also for me. It struck me just now, reading her letter, how happy I am. I’m so happy, Killian.” 

His arms around her tightened and she felt him stroke her hair, and when he spoke his voice was gruff. “No regrets then, about abandoning everything you’ve ever known to live out your days on the lam with me?” 

“Nope.” Emma pulled back just enough to look up at him, to caress his cheek with her fingertips and press her forehead to his. “No regrets at all.” 

-

Historical Note: Emma in this fic is based loosely on a woman named Etta Place. Very little is known about her, but she is thought to have been romantically involved with Harry Longabaugh, a.k.a. the Sundance Kid, and to have accompanied him and Butch Cassidy to South America. However, verifiable details about her are scarce—even her real name is uncertain—and only one photograph of her remains. Some believe she may have been a prostitute but in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid the writer chose to make her a teacher instead, and honestly I have always found that such a compelling tale. A “proper” schoolteacher having a secret affair with an outlaw, then running away with him to another continent? The romance, am I right? 

And thus the inspiration for this story. 

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