#bc full time hours here are still only like 3 shifts a week bc you’re here 7-10 if you’re not sleeping in

[foxmulderautism]

my least favourite day to work is tuesday bc i dont like the routine and activity for that day and they’ve scheduled me for nearly every tuesday until april BROOO i am stuck in the time loop fr

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

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. 

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif​ for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within. 

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over. 

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight. 

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed.  It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on. 

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code. 

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time. 

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water. 

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine. 

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.”  The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious. 

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new. 

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed. 

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?” 

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone. 

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one. 

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they? 

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.” 

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper. 

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go. 

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked. 

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs. 

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least). 

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for. 

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good. 

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone. 

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way. 

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God. 

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence. 

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things. 

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.” 

Ah. 

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.” 

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new. 

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased. 

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs. 

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples. 

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice. 

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off. 

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs. 

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?” 

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight. 

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality. 

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own. 

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[lovely-angst]

Hi I saw your post can I request a scenario with dabi and female reader having an argument vut with fluff ending, thank you so much 💗

a/n: this took so long bc i couldn’t sit and write for more than like 10 minutes a day. but this fic is  l e n g t h y  bc this is the kinda of angst I like hehe. also, it’s hard writing for dabi! his character is so complicated!

tw: arguing

genre: fluff and angst

pairing: dabi x reader

summary: you and dabi get into a heated argument and trying to fix the relationship is harder than it seems.

word count: 3.5k

03.09.2021

-

It was probably a bad idea that you ran out of the house at night, but you felt as if you had no other choice. You and Dabi had just gotten into a heated argument—the most heated argument the two of you had ever had actually.

It might have been over something stupid, but it had been running through your mind for the past few weeks, so it couldn’t have been that stupid. Not to you at least.

Your eyes were stained red from all of the crying you had done prior, but every time you thought back to the words the two of you threw at each other, you couldn’t help the blurriness of the tears that filled your eyes.

“If you’re so miserable with me, why don’t you just leave!” Dabi shot at you as anger filled your entire body. 

“I can’t!” you shouted back before sadness washed over you, tears quickly rising to your eyes as you stared over at your boyfriend. “I have nowhere else to go anymore because I left everything behind for you!” 

“I never asked you to! Maybe you should’ve thought about that when you decided to mess around with someone like me.”

“You didn’t have to ask! I did it because I love you! But you wouldn’t understand because you don’t care about me!” You shouted angrily at Dabi, who was fuming at you with clenched fists, 

“You’re right, I don’t care. Get out of my fucking place.” 

Staring down at your hands, you let out a sigh. You were starting to miss Dabi. Even after everything that had just happened, your heart was still full of love for him. There was no way he meant it, right?

It wasn’t that you were miserable with Dabi, you loved him with all your heart. You had just wanted him to put more effort into the relationship, into you. He was always away doing whatever work he had to do and you missed him—Dabi was all you had left.

Reaching into the pockets of your light jacket, you frowned upon only finding a few napkins and empty wrappers from whatever treat you had snacked on. In a rush to leave the apartment, you had forgotten to take your phone and wallet, leaving you with nothing.

Sniffling, you glanced around at the empty streets, trying to find a warm place to stay at. It wasn’t terribly cold, but cold enough where you would love to be someplace warm. Going home wasn’t an option, seeing how Dabi had just kicked you out, but going back to your parents was an even worse option. They had given you an earful about Dabi and you were practically disowned when you left with him.

It was just like any other day. The two of you were on his roughed-up couch that so happened to fit the two of you perfectly. Dabi sat behind you as you sat in between his slender legs in a comfortable silence. 

He had this place for himself when he didn’t feel like staying overnight at the league and it used to feel so big when it was him alone. But recently, you’ve been occupying this space with him which made everything feel so much warmer. 

And he told you. “You should move in with me,” he said, earning a small smile from you. 

But you knew it couldn’t be that simple. 

“My parents don’t want me around you anymore,” you told him softly in his arms. “They said you’re not a person I should be spending my time with.” 

“Well, you’re old enough to be making your own decisions,” he huffed and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “I am,” you told him, finding his hands and gently running your fingers along them.

“But if I decided to move in with you, they’ll disown me. Cut me off from the family,” a heavy sigh escapes your lips, slumping back on your boyfriend’s chest. 

“Yeah, but we can be our own family,” he said before a small wave of silence fell upon the two of you. Turning around to face him, you couldn’t help the sad smile on your face, “Could we really though? I mean, you’re busy and if I’m no longer with my family, I’d be alone.” 

“Trust me, doll,” he starts with a smirk, pushing hair away from your face, “we will make it work.”

You stared up into his blue eyes hesitantly. Dabi was no family guy. He wasn’t even the type of guy to settle with someone, yet here he was asking you to move in with him to be his family. 

But you loved him too much. 

Placing a gentle hand on his chest, you lean forward to press a kiss onto his lips before slightly pulling away, “Promise me you’ll take care of me?”

Dabi let out a small chuckle, grinning before pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Promise.”

You were really alone now.

-

Panting heavily, Dabi stared at the door you had just slammed shut as you fled from the apartment the two of you shared. Good riddance, he thought, storming over toward the bedroom to cool himself down—his flames were about to burst out any minute now with how angry and irritated he was.

He had already told you that he couldn’t be that perfect boyfriend who could do all these amazing things for you. You knew this and you had told him it was alright because you love him. So what was that back then?

Roughly running his hands through his hair, he sat back against the bed before letting out a heavy sigh and rubbing his eyes out of frustration. Maybe telling you to get out of the apartment was a bit much, but Dabi knew you’d eventually find your way back. You always did.

Grabbing his phone from beside him, Dabi decided to shoot you a text telling you to come back because it would be a hassle to take care of you if you got sick—his way of telling you he cared.

It was late in the night already and Dabi was tired from everything. He wished that you could’ve been there for him to hold when he drifted off into a dreamless slumber, but you weren’t because of him.

Walking over to the front door, Dabi made sure the door was unlocked if you had decided to sneak your way back in. Which he secretly hoped you would.

Upon opening the fridge, Dabi’s heart clenched once he saw all of the food you had cooked and stored away for him with little notes written on them.

‘I know you hate fish, so this doesn’t contain any fish!’

‘This dish has a lot of meat so eat up to get all your protein in because you’ve been working so hard <3′ 

‘This one is my favorite, so try it out and see if you like it just as much as me :^)’

Did you have to be so stupidly cute?

Dabi was weak against you, and he knew it too. Heating up the dish you deemed your favorite, he walked over towards the small dinner table that would fit the two of you perfectly.

Staring down at the dish, Dabi let out a chuckle—of course this dish was your favorite. And it tasted like home too, something he seemed to enjoy more of when you were here too. 

He really did miss you too.

It had been a week since you moved in with Dabi. He enjoyed coming home to you sharing the space with him and making it more homely and warm. Dabi was quite ecstatic that you agreed to live with him, but there was only one problem.

You didn’t seem so...happy. 

Dabi would often catch you staring off into space or constantly staring out the window as you let your thoughts run wild. And when he would finally build up the courage to ask, you’d respond with a smile.

“No, I am happy to be here with you,” you’d remind him softly, “I just kinda miss my family.”

And though Dabi knew that, he couldn’t help but want to be selfish and keep you here to himself. You were his family now and you chose to be his a part of this family when you agreed to live with him. 

“But we’re our own family now and we’ll take care of each other,” you told him with a smile despite your sadness.

You seemed to always find the right words to soothe Dabi’s thoughts. You were great at helping him—even when he couldn’t seem to help you at all.

Twitching awake, Dabi glanced around confused. When did he fall asleep? His discarded dish was still on the table right where he left it. He must’ve fallen asleep when his thoughts consumed him.

Glancing over at his phone, Dabi frowned when two hours had passed and there was no response from you. You didn’t even bother looking at his text. Were you seriously that upset? Letting out a sigh, Dabi decided to call you instead, hoping to get you home safe.

It wasn’t until he heard your familiar ringtone playing from the living room that Dabi had realized that you left your phone. Which meant you were out somewhere alone and defenseless in this sketchy neighborhood. It had already been two hours. Who knows what could have happened to you.

He always felt as if you were so small and so fragile that it would be so easy to break you.

“Fuck,” Dabi mumbled as he ran into the bedroom to grab his hoodie and a mask before taking off searching for you. Even with most of his skin covered, he could still feel the chill of the late night.

Where could you be at a time like this?

As he ran through the quiet neighborhood, he was glad to see that no one was out and about doing whatever shady business they had going on. But to Dabi’s surprise, there you were, just a few feet away from the apartment.

You sat crouched into a tiny ball as you hid your face in your knees, looking extra small and extra fragile.

Dabi let out a relieved sigh before gently walking towards you, his feet tapping against the concrete gently before stopping in front of you.

“(Name),” he called as gently as he could, “It’s cold out. Let’s go back,” but you didn’t budge. “Stop being stubborn and let’s go back,” Dabi’s voice was laced with irritation before you finally moved, which should have been a great sign. But seeing how you shifted away from him, bothered him more than he liked to admit.

“I don’t want to go back,” you say weakly, curling in on yourself. Dabi scoffed, “Then are you going to stay out here in the cold? I know you have nowhere else to go.”

Your head raised slowly to glance up at him, a heartbroken look on your face before you stood up to face him. “That’s exactly why I don’t want to come back. You promised me you’d take care of me, but look where we are now.”

Turning away from him, you let out a sigh, “I think this relationship is too much for you right now, Dabi. You’re not ready to have another person in your life.”

And your words seem to hurt Dabi more than he had expected. It was just an argument. Things like this always happen in relationships, right? So how come things were turning for the worse?

“You’re dramatic, (Name),” Dabi chuckled. “Just come back and it will be better in the morning.”

He didn’t know how to fix this anymore.

“We can’t act like that argument didn’t happen, Dabi. That was the worst argument we’ve had, and it really hurt me,” you continued, lips quivering as you blinked rapidly, trying to hold back your tears.

“Just come back to the apartment,” Dabi tried once more, but with a surprising calm. “It’s not safe out here and it’s warmer.”

You hated how he could crumble your resolve with a few simple words—you were head over heels for this man. Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you dig your shoes into the ground, “Only for tonight. If things don’t work out, then I’ll find a new place to stay at.”

And though your words carried a heavyweight, Dabi was just glad you agreed to come back. Maybe if he snuggled up into you when the two of you went to bed, you’d forgive him.

But when he saw you setting up your bed on the couch, he realized that this was a bigger problem than he had discovered.

“What are you doing?” Watching you fluff out your pillow, you quietly got into your makeshift bed, bringing the covers towards your cheeks, “I’m going to bed,” you replied, shutting your eyes as you turned into the couch.

“But why are you on the couch?” 

“Because I don’t want to be around you right now,” you mumble into the blankets, hiding your face from your boyfriend as he stood there irritated.

“You’re being such a baby right now,” Dabi responds angrily, but you only replied with a hum, further irking the male as he trudged towards the bedroom and thankfully, shutting off the lights for you on his way.

It hurt to see that Dabi wasn’t as upset as you were about this problem the two of you were having. You wanted to fix this because you love and care for him, but you couldn’t say the same about him. Snuggling deeper into your blanket, you hoped that this night “apart” would help the two of you sleep on the problem and be able to face each other the next day.

-

Your constant stirring had woken you up from your sleep, though you weren’t able to get much sleep anyways. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was the fight that you and Dabi had gotten into.

Anything you dreamt of seemed to be a replay of what had led to now. You couldn’t escape.

Sighing, you let your arm hang off the couch only to have the back of your hand bump into something. Gently, your hand brushes against the foreign object before your eyes widen when your fingers brush across something soft.

Dabi?

Gently turning, your eyes land on Dabi, who asleep on the floor beside you with a small blanket covering his taller frame. Your fingers that landed themselves in his hair gently ran across down to his face, brushing along his scars as he slept peacefully beneath your hand.

Watching Dabi sleep was something you could never get tired of. He always looked so at peace, so relaxed and so carefree and you couldn’t help but wish for him to always have a restful sleep. You just wanted him to be happy.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the hand coming up to brush across your own before they gently held your smaller one in yours. 

Words weren’t exchanged as the two of you laid there in silence as Dabi gently caressed the back of your hand with his thumb. A small but very comforting affection for the two of you—something you didn’t know you were craving.

“Did I wake you?” your words finally cut the silence as you laid there, basking in the feel of his hand in yours. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“It didn’t feel right sleeping in the bed alone,” A strange confession coming from the man who seemed to strive alone, but it was sweet hearing it from him, feeling how his hand gently caressed yours.

Gently prying your hand from his, you noticed how he tensed slightly before you brought your fingers back to his face gently, running across his scars once more.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

His words cut the thick silence that filled the space between the two of you. Your hand stopped right above his eyes before your brows arched sadly as you listened to him. “We’re our own family now. We’re all we’ve got.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you laid flat against the cushions of the couch, staring up at the dark ceiling above you, “I love you, Dabi, but this isn’t what a family is supposed to feel like. You promised you’d take care of me, but...I just feel like I’ve been doing it all on my own.”

Your eyes stung with tears that began to surface as your emotions came crashing back down on you.

You love Dabi, you really do, but you deserved to be treated better.

“I’m not miserable with you Dabi, I love being with you. It’s just hard when you’re all that I have left and you’re not here too,” you reminded gently, trying not to upset him. But even now, he remained silent.

“If we want things to work, I need you to talk to me,” you were met with silence and you had thought Dabi had fallen asleep but when you turned to glance at him and saw his blue eyes staring off into the distance, you knew it couldn’t work.

Turning back into the couch, you pulled your blankets up towards your cheek once more, letting your tears run freely, “I’ll be gone by the morning. Thanks for everything.”

Dabi laid there listening to your quiet sobs as you cried yourself to sleep on the couch beside him. And to be short, Dabi was freaking the fuck out.

He wanted to say something, anything, but his voice was stuck in his throat. Everything he wanted to tell you was caught and shoved back instead of flowing from his lips.

Sitting up after hearing your breathing even out, Dabi hovered over your, watching how your tears glistened with the faint moonlight and the way your breath would hitch every so often.

He really did love you, even when he couldn’t express himself to you.

Letting the back of his fingers glide across your skin gently, Dabi allowed himself to relax as he watched your peaceful state. You really did deserve so much better than a villain like him.

But he wanted to be selfish.

“You deserve so much more than this,” Dabi’s fingers run across your delicate features as he watched the way your chest rises and falls, “but I can’t give you anything.

“I can’t do anything for you like you do for me. All I do is get upset at you because you just want me to show you a little bit of love when you give me unconditional love.”

“I won’t get mad at you for leaving. I wish I could’ve given you a better family, but I don’t even know what a real family is.” Quietly standing, Dabi leans down to kiss your temple gently before giving you one last glance.

“You were the best thing to have happened to me.” his footsteps fade into the distance as he walked back into the empty bedroom.

Your eyes open once Dabi left, leaving you in the living room as your heart clenched with every word and emotion he managed to squeeze out from his conflicted heart.

You just couldn’t leave him.

-

The birds were chirping freely outside beyond the walls of his small apartment, which meant you had already left. 

With an arm over his eyes, Dabi tried not to think about it—about you, but how could he not when he was so in love with you? 

“ugh, fuck,” he grumbled as he tried sitting up in his bed, only to feel something restricting him. Peeling his arm from his eyes, Dabi glanced down only to be surprised to see you clinging onto his waist as you hid your face in the side of his chest. “(Name)?”

A sleepy whine left your lips as you moved your head around before adjusting yourself beside him, breath evening out once more as you continued to doze off.

He wasn’t sure when or how you got into the bed with him, but he thought maybe this was God’s last gift to him—allowing him to have you in his arms once more before his world would continue to drag him along the ends of the Earth. 

And once Dabi intertwined his limbs with yours, he fell asleep just as fast as he woke up. 

It wasn’t until he felt something weaving in his hair that he woke up for the second time that morning. His tired eyes slowly opened before he turned his head towards the body beside him, eyes catching onto yours before a fragile why fell from his lips. 

“I know it’s hard for you to tell me how you feel and I’m sorry for pressuring you into doing it. But I heard everything you said last night. Thank you.” You place a gentle hand on his chest before lifting yourself onto his chest, your eyes focused on his vulnerable expression.

“It’s hard for the both of us, but if you’re willing to give a little bit more into this small family of ours, we’ll be just fine.”

Dabi couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips as he brought his hands to the back of your head, bringing your forehead to his, enjoying the way your breaths mingled, “anything for you, doll.”

[jeongvision]

🗣 TEACHER!AU WITH JOHNNY

PART TWO! LET’S GET IT!

pairing. history teacher! seo johnny ✗ english teacher! fem! reader (ft. english teacher! mark lee)

genre. fluff, slight humor, high school teacher au, non idol au

warnings. some cursing and super soft hours after this huhu <3 and not proofread but we can discuss that later

author’s note. this is an continuation to this blurb! this could be read as a standalone but regardless i hope this brought a smile to your face bc it certainly did for me <3

You should’ve seen it coming. Damn it, it was right in front of you all along, so why didn’t you see it in the first place?

You and your students have been grinding nonstop for the past couple weeks to prep them for the AP English IV exam. There was a time where you requested two days off from work for emergency purposes (thankfully it was nothing too major) leaving you to ask your coworker- Mark, another teacher in your department -to help fill in your students on materials needed for the exam.

Everything was perfectly fine when you came back, your coworker going beyond your expectations in taking care of your students. However, one thing you failed to take notice of is the recent changes the college board made in their AP exams, including the course you teach. After reviewing some of the revisions they made, you felt your heart drop.

They’ve added three additional sections to the exam, meaning an additional two weeks is needed to cover the materials for your students to grasp some sort of mastery on those concepts.

You have four weeks left until the exam, and you’re already compacted those remaining weeks with other necessary materials for the exam.

“Fucking hell,” you murmured under your breath.

Running your hand through your hair, you let out a tired sigh. It’s already bad enough that you have to work overtime in making revisions to your lesson plans. However, it’s worse to see the crestfallen looks on your students’ faces when you dropped the news on them. They’re already tired enough from dealing with other classes and extracurricular activities. On top of that, you know most of them are stressing about their acceptance letters from their colleges.

You dropped the pen in your hand and rubbed both of your eyelids. Relax, y/n you told yourself. Don’t worry, you can do this. You heard the door behind you open, meaning someone walked inside the teacher’s lounge.

“Hey, y/n. What’s up- Woah, woah, WOAH! What do we have here?” the person exclaimed. You let out a chortle. You could distinctively point that voice out from anywhere, and you’re sure as hell that the state of your workspace is nothing short of hell. Taking your hands away from your face, you crossed your arms and leaned back a little in your seat to look up at the latter.

“Well, hello to you too, Mark,” you chuckled. You both gave each a fist bump before he sits down in the empty chair beside you.

“What the hell happened here?” He grabs some of the documents splayed out before you, eyes scanning through the materials that you’ve scribbled on in the past hour. “Wait, what? They added new things to the AP exam?”

You sighed and nodded dejectedly. “Yep. And somehow, I gotta squeeze all those materials into my lesson plans before they take it next month.” You rested your arms on the table and rested your head on top of them. “At this point, I just want to light myself on fire and call it a day.”

Mark lets out a cackle besides you, prompting you to smile. You’ll never mention it to him, but his laughs and smiles are always infectious. It’s what makes him so well-known and loved in the English department in the first place, both faculties and students.

“Please don’t do that. We love you too much to let you do that to yourself,” he responded.

Sitting back up in your seat, you take a glance at the clock. Just four minutes before the section ends and you have to go back to teaching your classes again. You heard your coworker clear his throat, bringing you to face him.

“Do you need help with any of this?” he offered.

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine, Mark. I appreciate the offer but I don’t want to bother you with my workload.”

“No, really. It’s fine, y/n. I only teach honors and they’re all pretty ahead in their assignments, so I have some free time if you’d like.”

Just like that, you swear you could see a halo shining above his figure, your world much brighter and clearer than it was this morning. “Oh my god, yes please.” You shifted through your papers, searching the remnants of the piles before handing it over to him. “Can you please go through these and grade them for me? Here are the answer keys for them.” After debriefing him for that stack of papers, you gave him another one. “And for these, can you make some copies for me? I need them tonight so I can plan for tomorrow’s class.”

He listened attentively to your commands, taking a mental note and nodding each instruction given to him. “Okay, got it, y/n. I’ll get these done and hand them over by the end of the day.”

You’re gawking at him, surprised that your coworker is willing to lend you a helping hand. You could honestly cry out tears of joy right now, but timing refuses to let you do so as the bell rings, marking the end of a period. You both stood up in your seats and grabbed the papers on the table into a neat pile. You let out a content sigh as you both walked out the teacher’s lounge.

“Thank you so much, Mark. You’re the best,” you exhaled. Outside your classroom, you already see some students entering inside as you left it unlocked, free for them or your coworkers to enter as they pleased. You both stood next to its entrance before he shrugs his shoulders at you.

“Hey, I mean it’s what I do best, right? Being the best.”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful shove, earning a laugh from him. Saying goodbyes to one another, you walked inside your classroom. You nodded to the students present. “Afternoon, class,” you greeted.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/n!”

“Miss Y/n, there’s a bouquet of flowers on your desk,” one of your students called out. You raised an eyebrow. Flowers? Looking over to your desk, your student was certainly not lying and neither are your eyes. Perched in the middle of your desk lies a vase filled with varying colors of tulips. Petals are in full bloom and the stems are clipped uniformly. You walked over and saw a notecard attached to one of the flowers.

“Who is it from, Miss Y/n?”

“Yeah! Who got you flowers?”

You looked up and realized more of your students are present, capacity almost at its max. Class was starting soon so more and more are rushing in to see the surprise gift settled on your desk.

“Is it Mr. Kim in the science department? I saw you two walking together in the hallways last week.”

That assumption piqued your interest. “Wait, Mr. Kim? The physics teacher?” you asked. The student, Krystal, nodded, causing you to huff incredulously. “Krystal, please. We’re merely just friends.”

Another student chimes in. “Friends don’t lock arms with each other at work.”

“Jongin, please. Your last girlfriend only stayed with you for a month and she started dating an upperclassman a week later.”

“Hey—”

“Guys, calm down,” you interjected. “As much as I love you crazy bunch, I am still your teacher. Therefore, what occurs in my personal life stays private, and how much I am willing to share with you all lies in my discretion.” But unbeknownst to you, one of your students sneaks behind you to get a glance of the card, discreetly reading the contents:

‘The best deserves nothing less than the best.

Yours truly.’

The student, Luna, almost lets out a squeal. “Guys! Guys!” You jumped in shock, startled by her sudden presence and her high-pitched voice. “I think it’s Mr. Lee! The other English teacher!”

All attention is now on her, excitement filled in the air.

“Mr. Lee? The one that teaches honors?”

“The one with boba eyes?”

“The one that laughs at everything?”

Luna nods to each question, visibly thrilled with the subtle jump in her steps as she walked towards her classmates. “Yes! I heard Miss y/n calling him the best earlier and Mr. Lee joked about being the best! And in the card, it said ‘the best deserves nothing less than the best’.” The bell rang, marking the beginning of the period, but that didn’t stop your students from chattering with happiness, faces completely wiped from fatigue and stress of the upcoming exams. Some students entered your classroom late to the discussion, prompting other students to fill them in only to also be electrified by the ‘news’.

You run a hand through your hair again and sighed. Not this again, you thought to yourself. But just before you could jump in to stop all this chaos, you heard someone knock on your open door, diverting your attention and your class’ to the intruder.

“Well, good afternoon, class,” the person chuckled. “Why’s it so boisterous here? Did I miss a party or something?”

Of course, what better person to appear now of all times? It was none other than the infamous history teacher, Johnny Seo. You rolled your eyes before laughing. Coincidence, my ass.

“Mr. Seo! Someone gave Miss Y/n a bouquet of tulips! She has a secret admirer!” Luna stated.

He raised an eyebrow at her direction. “Oh, does she now?” He looks back at you with a grin. “Did Miss Y/n find out who this secret admirer is?”

“We think it’s Mr. Lee from honors English.”

“And what makes you think so?”

“Because we heard her call him the best earlier before class started, and the notecard called her the best.”

“Coincidence? I think not,” Jongin nodded.

All of the students followed along in unison, profoundly proud of their assumptions that left you shaking your head in disbelief. Surely, you had a smile on your face, but it’s surprising to know how your students are able to make such large assumptions based on groundless evidence. You sat down in your chair and turned on your computer, getting your lesson plan ready for the period as your students entertained themselves with Mr. Seo.

Johnny takes it all in, nodding to all of them before walking up behind your desk. “Well, I think it’s safe to say that you don’t pester too much to Miss y/n about it. You know how much she likes to keep her life private.” While you were browsing through your saved files and pulling up powerpoints, you felt the latter tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Right, Mrs. Seo?”

And just like that, your hands stilled. Wait, did he just—

“Hold up..”

“What?”

“Did you just—”

“Mrs. Seo?”

“Huh?”

You squeezed your eyelids shut. Oh my god, here we go again—

“YOU GUYS ARE MARRIED??”

jeongvision’s milestone event!

[baepsaesbae]

Eclipse

Pairing— Day Fairy!Hoseok x Night fairy!reader    

Genre— SMUT, fae au, angst, idiots to lovers

Warnings— Oral (F receiving), nipple play, explicit unprotected sex, hair pulling, both praise and slight derogatory dirty talk bc I can’t make up my mind, slight swearing

Word Count— 3.3k  

Summary— The summer solstice is here and it’s time to celebrate. Your favorite part of the solstice is that you get to see Hoseok, or rather, the love of your life. It’s too bad you haven’t told him how you really felt, even though it has been centuries. Maybe this year will be different. 

A/N— This fic is part of The Fabled Collab hosted by @joontopia, @kimtaehyunq, and @whipped-for-kpop-fics. Hoseok is my sunshine, so I just had to write about him! Thank you to @s0seo and @taegularities for giving me motivation to write. Lastly, huge shoutout to Eden from @thebiasrekkers​ for making this awesome banner for me! As always, let me know how you guys like the fic! My askbox is always open <3

Fae clans have many holidays and rituals, but solstices are by far the most celebrated. Solstices mark the pivotal event that shifts the seasonal responsibilities between the sun and moon clans. The summer and winter solstice are always the biggest events of the year, with about a week of festivities leading up to the final event. 

Sweat ran down your spine as the sun beat down on you. You’ve been holding up a stupid banner for what felt like an eternity.

“Okay wait, you’re gonna hate me but I think we should put it back to where we originally had it,” Sunghoon said with furrowed brows.

“That’s it. We’ve been doing this all morning. Figure this out yourself,” you angrily threw down the banner and stormed off before Sunghoon had the chance to yell at you.

You ignored the friendly calls from other fae that were setting up decor nearby. It was way past your bedtime. Cranky and drenched in sweat, you were definitely not a happy night fairy. Heading straight to the pond, you derobed and found comfort in the cool waters that  washed away your stress instantly. You gazed up at the blue sky while floating on your back. The day truly was beautiful, you couldn’t deny that. However, nighttime was better in your very much biased opinion. The dark sky littered with countless stars that glittered like diamonds was an unbeatable sight. 

“Hey there sunshine!” a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts. You dipped back into the water and turned to the source of the sound.

“Hey there, perv. Care to join me?” you beckoned.

“I wish I could, but I need to go finalize some plans for the handoff ceremony--”

“It’s the same EVERY year. C’mon Hobi, you don’t need to go,” you whined.

“I’ll meet you back here at sunset, how does that sound?” he tried to appease you.

“Midnight. I’m already exhausted, I don’t wanna wake up early,” you blew raspberries into the pond.

“That’s fair. I’ll see you then okay?” Hoseok waved before flying off.

On top of parties filled with indulgences that would blow the mind of any feeble human, Hoseok was the added bonus that made you eager for each solstice. Admittedly, you two have had some sort of flirtationship going on for the past few centuries. Your friends always teased you about how madly head over heels you were for him. As much as you wanted to believe that he loved you in the same way, something always felt off.  

Hoseok always reciprocated your flirtatious advances, but it felt more like a game between friends rather than something substantial. You’ve even observed his interactions with other fairies, and it didn’t seem like he gave you any special treatment. He was simply a good friendly guy that everyone loved, but not the way that you loved him. 

You were dying to know how he truly felt about you. All these years of playful banter had been fun, but they had also been simultaneously eating away at you. There’s no way he doesn’t know that you love him. At the same time, what if he thinks you’re just a good friend? You needed to know for sure, and you intended to confront him about it at midnight.

“Good evening,” you greeted Hoseok shyly as you approached the pond’s bank. 

“Good day to you sunshine,” Hoseok called back as he kicked at the water.

“How’d the meeting go?” you asked.

“Boring as always. You’re right, it’s the same every year. But the elders still want to go over everything again to ensure that the ceremony is perfect,” Hoseok sighed.

“Thanks for coming to hangout with me even though you’re so busy,” you said, suddenly feeling guilty.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been looking forward to this all day! You’re the perfect person to unwind with after a long day,” Hoseok smiled. There it was. The radiant smile you fell for the first time you ever met him. 

“You sure I’m the perfect person for that? What do you do when you’re back in your own land surrounded by other day fae?” you prodded, hoping to steer the conversation onto the ‘what are we’ topic. 

“I have my friends there for sure, and I appreciate them too. But it’s different with you. Maybe because I can only hangout with you twice a year. You’re like my super special friend, yaknow?” Hoseok tried to explain. 

“Uh yeah, for sure. Like a special playdate kind of thing huh?” you tried to hide your hurt feelings.

“Exactly! You get it. It’s like you’re my favorite dessert that I can only have twice a year,” Hoseok nodded.

“Right…” you whispered softly to yourself. You spent the rest of the night listening to the unfruitful discussions Hoseok had during his meetings. All the excitement over the festival had drained from you. Now, you just wanted it to be over so you can go sulk in peace. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Hoseok observed, “You haven’t interjected once about how stupid our traditions are or how you’re looking forward to having long nights again.”

“Hm? Oh yeah, I’m just tired. Sunghoon really worked me to the bone yesterday, that damn day fairy,” you faked a yawn.

“Hey, be nice! Wasn’t it you who volunteered to help us anyway?” Hoseok shook his head.

‘Yeah, because I thought I’d be able to work with you,’ you thought.

“It was a bizarre streak of altruism, that’s all,” you shrugged. 

“Nah, I know you’re a kind fairy deep down!” Hoseok playfully nudged your shoulder. Normally you would welcome this type of physical affection, but for right now it served as a painful reminder that you were merely seen as a buddy. 

You actively avoided Hoseok for the remainder of the week, counting down the hours to when it would finally all be over. You made up some lame excuse to not hangout with Hoseok every time he approached you. He must have caught on by the final day, either that or he was extremely busy. Afterall, he was the MC for the entire ordeal. 

Apparently, your abrasive reputation preceded you because no one wanted your help with anything. As soon as they saw you coming, they would randomly find themselves very preoccupied with something that made them too busy to talk to you. The only person who would put you to work was Sunghoon, who was one of Hoseok’s best friends. You wondered why he was always so nice to you even when you complained the entire time you helped him.

“That’s the last table! They all look great, thanks for helping with the set up,” Sunghoon gave you a thumbs up.

“You know it’s pointless setting up all these tables. Most of the fairies are just gonna be dancing or fucking all night long, no one is gonna be sitting down,” you said.

“Are you gonna be one of the fairies partying?” Sunghoon inquired.

“Definitely not,” you answered curtly.

“Then I’m happy at least one of these tables will be utilized,” Sunghoon nodded, “Try to enjoy yourself tonight okay?”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes.

The entire forest seemed to come alive that night. The trees swayed with the enchanting music while cheers of merriment erupted around the party scene. You sat alone at a mushroom table with your third (or was it fourth?) cup of berry wine. You glared at the fairies who had lost themselves to their pleasures, whether it be the wine or the toadstools, or perhaps even both. Fairies who had given into their more lustful urges could be seen on the outskirts of the dance floor, some in the innocent stages of kissing and others entangled full fledged fornication. Scoffing at the obscene orgy, you stumbled off to get another cup of wine. Even though you weren’t really participating, you had to admit that fairies knew how to throw a party. 

“Hey ___, I noticed you’ve been by yourself the whole evening. Want some company?” someone asked behind you as you filled up your mug to the brim. You turned to see two Sunghoons merge to become one hazy Sunghoon in the blink of an eye. 

“F-ffuck off Sunghoon,” you slurred.

“I wanted to thank you for all the hard work you did for this year’s summer solstice,” Sunghoon continued, unfazed by your harshness, “Wanna dance to celebrate?”

“Nope,” you answered as you pushed him aside.

“Yeah she seemed pretty pissed dude,” Sunghoon said while taking a large swig.

“At you or in general?” Hoseok inquired.

“Dunno man, she’s always been like that. However, she seemed more aggravated than usual, which is hard to imagine,” Sunghoon chuckled, “Did you do something to her?”

“No! I’ve been replaying everything we talked about at the pond but everything seemed fine! I even told her that she was my super special friend and---oh shit,” Hoseok’s face fell.

“Idiot,” Sunghoon tsked. 

Both fae clans had gathered by the main stage, intently listening to the same speeches that the clan leaders have spoken for centuries. You watched apathetically as the everlasting flame was being formally handed over. The crowd roared as the flame changed from a deep crimson red to an icy silver color with a blue hue, signifying that the solstice had come to pass. 

If the festival wasn’t wild before, it had only gotten more out of hand after the official ceremony. Seeing the other fairies go wild in every sense of the word made you nauseous. The noise level intensified as you watched your fairy brethren engage in rather promiscuous activities. Someone even beckoned for you to join in the fun, but you just walked away. The only person you wanted to have that kind of fun with was Hoseok. It infuriated you that your thoughts always drifted to him. You filled up your cup one last time and walked away from the ruckus, towards an empty grove. Hopefully you would be able to wallow in self pity in peace there. 

The stars twinkled above you, and dim moonlight speckled the ground around you as it shone through the trees. You could still hear the party, but it was much fainter now and served as nice background noise to keep you from drowning in your thoughts. With a deep exhale, you fought to hold back tears. You felt so foolish. Too many years have been wasted in vain for an unrequited love that you should have seen coming. It was so stupid of you to hold onto a sliver of hope that Hoseok would like you back. 

“The party is that way,” a familiar voice called out to you.

“Then why aren’t you there?” you didn’t try to mask the annoyance in your voice.

“I saw you walk away, I wanted to check up on you.”

“Why the fuck would you even care?” you sat up and hissed.

“Why are you being so hostile? You’re the one who has been avoiding me all week!” Hoseok raised his voice.

“I’m sure you didn’t have much time to spend with me anyway,” you huffed.

“That’s not true. I spent every moment of my free time looking for you, only for you to turn me away. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Hoseok calmed down.

“Fine. I’m in love with you, okay? How fucking embarrassing. It hurt when you said that I was your super best friend or whatever. Seeing you afterward just reminded me of how dumb I am,” you couldn’t make eye contact with him.

“Oh sunshine, I’m the idiot. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re my special friend because I like you too. I wanted to spend every second with you this week. I didn’t mean to hurt you like that, I’m so sorry ____,” Hoseok got down on his knees and pulled you in for a hug. You were stunned.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner then!” you pushed him off.

“I thought it was obvious from the way we flirted!” he argued. 

“You’re nice to everyone, it was hard for me to tell,” you pouted.

“My apologies for not being a sourpuss like you,” Hoseok laughed.

“So...what now? It wasn’t really a romantic confession but I guess our feelings are out in the open now,” you whispered as you leaned against him.

Suddenly, Hoseok pushed you back to the ground, straddling your hips. His dark hair nearly covered his eyes as he looked down at you. He was beyond beautiful, his white iridescent wings glittered ethereally in the moonlight. 

“Remember when I said you’re like a dessert I can only have twice a year? I’d like to make that a reality,” Hobi smirked. He bent over to kiss you. It was soft at first, his plush lips pressing up against yours. He gently cupped your face with one hand while the other wandered to your chest, undoing your blouse. Lust overtook the both of you as the kiss deepened and Hoseok fondled your breasts. You let out a small gasp as he played with your nipples, rolling them between his fingers.  

“Spread those legs for me, sunshine,” he demanded.

You complied, slowly exposing yourself to him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him while in such a compromising position. Hoseok gingerly kissed a trail along your inner thighs towards your core. His hot breath against your pussy made you squirm under him in anticipation.

“So impatient,” he chuckled, “Let’s play a game. You have to make eye contact with me while I eat you out. Every time you look away, I stop.”

“You’re evil,” you huffed before reluctantly looking at the beautiful being perched between your legs. 

“That’s my girl,” he purred approvingly before spreading your folds with his fingers. His eyes darkened with lust as you watched him lick tantalizingly slow stripes. He could feel your need for more, so he moved up to focus on your clit, giving it special attention as his tongue swirled around it. 

You tangled your fingers into his hair, gripping him tighter as he licked your clit faster. All your composure was lost as you looked down at him with pleading eyes.

“What is it? Need more?” Hoseok teased as his fingers traced your entrance.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what?” Hoseok feigned ignorance

“Please touch me,” you said softly.

“We need to work on your begging, but you’re so adorable I can’t say no,” Hobi dove back into stimulating your clit as he slipped a finger inside of you. He smirked at how easily he went in, and immediately added a second finger. The new feeling had you throwing your head back as he grazed your g-spot. Right as things began to feel good, he retracted everything.

“Hobi!” you cried out in frustration.

“You looked away. Remember the rules to our little game?” Hoseok chided. You glared down at him as he immediately picked up where he left off, not giving you time to readjust. Fighting back the urge to close your eyes, soft moans escaped from your lips.

“Ready to cum, my dear ___?” he asked sweetly as his fingers dipped to directly attack your g-spot.

There was no time to give a proper response. Your back arched and your toes curled up as your orgasm overwhelmed you. Drenched in your juices, Hoseok glistened under the moonlight.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Hoseok praised, “But I’m not finished with you yet,” he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

He unbuckled his trousers, releasing the monster that dangled between his legs. You willingly spread your legs for him, eager for more.

“So needy, you haven’t had enough yet?” Hoseok tsked as he rubbed the tip of his cock along your folds.

Finally, Hoseok began to bury himself into you. He took his time, relishing how your warm walls squeezed him. You closed your eyes in ecstasy, focusing on feeling every inch of him. Once he bottomed out, you wrapped your legs around him in an attempt to bring him impossibly closer. The dark lust that swam in his eyes broke for a second, replaced by the warm smile that made you fall in love with him in the first place. He bent down to kiss you, and you happily reciprocated. 

Hoseok moved his hips slowly as he fucked you at a deep yet gentle pace. Mouths still colliding, you shyly licked at his lips. Taking your hint, Hoseok’s tongue met yours. As the kisses deepened with more saliva being interchanged, Hoseok’s thrusts became harsher.    

“You’re so fucking sexy. Lemme see that ass baby,” Hoseok growled as he flipped you over.

He smacked your ass twice and watched it jiggle in awe before placing a firm grip on your hips. Almost animalistically, he bucked into you. Your body jolted forward with each thrust. You had never been fucked this hard before, and it was heavenly. Hoseok’s control over his body movement was insane. Your moans grew louder as his hips continuously rolled into you. 

One of Hoseok’s hands formed a tight grip on your hair, roughly bringing your head up off the ground. You couldn’t stop your wanton moans from filling the open air. 

“H-Hoseok,” you cried out.

“What is it? Is it too much for you?” Hoseok cooed in your ear as he brought your head back even closer to him.

“Mmm-no,” was all you could make out.

“I knew you could take it all, such a good slut,” Hoseok praised as he let go of your hair.

Unable to hold yourself up, you immediately fell back onto your chest. Your fingernails dug into the dirt as you could feel another orgasm swelling up inside of you. 

“I’m gonna cum again,” you wailed out.

“I’m almost there, wait for me baby,” Hoseok instructed.

With perfect timing, Hoseok let out a guttural moan as he spilled his seed inside of you. Sounds of pleasure bounced around the grove as you came in unison. Hoseok’s cum dripped down the sides of your inner thighs when he pulled out. 

“How did I do, sunshine?” Hoseok asked jovially as you laid on the ground before him.

“You knocked me out. I don’t think I can move for a while,” you weakly answered with a smile.

“Not a problem, we can just stay here for a while, sunshine,” Hoseok laid down beside you, beckoning for you to rest atop his chest. 

“I like when you call me that,” you yawned.

“Sunshine?” Hoseok asked.

“Yeah, that. It makes me feel special,” you nodded.

“Is that so? I’m glad it makes you feel special, because you are. You’ve always been the spunky night fairy that everyone knows but is too afraid to approach,” Hoseok laughed.

“What! I am totally friendly! Just not to those who piss me off,” you defended, “Which...I guess is a lot of people so I suppose I see your point. What made you want to be my friend if everyone thought I’m scary?”

“You treated me like everyone else. It always felt like people put on a fake facade around me since I’m the chief’s son. They’re nice to me to try and curry favor with my father, or maybe flirt with me to try and gain some special sort of status. I don’t know. I’m just me,” Hoseok shrugged. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re my sunshine,” you hugged him.

“That makes me feel great. I’ll do my best to see you more than twice a year, okay?” he kissed your forehead.

“I guess I can clear my schedule and come over to visit you too,” you giggled, “Or maybe we can run away and make a clan of our own.”

“Are you serious?” he asked, “Don’t tempt me. I’d love to go somewhere where no one knows my name or expects anything from me.”

“How about we go to where the day meets the night?” you offered.

“Like what? An eclipse?” Hoseok said as he gazed into the night sky.

“Precisely. We can make an eclipse clan. We only have to do festivals for eclipses, and those are kinda rare,” you giggled.

“Sounds like a good dream, sunshine. Let’s seriously discuss it in the morning when we’re both more sober,” Hoseok kissed your forehead.

“Goodnight, my sunshine,” you whispered into his chest.

Published July 23, 2021. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2021 Baepsaesbae.

[sugako]

sweetness

osamu xf!baker!reader sum: your unrequited crush on the man you sell to is weighing heavily on you until one little party later it isn’t an issue cw: 18+ minors dni, a lil fluff, a lil angst (reader is sad bc they don't think samu feels the same), mentions of drinking/alcohol/party (no one is drunk during), kinda confessions, first time with each other, nipple play, oral (receiving) wc: 3.5k a/n: hi !! uhh i have had this is drafts for months bc i struggled to post it and idk why,, it's def a little longer than usual and little more plot-heavy(ish) but i hope you all enjoy pussy king samu <3

It felt as though you were admiring him from a distance even when he was standing right beside you.

The afternoon that the owner of Onigiri Miya had called up your small bakery to partner with his business you had been overjoyed. Honestly, you were still happy, it was just tinged by something deeper or different now. You were certainly still happy to sell your goods through the business, but your feelings had really gotten the better of you.

The day, actually the moment you met Osamu you told yourself to get over the petty crush you had developed within minutes of meeting him. His big, tall frame made you feel as though he could wrap his arms around you and everything would be okay. His pretty, steely eyes and soft features relaxed you, made you feel at home.

A week later you were groaning into your pillow when he texted a simple, polite compliment about your baked goods. Desperately, you hoped that the fuzzy feeling would melt away any day now.

Every single time you had to see him again and again to drop off your bi-weekly delivery, the feelings didn’t fade. If anything they grew stronger. The quick, comfortable banter you shared made your chest fill with molten gold that always seemed to harden into a tough little peach pit, strangling the words from your throat whenever you got back into your car.

A month later you were crying to yourself at 2 AM about how you couldn’t get over him even though you hadn’t even been close to a relationship. It was impossible. How were you supposed to get closure from someone you were merely business partners with.

You cursed the way your heart sped up when you got a new text from him. Over and over again you had to remind yourself that it was purely business.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Hi, do you want to swing by tomorrow? Lunch is on me

Fingers swiped over the keyboard, groaning as you asked what you should bring for the restock, not realizing it had been two weeks already.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Everything is selling fast, but I won’t need anything for a bit, just wanted to chat not about business

Without hesitation you agreed. Even if you were sure he didn’t feel the same, it wouldn’t hurt to keep up a personal relationship with a business. The fact that he had texted you deep into the night without prompt didn’t make it into your busy mind.

Those two little texts were how you found yourself taking a deep breath outside the Onigiri Miya a little after the lunch rush. You stepped into the nearly empty building, immediately greeted by Osamu’s soft, low voice.

“I have to run to the back, but I put a plate for you out.” He calls, disappearing just as the door closes behind you.

It’s painful to admit how your heart swells at the gesture. Your favorite onigiri of his is neatly plated in front of a corner seat at the bar. The two other people on the opposite side of the store are quietly chatting, paying no mind while you settle into your seat. Before you can take a bite he’s bustling back in.

“Sorry ‘bout that, got a call.” He says, leaning over the counter in front of you. The way his broad chest is squished by his shoulders.

“No worries.” You say just before biting into the food. He snatches one of the rice balls from your plate, but your mouth is too full and you’re too grateful to protest. “So,” you begin after you swallow, “what did you want to talk about?”

You can’t tell whether the air is thick with awkward tension or if it’s just you.

“I mean, obviously not business.” As you speak, a strangled, little chuckled forces its way out of the back of your throat, but you take another bite of food before it gets out of hand.

He’s silent for a moment, slowly chewing his food. Maybe savoring it or maybe thinking, you can’t quite tell which.

“Can you take nights off from the bakery? I remember you saying ya do a lot of baking and prepping at night.” His expression is impossible to read and you want to tell him that this is, at least for you, business talk, but you hold back and simply answer the question.

“Well, yeah, if I needed to. Uh, why?” You catch how his shoulders tense and lower, his eyes shifting across the windows in the front. Unfortunately, his own anxiety does very little to quell any of your own.

“My brother is having a party and I’m… obligated to go, but I won’t know many people there, they’ll all be his teammates, so I was wondering if you would like to go with me? If you don’t have a… I mean, if you don’t have any plans.” His expression remains still, but there’s a small flush in his cheeks that you catch on immediately. Something in your heart softens with hope.

“You’re twin volleyball brother?” You ask, biting back a smile. “Also, you’ll have to tell me what time the party is and then I’ll let you know if I have plans, but I’m probably free.”

The flush deepens as he recognizes his mistake and slowly blinks, shaking his head. “Yes, ‘Tsumu, the volleyball brother. And the party is next Friday. Around nine.”

Within the limited time you’d spent with him he’d told you about his brother and his old friends. Confidence growing, but not quite steady, you uneasily treaded into your next words.

“Yeah, I’m not working next Friday actually, so that sounds good. Should I text you for the address or…?”

“Meet me here, I can take you. Best to take the train, but it’ll be easier if we go together.”

Deep in the center of the city, standing close enough to smell the soft fragrance of cologne, you still weren’t sure how easily you had ended up here at the house party filled with strangers hosted by your customer’s pro athlete brother. It was a little much to think about if you took too much pause. Before you could slip into your own brain too much your cheek smushed into the thick muscle of Osamu’s solid back that had suddenly stopped moving, and as you sputtered out an apology the door swung open without him even knocking.

“Hey! Did you really not a-” The blonde mirror image of the man standing directly in front of you eats whatever words are about to spill out of his mouth when he notices you peeking out from beside Osamu. Realizing how ridiculously childish you must look tucked away behind him, you clear your throat and step out so you’re by his side instead.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You say politely, extending a hand for him to shake. Atsumu’s eyes flit between you and his brother, not bothering to hide a smirk.

“Oh, I know.” He finally says when he takes your hand. Out of sheer embarrassment or maybe anxiety, you feel pricks of heat chase out to your fingertips. The sensation is only compounded by Osamu’s feather-light touch that grazes the small of your back as he tries to lead you past his brother.

“Really,” you start, with a sly little smile, “he’s told me about you’re very impressive-”

“Okay.” Osamu says a little too sharply. He’s glad you’re at ease, but less glad that you’ve immediately taken to lightly teasing him with his brother. “Let’s head in.” The warm breath of his whisper jolts through you and you find yourself nodding, letting his touch lead you.

Just as the door is closing behind you and the excruciating reverb of the music seeps into your ears, you barely catch what Atsumu mumbles before he slips into the crowd of people. “Maybe you’ll finally show her how much ya like her.”

Osamu doesn’t respond, and for a second you think maybe he didn’t hear him, but the way his fingers dig into your back tells you otherwise. You simply pretend that you heard nothing, pointing to the drink dispensers lined up on the kitchen counter across the room. After a quick drink of the sweet, burning mystery drink and after Atsumu started to keep his distance - too busy hounding his one teammate with the dark curls whose name you couldn’t quite remember - things went smoothly.

Time passed quickly, helped on by the dozens of new people you were introduced to. The small talk and repetitive questions had you mentally winded, but Osamu’s constant touch whether on your elbow or back or shoulder grounded you. Instead of feeling your heart race as it usually did when he was near, you only felt calm.

It all came crashing down sometime deep into the night when most of the guests had headed home and those left over passed out, scattered everywhere about the house. Well, everywhere aside from the neat guest bedroom tucked away toward the back that Osamu had pulled you back to when the last man (who had drunkenly tried teaching you how to say ‘volleyball’ in Portuguese) had finally passed out.

The single drink you had gulped down hours ago was long gone from your system, but even without it you still found it easy to speak with him, even as his arms inconspicuously wrapped around your torso and brought you down to lie beside him on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling for a moment while the two of you remained in short silence, a thought came to your head, another thing you want to tell him or ask him. You’re not sure which because in the next moment, when you whip your head to face him, he does the same.

If you had been any closer your faces would’ve smashed together. Any farther away and you wouldn’t be brushing lips. Just as soon as the touch begins, it ends with you scrambling away, stopped from falling off the bed by his strong arm wrapping around and pulling you back to his chest. The silence thickens with every second that neither of you speak, but he thankfully breaks it within the minute.

The words fumble around the front of your mouth like your mouth is numb. “I’m so sorry that-!”

“Well, that wasn’t really a proper kiss.” He says plainly, a smile barely etching its way onto the corner of his lips.

“N-no, it was not.” You whisper. It doesn’t quite feel real when he kisses you for real, and for a second you’re worried you’ve deluded yourself. You sigh into his firm touch, finally releasing the tension in your chest and letting your own lightly trembling hands trace up the space between your chests to settle against his. His body is softer than you had thought it would feel, somehow so much more comforting and homey than you could have imagined.

After an endless moment, his mouth strains against yours as he forces himself to pull away with a little huff. Your eyes find his, bright and hopeful, and still a little bit surprised. Between all your personal longing and resignation that he didn’t feel the same, you hadn’t noticed the way he smiled more when you were nearby, the little blush that dusted his cheeks when you complimented his cooking that first time, and so much more.

“Wanted to do that for a long time.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and letting his heavy eyes close. Hiding your grin in his chest, you nod, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling in closer. When your knee glides against his thigh in an attempt to get more comfortable and flush to him, he clears his throat. “We should get changed if we’re going to sleep here. I have extra clothes in the dresser.”

“Okay.” You nod slightly, not wanting to move just yet. He seems to be with you because, despite his own words, he remains exactly in place with his grip just as tight as ever around your waist. “...Samu?” You finally ask, pulling back far enough to look up at him.

“I wanna kiss you again.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “then kiss me again.” The crooked, giddy smile you’re giving him seems to tense him up even more.

He inhales deeply through his nose, eyes darkening as they flicker across the planes of your face. “I wanna, but I don’t want to push this unless you feel the same.”

If your tired heart could vibrate any harder it would probably be bursting out of your chest.

“Well, I feel that we should kiss again,” you press a peck to his cheek hoping it’ll steady your next vulnerable words, “because I’ve thought about you a lot, and I really like this.” You emphasize your words by glancing down at the negative space between your bodies and running your hand up the built expanse of his shoulders.

Humming, he cradles the back of your head, gracefully moving to straddle you and ghost his lips over yours. “In that case, tell me when to stop.” The hot breathy fan of air from his whisper barely hits your cheeks before he’s pressing a deep kiss against your lips.

You slot together like perfect puzzle pieces, limbs finding the just the right spots to fit into. Mouths move desperately, passionately and without thinking your fingers start dancing under the hem of his shirt, brushing against the hot skin beneath. With a tempered groan, he uncouples his lips from yours, kissing along your jaw and quickly moving to trace down your neck. The kitten nips and licks against your collarbone send electricity through your bones, forcing you to flex into him, hips awkwardly jutting forward for something more.

“You… you, ah, are so perfect.” You pant, eyes blinking wide open when the calloused tips of his fingers roughly trail under your shirt, up your sides, stopping just short of your chest to flip your shirt up.

Groaning so quietly you barely hear him, he buries himself between your breasts and sighs against your skin. “Yer even more beautiful up close and without all this,” he pauses for the briefest moment to undo your bra and lift it over your head with the shirt, “extra stuff on.”

Scoffing out a short giggle, you relax back, watching how his eyes drink you in as though they’ve been starved. “By extra stuff you mea-!” The quip is promptly cut off by the feeling of his mouth latching around one breast, the other being tended to by his opposite hand. Not a moment later he pulls away, smiling as you let out a pitchy whine.

“Yer pretty mouthy when yer comfortable, huh?” He mumbles, lips ghosting over your nipple while the one in his hand continues to be teased.

“N-no,” you rush to disagree. Judging by the eye roll he gives you, he doesn’t seem to believe you, but he doesn’t say anything more, simply bringing his attention back to your chest.

The way his suckles tiny, bright purple marks into your skin sends heat pooling into your stomach, hips noticeably grinding up against him now. As the seconds drag on, he doesn’t seem interested in anything other than your tits, enamored with the way they feel in his hand and mouth. It’s almost too much, and you feel your stomach tightening with every moment the teasing continues.

“Samu,” you whine softly, “samu, please, can’t s’too much, really need…” The words are jumbled and garbled. You can’t quite sort your brain to come up with anything coherent, distracted by the wet pooling in your underwear and the weight of his body crowding over yours.

“Sensitive tits?” He coos with a sharp glint in his eyes, gears obviously moving in his head for the future. “That’s okay,” he continues while pressing a soft kiss to each of your breasts, “What do you really need?”

“Need you to touch me.”

For a second, his mouth opens but he doesn’t speak. You fear he’s going to tease you, make you explain in lewd detail how bad you need him and where you want him to touch you, but he doesn’t. He simply nods, truthfully too caught up in the intoxicating feeling of your body and too impatient to feel you for the first time to drag this out.

“Good girl, I’m gonna take these off.” He starts, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear to take them off together. Without hesitation, his eyes travel between your legs. “Such a pretty, little cunt.” He hums already squeezing in between your thighs. Obviously distracted, he peppers little kissed up the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, still caught up staring at your soaking mess.

“Samu, please…” You whine. While you know he isn’t purposefully teasing, well you don’t know but you don’t think at least, it’s just as frustrating. Your knees lock around his thick shoulders, pulling him closer to your heat.

“Okay, okay, pretty girl.” He grumbles, lapping right at the crook of your thigh and hip. There’s a split second of tense silence wherein he carefully spread your lips admiring the glisten of your slick under the dim light of the lamp. Your entire body is tense with anticipation, legs shaking as they struggled to spread around his wide frame.

And just like that quiet moment is over - he laps you up so desperately and greedily you’re twitching under his grasp, clawing at the wrinkled bed sheets below you for anything to ground you. He doesn’t stop when he shifts your legs over his shoulders and wraps his hands around the bottom of your tummy to keep your jostling hips in place.

When you finally look back down to grab his hand, keeping a vice grip around his fingers, you also glance down for the first time. His dark, hazy eyes meet yours and you completely relax at last.

The feeling doesn’t last long, not when he pushes his tongue into your tight, unprepared hole, slurping all he can get and pushing in as far as he can go. Osamu’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation, your cum dribbling down his chin and coating up to his nose that keeps brushing against your throbbing clit.

With a solid, squelching pop he tears away from you. “Taste so good,” he heaves, lips coming back even as he’s speaking, ghosting over you. He buries himself in your cunt again, this time focusing solely on your clit, cycling through different motions until he finds the one that makes your hips strain under his sturdy hold.

“Feel so good!” You sigh. “Please, please wanna cum.”

Smirking against you, he takes the hand you’re not clinging to back under your thigh and props it against your ass, slowly teasing a finger in. Absolutely gushing now, it slips in easily. You can feel his smile grow again for a moment before he refocuses on your clit, motions speeding up and increasing the pressure with which he worked. It’s impossible to not shudder under him now, especially with one arm only holding you down.

“C’mon, pretty girl, cum.” He murmurs, easily hooking a second finger into you, pumping and curling them in time with his tongue. As he feels you flutter and cream he can’t help but rut into the mattress, cock swelling from the taste of you. The pressure inside is too much and your want to let go is pushing you closer and closer, although it’s his mouth and fingers that really push you forward.

“C-cu-!” The words get trapped in your throat, overtaken by a hushed moan you struggle to bite back, trying - but very much failing - to be mindful of all the half-sleeping people strewn through the house. He slowly brings you down, fingers winding down and tongue lapping up your swollen clit while you convulse at his touch in time with the fluttering of your cunt.

At last, you have to drag him off, needily tugging up on his hands until he lets go. You try to pull him in to kiss, but he hesitates, his strength far outweighing your weak, blissful one and he hovers above you. There’s no reason to ask because almost immediately his fingers that were inside of you, absolutely drenched, come up to his mouth so he can make a show of sucking them dry for you.

“Taste even better than the stuff you make.” He sighs, letting you drag him down to your face. You can smell and taste yourself so strongly on his damp lips, it clouds your already hazy senses.

“Hmm,” you manage out, when he rests his entire body weight against yours, lips pressed into the side of your head. It’s only when you go to shift that you feel him pressing so incredibly hard and flush to you exposed skin through his soft pants, that you perk up. “Samu,” you begin brushing your fingers through his soft, dark hair, “can I...wanna help you.”

“Mhmm,” he nestles against your neck, kissing over the spots he left behind earlier, “in a minute, pretty girl, we have a lot of time ahead of us.”

[silverlightqueen]

Moonlight 

silverlightqueen’s SKZ Scarefest

werewolf!Chan x human!reader ft. the rest of skz and itzy lia, ryujin and yeji - comedy, fluff, Chan is a cute shy softie but also a big strong muscly Alpha

Word Count: 3.5k+

Summary - y/n likes the night shifts at the diner. She rarely gets any customers coming in, so it’s peaceful, and she can even sneak in a nap from time to time. But not tonight. No, probably not best to nap when, in the early hours of the morning, a pack of wolves walk in looking like hell.

Warnings: a little bit of blood, talk of violence, raw bloody meat (never thought that’d be a warning but here we are), I think that’s it but pls let me know if you noticed that I missed something!

a/n: and here is the first instalment of my SKZ Scarefest! I really hope you guys enjoy it, and keep an eye out for the following parts in the next few days! this is for you @silverlightprincess​ bc you’re the best proofreader and I love you x

taglist: @kodzu-ken​ @silverlightprincess​

silverlightqueen navigation

‘Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?’ Lia asks me, and I laugh, nodding for the fiftieth time. ‘I’ll be totally fine. Just go, pick up your stupid boyfriend,’ I say, and she rolls her eyes, doing up the buttons on her coat. ‘If I have to pick him up from A&E one more time, I’ll be the one sending him there,’ she threatens half-heartedly, my laughter following her out of the back door.

The diner falls silent once the door’s shut, and I turn on the radio, putting it on low so I can hear if any customers enter. It’s highly unlikely for anyone to show up at this hour, but just in case. I roll my neck, tired after working such a long shift, and I check the clock. Just an hour and a half until 5am, when Yeji and Ryujin will show up for a shift change. An hour and a half of time to kill. I decide to get some food cooking, ready for the breakfast rush at 6am – truckers love their early morning waffles and pancakes – and then I sit at the stool behind the till, scrolling through my phone aimlessly.

It's a cold night outside, the windows fogged up and the pitch-black night sky just about visible through them. A pretty crescent moon shines down a pale white light, casting an eerie glow over the surroundings, and there are no cars passing by on the road, meaning I’m completely alone. A text comes through from one of the girls in my friendship group friend, Chaeryeong, asking if I’ve decided what I’m wearing to our friend Jackson’s Halloween party next week – it’s 8 nights away to be exact. Jackson’s Halloween party is always the party of the year, and we’re all so excited for it. It’s a full moon and everything, so we’re hoping it’ll be a little spookier than usual.

The bell at the front door rings out into the quiet, cutting across the generic lofi song playing from the radio and making me look up in surprise. A boy – he can’t be much older than 20 – walks in, his clothes dirty and ripped, his clear skin marked with mud and grass stains. His blond hair, long enough to brush his shoulders, is a tousled and tangled mess, woven with twigs and grass, and he looks tired as hell. He trudges in, not even looking at me, and collapses into the chair closest to him.

My heartrate instantly increases. What on earth is going on? Why has this… kid walked in, at half 3 in the morning, all alone, looking an absolute state? Should I ask him if he’s okay, or leave him to it? I should mind my business, right? Probably best not to talk to someone in that state. He might be some psycho. What if he is a psycho? And this is some ploy to get me to go over to him so he can attack me? Maybe I should phone my boss? Who am I kidding? There’s no way his lazy ass will answer.

The bell ringing for a second time interrupts my spiralling train of thought, and my eyes flit to the door to see another boy walking in, around the same age, and just as messy as the first boy. And another boy follows him in. And another, and another, and anoth-

There are eight of them in total, slumped into chairs around the two tables closest to the door. They all look exhausted, and in absolute states. And then realisation washes over me, making me relax a little. They’re werewolves.

We’ve always had werewolves around here. Two different packs live on opposite sides of town, and their rivalry has meant their identity has never exactly been a secret. This is the first time I’m ever seeing any of them in their human form, though (I’ve seen flashes of wolves running past the house in the middle of the night when it’s a full moon, but never close up) and I’m… surprised. They’re all quite… small. I guess I always expected werewolves to be tall and bulky, but only two of them are really… muscly, and they’re all short.

They’re all completely silent, save for their heavy breathing, and I wonder why they’ve stumbled into the diner to just sit at their tables. ‘Are you gonna just stand there, breathing obnoxiously loudly, or are you gonna take our order?’ one of them calls out tiredly, his back to me meaning the only part of him that I can see is his black hair, and I feel my face twist with annoyance. I don’t care if he’s a carnivore that could kill me in an instant if he wanted to. He does not get to come into my workplace and disrespect me. ‘Actually, you’re supposed to come up here and order,’ I reply indignantly, low laughter rippling through the group of boys as the boy who spoke lifts his head, turning to look at me angrily, his eyes flashing red. He has a long cut across his cheek, blood dried around it.

‘What did you just say to m-’ ‘Shut it, Jisung,’ the blond-haired boy says with a small grin, the black-haired boy – Jisung – turning to him aggressively. ‘Don’t tell me to shut it, Hyunjin. I won’t have a little human girl disrespect m-’ ‘Be quiet, Jisung. You were disrespectful to her first,’ another of the boys says calmly, and my eyes flit to him, my stomach turning when I realise he’s already looking at me. He’s one of the muscular boys, his hair sandy brown and fluffy, and his face soft and kind. His lips quirk up in a smile, a deep dimple denting one cheek, and I give him a small smile back, my heart fluttering. He might be a werewolf, but he’s a cute one.

I expect Jisung to give him some annoying retort, but he bites his lip, slumping down in his seat angrily, and the brown-haired boy rolls his eyes, rising from his seat. He makes his way over to me, and I try not to ogle him, but it’s difficult with his shirt ripped diagonally across the front, exposing one strong shoulder and a flash of hard abs, my heart skipping a beat at how gorgeous he is. Thank god I decided to wear a cute outfit today, even if it is hidden behind my white apron.

He slides onto one of the stools on the other side of the counter, leaning on one hand with a sigh, and I don’t know what to say other than, ‘Would you like to order something?’ ‘Um, yeah, actually. We’re quite… hungry. Have you got any… chicken, or beef, or any meat, for that matter?’ he asks, and I blink at him in surprise. I’ve never had someone ordering meat before lunch, let alone at half 3 in the morning. Though, I’ve never served werewolves either, so I guess I’m having a few firsts today.

‘Meat?’ I ask, and he lets out a little chuckle, his soft brown eyes locked with mine and making my heart flutter. ‘Yeah. Meat,’ he says with a small smile. His voice is nice, smooth and melodious with a hint of an accent. ‘Um, I don’t have any ready now, but I’ll start cooking some, and it should be ready in… half an hour?’ I say, and his smile slips into a small frown. ‘Um… no, that won’t be any good. You’ve got raw meat, right?’ he asks, and I feel myself malfunctioning for a moment, before I nod. ‘Can we just have a portion of raw meat each, please? I’ll pay whatever for it,’ he says, and I just stare at him.

‘You want… raw meat?’ I ask, and he lets out another soft chuckle. ‘Yes, please. I’m sure you’ve worked out what we are by now, so you probably know we can eat meat whilst it’s still alive. Raw meat’s just fine for us,’ he says with a grin, and I just nod, still in shock. ‘Okay. I’ll… get you raw meat. Is beef okay? One raw steak each?’ I ask, and he nods, smiling widely. ‘Beef’s perfect. But make it two steaks each please.’ ‘Um, okay. 16 steaks,’ I say, unable to believe I’m about to prepare raw steaks for 8 werewolves, and he just nods, still smiling his handsome smile.

He pays for the steaks, and orders a stack of pancakes and a milkshake for each of them too. The total is one of the most expensive orders we’ve ever had, but he doesn’t bat an eyelid, putting it on his credit card wordlessly. I go into the back to get their steaks ready, trying not to retch at having to put raw bloody beef onto plates for them, and I’m still holding back a retch when I take their plates over, the eight of them staring at the food hungrily. But I can’t help but let out a gag when one of them lifts his plate to his mouth and takes a massive chunk out of the steak, blood rolling down his chin.

The rest of them all laugh at my reaction, the brown-haired boy wincing as he says, ‘half of that bite was gristle, Changbin.’ So they’re happy to eat raw bloody steak, but they’re above eating the gristle? Weird but whatever. The boy who ate the steak – Changbin – just nods, before opening his mouth and pulling out the gristle with his dirty fingers, grinning at my look of disbelief. ‘Never seen a werewolf eat before?’ he asks, eyes sparkling, and I shake my head, still blinking in shock.

‘Take a seat, sweetheart. Tell us about yourself,’ one of the boys says with a smile, hand running through his chocolate brown locks, and I feel my heartrate increase. ‘Don’t worry. We’re not gonna hurt you,’ another of the boys says softly before I can even reply, his hair grey and long at the back, his eyes sparkly and wide. ‘I’m not worried,’ I lie, and they all laugh. ‘We can hear your heartbeat, and it’s pretty fast,’ one of the boys says, this one kind looking with blue locks and a soft baby face, and I feel ridiculously stupid.

‘Well… I can’t sit. I’ve got a job to do.’ ‘There’s no one here other than us. If you don’t want to sit with us, just come out and say it. Don’t beat around the bush,’ Jisung says bluntly, steak in his mouth as he speaks, his cheeks puffing out adorably. ‘We’re a group of werewolves; why would she want to sit with us?’ the brown-haired boy says amusedly, and I hope he doesn’t hear my heart stopping momentarily when he turns his half-smile to me. ‘Usually human girls find us attractive,’ the blond-haired boy – Hyunjin – says matter-of-factly, too focused on his raw steak to look up at me. ‘I probably would find you attractive if you didn’t all look like you’ve lost a fight with an angry bush,’ I say dryly, all of them laughing with their mouths full, making me feel slightly… disgusted.

‘Are the pancakes ready?’ the boy with black hair asks, and I check my watch. ‘Four minutes. How come you guys are so… hungry? Haven’t you been hunting?’ I ask, and they all exchange an amused glance before looking to the boy with brown hair. He doesn’t say anything, just looking at me unreadably, and it’s clear that there’s some sort of secret here. He lets out a little sigh, obviously deciding to tell me, and then he speaks; ‘We only hunt on full moons.’ ‘Oh, of course. The full moon isn’t until next week,’ I say, feeling stupid again, and they all nod. ‘On Halloween. Let’s hope there aren’t any trick-or-treaters in the woods,’ the chocolate brown-haired boy says with a small smirk, and I feel a shiver go down my spine.

‘Do you guys really attack humans?’ I ask, and they let out gentle laughs, obviously amused at how little I know of them. ‘We don’t have much control over our wolf selves, so if a human crosses our path, yes. Well, Alphas can control their wolf selves, so our Alpha will usually stop us from attacking a human. But if our Alpha isn’t there… we’d kill them without a moment of hesitation,’ the grey-haired boy explains, and I listen intently, interested. ‘Who’s your Alpha?’ I ask out of curiosity, and they all look to the brown-haired boy, answering my question. My stomach turns with butterflies when he looks at me, a small smile playing at his lips as he says, ‘that’d be me.’ I don’t know why, but something about him being the Alpha wolf makes him ten times sexier than he already is.

‘Oh. Okay. So, wait, if you guys weren’t hunting, why are you all so… dirty?’ I ask, and Changbin raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were supposed to be telling us about you.’ ‘I’m nowhere near as interesting as you guys.’ ‘No, sweetheart, we’re very interested in you,’ Hyunjin smirks, my heart fluttering. And then, as though they can hear something I can’t, they all suddenly turn their heads to the brown-haired boy, almost… nervous expressions on their faces. ‘I didn’t realise, Chan, sor-’ ‘It’s alright, Jin, don’t apologise,’ the brown-haired boy – Chan (definitely suits him) – says gently, his eyes not leaving mine, and I can’t help but wonder what on earth just happened. It’s like they had some sort of conversation and I missed the entire thing.

‘We got into a fight with some of the boys from the other pack,’ Chan murmurs, the atmosphere returning back to normal, and I feel my eyes widen. ‘Really? Who won?’ I ask, a light laugh running around the group at that question. ‘Us.’ ‘Really?’ I ask, even sounding sceptical to my own ears, and they all laugh again. ‘Might not look like we won, but we’re all still alive. Can’t say the same for the other pack,’ Chan says softly, and I blink in surprise. ‘Oh. Why’d you fight them?’ I ask, and they all look to Jisung, the boy rolling his eyes. ‘Because they provoked me.’ ‘No. One of them looked at you, and you started on him,’ the black-haired boy says bluntly, Jisung pouting. ‘Whatever, Seungmin. You didn’t see how he looked at me,’ he says sulkily, the others rolling their eyes at him.

‘However he looked at you, it wasn’t enough to warrant me killing him, but I did anyway, because of you. So learn to keep a lid on your temper, Sung, because I’ll make you fight them yourself next time instead of us involving ourselves. Understood?’ Chan says, tone gentle with a slight edge, and Jisung just nods, obviously opting not to pipe up to the Alpha. Everyone’s silent after that, and the air becomes a little awkward. ‘I’ll just go get your pancakes,’ I say, not waiting for a response before I turn and head towards the back.

I plate their pancakes up, all pretty with syrup and whipped cream and strawberries, and I take them out to them only a few minutes later. They’ve stacked up their empty plates for me at the edge of one of the tables, the gristle all piled up on the top plate, and my heart warms a little; it’s quite sweet of them to make my job a bit easier for me. I put their pancakes down in front of them, each of them murmuring their thanks, and Chan grins at me when I put his down. ‘It looks pretty,’ he says, and I preen at the praise – I always plate up the waffles whenever I’m on shift, because my boss, Jinyoung, liked the way I do them. ‘Pretty like her, huh, Chan?’ Changbin says with a grin, my cheeks heating up, and Chan just death-stares him, the others all silent. ‘Sorry,’ Changbin says sheepishly, dropping his head to look at the plate in front of him.

‘Did you guys fight the other pack as humans then?’ I ask, trying to change the subject, Chan chuckling at the question. ‘You’re a curious girl, huh?’ he asks, and I feel a little embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’ ‘No, don’t… be sorry. It’s cute,’ he says hesitantly, and I can’t hold back the shy smile that spreads across my lips, the other boys all looking amused at their Alpha’s shy flirting. He clears his throat, embarrassed, before answering my question; ‘those of us that are older wolves – myself, Minho and Changbin – can turn into wolves at will, but the younger ones aren’t at that stage yet. Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix and Seungmin can do a half-turn, and Jeongin can’t complete any kind of turn yet. He’s getting there, though,’ Chan adds kindly, patting the blue-haired boy’s arm.

I can’t help but quiz them, so fascinated at how different they are to me, despite looking so normal. By the time Ryujin and Yeji arrive for their shift, I’m perched on a table, chatting comfortably to them about their pack hierarchy whilst we all sip on milkshakes. ‘You look busy, y/n,’ Ryujin calls out amusedly from behind the counter, her and Yeji both grinning at me, and I feel my cheeks heating up. ‘I made some new friends,’ I say mildly, the boys all grinning at the girls, and I realise with a little jolt that all of them have perfectly white teeth, their canines sharp and lethal.

‘We better get going. The pack elders won’t be impressed with you, Jisung, and they’ll be even less impressed at us disappearing all night,’ Chan says sombrely, Jisung looking ashamed of himself as he nods. They all start to rise from their seats, ready to leave, and I feel a little sad as I watch Chan trying to fix his shirt, his muscles rippling with each movement. ‘We’ll drop in again, for some more steak. Maybe cooked next time,’ Chan jokes as the others head towards the door, and I let out a little laugh, nodding shyly. ‘That’d be nice.’ ‘Here. A tip, for your great service,’ Chan says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of notes. He takes my hand into his gently, a thrill running up my arm at the contact, and puts the notes into my palm, closing my fingers over them. ‘Chan, that’s too gener-’ ‘It’s fine. Just take the tip… y/n,’ he murmurs softly, my name sounding heavenly on his lips, my eyes locking with his sparkly brown ones, his smile mesmerising me. ‘Thank you,’ I reply, and he grins, his dimple reappearing and making my heart flutter.

He heads towards the door where the other boys are waiting, waving goodbye once more before they leave into the dawn, the door shutting behind them with a thud. ‘Oh, my God! y/n has a cute werewolf boyfriend!’ Ryujin exclaims, and I hold a hand over my face embarrassedly. ‘He’s not my boyfriend!’ ‘He wants to be! Look at the tip he gave you. He’s into you.’ ‘And he’s hot, y/n! If he comes in again, you better get his number!’

I leave after promising them I’ll make a move next time I see him, and I’m still laughing to myself at their enthusiasm as I step out of the back door, wrapped up in my big winter coat. The sun has just begun to rise, streaking the sky with beautiful pastel colours, but it’s still freezing, my breath fogging in the air as the cold sets into my bones.

I head over to my car, opening the door, and then, out of the corner of my eye, I see something move in the trees on the other side of the car park, and I look over, alarmed. There’s a big dark… shape, and I squint into the darkness, trying to make it out. I realise it’s a wolf, with thick, glossy sandy brown fur and big shiny brown eyes. The wolf stands proud, exuding power, and I just know that it’s Chan. I smile, knowing I’m probably crazy for smiling into the eyes of a lethal and wild creature, even crazier for lifting up a hand in a coy wave, but I’m rewarded when he bows his head in a nod, and maybe I’m imagining it, but I’m almost certain I can see an amused glint in his eyes.

I climb into my car, smiling to myself, Chan still stood there watching, and I wait until he’s disappeared into the trees before I start the car. A loud howl echoes out into the air, ringing in my ears, followed by a chorus of howls, melding into one another like a symphony, and the sound makes me smile.

When I get home and collapse into my bed, I decide to count through the notes that Chan gave me as a tip, and my heart melts when a little slip of paper flutters out of the notes – his phone number with a smiley face written beside it. My parents always told me to stay away from the wolves, but maybe they aren’t all bad.

[hanndotcom]

62. pack your shit and go. get the fuck out of my sight! ty bby

A/N: I hope you like this bb💜💜 also,,,,, since I didn’t get to do this during blurb week bc college is kicking ya girl’s ASS I made this what I consider a “full length fic”. Should I make a part two??? Or a mini series out of this??

WARNINGS: cussing, angst, possible love triangle???

WC: 1,062

62. Pack your shit and go. Get the fuck out of my sight.

-

I finally finished my shift at The Wreck and decided to go to the chateau to hang with everyone else. The drive there felt like it took forever, after what felt like hours I pulled into the gravel driveway of the chateau. I pulled my keys out of the ignition and grabbed my purse. I walked up to the door but stopped in my tracks when I heard the guys talking.

“Dude, I can’t believe it’s been 5 months. We owe you $50 bucks.” John B said, making me furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“Yeah bro, I’ll get you my half tomorrow. What surprises me the most is you managed to make Y/N fall in love with you.” I heard pope say, causing tears to fill my eyes.

“JJ?” I asked quietly, tears freely falling down my face.

“Shit.” He said quietly, standing up and quickly walking towards me. “Y/n I’m, I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t believe you. I-I gotta go.” I mumbled, avoiding all possible eye contact with JJ.

As I turned around I felt a tug on the belt loop of my jeans. I turned to see JJ with a broken look on his face, and behind him Pope and John B sat wide eyed and jaws hitting the floor.

“Please, let us explain.” John b started.

His plea only fueled my anger and sadness, “no!” I shouted, taking them by surprise.

“But y/n we-“ Pope intervened, I immediately cut him off.

“No pope. I could have expected bullshit like this from John B or JJ, but you’re my BEST FRIEND POPE, MY BEST FRIEND YOU WERE THE LAST PERSON I EXPECTED THIS FROM.” I yelled, tears streaming down my face. “I’m disappointed and disgusted with all of you. But I don’t know who I’m more upset with. I can’t believe I allowed myself to trust ANY of you.” I continued, knocking JJ’s hand away from my waist. “Get the fuck out of my sight. I can’t believe you JJ.” I cried, pushing through the door.

As I walked out of the door I bumped into Kiara, “hey y/n how- what did the boys do now? Are you okay?” She asked, holding my shoulders.

“Why don’t you go ask them how they spent $50 tonight?” I said, pushing past her and getting into my car.

// kiaras POV //

“Are you guys a whole new breed of dumbasses?” I screeched, looking at three of my four best friends. “JJ, you are supposed to be her boyfriend, Pope she is closest with you out of everyone, John B I honestly can’t even believe you. Do you even understand how hurt she is right now? I wouldn’t blame her if she ditched us.” I finished, leaving the Chateau.

// Y/N POV //

It’s been 3 days and I have basically thrown myself into my shifts at the wreck, and avoiding everyone besides Ki. I heard the bell ring, when I looked up I saw Rafe walk in.

“Welcome to the wreck, take a seat where you want and I’ll get your order in just a second.” I smiled at the kook, who to my surprise smiled back at me and took a seat near the window. I wiped my hands on my apron and grabbed my notepad.

“Hey y/n.” Rafe said, glancing up from the menu “I’ll take the special and a water.”

“Alrighty, that should be out in a few minutes. Call me over if you need anything else.” I smiled walking away to put the order in.

“Y/n!” I heard Rafe yell across the restaurant. I looked up shocked from restocking the cups to see Rafe waving me down. I quickly walked over there to see what he wanted.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, fixing my apron and furrowing my eyebrows.

“Yeah, surprisingly good for being on this side of the island. But it’s be better if I had something else.” He said, looking up at me.

“Okay, um let me go grab my notepad real fast and I’ll get it into the chef.” As I turned around I felt him lightly grab my wrist.

“I don’t need to put an order in, I need something else to make this better.” He said, smiling at me.

“What is it?” I asked, completely oblivious.

“For you to join me.” He replied letting my wrist go.

“What? Do you, topper, Kelce have some sort of game going on? Because if so I’m not playing it. I don’t have time to deal with th-“

“No, I genuinely want you to join me. Topper nor Kelce had anything to do with this.” He said, raising his arms up.

“Well, I don’t get a lunch break for another 30 minutes so,,, I-“ I was cut off.

“I’ll wait, and then after your shift we’re going to the carnival near the pier.” He smirked.

“What’s the catch, Rafe? Last week you hated all pogues, including me. And now suddenly you want to take me on a date?” I asked, confused.

“I’ve liked you for a while. And now that you and JJ are no longer together. I can ask you out.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

I smirked, beginning to walk back to the counter. “It better be worth it Cameron.” I shouted behind me.

// time jump to before y/n shift ends //

I had 20 minutes before my shift ended so I began wiping off tables and putting the chairs on top of them. I heard the bell above the door ding so I looked up, catching JJ’s eyes.

“I was hoping you’d still be here.” He mumbled, grabbing some chairs and putting them up on tables.

“Yep, I’m here until 8. You know that.” I said sharply, tossing the tag into the bucket beside the counter.

“Can we talk?” He asked, behind me I could hear the sad tone in his voice.

“I don’t know, if you make me listen to you are JB and Pope gonna give you another 50 bucks or-“

“Y/N please.” He cut me off, making me sharply turn around. “I love you. I really love you. With everything in me. What can I do to make it up to you?”

Before he could continue talking the bell above the door rang once more, when I looked up I saw Rafe standing there with (your fav flowers). “Rafe.” I breathed out.

-

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!) 💜💜💜

@fttayla @prejudic3 @tomhardybby @ilovejjmaybank @canibeoneofthepogues @xealia

[vintagedolan]

Hey lovey, i had a concept or blurb whatever you prefer to do. Maybe a little something about giving gray a massage or helping him when if poor back hurts and just being there for him. I’m so soft. Ok thank you love you! Ps make sure you are eating and drinking enough water 🥺💖

(did I get 1k words into this and then tumblr deleted it? yes. am I rewriting it bc I love you? also yes)

The first time that Grayson hurt his back, it was Ethan’s fault. A few overly-competitive wrestling moves on the too-thin mat in the garage ended with the breath knocked out of his lungs and a sore back for a week. After that, it would only flare up occasionally. Lisa took him to the doctor when he was 11, and all they said was it could be a nerve, it could be the way his muscles were wired, or it could be nothing. So they left with no answers, and he signed up for football the next month anyways, ignoring the pain after one too many tackles at practice and stealing the ice pack from the freezer every night. 

Now, at 20, without contact sports in his daily life, he had it under control for the most part.

But there was still one thing that could have him, in his words, ‘kinked up’ in no time. 

Stress.

He’d gotten a better handle on his stress over the last few years, combatting it with a good workout, a walk, even meditation. When work got stressful he knew how to brace for it, how to make sure his body didn’t have any adverse reaction.

But when Ethan decided to prank him with an elaborate set up that had him thinking the house construction got delayed for another 3 months?

Back -> kinked.

Which was why when you made it to the front door of the rental house in Laguna, Ethan answered it instead of your boyfriend.

“Is he good?” 

“He’s pouting in his room cause I got him good,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Don’t sound too concerned,” you laughed, moving past him and sliding your shoes off by the door. You followed the now familiar path down the stairs and to the right, unsurprised to hear music from behind his closed door.

If anyone else had opened it and saw what you saw, they probably would have thought it was a ritual of some sort.

Grayson was flat on his back in the middle of the bed, shirtless, staring up at the ceiling without moving a muscle. There was a candle on each of the nightstands - healing on the left, relax on the right you would later realize. Music played from the speaker in the corner, quiet enough to still be relaxing.

“Hey you.”

He perked up, but only moved his neck, looking up at you and offering the best smile he could muster. It was pitiful.

“Still hurtin’ huh?” He’d text you about the whole prank a few hours ago, and you’d hoped that maybe it had eased up before you got there. But he just shook his head with a bit of a sigh and a pout.

“Roll over baby, I’ll try to get it out.” 

He did as you said, trying to stay quiet as he tensed up at the pain. It pulled at your heartstrings, and your hands fluttered over him uselessly as he groaned a bit, finally making it over to his stomach. 

You climbed on the bed as lightly as you could, careful not to jostle him as you got situated, straddling him over his ass and letting a bit of your weight rest on him while you held yourself up with your knees.

As soon as you leaned forward and pressed your hand onto his back he groaned, but you recognized it as a pleasant one rather than a painful one.

“Just try to relax, it’ll help,” you hummed, starting to work up by his neck and shoulders.

“Your hands are tiny,” he mumbled, voice muffled a bit by the comforter. “Feels so good though.”

“Your back is just huge,” you countered, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his lions. He sighed at the feeling of your lips on him, relaxing even more as you continued your work, thumbs pressing in hard against the thick bands of muscle that ran all across his back.

“I always wanted a girlfriend so I could have somebody to rub my back,” he said, words a bit jumbled like he was about to fall asleep. Sure enough, when you leaned over slightly his eyes were closed, long eyelashes practically resting on the tops of his cheeks.

“Oh yeah? You just love me for my back rubs huh,” you teased, readjusting a bit so you could move further down. 

“No baby you know that’s no- shit,” he hissed, as your fingers found the knot you’d been looking for, just shy of his spine on the right, a few inches under his tattoo. His whole body tensed under you, shifting so quickly that you had to grab onto his hip so you didn’t lose your balance.

“Swear that wasn’t on purpose. Relax baby, I’ll work it out slow,” you coaxed, peppering kisses along his skin until he was sinking back into the mattress. You made your way back over to the spot, working around the edges of it gently, slowly but surely pressing and kneading it out little by little. You could tell it was the good kind of hurt, and Grayson did his best, finally melting like a puddle when it was finally gone and his tired muscles were relieved.

“You’re magic,” he hummed, starting to roll over a bit, giving you time to move with him until you were straddling his waist, looking down at him. “Come down here.” 

You obliged, shifting off your tired knees and settling against his chest. With the smell of the candles burning you were so relaxed that you were almost sleepy, and when his warm arms wrapped around you tightly you weren’t sure you were going to be able to stay awake.

“I owe you a good back rub, you just tell me when,” He pressed a kiss into your hair, the gratitude obvious in his voice.

“I’ll let you know.” He gave the best back rubs, especially because his hands were so big. “Were you just kinked up from the prank stress? Is there anything else going on?”

“Just the stupid prank. I shouldn’t have fallen for it, but the idea of not being able to be home for another 3 months had me so worked up.”

“I know you’re ready to get back there,” you sighed, smiling as his hands moved over your back lightly, fingers grazing over the fabric of your shirt. “S’not so bad here though.”

“It’s not, but I’m just ready for us to be home, because being home means you moving in full time, and us being in our room, with our bed and our stuff.” The excitement in his voice made your heart swell a bit.

“Don’t forget our bathroom. Designed for all the activities,” you grinned, the thought of the little shower bench that Grayson had designed racing through your head.

“Activities huh? I bet we could do some of those now. Get some good practice in.”

“Hmmm, I’m not sure. Wouldn’t want you to kink your back up again or anything, I’m a one-back-rub a day type of girl,” you feigned your innocence, sitting up to give him a wide grin. “Don’t think we have an ice pack here.”

Two seconds later and he had you pinned underneath him, eyes ablaze. 

“We’ll see whose needing the ice pack in a minute.” 

[tsukkisbean]

24 cakes pt.1 | oneshot

pairing: tsukishima kei x fem!reader

genre: fluff, mildly suggestive

warnings: none!

a/n: so this kind of turned into a oneshot but oh well. i also tried to make it so that you could technically read the two parts separately if you prefer fluff/smut over the other but idk how well that worked out. anyways, pt 2 has been scheduled to come out in 2 hours. n e ways TSUKISHIMA BEST BOY!! also this is a reupload bc my original post disappeared. if you already saw this NO U DIDN’T

the smell of smoke engulfs your apartment and you quickly run to slide open your balcony door. turning on your heels you make your way back to the kitchen. clambering atop the counter you try to wave the air clear with your palms. when the piercing sound of the smoke alarm finally cuts out, you plop down, letting your legs dangle over the edge of the counter.

your eyes land on the stovetop where your burnt creation sits. you let out a frustrated cry. you’ve made this recipe more times than you can count on your fingers because somehow they’ve all ended up in disaster. first, there was the time you underbeat the whipped cream, and ended up with a sticky mess. then there was the time you accidentally knocked the batter onto the floor. not to mention the time you dropped the cake right as you pulled it out of the oven.

this time you had gotten so wrapped up in your phone call with tsukishima you didn’t realize that your oven timer was going off. by the time you had come to your senses, it was too late.

you rub your temples in annoyance. despite starting weeks in advance to make sure you had the recipe down, it was now the day of your boyfriend’s birthday and you had yet to successfully finish the recipe even once.

taking a quick glance at the clock, you push yourself off the counter to throw away your burnt masterpiece and begin pulling out ingredients once more. tsukishima was supposed to be over in a few hours, so if you wanted to have enough time you had to start now.

you’re about to combine the dry ingredients together when there’s a brisk knock on the door. dusting your hands on your apron, you make your way to the front entrance. you swing your door open, and slam it shut just as fast. 

the knocking starts up again, this time more persistent and more aggressive. your fingers fumble with the door chain, sliding it into place before cracking the door open ever so slightly. you’re about to peek out into the hallway, but before you can get a good view, your visitor tries to force the door open further causing you to jump back in surprise.

“y/n? what the hell are you doing?” the person on the other side says, irritation evident in their voice. when you don’t respond they speak again, this time with a much softer tone, “y/n please let me in. are you okay?”

“mhm” is the only thing you manage to squeeze out though it sounds more like a squeak. gently pressing the door closed again, you remove the chain to let your visitor in. when your boyfriend comes into full view, you flash him a bashful smile, “sorry, kei. i was just caught off guard, i thought we agreed that you’d come over at 9pm.”

the tall male scoffs, raising his hand to give your forehead a flick, before perching forward to press an apologetic kiss against the red mark, “nii-chan got held up at work so he won’t be here until tomorrow.”

you try to pull off your best scowl, only to have him to snort at you, “so? are you going to let me in or are you going to keep making faces at me?” he cranes his neck to look past you, his height giving him a clear advantage.

reluctantly, you step aside and he lets himself in, removing his shoes and changing into his slippers in the process. as the two of you step into the kitchen, you avoid eye contact, already able to picture the smug expression on his face.

his arms slip around your waist, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. despite the sweet actions, the nuance in his voice says otherwise, “aw y/n were you trying to bake me a birthday cake? you really shouldn’t have.”

you pull away from him, sticking out your tongue in response, “fine in that case i’m going to make this strawberry shortcake for myself.” you tap your chin pretending to deep in thought for a moment, “or maybe i’ll ask yamaguchi if he wants some.”

you expect a snarky remark but he says nothing, instead he strides over to one of the drawers to pull out an apron. you watch as he hooks the bib around his neck, and fastens the string around his waist.

he picks up the recipe by the corner, letting it dangle in the air. he shoots you a questioning look but you shrug your shoulders and snatch the paper out of his hands. “so i’ve already tried to bake this recipe a couple of times, it’s bound to have a couple of stains here and there.”

“how many times is a couple, really? three? ten? fifty?”

you mutter something under your breath, fingers fiddling with each other. tsukishima leans in closer, cupping his ear with his hand, “sorry, can you say that again?”

you roll your eyes, this time your voice at a normal volume, “twenty-three.”

this time tsukishima laughs with his whole chest, using his pointer finger to gently push your head, “twenty-three? i’m surprised you haven’t burned the entire place down.”

placing your hands on your hips, you challenge him, “what? you think you can do better?”

he shifts in his spot so that your eyes are level with his, “oh i know i can do better.”

with that, he snatches the recipe back from you, doing a careful readthrough of each step. you watch as he scoops a cup of flour, neatly levelling it with a metal spatula. just as he’s about to pour the flour into the bowl, you lunge forward, bumping your hip against his side. a white cloud rises into the air, coating the both of you in flour.

tsukishima grabs you by the wrists, clicking his tongue in annoyance “tsk, do you really hate losing that much?”

you feign innocence, flashing him your sweetest smile, “sorry, i lost my balance.”

unable to think of a comeback he releases you, turning his attention back to the task at hand. as works through each step, you shadow him, interjecting a few comments every so often.

wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your face against the side of his body, “are you sure that’s soft peaks it’s looking a little runny still”

he tilts the bowl towards you, lifting the mixer up so you can see how the egg whites droop over slightly, “yes i’m sure.”

you take your chance again when he moves onto the next step, “be careful not to add the sugar too fast or-”

but to your dismay he’s already one step ahead of you,“then the stiff peaks won’t form, i know.”

in a last resort to try and distract him, you throw in one last punch, “are you really sure you want to fold your meringue in now? it’s looking a little soft still.” obviously fed up with your antics, tsukishima grabs the metal bowl, flipping it above your head.

instinctively, you duck your head down and cover your head with your hands. cracking an eye open, you’re met with his usual smirk. and so, you shuffle over to the other side of the counter situating yourself on one of the bar stools.

you watch silently as he works through the final steps with ease. once the cake is placed in the oven he turns his attention back to you.

his long frame leans over the kitchen counter and kisses the tip of your nose, “sorry, but it looks like this is just one more thing that i’m better than you at. although 24 cakes does seem appropriate for today’s occasion, huh?”

you huff, crossing your arms against your chest, “technically you’re not finished until the cake its cooked, iced, and decorated.” turning your head slightly you side eye him, “besides you may be better than me at some things. but you’re definitely not everything.”

a sly smile appears on tsukishima’s face, “oh yeah? i can think of plenty of things that i can beat you at right now.”

your palms hit the counter as your body shoots out of its seat, “oh yeah? let’s go then. right here, right now.”

(a/n: if you want to read the smutty ending of this then please check out my blog at 3:00pm pst (in 2 hrs)! i’ve scheduled the next post for then. otherwise read on hehe.)

your entire body quivers under your boyfriend. never have you wanted to scream at him so bad before. but you bite your tongue and hold yourself back for the time being. there was no way you were going to lose to him, not when you had so confidently declared that you were going to beat him.

“left hand yellow, y/n.”

you let out a triumphant yell as your hand is already planted on a yellow spot. but the feeling is short lived when you realize that you now have to maneuver yourself to reach the spinner. it’s obvious your boyfriend is thinking the same thing from the way he shoots you a smile.

but you refuse to lose, not when you’ve held out for this long. before your hand reaches the spinner, a blaring noise fills the room.

the two of you look at each other, and this time it’s you who shoots him a knowing smile. he glowers at you as he twists his body to stand up. once he stands up fully erect, your arms and legs give out, your body crumpling onto the floor.

as you lay there, a delicious scent fills your nostrils. automatically, you rise to your feet, skittering over to join your boyfriend by the oven. he takes notice of your presence, and defensively holds his arms out, “don’t you dare come anywhere near my cake. you might ruin it.”

your mouth hangs open, reaching out to give his chest a playful shove, “hey i’m good at baking. i just had a few…mishaps.” your voice trails off momentarily, “plus i just beat you at twister, so technically we’re tied for today!”

tsukishima clicks his tongue, obviously irritated at the fact that he most likely would have won if it weren’t for the timer going off.

“let’s play another round, loser has to wash all the dishes.” he extends his hand out to you.

grabbing his hand, you give it a firm shake, “you’re on! prepare to lose, kei.”

your grip loosens but before you can completely pull your hand away, you’re tugged against tsukishima’s body. in one swift motion his lips capture yours in a chaste kiss. after a moment, he pulls away slightly, letting your lips brush against each other as he speaks, “whatever you say, love. but just remember today is my birthday.”

a/n: hello!! i’m putting my final author’s note here just because i didn’t wanna spoil the ending hehe. anyways i hope you guys liked the ending now i’m thinking about doing twister hc with haikyuu sooooooo look out for that :)

[littlespoonevan]

hiii! I really hope I'm not bothering you but... are you taking prompts? 👀 cause I love your fics and this is kinda your fault because I read your post about 9x06 lol but now I can't stop thinking about I&M having a *real talk* like... "I'm sorry I let you go" 🥺?

Sorry it took me a while to get to this - my ao3 fics kept me quite busy the past few weeks! okay so i’ve written about the aftermath of 9x06 quite a few times but never an actual, full “talk about everything” conversation in its entirety so i decided to give it a whirl here! 

for the record i 100% believe they had a conversation like this within the first week, if not 24 hours, of being in the cell together and find it absolutely preposterous john wells tried to act like they hadn’t in 10x03 and then again in 10x08 bc all ian wanted to do legit all season was talk things through and that didn’t come from nowhere but ANYWAY, they’ve got a lot of things to sort through but i did my best to cover as much as i could!

I hope you like it <3

*

The lights have been out for five minutes and Ian just about manages to stay in his bunk long enough for the guard to do his final check of their cell before he’s swinging himself down from his bed to crawl in next to Mickey.

He’s met with kisses and a muffled laugh into his mouth and fuck, he never thought he’d get to do this again. He allows himself to get lost in Mickey’s body for a few minutes, trading hungry kisses while their hands roam wherever either of them can reach, like they’re trying to commit one another’s skin to memory again – not that Ian has any intention of letting Mickey go this time.

He’s been itching to touch Mickey like this all day – they’d managed a hurried, flustered mutual reunion handjob before but they couldn’t risk anything more. Even that had been reckless but he’s pretty sure he lost any and all sense the second Mickey walked through the door of his cell.

He wants more now, wants Mickey whatever way he can have him, but a thought makes him pause and as soon as he thinks it he can’t stop thinking about it.

Is this supposed to be reunion sex or make-up sex?

Ian had done a lot of soul-searching and self-reflection after he’d left Mickey at the border and he just- he wants to talk about it. He doesn’t want them to jump straight into everything again and let their issues fester like they used to. Sex has never been a problem for them, communication on the other hand…

Mickey must notice he’s slowed down because he leans back, a confused smile on his face. “What?”

Ian looks at him and feels nothing but an all-consuming, addictive kind of love envelope him. He loves Mickey so fucking much – he hadn’t been able to stop even when he wanted to – he’s not going to hurt him again. But that means he needs to do this right. “Do you think we should talk first?” he asks uncertainly.

They’d both sort of agreed earlier that they would talk eventually when they’d been catching up and found themselves naturally slipping into deeper territory. They’d said they could worry about it later. But well, it’s later now.

Mickey appraises him for a moment and Ian tries not to panic when he notices his expression shutter the tiniest bit. Cradling Mickey’s jaw, he runs a thumb across his cheek. “Mick, I wanna do this right this time. We should talk about it.”

Mickey’s expression softens somewhat at that. “Talk about what?”

Ian blows out a breath. “Everything, I guess?”

He’s not sure they ever really talked out their issues in the past. He thinks they would’ve when Mickey brought him back home after he took off for the army. But Ian had already been halfway to manic by then and hadn’t exactly been in the most rational frame of mind to discuss the deep shit.

Mickey shifts onto his back, still keeping one arm around Ian, and Ian fits himself against Mickey’s side, head half on the pillow, half on Mickey’s shoulder.

“Well, if we’re talking about everything,” Mickey starts, rolling his head to the side and meeting Ian’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

And that’s- what?

“What the fuck are you sorry for?” Ian asks with a frown – he’s pretty sure he’s the one with a laundry list of apologies to make here.

Mickey huffs out a laugh but it sounds sad. “Jesus, Ian. Did you just block out the first year and a half of our relationship?” He averts his gaze for a second before looking back to Ian with renewed determination. “I’m sorry for all the times I pushed you away or pretended this didn’t mean anything or ended it because I got scared or hit you- fuck-“

“Mickey,” Ian says, cutting him off with a hand on Mickey’s chest. “You think I resent you for any of that?” he says, words quietly disbelieving. “Or that I don’t get why you acted the way you did? Yeah, sure, it fucking hurt at the time but I’m pretty sure you made up for it a thousand times over with everything that came afterwards.”

When I almost burned our relationship to the ground, he thinks, and all you did was try to love me.

Mickey glances away again, looking more bashful this time. “It still doesn’t make it okay.”

“Yeah, well if it wasn’t already clear, I forgive you,” Ian tells him, feeling his mouth tick up at the edges when Mickey starts to smile at him. And he can’t help leaning to brush their lips together – just once before he allows himself to get side-tracked.

It’s his turn now.

“While we’re doling out apologies,” he starts, feeling shame burn through him. Even thinking about half the shit he’s done makes him question how the fuck Mickey’s still here. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mick. Jesus. For all of it.”

Mickey stares at him with something vulnerable in his eyes and Ian wonders if anyone’s ever actually apologised to Mickey for hurting him before. That thought alone is enough for him to keep going.

“I’m sorry for giving you an ultimatum after the wedding. I was just- fuck, I was at breaking point, y’know? I know what happened that day with Terry was a million times worse for you-“

Mickey tenses at that and Ian thinks they’re going to talk about a lot tonight but they probably won’t talk about that. Some scars just run too fucking deep.

“I always wondered,” Mickey interrupts quietly, staring at Ian’s hand on his chest instead of Ian himself. “If that day was your trigger or whatever.”

Ian’s wondered it too, has considered bringing it up whenever he does go to therapy countless times, but he can never make himself say it out loud.

“It might’ve been,” he says slowly. “But if it was that’s Terry’s fault, not yours.”

Mickey nods absently and Ian shifts forward until he can press his forehead to Mickey’s temple. “None of it was our fault, Mick.”

Neither of them speaks for a beat – everything they’ve left unsaid hanging heavy in the air between them until Ian eventually decides to carry on.

“And I know I said sorry for this one before,” he continues. “But I’m sorry for trying to make you come out.”

Mickey shakes his head as if to tell him it doesn’t matter. But it does.

“And for all the fucking bullshit I pulled with you while I was manic. Not even just the big stuff – the cheating, the porno, Yevgeny – but all of it. I didn’t treat you how I wanted to back then.” Ian feels tears burn behind his eyes just thinking about it and his pulse is ragged by the time Mickey finally turns his head to look at him.

His eyes are shining and Ian’s heart is fucking broken. “You were sick, Ian.”

“Doesn’t make any of it okay,” Ian mumbles, closing his eyes when he feels Mickey’s fingers graze against the back of his neck. “Just- I really need you to know that the only reason I broke up with you was because Monica fucking got in my head and I could see how much I was killing you and I didn’t want that for you, Mick,” he says, voice low and desperate, begging Mickey to understand. “The thought of you just staying with me and letting me hurt you over and over again was too fucking much. Especially back then when I felt like I’d never feel normal again.”

Mickey is quiet for a moment before he squeezes the back of Ian’s neck. “I’m not excusin’ shit, Ian. Losing you back then- it nearly fucking broke me. But it’s like what you said about the stuff I did. It’s not okay. But I know why you did it.”

Ian nods, sniffling back the tears threatening to fall and burying his face in Mickey’s neck to press an apologetic kiss against the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Mickey’s arm tightens around him in response and it’s enough to give Ian courage to deliver the final part of his apology.

He leans back, pushing up on his elbow so he can look down at Mickey and meets his gaze while he talks. “I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to Mexico,” he whispers, breath hitching. “I’m so fucking sorry but I wanted to believe so badly that I actually had my shit together and-“

Mickey cuts him off before he can say anymore, lips upturned in a rueful smile. “I’m not mad about that,” he murmurs.

Ian frowns in confusion. “You’re not?”

Mickey nods, blowing out a resigned breath. “You were fucking right, Ian. Where were we supposed to get your meds? I spent two years working for a fucking cartel, that’s not exactly the kinda stress-free, routine life you needed to be living.” Mickey shakes his head, shrugging half-heartedly. “I didn’t think it through, I just wanted to be with you again – couldn’t see past that, y’know?”

And Ian is so fucking in love with him. He can’t believe Mickey still has so much goddamn faith in him.

“Fat lotta good it did anyway,” he huffs bitterly. “Goin’ home. Look where I ended up.”

He’d given Mickey the basics of what’d happened with the whole Gay Jesus thing earlier. But it’s still hard to believe how quickly things spiralled after he came home from the border.

Mickey doesn’t say anything because there’s not much to say really but he links his fingers together with the hand Ian’s still got resting on his chest which is an answer in and of itself.

“Listen,” Ian murmurs, meeting Mickey’s gaze and hoping he can see the sincerity there. “I know- I don’t expect you to just give me blanket forgiveness right now, okay? I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me,” he says, voice feeling thick with emotion. “But let me make it up to you, alright? Let me prove that I’m in this this time. I’m not fuckin’ around again, Mick. I’m not- I can’t let you go again.”

Mickey doesn’t reply right away and Ian watches as a myriad of emotions flickers across his face. Eventually though, his throat bobs and he offers Ian a hint of a smile. “You let me make my shit up to you. It’d be pretty fuckin’ hypocritical if I didn’t let you do the same.”

Ian huffs out a relieved laugh, resting his forehead against Mickey’s shoulder. “Or smart, maybe.”

“When have I ever fuckin’ been smart around you, Gallagher?” Mickey says amusedly and Ian raises his head again, leaning in until there’s the barest inch of space between them.

“I mean it,” he whispers steadfastly. “If it takes a week or a year to make you trust me again, I’ll do it. I promise.”

Mickey’s expression is calm and open as he watches him and Ian revels at being allowed to see the vulnerability behind his eyes – more as a sign of trust than because Mickey can’t conceal it for once. He closes the distance between them and tries to pour every bit of love and devotion he possesses into the kiss, hoping Mickey can feel it.

When their lips dislodge after a minute or so Ian rearranges them until he’s the one lying on his back and Mickey’s head is resting on his chest.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Mickey admits into the cotton of Ian’s tank top and Ian closes his eyes, feeling a lump swell in his throat as his eyes begin to water.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs hoarsely, tightening his arms around Mickey like he could fuse their bones together and pressing a firm kiss to Mickey’s hair. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Mickey mumbles and it’s just three words but it feels like fucking salvation to Ian’s ears.

They’re gonna be alright.

*

[cognacdelights]

hi bestie 💛 just saw you’re going back into lockdown that’s so horrible ☹️ have they given a time frame?

now i feel bad for complaining about our little 2 weeks haha, but today’s the day we move down levels so going back to work, i really really don’t want to, i work in hospo so i hope people don’t go crazy and we have everyone wanting to come out for dinner. we’ve got restrictions of 50 people at once though and we all have to wear masks (masks had never been mandatory here before this lockdown). i feel for the people who live in the main city who are going to have been in full lockdown for a month though, but i hope yours doesn’t drag on ☹️

but omg i read the stuff you said about your old work and that is fucked!! i cant believe people can do that some workplaces are really messed up in the way things are dealt with, that sounds so toxic. the manager at my work is an asshole too but thankfully my boss likes me. i get worried though with wanting my boss to be the reference bc he won’t be happy when i do leave. i ended up doing this volunteer thing on the side to try and get somewhere else that could give me a good reference, idk if that would be an option for you? obviously it’s hard when they aren’t paid, the one i do is just a couple hours one day a week so nothing too heavy

anyways, loved the new chapter as always!! i was getting worried that jj was going to leave without a proper goodbye but true indie fashion to run after him right at the last minute 😅 also wondering what ever happened to the food she cooked, or half cooked 🥴 i’m sad that he’s gonna be gone for at least two weeks though, but i am very keen for john b and indie time together 🥺

ps. i loved the part where jj was listing all those moments and my mind felt like i was watching a show when they have flashbacks since most of them were in previous chapters

#💛

hey bestie!

no, i’m not sure… i don’t know if it’s official yet or if it’s like a “leak” that’s come out before they could announce it, but all i’ve heard is that they’re doing a lockdown in the october half term and extending it to 2/3 weeks and using it as a circuit breaker? idk they did this last year and we ended up in lockdown for another like five months /:

i feel like that’s how it goes tho… people fo crazy the first few weeks after a lockdown because they can. at least that’s what happens here but i hope things are calm for your sake! i can’t imagine having to work in hospo during all of this! wear your mask and wash your hands regularly!

it’s not legal for them to do those things but they just fuck you in other ways… like, they threaten bad references for other jobs (also illegal), they punish you for joining a union and don’t allow one in the workplace so you don’t know your rights as an employee, reject your time off just because they can, give you the shitty shifts, make you work harder than everyone else like whilst there’s two people working together that only have to do four cages i used to have to do 6/7 on my own including two of the harder totes cages… they literally make it hell for you. also if they find out you’re looking for a new job they do that to you too and decline giving you a reference!

i could always cheat and say i worked in the office for my uncle’s business which i kinda have but only casually and as a favour since my other aunt went on maternity and have his wife as my reference but it doesn’t give me “experience” in retail which is kinda my best bet atm? there are just no jobs whatsoever and especially office jobs bc they’ve just taken in recent graduates… also it doesn’t help with the different pay rates /: why hire me and have to pay me £8.21 an hour when they can hire a 16 year old and pay them £5.25 an hour to do the same job /:

i signed up to help in victim support but haven’t heard anything back!

haha thank you! i’m glad that you enjoyed the chapter! miss ma’am is a stubborn little madam but she’s working on that (hence why she ran out at the very last minute to say goodbye) 😂 and jj ate his food bc like fuck is he going to let good food go to waste like the human garbage can he is & indie ate hers as a midnight snack after falling asleep for a while! they’re still gonna have interactions over the phone (and maybe some phone sex 🤪) but yes her and john b are gonna spend some time together where they don’t want to kill each other!

omg i’m glad you loved those little details! that’s my favourite part of the chapter and i love the little easter egg bits!

[barrysjumpsuit]

the dark side - jj maybank x shoupe’s daughter (ch. 3)

w/c: 2.5k

warnings: underage drinking, mentions of other illicit activity, typos probably, but this is mostly just jj fluff

summary:  catherine shoupe has the perfect life. when she gets hired by heyward to run groceries, she has a new coworker - jj maybank. as the deputy’s daughter, she can’t help but hate him. but when jj decides to bring her to the dark side and woo her over, cat not only has to hide her activities from her father, but learn who her father really is.

a/n: i’ve been super busy and lacking inspo, so i knocked this out in about an hour and a half (and tbh i’m kinda proud of it).  this is definitely based on that time last week i drank 8 beers while swimming and was so drunk i fell off the dock then cried while making a pizza bc i started thinking about drew starkey  

side note, the tags weren’t working on the last two chapters, so if you could reblog this that would mean the world to me :)

get caught up on other chapters here! or check out my masterlist!

----

JJ’s words ate at Cat as she drove home. Leave it to JJ to put that foul taste in her mouth - was he trying to turn her against her own father? Or wanting her to come to the dark side with him?  Of course JJ didn’t like her dad. He was a troublemaker, flirting with all the punishments that were associated with breaking the law. 

Cat got home ten minutes later. Her dad was waiting up for her - it was later than she realized, and she was too caught up with JJ - and then flustered - to text him. “How’d it go?” he asked, seeing her face and pulling her into a hug.

“It was okay. I’m just tired,” she said quietly, her head pressed against her dad’s shoulder.

“You want any dinner?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Okay. Good night, sweetie.”

That night and all of the next day, she couldn’t stop thinking about what JJ had said to her.

Cat spent her day off with her best friend. They shopped before dropping their bags off at Cat’s, changing and going to the beach.

“Tell me about your new job,” Kya insisted, laying beside her. Her eyes were hidden by large, pink sunglasses, a smile plastered on her face.

“Well… it’s different, that’s for sure. I like spending most of my day on the water.” Cat threw an arm up to shield the sun so she could see her friend better. “The guys I work with keep it… interesting.”

“Heyward’s kid? What’s his name?”

“Pope. Yeah, I like him a lot. I usually work with either him or JJ.”

“Maybank?” Kya asked, pushing herself up slightly, and Cat nodded. “Woah, seriously? You haven’t killed each other yet?”

“Actually… we made up for everything last night. Got dinner and everything. He wanted to air everything out, and we had a good night.”

“You got dinner with JJ Maybank?” 

Cat sighed as her friend took off her sunglasses to look at her, her eyes wide. “Yes, Kya, why is that such a big deal?”

“You know he’s a total pothead, right? And his dad’s into all sorts of drugs.”

“Well, that’s a good thing I only work with him, then,” Cat responded cooly. “I just want to be friendly enough to make work not insufferable. I don’t care what he does in his free time.”

“Does your dad know?” Kya asked, and sat upright when Cat shook her head. “You’re kidding me, Cat.”

“He doesn’t need to know, he’d just worry.” Cat tried to ignore how worked up all of this made Kya. “Beside, I’ve made it clear to him I don’t want to get involved in anything he or his friends do.”

Kya sighed, laying back down beside her. “You better not. You’re the only friend I have that hasn’t gone all party mode.”

“That’s not gonna happen any time soon.” Cat tried to reassure her, but remembered JJ’s words. I’ll get you out of your bubble, he had said, a charming grin lighting up his face. Everything about JJ’s existence seemed effortless - he didn’t worry about what people thought about him, and didn’t particularly care for impressing people or following every single rule.

All throughout high school, like Kya had said, they lost friends until their once tight-knit friend group shrank to just the two of them. Everyone discovered alcohol, which was easily available at keggers and parties that seemed to happen almost every night. Some started smoking weed, others started doing harder stuff. People changed, and Cat knew that, but she didn’t like that type of change. Even if she did still want to be friends with those people, she knew it wouldn’t fly with her father, much less with Kya’s mother.

Kya Peterkin was the one person who had Cat’s back while they were growing up. Whenever their classmates adopted the we-hate-cops attitude, they were shunned together. They obeyed the same sets of rules, and since their parents worked so closely together, they were bound to become best friends as well. 

Sometimes, though, Cat wanted to break the rules. She was tired of being under the watchful, critical eye of her parents. Maybe JJ was what she needed - someone to be that person to get her out there. There was something about the way he spoke to her the other day, like he knew something she didn’t. About her, and about her dad. 

The next day, she worked with Pope. 

The day after, she worked with JJ.

It was the first time she actually enjoyed working with JJ. The talk they had eased the tension - JJ sat on the bow of the boat, his vape pinched between his lips, swinging his feet in the air while Cat slowed the boat as they approached the no wake zone. As she eased up to the dock to complete the last delivery of the day, JJ hopped off and tied the boat while Cat started readying the groceries.

Cat wanted to ask him, so, what are you doing tonight?, but she had been taught to never invite herself to things. Luckily, JJ seemed to read her mind, a cocky smile tugging on his lips as they loaded bags into the carts they would haul down the sandy paths to the McEvers’ house.

“You busy tonight?” he asked casually, passing groceries from the boat down to her. 

“Not at all,” she replied. 

“Wanna go for a boat ride?” 

“With who?”

“Me and my friends,” he replied, jumping down from the boat to be next to her. He had a red work shirt on, matching his backwards red hat. 

“What will be happening on said boat ride?” she asked, partly because she was curious and wanted confirmation, partly to annoy him.

“What, you turning into a cop?” JJ asked. “Your dad knows what we do, everyone on the island knows and everyone on the island does exactly what we do.”

“And what do you do?”

JJ raised his eyebrows before taking a hold of the handle of the cart. “Just a little booze cruise is all. Don’t worry, Pope’s the DD.”

“And you’re not worried I’ll rat you all out?” she asked, taking her own cart and starting to haul it down the path after him.

“No, because you would never let your father know you’re hanging out with me.”

JJ’s words and tone were cocky. Cat smiled, trying to wipe her expression blank as JJ turned to look at her, but failed. “Sure. I’ll come tonight.”

“You got a swimsuit on you?”

“I’ll have to run home and pick one up, just let me know where to meet you.”

JJ flashed her a thumbs up, and before long, they had completed their delivery. The rest of the shift was uneventful; they boated back to Heyward’s, ran through the closing procedures, and JJ told her how to get to John B’s house.

“Just come out back to the dock when you get there, we’ll be waiting on the boat,” he had told her. Cat quickly drove home, telling her dad she was going to treat herself to a night out at the movies, changing before driving south to the Cut.

Two cars were parked in front of John B’s house. Following JJ’s instructions, she walked around the side of the house, seeing the dock lit up with deck lights, hearing voices from a boat tied to the end.

The voices became hushed as she walked down the dock, and she saw someone shove JJ, while another threw a hat at him. As soon as she grew close enough to see JJ’s crew, Cat instantly regretted her decision of coming.

“Shoupe’s kid? Really, JJ?” she heard Kiara hiss, before plastering a big smile on her face. “Hey, Cat.”

She stopped hesitantly on the end of the dock. Just go back home, a voice inside her brain told her, and she was about to start back towards her car when JJ stood, grabbing her hand, pulling her onto the boat.

“Be nice, please,” he said in a sing-songy voice, knowing that Cat had overheard them. 

“Dude - really?” John B asked bluntly. He had dropped the hand holding a beer down in a subtle attempt to hide it.

“My lips are sealed.” Cat caught Kiara’s eye roll out of the corner of her vision, and Pope sighed, obviously disliking the conflict.

“Well, let’s go then,” John B said, tension still apparent in his voice. JJ nodded towards the back of the boat, and Pope moved to make room for her to sit.

“Want a drink, kitty Cat?” JJ asked, but before she could answer, Kiara was making a gagging sound and John B looked at him with wide eyes.

“The fuck you call her?” John B asked, and JJ grinned.

“Kitty Cat.”

“I thought I told you to never call me that ever again,” Cat said, leaning forward to look into the cooler. It was full of Pabst and White Claws. She started reaching for one of the latter, but hesitated.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Pope said quietly, but Cat could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

She looked up to JJ, who shrugged. “The black cherry is my favorite,” he said.

“You admitted it! You like them!” Pope burst suddenly, pointing accusingly at JJ, who just shrugged before speaking.

“There ain’t no laws when you’re drinking Claws,” he claimed, pausing as Cat grabbed one of the black cherries. “Atta girl, Cat.”

She popped the top and took a sip. It was okay, the sharp taste and the carbonation causing her to make a face. The second drink was easier.

As John B pushed the throttle, the conversation died down as they made their way across the water. Cat sat against the back right side of the boat with Pope, while Kiara sat on the back left side, JJ going off to stand next to John B.

“You don’t have to let him pressure you into doing this, you know.”

Pope’s words were sudden, almost lost in the wind. Cat pressed her lips together into a small smile before looking at him and responding. “It’s been a long time coming.”

He smiled back at her, and Cat reverted her gaze to JJ. He still wore his work shirt and that backwards red hat, but had changed into a pair of tropical patterned board shorts and flip flops. Leaning over John B, one hand on the dash of the boat and one on the back of the seat, he was talking with a serious look on his face, and John B was sitting, his jaw set.

After twenty minutes, they reached what Pope informed her was their favorite place to swim and watch the sunset. She had finished her drink, a slight warmness filling her body. 

A lime White Claw was next up. It sat on the edge of the boat, half-drank, as they all jumped into the water, the setting sun coloring the water orange, as if it were on fire. Swimming up to the boat, she finished it, tossing the can back into the cooler.

“Atta girl,” JJ praised from out in the water, just his head and beer visible. She burped in response, giggling a little. “Help yourself to another, kitty Cat, you’re off tomorrow.”

She grabbed a lemon before swimming back out to the group. Pope, Kiara, and John B were deep into a discussion about the skunk ape of Florida, and if there was a North Carolina equivalent. As the evening progressed, they seemed to relax slightly at Cat’s presence. 

“You feeling okay?” JJ asked as she swam up to him, cradling a life jacket in one arm while she held her drink with the other. She nodded and he took a sip of his beer.

“Can I try it?” she asked.

“You never tasted a beer?” She shook her head, and JJ handed it towards her. “Don’t judge it off this one, JB has shitty taste.”

“Hey!” there was a protest from John B’s direction, and Cat made a face at the taste of the slightly warm beer.

“Why would you want to drink that?” she asked, handing it back to JJ. He shrugged and took another swig, tilting the bottom towards the sky before crushing it in his fist and throwing it back towards the boat, where it met the other cans with a clink.

Before long, it was dark, and the group swam back to the boat. “You feeling okay?” JJ asked as Kiara heaved herself up, Cat putting her empty can with all the other ones and nodded.

“I feel… fine.” Cat was kind of disappointed; she felt warm, a little fuzzy in her head, but other than that, not how she expected to feel.

“Wait until you’re in the boat,” John B said, watching as JJ heaved himself up. “Better yet, until we get to shore.” JJ yelped as John B pushed him up with a hand to his ass, and John B pushed himself in easily.

Cat tried to haul herself in, but couldn’t. John B chuckled, and he and JJ each took a hand, pulling her up, and as soon as she was sitting on the floor of the boat, she understood what John B had meant.

“Come on kitty Cat, to the bow,” JJ was saying, his hands in her armpits. He helped her to the front of the boat, which was open and flat. 

“Can you get my towel?” she asked, the evening breeze cold on her wet skin. She knew it would just get worse as they started the ride to shore. JJ left her on the bow as he went to the back of the boat for her towel, and she felt him lay it on her shoulders as he returned.

He sat down beside her, and they were silent as Pope pulled up the anchor and John B started up the boat. As they started moving, Cat was unsteady, and JJ chuckled as she had to plant her hands on the ground to keep herself from falling over into him. 

“How many you have? Three?”

“Four,” she said, holding up four fingers in his face. “One of each flavor.”

“And it’s your first time? You’re seasoned already. If only your dad could see you now.”

“Don’ talk about him,” Cat said, putting a finger to his lips, telling him to hush. “I don’t wanna think about it.”

JJ laughed again. “Okay, then, we won’t.” He put his hand on hers, gently rubbing it with his thumb.

If Cat wasn’t drunk she probably would have noticed the way John B raised his eyebrows, the way Kiara rolled her eyes, and the way that Pope smiled softly. She would have noticed the way he caught her as she swayed unsteadily when they hit a wake, how he brought her towel back up on her shoulder when it blew off. 

She probably would have noticed the way JJ looked at her, his eyes devouring every inch of her, his body relaxed for the first time in who knows how long.

--

taglist (lmk if you want to be added!)  @letsgofullkook @stargazingstarkey @sortagaysortahigh @jjsmentalpolaroids @ims0golden @jjmaybcnks​ @shawnssongs​ @queenk00k @broken-jj​​  @danielle-yeah​​ @wicked-laugh​​ @obxhoe​​ @talksoprettyjjx​​ @kt219567​​ @abrunettefangirlnerd​​ @apoguecalledjj​​  @rollinsstuff​​

[ificanthaveu]

Work Too Much || Shawn Mendes

Description: You’re working 2 jobs and going to school. Shawn tries to fix it in the wrong way.

A/N: Hello, this is my real life right now, so I wrote it into a story bc what else is new :) that and inspo from Summer On You by PRETTYMUCH and (obviously) Work Too Much by Julia Michaels

Word Count: 3.2k

You glanced at the clock after what felt like over an hour. You hung your head when you realized it had only been ten minutes. Closing on a Sunday was everyone’s worst nightmare which is why you got stuck with it. [Y/N] will take any shift. She’ll just do it. Every. Single. Week.

After what felt like forever, 7:00 hit, and you quickly closed the register down before moving on to the pile of dishes by the sink in the back. You’d be lucky if you got out of there by 9:00. The dishes were gone through as quickly as possible, and then the counters were wiped down. The cafe was swept and mopped and every shelf was dusted.

You glanced at the clock as you wiped up the last crumbs on the last table. 8:30. Not bad. You quickly clocked out and grabbed your bag, jogging to your bike parked in the back.

The sun was almost down as you biked to your apartment just under a mile away. Your bike was thrown in the shared garage, and you unlocked your ground level door and trudged inside. You glanced down at your phone for the first time since before your shift started at noon. One missed call and four messages from Shawn.

Leaving for the airport. Can’t wait to see you, my love.

Security is taking fucking forever, won’t be surprised if I miss my flight.

I didn’t miss it! It just got delayed! Neat!

I’ll be lucky if I get there by midnight. I’m so sorry.

You sighed as you read through them before pressing your phone to your ear to listen to the voicemail.

“Hey, hun. I know you’re probably still at work. I would’ve just called your work number, but you yelled at me last time I did that,” he said. You let out a laugh before continuing to listen.

“Anyways, my flight was delayed. I should be leaving within the hour and hopefully be with you by midnight,” he paused, and you could hear a voice over a loudspeaker in the background.

“Yeah, probably midnight,” he sighed, and you could just tell he was running his hand over his face. “I love you, baby girl. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, you set your phone down on the counter and rested your head on the cabinet in front of you. You took a deep breath before glancing at the clock ahead of you. 8:50. Three hours until Shawn would be here.

You trudged to your bedroom and grabbed your backpack before slamming it on the table and pulling out your homework due tomorrow morning. Luckily, your roommate was visiting her parents for the week which was why Shawn was coming in the first place. Time alone was rare when you both were so damn busy.

You pulled out your Economics study guide and started researching the questions.

Your mind wandered off within ten minutes as you thought about your current situation. You were in school full time, year-round and working two jobs, being a manager at one of those. You were lucky if you got to bed by midnight before waking up around 6:00 for class most mornings. You thought about dropping out multiple times, but you knew you’d never actually do it. This was hell, but it was temporary. This would all be done, and you’d be working a full-time job in less than a year. You watched everyone else at your school party every weekend and not work at all. You wished it could be that easy for you, but it just wasn’t. It also didn’t help that you were dating Shawn.

He begged you to visit him just about every other week which simply wasn’t at all possible. In the almost year you had been together, you’d flown out to visit him once. And it was a Christmas present from him you denied multiple times before he forced you to take it. He’d come to visit you as often as he could, but that wasn’t easy either.

You eventually lulled yourself to sleep on the kitchen table until your phone rang making you shoot up and reach for it.

“Hello,” you grumbled without looking to see who it was.

You heard a laugh before the voice said, “Did you really fall asleep?”

“Yeah, I’ve been up since 5:00. I’m so sorry,” you said as you shut your laptop and set it aside.

“I’m outside by the way,” he said as you heard the light knocking coming from your front door. You left your phone on the table as you ran to the door and swung it open. He could barely say a word before you jumped into his arms. He held you up with one arm as he set his bag down with the other, eventually wrapping both arms around you and holding you close. You hid your head in his neck, and your legs wrapped around his waist.

“I missed you,” you mumbled. He ran his hand up and down your back before squeezing you tightly once more and setting you down. He ran his hand lightly up and down your arm and admired you for a moment before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips.

You savored the moment as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you. You pulled away for a moment to let him inside and close the door behind him before he wrapped his arms around you once more.

“Can we go to bed? I’m exhausted,” he mumbled into your hair. You started to nod before remembering your unfinished homework on the table.

“I have an Economics worksheet due tomorrow morning,” you said as you scrunched up your face in disgust. Shawn sighed and threw his head back dramatically.

“You work too hard,” he said as he gave you a look and made his way into the kitchen.

“I just have a few questions left. It’ll take me a half an hour, tops,” you explained to him.

“I can sit with you?” He asked. You looked at his tired eyes, and as much as you wanted to say yes, you didn’t.

“Go to bed. I’ll be there soon,” you said as you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek before sitting back down at the table and getting back to work. He stood there for a moment and watched you before leaning down and looking at what you were studying, one hand on the back of your chair and the other next to your laptop.

“Production-possibility frontier? Riveting,” he said in a monotone voice as he squinted and tried to read what you were typing into your laptop. You turned and looked up at him.

“Go to bed, bub,” you said. He sighed and kissed the top of your head before turning to go into your room.

“If you’re not in bed in a half an hour, I’m coming to get you,” he said as he leaned out of the doorway. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Like you’ll even be awake,” you said as you turned back towards your homework.

“Ouch,” you heard from inside your room. You shook your head slightly as you went back to your homework.

A half an hour later, you finally submitted the work and packed up your things for tomorrow’s class. As if on cue, Shawn leaned out of your room. He was half asleep, his curls that definitely needed a cut were messed up, and his eyes were half shut.

“Are you coming?” He mumbled as he squinted at the light. You set down your backpack by the door and walked towards him. You gently pushed his chest back into your room, and he made his way back into the bed and waited for you to join him.

You undressed and threw on his shirt that was on the foot of your bed. He pulled back the covers for you, and you gladly climbed in, making your way into his arms.

You both sighed at the same time as you both were finally comfortable with your head on Shawn’s chest and his arm around your waist.

“You know, I’m serious when I say you work too hard,” he mumbled above you. You moved so your chin rested on his chest, and you looked up at him.

“So do you,” you said back. He rolled his eyes at you and tried to hide the smile threatening the corners of his mouth.

“But you don’t have to.”

“Neither do you.”

“I’m not getting anywhere with this, am I?”

“Nope.”

He finally gave up as you both fell asleep.

The distant ringing of your phone slowly pulled you out of sleep. You rolled over and reached for it, but it wasn’t on the side table where it would usually be. You groaned as you got out of bed to find where you left your phone last night.

You found it on the kitchen underneath your Economics notebook, and you quickly silenced it before checking the time.

6:30. Great.

You trudged your way to the shower, almost falling asleep multiple times. You got out after probably ten minutes and threw on your robe, making your way back to your room where Shawn was still sound asleep.

You quickly got dressed and threw your hair up before looking over at Shawn. His arm was holding the pillow close to him as his head was buried in it and one leg was hanging off the bed. You smiled softly at him before pressing a kiss to his head and making your way out the door.

An 8:00 am Economics class was probably the worst decision you’d ever made. Of course, there really wasn’t any other option since it wasn’t offered online like your other summer class, and the night class would’ve gotten in the way of your work schedule. So you dragged yourself here every Monday, Wednesday and Thursday and forced yourself to stay awake.

As your professor went over the homework from last night, you pulled up your student account on your laptop and stared at the bar showing your degree progression, hoping for some reason that it would just leap to 100%, and you’d be done with all of this. Sure, you could skip the summer classes and J terms and graduate in 4 years like everyone else, but ever since your advisor told you there was a possibility of 3 years, you couldn’t get it out of your head. So, you’d take the late nights and early mornings if it meant saving a few thousand dollars later on.

A text from Shawn popped up on your screen and pulled you out of your trance.

Did you really ditch me???

You shook your head slowly before typing out your reply. Of course, he forgot your schedule.

In class, be home in an hour.

Want me to pick up breakfast? Coffee from the cafe down the street?

You smiled at his message and stared at it for a moment longer. He knew your small college town pretty well after visiting here numerous times in the past year. He knew how much you loved the coffee from that cafe, even if you couldn’t afford it most weeks.

That sounds perfect.

He sent a heart back, and you exited out of the messages and focused back on your professor with a newfound surge of energy.

Class let out a few minutes early, and you began the short walk back home. The door was unlocked when you got back, and you opened it to find Shawn taking your breakfast out of the to-go bag.

“Good morning,” you said as you set down your backpack. He looked up at you with a smile and walked over to you with your iced coffee in his hand.

“Your favorite,” he said with a smile before handing it to you and giving you a quick kiss.

“You’re too good to me,” you said before following him into the kitchen. He responded with a laugh and sat down across from you as you both dug into the waffles.

He asked you questions about your class, and you answered them between bites and sips.

“Do you work at all today?” He asked. You shrugged your shoulders and swallowed.

“Not really. I just have a managerial meeting at the mall at 2. It shouldn’t take more than an hour,” you said simply as you picked at what was left of your food.

Shawn just stared at you before you looked up and met his eyes.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he said. You shrugged your shoulders and took another drink of your coffee.

“Don’t really have another choice,” you said.

“Yes, you do, [Y/N],” he said with that same voice he always said it in. You calmly set your fork down and took a deep breath.

“We’re not having this conversation again,” you said, shutting it down before it could get started, but you knew that wouldn’t work. It never did.

“At least quit one job.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because then I won’t make rent or my tuition payment, so if I quit a job, then I’m either homeless or I drop out of school.”

“Not if I pay your rent.”

You tried to calm yourself down and not let yourself get mad over this again. You’d had this fight a time too many, and you were sick of it.

“Like I’ve said before, no. I’m not going to let you just pay my way for me.”

“Why not?”

“I shouldn’t have to explain why. You should just respect that I want to do it on my own,” you explained.

Shawn rested his head in his hands and ran his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends and getting more frustrated.

“You’re working yourself thin, and soon you’ll have nothing left and you won’t be able to take it anymore. You’re constantly on the verge of a breakdown, you haven’t slept a decent night’s sleep in months, you haven’t had a full day off since Easter, and you never get to visit me. I’m not asking you to let me pay for everything. I’m asking you to let me pay for one damn thing, [Y/N]. I’m just trying to make this easier on you because it kills me seeing you like this all the time,” he said as soft as he could muster up, but you could still hear the anger laced in his voice.

“Thank you for caring about me like this. I love that you want to do this, and the thought alone is enough for me to see how much you care about me. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still going to do this on my own,” you explained for what felt like the thousandth time.

“I don’t know what else I can do anymore. I can’t keep uprooting myself once or twice a month to come see you because you can’t get time off to see me,” he said as he stared down at his empty plate.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. As many times as you’d had this fight, this was the first time he said that.

“What?” You asked as the anger built up inside of you. Before he could even answer, you spoke up again. “Are you seriously giving me an ultimatum? Either quit the job or this is done? Because that’s exactly what it sounds like.” You could feel your heart speed up as it took everything in you to not start yelling.

“Well…” he started but trailed off, not really knowing what to say. “I just want to help you.”

“I don’t need help,” you snapped. “Why can’t you just support me like I support you without questioning it? I’ve never once told you to skip an interview or a photoshoot to come see me. I’d never ask you to quit doing these things you love just because I want to see you. I love my job at the mall. Being a manager there is going to look incredible on my resume once I graduate. The coffee shop is hard, but my coworkers there are my best friends, and they’re extremely flexible with my schedule. This is temporary. I graduate in ten months, and it’ll get easier. But I’m not abandoning any of this until I have finished it. You’re asking me to quit a job now, and if I do that, how long will it be until you ask me to quit the other or drop out of school or give up my full-time job in the future? You can leave me, but my degree can’t. And I’m not going to be some trophy girlfriend who follows you around. I’ve never been that kind of person, and you know that, so why do you keep asking?”

Shawn didn’t say anything. You waited a moment before turning around and going into your room, slamming the door behind you. You laid back on your bed and stared at the ceiling as you tried to control your breathing. You could hear Shawn’s chair against the kitchen floor and his footsteps come towards your room. A gentle knock sounded against your door.

“[Y/N], honey, please let me in.” His voice sounded softer, not as angry as it did minutes before.

“It’s unlocked,” you said to the ceiling. You didn’t move as he slowly opened the door and sat at the foot of your bed and stared at the wall.

“I’m not going to leave you,” he finally said.

“I know.”

“I just want you to be happy and comfortable.”

“I am happy.”

“And comfortable?”

“I’ll get there.”

He finally turned to face you as you looked up at him. He laid down on his side next to you as you faced him, doing the same.

“You’re stubborn,” he finally said. You both cracked a smile.

“So are you.”

Shawn reached across and tucked your hair behind your ear before resting his hand on your cheek and running his thumb across your cheek.

“I got off work for the VMAs, and my summer classes will be done and fall begins a week later, so I can stay with you for the whole week,” you finally said. Shawn’s face broke out into a smile, and he practically jumped on you and pinned you down on the bed as he sat on top of you.

“When were you going to tell me this?” He said, his face inches from yours.

“Over breakfast, but then you made me mad,” you said as you gave him a look. Before you could say another word he shut you up by finally kissing you. You flipped the two of you over as you straddled his waist and pulled away for a moment.

“Are you going to let me pay for your flight?” He said as he looked up at you. You narrowed your eyes at him as he pleaded with you.

“Maybe just this once.”

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[bitterlemonwater]

Would you ever consider writing something with Stephen Strange and Peter? 🥺 The rarepair is truly lacking and I feel like you could make something perfectly smutty out of post-Endgame taking Peter under Stephen's (magical) wing, or doctor AU

Endg*me who? I don’t know her. Smutty non-powered doctor au (that’s much more of a club au than a proper doctor au) it is. I’ve only written Stephen x Peter once before so?? Hope you like it anon bby

Peter’s age is unspecified, Strange has post-Sorcerer Supreme facial hair bc I said so, hand jobs, non-graphic but explicitly mentioned violence (Peter gets mugged in the beginning), clubbing, inaccurate medical procedures?? i’m not a doctor and have never worked in a hospital lol. 5k

—-

Peter wakes up in a hospital bed. 

He remembers leaving his apartment. He remembers zipping his wallet into one jacket pocket and slipping his phone into the other, his hand wrapped around it. He remembers turning all the right corners and dodging a cyclist and sniffling in the chilly weather. 

He doesn’t remember why or how he—

Oh, no, wait. Yeah. He remembers that.

The three thugs that had caught him by the hood of his jacket and yanked him into a murky alleyway between two run down hole-in-the-walls, both of which were closed for the night by the time Peter finally had time to run his errands. Milk and printer paper from a 24/7 Target hadn’t seemed like they would be a problem, but. That’s a sketchy neighborhood in New York, he supposes. 

He’d handed over his wallet without a fight (because contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t actually have a death wish) and was giving up his phone when May started calling him. 

Apparently the buzzing and loud ringtone (what? He has unfortunately selective hearing—sometimes it just gets tuned out and he needs volume to catch his attention) and potential red alert freaked the guys out, because one swatted his phone out of his grip and before he could raise his hands in surrender, someone decked him in the face.

And now he’s in a hospital bed. 

The window shades are half opened but there’s no light coming in, and the light in the room is off, only a dim lamp illuminating everything—so it must still be nighttime. Hopefully the same night, but Peter won’t push his luck. 

His head throbs like hell and he sits up slowly. The chair beside his bed keeps his shoes and jacket in reassuring view, but other than that, he’s been blessed to keep his regular clothes on. (Definitely the same night, then. Maybe he’ll only have been out for a few hours?)

For a few minutes, Peter just sits still on the bed, breathing, rubbing his temples. He really hopes he doesn’t have a concussion. This one hospital visit is going to suck to pay off—especially if he was brought in by an ambulance—and he’d rather not add follow up appointments to the bill. 

It’s not long before a nurse stops by. He turns on the lights and it makes Peter cringe, but not as awfully as he’s heard concussions usually make bright lights. There’s still hope, then.

The nurse asks him how he’s feeling and if he’s in any pain, then takes down his information, explains that he’s only been out for three hours and that it’s currently one in the morning. Peter tells him about getting mugged and he responds by saying they’ll have an officer come down to talk to him after he is released from care. 

The nurse finishes by asking if there’s anyone Peter would like to call. Peter debates saying no, but he can already hear May yelling at him if he tries to walk himself home after this, so he gives them Ned’s number and lays back down. 

“Alright. Doctor Strange will be here look you over in a moment.” The nurse says. Doctor Strange? Doctor, Strange. Strange. Why does that sound familiar?

While the nurse gives him two pills for the pain, Peter tries to recall where he’s heard that name before, wracking his brain and only coming up with incomplete thoughts and almost-resurrected memories. He knows he’s heard that before. He just can’t figure out where.

He’s already decided to awkwardly ask the doctor if they’ve met before when the door opens again.

In steps a man half turned away from him, tall and not quite broad but definitely fit and muscled under his white coat. He’s wearing pale blue scrubs and has a stethoscope around his neck, clipboard in his hands. His hair is brown with the slightest bit of grey, that much Peter can see, with killer cheekbones.

It’s not until the guy finishes whatever quiet conversation he was having and turns towards Peter, uncapping a pen and finally facing the younger that it clicks. 

Shit.

Three weeks earlier

Usually after a rough week of classes and work, Peter is exhausted. He’s tired and he just wants to sleep for fourteen hours, then have food delivered directly to his bed so he doesn’t have to get up for a full twenty four. 

This week it is the opposite. He’s keyed up and anxious to do something. He feels a little detached from himself, and he wants to do something outrageous. He wants an adrenaline rush that will take all his extra energy with it once it fades.

MJ suggests partaking in a protest somewhere, but a quick search tells him there aren’t any nearby that night, and not that Peter doesn’t feel just as passionate about good causes and taking action, but standing with a sign and chanting with a crowd isn’t really the thrill he’s looking for to vent how wound up he is. 

Ned suggests clubbing. Peter likes that idea a lot better. 

He loses his best friend within the first twenty minutes they spend at the bar. It’s not too high end that it actually requires an entrance fee, but it’s a respectable enough place that they definitely wouldn’t have been able to afford more than two drinks.

Which is why they got plenty tipsy before they went into the club. 

Which is why after attractive strangers keep buying Peter shots and sweet bubbly things (as if he can’t handle his liquor, but whatever, he won’t say no to free alcohol) he’s hammered. 

Not black-out wasted, of course. Peter knows his limits well enough to know exactly when he’s having fun, but not too clumsy or cloudy to get in real trouble. But he’s definitely drunk. Definitely, definitely drunk.

Normally Peter isn’t the type to be comfortable in a crowded club full of sweaty bodies, everyone in short dresses and tight button ups that show off all the round and firm parts.

On that note, he hadn’t really had much for a “sexy” outfit other than a blush pink satin t-shirt that MJ said made him look “fuckable” and fitted black chinos. 

But normally Peter doesn’t feel like he’ll explode if he doesn’t find some way to work off pent up nerves. So when girls put their hands on his shoulders and roll and sway their hips, and random guys grab him by the waist and pull his ass flush to their fronts—he laughs and grinds back. 

He flits between partners for the better part of an hour, really only stopping to get free water from the bar or have various old fashioned, rocks, shot, and cocktail glasses slid his way—or to go to the bathroom.

He sees Ned a couple times, always across the room with a girl practically melting into him. Ned’s always had a better sense of rhythm than Peter, but that’s the nice thing about club music. 

You don’t really need rhythm. You just have to move and you’ll either fit the song anyways or someone else will help you along. 

He only takes a few sips of each drink he’s offered, and some he does refuse with a cheeky smile about not getting drunk, even though he’s very drunk already.

Peter’s just left a man (and a half empty glass) at the bar, one who’s already bought him two very sparkling blue drinks and who definitely watches his ass each time he walks away, when he runs into someone. Literally, bumps into them, and though they’re barely thrown off balance and Peter is mid not-sexy-at-all apology, the person steadies both hands on his waist. 

They’re nice hands. Firm but not uncomfortably possessive or rough, pliable enough to move with the way Peter shifts and sways without letting even an ounce of space get under his grip. 

“Hello there,” the man says. Peter looks up and sees a goddamn devilishly handsome face, well trimmed facial hair and piercing grey-green eyes. Probably mid 30’s. Sharply defined cheekbones and jaw. Hot. 

“Hi,” Peter giggles. Giggles like a ditzy idiot, but the man doesn’t seem to mind. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He says, and he rakes his gaze up and down Peter’s body in the most shameless way. Peter grins and bites his lip, not shying away from eye contact when the man looks up again. 

“You’re not too bad lookin’ yourself.” 

The man grins, then tugs Peter forward by the waist. Peter doesn’t hesitate to grind forward, one hand on the guy’s chest and the other rising to a tall shoulder, swaying and stepping into the man’s space. 

It earns him a pleased smirk, and the guy drags him closer, walks him back into the messy crowd so they can dance. 

He’s hot, ok, and Peter’s been getting groped and felt up for the last hour and a half, so when he feels a sizable bulge press against him and moves flush with the solid body in front of, beside, behind him—sue him, he gets hard. Really hard. 

Really, really fucking hard. 

As in, he needs to get off in the bathroom right fucking now. 

“Having fun, baby?” The guy asks. His mouth is right next to Peter’s ear, hips rubbing against Peter’s ass, and one hand reaches down to boldly cup Peter’s clothed dick. 

Peter whines and nods, pulling off the guy, fully intending to abandon ship and jerk off in a hopefully not too gross toilet stall. The man grabs his wrist as he steps away, but doesn’t drag him back or try to guide him elsewhere. He just follows Peter through the crowd, landing them both in the bathroom. 

When Peter turns around with the goal of seductively asking if the man wants to help him out or not, he’s met by plush lips rushing to his own. The guy tastes like hard alcohol, like whiskey and bourbon and nothing like the marshmallow vodka Peter and Ned used to get tipsy or the sweet bubbly things Peter’s been offered all night. 

The man walks them through the bathroom door and locks it behind them, as if there aren’t stalls they could easily slip into. For some reason the lights are actually dimmer inside the restroom and the music has no problem slipping through the crack under the door, deafening outside but loud enough to mostly cover up the wet sounds of their kissing.

Peter kisses him hard and messy, wrapping his arms around the guy’s neck and grinding forward, trying to get some friction on his aching cock. The man smirks into the kiss, nipping at Peter’s bottom lip and licking from the bottom of his chin back into his mouth, one hand venturing downwards to cup his erection again.

The man’s hands are so steady, nothing sloppy or uncoordinated about him. He doesn’t tremble or slip up at all, doesn’t hold too tight, doesn’t move to fast but he doesn’t slow down for a second to let Peter breathe. He rubs at Peter’s dick through his slacks, fingers mapping out the shape and digging his palm right where the tip is, making Peter keen into the kiss. 

It doesn’t take long for the guy to get tired with feeling him up over his pants. He unbuttons the chinos easily and tugs down the zipper, slipping his hand under Peter’s boxers too. 

His hand isn’t particularly cold or hot but god does it feel good, having smooth, solid skin to rub against. The man strokes him with purpose a few times, not teasing him or trying to draw out any more of the moans that Peter graciously supplies. Flicking his wrist over the head, cupping and squeezing his balls, tight but not too tight, easing the way with precome. 

And then he stops, just holding, and with a desperate moan Peter picks up where he left off, grinding into the man’s fist, thrusting his hips up and forward into the friction.

He gets close embarrassingly fast (or it would be embarrassing if he could care), his legs shaking and arms tense and abdominal clenched as pressure and pleasure quickly pool in the pit of his stomach.

Peter whimpers into the kiss, all tongue and want, threading his fingers in the older man’s brown (possibly black? It’s dark in here) hair while he’s squeezed tightly against hard muscle by an arm around his waist. 

“Gonna-”

“Do it. Come on, baby, wanna see your pretty face when you do,” the man cuts him off. Peter nods, just nods and bites his lip and lets his head fall back, baring his neck and face to the world (or, really, just to the man jerking him off) as he tips over the edge. 

He moans so loudly that if someone was waiting on the other side of the door they’d hear him over the music. He doesn’t care, though. It’s one of the best orgasms he’s ever had, the build up and being pushed over by such dexterous hands with that deep voice groaning and whispering praise in his ear. 

He soaks his already precome-ruined boxers with release and slumps against the man, needing a second to breathe and collect himself. The guy lets him lean for a few moments, but then turns him around, drawing Peter’s back against him and pinning the smaller man between himself and the counter. 

It’s probably a gross counter, classy bar or otherwise. Peter doesn’t care. He folds his arms on it and rests his forehead on the backs of his hands, letting the man behind him grind into his ass. 

Bare, if Peter picks that up right, the hardly audible shuffle of a belt and zipper, the much more defined feeling cock rubbing against him. He doesn’t care about that, either. If his ass gets stained by this gorgeous Greek god’s come, then he can just borrow Ned’s jacket to wrap around his waist when they leave. 

Will it be embarrassing? Yes. Will Ned let him live it down? Not likely.

Will it be worth it? Yes. 

And it’s not that he’s not present and interested, but he’s definitely a little floaty and the songs outside get caught swimming in his head, and he has a feeling it takes the man longer to come than Peter thinks it does.

Either way, when the guy does climax, he pulls away from Peter and catches it in his hands, washing it away in the sink beside the younger’s nearly collapsed body. 

“You ok there?” The man asks. Even shouting over the music, his voice sounds soft and gentle. Peter nods. 

“‘m fine. Better than fine. That felt great, erm, thanks,” he laughs, standing straight and looking at the guy again. The man smiles at him and pecks his cheeks, then his lips, then smirks. 

“Made a mess of your underwear, though,” he quips.

Peter groans and wiggles around the guy, stealing some paper towels to try and clean up inside his pants (which would have been awkward and a little confusing, as for how much modesty he should take, if the guy didn’t plaster himself to Peter’s back once more, hook his chin over Peter’s shoulder and watch so intently that Peter started to get hard again) before zipping and buttoning back up. 

“I’m Stephen, by the way. Doctor Stephen Strange.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Doctor? Wow, that’s really impressive,” he drawls, not really believing the man. One of the first guys to buy him a drink had also claimed to be a doctor, but a few minutes later when his girlfriend showed up, she happened to mention his job at a grocery store. 

Not that Peter has anything against grocery store employees. Ned worked at Walmart before getting into his field and Peter has probably worked at every convenience store and gas station in Queens. 

(And not because he couldn’t hold one down, but because he needed five jobs at once over the summer to be able to pay for his first year of room and board.)

The guy just smiles, not confessing to being a liar but not taking offense that Peter implies he is. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” 

Peter hums. “Peter. I’m a photographer,” he winks at the man and unlocks the bathroom door. Stephen guides him by the wrist (and it would almost be annoying that he doesn’t hold Peter’s hand properly or let him walk on his own, if it wasn’t hot as fuck) back to the bar.

In place of ordering, Stephen just holds up two fingers towards the bartender. She nods at him and turns to grab two shot glasses, and Peter doesn’t have time to unpack why she knows what he wants. 

“Photography, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Sounds riveting.”

“Oh, it is. Nothing as exciting as taking pictures of other people doing exciting things.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Doctor, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you a real doctor?”

“I am.”

Peter swivels on his bar stool, staring the man down. It would be more interrogating and honest to his attempt to read the man if simply looking at Stephen didn’t make his lips twitch in a smile. “Where’d you go to school?” 

“Pre-med in NYU. The rest is a secret.” Stephen winks. Peter narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything else. 

“So, is that Peter with a last name?” Stephen adds as the drinks are delivered to them. Honey colored with no bubbles and perfect circles of ice in each. Peter takes a sip and lets it roll around his mouth.

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

“I told you I’m a doctor.”

“Perfect cover story,” Peter raises, making an exaggeratedly suspicious face. Stephen laughs at him, probably not because he’s actually amusing but because the man is also drunk. 

“Ok, what about Peter with a phone number?”

Peter can’t stop from smiling. A phone number? Like, a ‘we could totally hook up again and get further than a hand job in a bathroom’ kind of phone number? He tries to keep up the game of not acting as enthusiastic as he is, though. “Well, since I still don’t know if you’re a serial killer, maybe you should give me your number.”

“Really? After I got you off like that?”

“Well, actually I got me off, thanks,” Peter muses cheekily, “but… yep. Precautions.”

That earns him a fond laugh. “Alright, alright. ‘Precautions’. Here,” Stephen snatches a napkin from under his drink and a pen from over the counter of the bar, confirming Peter’s theory that they man is definitely a regular. 

“So you come here often?” Peter says. He realizes the joke a second later than Stephen does and blushes at his own cheesiness while the man shakes his head and laughs. 

“I do, yes.” 

“Hmm. Doctor’s salary and you go to bars that don’t overcharge you for everything? Sounds sketchy.” Peter quips. Stephen rolls his eyes and hands over the napkin, ten numbers in way too nice handwriting bleeding through.

“A friend of mine owns the place. I like to support her now and again.” He explains. Peter nods, accepting the reasoning. 

“That doesn’t explain why you have nice handwriting, though.” He continues, examining the napkin. Stephen laughs at him. 

“I’m taking that as a compliment.” 

Peter grins back.

They talk for almost an hour, broken up by breaks to dance or get more drinks—which are just water, for Peter. He knows when he’s hit his limit, thankfully—and by the time Ned is falling over Peter’s shoulder, leaning against the counter and saying he’s ready to go home and lament about the girl he’s just fallen in love with, Peter thinks he likes Stephen Strange quite a lot. 

He says so, as he’s leaving, and waves the napkin with the man’s number for emphasis. Stephen just grins, tilts his head and raises his glass and shouts over the crowd that he expects to hear from Peter soon.

It’s only when Peter decides “soon” can totally be three in the morning of that same night that he realizes he somehow managed to lose the napkin. 

He’s upset, but not devastated. Just disappointed. Ned tells him they can both get over their narrowly claimed soulmates (i.e. the girl he danced with all night who was leaving to go back to Germany the next morning) by having a star wars marathon and ordering take-out. 

Which, yeah. Was a pretty good remedy, and after a few days, Peter completely (or, mostly completely) forgot about Stephen Strange.

Present time

Peter’s brain stops processing. God, just the sight of the other man makes him antsy to move, having to consciously stop his hips from shifting. He wants to kill the awkwardness. “Uh-”“Peter.” Stephen beats him to it. He cringes slightly.

“Um, h-hi. Hi? How, uh, how are you?” 

That gets him a slightly confused, if amused, eyebrow raise. (Killer cheekbones and those lips Peter assumed he’d never see again) “The question is actually how are you, seeing as you’re the one in the hospital bed.” 

“Oh! Right, right. I’m good. Fine.” This is too awkward. This is kind of painful, actually. 

“Mhm,” the doctor couldn’t sound less convinced, “How’s your head? I’m sure the nurse told you, they did an emergency CT scan when you were first brought in, and you don’t seem to have any injuries beyond the couple of scrapes on your face and side. Let you keep your clothes on since the worst of it might be a minor concussion. Let’s check that over though, yeah?”

Peter just nods slowly. Stephen comes to sit beside him, using another chair opposite the one housing his jacket and shoes. 

He watches as Stephen writes in a few boxes on the paper on his clipboard, but all Peter can think about is that those careful, nimble hands had given him one of the best orgasms ever. 

“Are you in any pain? Any sensitivity to light, headache, confusion, dizziness? Are you nauseous at all? Any memory loss?” 

Peter responds dutifully to the questions. He has a slight headache, and the lights bothered him when they first turned on but overall he’s feeling a lot better. An ache on his whole left side, but he assumes that’s from how he fell and landed when he got knocked out. 

Stephen writes down all of his answers, checking and marking boxes. When he’s done, he sets the clipboard down and beckons Peter closer. He listens to the younger man’s heart, checks his eyes with a light, and peels off some bandages that Peter hadn’t even noticed on his cheek, reapplying fresh gauze and tape with a new layer of antibiotic cream. 

“Well, I’d say you’re in the clear for a concussion, but you’ll definitely need to take it easy for a week or so. Lots of fluids, lots of rest, as low stress as you can manage. No rigorous physical activity. You’re a lucky kid, Peter Parker.” 

Peter cringes, then lets his head loll to the side. He’s tired and the pain medication is making him a little loopy and he’d rather think about anything else than what his bill is going to be for all of this. 

“Well shit. You know my last name now. Hope you don’t serial murder me.” He hums. He reaches for his jacket and slips it on. Stephen has the decency (especially impressive considering he probably thinks Peter ditched him) to humor him.

“Still on about that? I thought you’d be convinced of my authenticity by now. I’ve got a white lab coat and everything. I’m wearing scrubs.” The man says, whispering scandalized at the end. It makes Peter giggle. He’s a little amazed, actually.

The man he met at the bar was nice, sure, but he’d also very clearly had the goal of getting into Peter’s pants. It’s odd to see the same man, who’d later taken such a serious, confident tone at the club still being playful.

“Speaking of, I thought you said you were a surgeon? Very impressive, very renowned, etcetera. Why are you giving me a… non, surgical check up?” Peter asks. He looks longingly at his shoes, kind of wishing they would just float over to his feet without him having to put them on.

Stephen doesn’t seem off put by Peter’s phrasing. “All of our neurologists are swamped at the moment. They called in some off duty general practitioners to cover, but a personal friend of mine, Christine, was supposed to see you and couldn’t, so she asked me.” He leans back in his chair, then, studying Peter in the same shameless, confident way (albeit, not in the lustful way) he had at the bar. 

“I must say, I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you here. Or again, at all.” His tone lilts, pressing Peter to explain why he never called after they hit it off (and got off). 

“Yeah, about that,” Peter mumbles. He grabs his sneakers but doesn’t put them on yet, figuring it would be rude to get up or turn his back while he’s explaining. “I’m sorry. I was honestly going to call you but, I uhm..” 

“Lost the napkin?”

Peter winces, then nods and hangs his head in defeat. “I lost the napkin.”

Stephen laughs, sitting forward again, and it surprises Peter. On the rare occasion he’s seen someone he’s (intentionally) turned down again, they’ve usually been… a lot more aggressive and unhappy. 

His confusion must show, because Stephen looks at him, all sharp features and unapologetically confident and somehow just soft enough to be sincere. “I figured it was something like that, considering you had a pretty good incentive to contact me.” 

Peter narrows his eyes, but it’s not real heat. “‘Pretty good incentive’ he says. My, you’re just full of yourself, huh? That’s gotta be some kind of doctor syndrome or something. There was a Criminal Minds episode like that.” Stephen groans at his response. 

“Criminal minds?”

“What? It’s a good show!” 

“It’s completely unrealistic. Every episode has the exact same plot.”

Peter gasps, offended. “They do not!” Stephen looks unimpressed.

“There’s a bad guy, he’s killed people in a particularly gruesome way and now he’s kidnapped some poor girl. Time crunch. He’s a white man between his 20’s and 40’s, one of the ‘agents’ has some dramatic personal tie, there are hints at a subplot, Reed says something quirky and beats them all at cards on the plane. Sound familiar?” 

Peter gapes at him for a solid three seconds before composing himself, crossing his arms and huffing. “It’s still entertaining..” he pouts, petulant. Stephan rolls his eyes but chuckles at the display. 

“Well, I’m sure it will keep you plenty entertained while you get your rest. And hydration. But try to steer clear of the strawberry daiquiris.” He says, smirking as he reorders the papers on his clipboard. Peter relents, sighing, and turns to put on his shoes.

“‘s not like I picked ‘em out and bought them all..” he grumbles quietly.

When he slowly rises from the bed, Stephen is still there. Standing on the opposite side of the cot, staring at him. Peter feels his cheeks flush and dear god, he cannot get hard thinking about the last time they were alone in a room together. 

He’s trying to think of some way to diffuse the tension, ask about leaving or paperwork (or the bill, dear god), the police report he needs to file or about his friend picking him up—but Stephen beats him to it. 

“Would you like to have dinner?” 

Peter stares. What was that?

“Huh?”

“I said, would you like to have dinner?” Stephen repeats, patient and unflinching, nothing modest or humorous to lighten the air. 

Peter stutters, then wets his lip and bites it, then shifts from foot to foot before nodding. 

“Yes. I’d like to have dinner with you.”

Stephen smiles. “Great.” He steps around the bed just as Peter does, bringing them closer together. “Now, technically I have your whole file right here, and I could just get your phone number off of that. But that’d be wholly unprofessional of me.”

Peter snorts, having to step back and cover his mouth so he can laugh at the man’s utter brashness. “Yeah, you’re completely correct. That would be very unprofessional. And probably illegal, I think.”

“Oh, definitely illegal.” 

Peter giggles, but then Stephen is handing him the pen he’d been writing with. Peter takes it, still grinning, yet furrows his brows in confusion. “I don’t have any paper.” 

Stephen smirks. Then he holds out his hand, palm up. When it clicks what he’s requesting and Peter snaps up to look at him, there’s a very calm, controlled smile, carefully containing a wild amount of self-satisfaction on Stephen’s face. 

“So I don’t lose it.” 

Peter rolls his eyes so dramatically it hurts, but he takes Stephen’s hand, reluctantly flattered, holding it steady in one of his own and writing with the other. Though it’s more like the older man’s one palm holds both of his stable with how unwavering it is. 

When he’s finished writing his number, he hands the pen back. “Make sure you don’t wash that hand,” he quips. Stephen hums, waving an arm past to guide Peter out of the room. 

“I promise I’ll take good care of it. The nurse will deliver your paperwork to the waiting room, and there will be an officer there as well. You’re very welcome to stay until your ride arrives.” He says. Before Peter can answer, the man is swooping down, planting a gentle kiss to his temple, and then before he can react, Stephen is disappearing down the hallway. 

Peter waits in a mildly comfortable chair and picks up his packet, report and bills and prescription of rest, all in a daze. He’s still in it when he files his report with officer Rogers and when he gets in Ned’s car around two thirty in the morning, answering a million questions and finally tipping his head back against the seat, relishing the dark and the busy quiet of New York late at night.

Two days later, after he’s got a new phone and a new wallet (and a loan in May’s good credit name to pay for his hospital visit), he gets a text that threatens to buzz out of the pocket which barely manages to muffle it.

Unknown: Dinner, Thursday. 8 o’clock. I’ll pick you up. Sound good?

Peter grins and makes a new contact.

You don’t know my address though?

Stephen: I’m sure you’ll tell me.

Fair enough. I can do Thursday at 8.

Stephen: Perfect.

Then, a moment later:

Stephen: Wear that pink shirt again, and I’ll let you pick the venue. Deal?

Peter blushes even though there’s no one there to see it, biting the inside of his cheek not to smile dumbly at his phone. 

Deal.

[ajokeformur-ray]

From oldest to newest ~ Erika answers asks ~

hailmary-yramliah said: Wait I’m really tripping out. I realized you were following me on Tumblr and I didn’t even know?!?!?!? I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR FICS LIKE WTF IM SO SLOW BUT THANK YOU YOURE LIKE ACTUALLY AMAZING AND ME STANNING YOU RN MAKES ME EMBARRASSED BUT I JUST WANT TO SAY THAT YOU ARE SO TALENTED!!! Ahhhhh I love your Arthur/Joker fics XD 

Thank you so so much!!! <33333 This means so much to me! <3333 I hope you continue to enjoy the works that I work so hard on x

Anonymous said:Ngl I feel like it’s wrong to like Arthur & read fics about him only bc my sis thinks it’s weird af. Our interests are complete opposite & finds mine very weird and it kinda makes me sad. I wish she loved the movie as much as me & understood my “obsessions” as she calls them. Anyways, love your fics sm! You’ve gotten me into this fandom so quickly and I love it! 💕

Your sister sounds just like my, and others’, family. They don’t understand because the film wasn’t for them. It was for people like us who see Arthur and who understand him. If you find enjoyment in something, darling, most especially if it’s fictional (though very realistic), then there’s no shame in indulging in it. Thank you very much, that means a lot! <3

insfirebunny said: Ok As you might see rn I make myself comfortable in your blog. Hope you don't mind. I enjoy every single one story of yours. You write so beautifully that it's magical. Take care of yourself, sunshine ☀

I don’t mind at all, I’m flattered, thank you so, so much! <33333 take care of yourself too!!!!

Anonymous said: Would you rather date Arthur or Joker??

To me, Arthur never went insane and ‘became’ Joker. He’s not the insane one; the world is mad. So I would date Arthur and I would love him and protect him and help him (everything I write about is everything I would do for him; the things I write for others are very self-indulgent lmao I have no shame) and if, in his own time, he grew into himself (Joker), then I would still love and support him just the same. I don’t think he went mad - I think he just dropped everything holding him down, holding him back, and said “fuck the world”. And honestly? That’s a big fucking mood.

Anonymous said: Okay speaking of the multiverse theory, what is your view on it regarding fictional characters. I personally believe that not only do they exist, but with the right skills you could connect with them in some way.

Since I was a child, for as long as I could remember, I’ve had this super vivid made up, carefully crafted world inside my head with all my most loved characters. I have spent my life inside my head daydreaming. I’ve never needed real life friends because I have my imagination and though I tried to make friends. I tried so hard but I never got anywhere because I was a freak, I was this and that etc. etc. (I was bullied for like 15 years lmao fuck ‘em) and so I stayed inside my head and didn’t bother trying to cross that invisible glass wall between me and everyone else. I’m 22 and I still haven’t bothered to try; it’s cosy here so I’ll stay inside my head where I can make others happy with my daydreams. But I digress - I like to think that our loves know that we love them. Every thought, every tear, every daydream, every squeal, every pillow we’ve squeezed wanting to be them, every imagine, everything we have done or do because of them, for them, they know. They see it; they feel it. I like to believe that Arthur Fleck knows how deeply he is loved and cherished he is by all of us and more than that - he loves us all just as fiercely, and he’s so, so proud of all of us. (Also lowkey I know it’s your skin shifting due to temperature changes etc. but you know when you think you feel a hand on your shoulder or fingers in your hair when you’re like half asleep and just dozing??? Or when you have a dream of him? That’s Arthur reaching out to us in the only way he can to say he knows, he sees and he loves us too.)

Anonymous said: I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH! Like it’s crazy how good you write

Thank you so, so much!!! <3333333 I work .v. hard (one piece can take up to three hours, though the longest I’ve ever spent on a piece (Coming Home To You) was six hours. I still say that is the best thing I’ve ever written, so that means a lot! <3

Anonymous said: I love Joker from our dearly beloved 2019 Joker movie as well as Joker from The Dark Night. I can't choose which I love more so why not both! At the same time! ifyouknowwhatimsaying 👀👀👀

Sksksksksksk I believe @gothamslittlejester can help you out here lmao she’s written for poly!readerxJokerxJoker so go check out her works; they’re phenomenal! <3

Anonymous said: There's a tornado warning in my area. We NEVER get tornado warnings, like ever, so I'm kind of scared.

Ohmygoodness please stay safe, darling!!! I’ve never experienced any kind of natural phenomena like that so I can’t imagine how scary that must be! I hope everything turned out well x

Anonymous said: I read what happened to you at work and deeply sorry. I’m sure you are more than aware of this but their reaction is a reflection of themselves than of you. You have the full power to enjoy and like what you please. Also, it is okay to bite back when it is needed. It may be hard to, but sometimes it’s healthy to stand up for yourself at times. Of course it is easier said than done. Remember you’re a goddess! Take back your power ✨

Thank you so, so much!!!! I’m not really all that affected by what happened anymore; it was only a week ago but already I’ve reached that nice part of apathy where you still care but you’re like, aa fuck it, I don’t wanna be hurt by it anymore. Standing up for myself is very hard; I’m a lot like Arthur in that respect: I put my head down, bite my tongue and take it because I hate confrontation. I hate it so much so I’d rather stay quiet. My parents told me I need to be a bit less Arthur and a bit more Joker; maybe in time that bite will come to me xp thank you honey! Your words mean a lot; I’m always here if you ever wanna talk about anything!!!

Anonymous said: I just read what you said about your coworkers. Honestly that's so horrible and I hope you're feeling better soon. ♡ I feel you so much, things like that happened to me all the time while I was still in school. But please, don't hate yourself. You have such a beautiful mind, you have talent & creativity most of them couldn't even dream of. It's not your fault that they can't see how beautiful being an introvert & a daydreamer can be. You're wonderful the way you are. ♡ ( @buried-in-windy-meadows )

I’m so sorry that you had to experience that, too, it’s an awful feeling when you try to be yourself and people are mean. I hope you know that they are no reflection on you, as the previous anon says - it’s all on them! Thank you so much; your words mean a lot <3 I’ve always been this way, for as long as I can remember I’ve lived inside my head, so I see no reason to change; I’m happy in, not necessarily myself, but my imagination and my creativity is my favourite part of myself (even when I’m at war with the rest of me, I can find solace in my imagination and I’m very lucky to have that) and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Anonymous said: I’m pretty sure you’re on the opposite side of the world from me so I just wanted to let you know your words and your attitude are making someone on the other side of the planet smile. We are all so lucky to have you and to have this movie to connect us. It makes me feel really human 🧡

This film is without a doubt the best thing that’s ever happened to me - we’ve all found a home, a place to go to vent and to write and to support each other and it’s so beautiful how such a tragic, grisly and dark film has brought light to so many of us. Arthur would adore it, I know he would. Thank you, darling, this means a lot to me! Please know I’m always here for you should you ever need anything or just wanna drop a line! <3

rafaelina-casillas said:Aw, I'm so so sorry that happened to you! People can be so nasty - especially to those who never deserved it! I hope you're feeling a lot better now! I can only say that in my country (where Halloween is not a tradition but more and more people are celebrating it) I saw at least 5 or 6 people in less than an hour who were doing the same makeup as you - and no one tried to mock them. I guess you had the worst luck with your colleagues but try to not mind them. They don't deserve your nerves! 💖

Exactly! I didn’t go out with my makeup, I just stayed home and enjoyed my private and personal display of love for Joker - I’m sure he’d have been flattered! And I dared to open up to my colleagues; it’s a mistake I won’t make twice, that’s for sure. Thank you, you’re always so kind to me and it means a lot - will have to DM you soon!

insfirebunny said: You look so cute and your writing is a pure gold. Stay strong

Thank you so, so much, you’re too kind!!! Take care of yourself, love! <3

Anonymous said: binge watching Batman: The Animated Series this weekend. Mark Hamil’s joker is amazing tbh

I’ll have to check that out; see if it’s on Netflix or Youtube. I hope you had a wonderful weekend! <3

theclownsqueen said: Hi! Im a new page, i love your page so much and your work is amazing! Sorry just thought I'd drop by. :)

Yeeeees ohmygoodness I gotta reply to your DM; I’ve got so many lmao <3333 thank you so much, you’re far too kind, I hope you continue to enjoy my works; I’m always here if you need anything x

Anonymous said: I relate to Arthur so bad. I’ve always been a loner and really shy, plus I’ve been helping out my mother a lot with financial problems. Once I saw the movie in theaters I just fell in love with it and it really brings me joy to read your fics. I just wish I wouldn’t get labeled a weirdo or freak for openly expressing that I like Arthur. Just makes me feel ashamed for liking something which sucks.

Thank you, darling - I’m glad my works can bring you joy; that’s really all I want to do with my writing is to help people in the moments they most need it. Even if all I manage to do is make your lips quirk upwards, that means I’ve done what I set out to do! I’m sorry you’re having such a rough time of it and I hope things start to look up for you soon! <3 The people who should feel ashamed are the ones labelling you for expressing yourself; truly, they’re the punchline of the joke Arthur was laughing at during the end of the film. Don’t let them take your sun from you, love - that means they’re winning. Please know I’m always here for you; don’t be afraid to drop me a line! <3

Anonymous said: I love your writing!

Thanks, honey! That means a lot <3

Anonymous said: Any tips for fic writers out there? Love your work btw!

There’s so much I could tell you but honestly, rules and guidelines don’t matter. Just have fun with it. Write what you wanna write in the way you wanna write it, when you wanna write it, and if anyone doesn’t like it, then who cares? Do it for you, even if you’re fulfilling requests for other people. Step back when you gotta, don’t be afraid to turn down writing requests if you don’t gel with them or you just don’t wanna or you’re not comfy with it, and really just have fun. If you have fun with the work you put in, then it’ll shine through and people’ll love it!

writings-of-a-gen-z said: hey love hope everythings going okay for you and the world isnt being too mean x

You’re too good to me, you always are. Thanks, love, and the same for you <3 sending hugs and love!

jibanyyan submitted:

I love your writing so so so so much you don’t even know it! I get excited each time I get notified that you posted again and I even take my time to read them in uni!!!

Just know that I love your blog and you can always reach out to me if you need someone to talk to even though we don’t know each other!

Much love goes out to you love xx

Thank you so, so much omgggggg you’re always so kind and supportive and it’s???? amazing ???? Please know the same for you; I’m almost always online when I’m not at work (even when I’m studying I have tumblr open in case people need me lmao) so I’ll reply .p. quickly! <3333 thank you so much omgggg sending you loads of love and hugs, I hope you’re well!

harlyquln said: when do you plan on opening requests again? 🥵

I’m not sure yet, love, but because I love to put myself under pressure lmao because nothing will make you work like an impending deadline, shall we say the beginning of December? That gives me just under 3 weeks to write almost 40 requests and honestly, that seems reasonable (ish). <3

Anonymous said: your comfort fics are always so beautiful 💕 i’ve never felt like i was actually IN an imagine before i read one of yours. you’re honestly one of my fav authors

Omggggg thank youuuuuu~ comfort fics are my favourite thing to write so that means so much! <3

kat-o-combs said: Good morning sunshine ☺️ I hope your day is going well. You deserve happiness, comfort, and contentment 💕 love ya!

Omgggg you’re always so good to me wtfffff <3333 thank youuu I hope the same for you too; you deserve all the best things in life! Love you too x

Anonymous said: Hope you're gonna feel better! I've discovered your blog... a week ago, I think, and your stories have helped me more than you'll ever know. I find a lot of comfort and support to keep me going when I read your stories and I'm so thankful for your blog. :)

Anonymous said: Hope you're gonna feel better! I've discovered your blog... a week ago, I think, and your stories have helped me more than you'll ever know. I find a lot of comfort and support to keep me going when I read your stories and I'm so thankful for your blog. :)

Helping people with my writing is a literal dream so thank you for telling me this! When I write the softer comfort imagines, they’re very emotionally draining and I have to dig deep to write them so usually I come away feeling old wounds and pretty tired in myself; I take care of myself in the ways I know helps (funnily enough, writing is both the issue and the solution) and I come back out on top. Thank you very much for telling me this, I’m glad I’m able to help you! <3

Anonymous said: Awww I hope you feel better soon!!

I do, darling, thank you so much x

Anonymous said: Sneaking up to nuzzle Arthur, then blowing a raspberry on his neck and watching him grin and shy away with a giggle.

Yeeeees~ lmaooooo it’s what he deserves!!!!!! <33333

Anonymous said: I saw joker for the second time and I think I've finally accepted in myself what you had a while ago. Arthur feels like home, he feels like comfort. When he would be dancing or just even smile I felt like I was there and I felt like everything was okay. I've fallen in love with a fictional character, but I can accept that. Because escaping with him brings me so much joy and love, I cant imagine being without it

Neither can I, nonnie. I’ve felt love for characters before but never like this. Never. I never wanna be without him or without this community again. We found a home in Arthur Fleck and fuck he’d love that so much. I’m glad he’s able to to bring you joy and love, it’s all he’d want for you and he’d be so proud of you!!! <3

Anonymous said: I had a dream about arthur last night???? Like I got into a car crash and he came and got me and brought me home and cuddled me and gave me kisses and honestly the dream was super scattered but so nice wow

That sounds like such a lovely dream omg loving Arthur and being loved right back??? Where do we sign up?? <3

Anonymous said: wish i could make Arthur a flower crown right now god damn

A) he’d look so fucking cute and B) he’d wear it around the apartment all the time omgggggg ~ he’d never wear it outside bc he’s scared it’ll get lost or stolen or broken but at home he’d cherish it so much and he’d look adorable ohhhh~ ;33333

Anonymous said: Hey, Ily and all though I'm not the biggest fan of Joker fics I just want you to know I still support and care for you

Thank you honey, this means a lot!!!! If this isn’t your scene, you’re welcome to unfollow, I won’t be mad or anything at all. Thank you for your continued support if you decide to stay, though, it means so much x

rebs-doom said:reminder that u r my fave person bye

Come here and let me love you, you precious, beautiful soul. I love you so much.

Anonymous said: What do you get when you cross a sad, touch-starved man with a blog that cherishes him and treats him well? I'll tell you what you get, you get what you fucking deserve. *smooch*

Can you imagine:

“Hey, Arthur?”

Arthur made a soft noise of acknowledgement from where he was sleepily cuddled into your side.

“Wanna hear a joke?”

“Mm,” He chuckled, “What?” He blearily opened his eyes to gaze at you fondly.

*You tell him this joke but swap ‘blog’ for ‘person’ and kiss him before he can react*

And see how fast he gives you what you deserve ;) ;)

(high key it’d become a way for you to say ‘i love you’ without saying it. Like, “you’re always so good to me” // “it’s what you deserve”) <333 sweet boi deserves the world.

Anonymous said: Can I just say how much of a blessing you are to the Arthur Fleck/Joker fandom!

Istg I’m drowning in all this love omggggg you’re far too kind to me I’m just a simple girl pouring out her love for Arthur/Joker into her blog because it’s got nowhere else to go <333333333 thank you so much!!! <3333

Anonymous said: I feel so sad for Arthur; he pretty much had the world against him from day one. I could only imagine some of the stuff he'd gone through when he was small. I just see baby Arthur lying in a filthy crib, crying for his mother's comfort or from hunger, and Penny just not even noticing it or caring.

I know :( it’s so tragic and dark and there are thousands of Arthur Flecks in real life who are unseen and defeated and broken down but they can’t get help but they’re trying and they work so hard and they just. Keep. Going. I left the cinema each time crying really hard and got home and cried some more for Arthur and for all the people, including myself, who watched the film and saw pieces of themselves in Arthur. When I think of Penny, I find it oddly funny that she always called him ‘Happy’ when he was anything but and it was only until she died that he became what she always thought he was. It’s beautifully ironic, in a strange way.

Okay, so uh... I gotta not let asks build up like that again lmao this took me two hours wowowowow <3333 I’m aiming to get some writing done today, there’s three or four pieces I’ve started and not finished so I’ll work on those. Thanks, loves, you have no idea how much you all mean to me! <3