#hell yeah or should i say shell yeah (ocean)

[crabstronaut]

muddy x coelacanth (it’s coelacanth saturday)

[allsassnoclass]

HELL YEAH!!! can i get uhhhh #9, an I'm so proud of you kiss? pairing, fandom, etc is all up to you :) ill read it even if im not in the fandom go fkn crazy ily xoxo

hi @clumsyclifford!!! alrighty let's throw some fake college sports players in here.

jerejean: I'm so proud of you kiss

Jeremy goes to find Jean after a few minutes, weaving through the crowd of his teammates and the Foxes until he reaches the edge of their party's sphere, out in the sand where the light from the bonfire has no hope of reaching. He stumbles over Neil and Andrew, drawn hypnotically to the bright cherry of the cigarette they're sharing, but neither of them question where he's going or make any attempt at conversation. Neil simply tilts his head to the left with a knowing look, and Jeremy nods in thanks once he spots the shadowy figure sitting yards away in the darkness, looking out at the waves.

Jean doesn't look up as Jeremy approaches, chin resting on his knees as he looks distantly out at the ocean, where the horizon line blends too deep in the darkness to discern what is sea and what is sky anymore. Jeremy flops gracelessly down next to him, kicking up sand and checking to be sure Jean isn't shying away. He relaxes when he doesn't. Jean still doesn't do well with isolation, but he's an introvert at heart and needs his space. After the events of today, Jeremy isn't surprised that he retreated down the beach to be alone, but he also knows that it's the kind of alone that Jeremy is welcome to interrupt.

It makes his chest fill with warmth, being one of the people that Jean doesn't need energy to be around. It's a privilege that he doesn't take lightly, especially when so few people in Jean's life have been safe. For him to have found a group of people to love and be loved by in return is no small feat, and it's something that they've gradually cultivated together in the past year.

For a moment, Jeremy thinks about the first time he saw Jean in person outside of a court, watching the shell of a man cautiously approach him at LAX with only a few t-shirts, a tattoo, and years of abuse to his name. He would never have predicted that they'd be here now, only a few weeks shy of a year later. Jean has grown in ways too numerous to list, but Jeremy has changed, too. It's a mutual metamorphosis, made more important for the way that they've grown in harmony with each other, filling in each other's gaps while leaving room for the other person to stretch and flourish.

Of course, one other difference is that they're NCAA champions now. It isn't a new title for Jean, but Jeremy suspects that this one feels sweeter, more earned.

This is a win that Jean should feel proud of, one untainted by the shadow of black wings and bruises. A championship that has nothing to do with the number that used to be tattooed on his face and everything to do with the person he has decided to become.

"What are you thinking about?"

Jeremy tilts his head towards the quiet, lilting sound of Jean's words. His accent has lessened slightly over the year, either due to less necessity to use his French without Kevin around or being surrounded by people who never stop talking in loud California drawls, but it still colors his words like a swash of blue in a sunrise.

Jean never wants to return to France, but sometimes Jeremy wonders if he would enjoy visiting Canada or Haiti, somewhere that he could use a version of his native language without ghosts following him.

"Jeremy?"

Jeremy blinks, bringing himself back to the present rather than some unnamed future with the two of them wandering around Montreal.

"I was thinking about our win," he says when he can remember what Jean's original question was. Jean huffs, but the sound is fond. Jeremy can't see much in the darkness, but he can picture Jean's expression perfectly. He's not smiling, but he's softer, relaxed and open enough that Jeremy can read his intention.

"How does it feel to be a champion?" Jean asks.

"Amazing," Jeremy sighs, tipping his head back and remembering every hour of practice and hard-fought game that brought them here. Despite the backlash from his decision to cut down the line last year and all of the negative press surrounding Jean's transfer, they made it all the way to the championships and came out on top. It was a battle in more ways than one, but it was absolutely worth it for the look on Kevin Day's face when Cat stole the ball from him using a technique that Jean taught her, then slammed the ball down the court for Jeremy to catch and score.

The team as a whole has grown exponentially. Jeremy has never pushed himself harder, and it wasn't all sunshine and smiles on the court this year. Still, they held it together, and as turbulent throwing a former Raven into their midst was, Jeremy has never regretted the decision to bring Jean to them.

"It's sweeter because I could do it with you," Jeremy says.

He glances at Jean out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't duck his head bashfully, and he doesn't freeze awkwardly the way he used to when Jeremy would drop a sappy but sincere compliment months ago. He simply lets the sentiment wash over him, keeping his focus on Jeremy.

"I'm glad you are happy," he says. Jeremy reaches for his hand, fingertips dragging along his forearm and wrist until Jean turns to thread their fingers together.

"What about you?" Jeremy asks. "How does it feel to be a champion this time?"

Jean takes time to consider his answer. Jeremy listens to the distant sounds of their teammates and friends over by the fire and the gentle sounds of waves hitting the shore while he waits. A breeze gently shifts his hair, light and crisp enough that he nearly shivers.

"I didn't think it would mean this much to me," Jean says quietly. Jeremy squeezes his hand once, then relaxes, giving Jean the space he needs. "I knew that winning with the Trojans would feel different, but the Ravens won because we were expected to. You and I won because we deserved to this time. Because we fought harder and wanted it more."

"And you did it all without a red card, even though Neil was being annoying," Jeremy says.

"It felt good to beat him," Jean grins. "That was very satisfying."

No one felt like it would be a good idea to make Jean block Kevin, not with everything he's told them about scrimmages in the Nest. While he played with Neil at Evermore as well, it was never while Neil was playing striker, and Neil only features in a fraction of the traumatic memories that Jean has recounted. Jean has been doing great in his sessions with Betsy and has grown a lot in his recovery over the past year, but no one wanted to risk prompting a flashback during the championship game, when the eyes of the entire public and Ichirou Moriyama would be on him.

Jean seemed to enjoy playing against Neil, anyway. Jeremy still doesn't understand their relationship and probably never will, but it was one of Jean's best games. Neil ran him ragged, but both of them seemed satisfied with their individual performances, and Jeremy overheard Jean tell him to have a winning day while stealing the ball at one point.

It's taken a long time for Jean to be able to have fun on the court. Healing is slow and non-linear, Jeremy knows that better than most. The progress that is visible, though, is much more gratifying because of it.

Jeremy looks at Jean, tracing his outline in the blue shadows. He takes in the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the enticing tilt of his head, the self-satisfied smile that Jeremy can barely see gracing his lips in this light. He looks like he belongs on this beach, relishing in his win with dozens of people who love him only a few yards away, holding hands with someone who adores him.

It's amazing, what a difference one year can make. Jeremy's chest feels warm and full, ready to burst.

"Hey," he says, squeezing Jean's hand. Jean turns towards him with a questioning noise. Jeremy tugs on his t-shirt, coaxing him forward until he can lean up to press their lips together. Jean responds once he catches on to Jeremy's intention, relaxing against him and sliding his free hand around Jeremy's waist. Jeremy presses forward, trying to transfer as much of the feeling in his chest to Jean as he can. He curls his hand around Jean's shoulder, partially to draw him closer and partially for his own stability. Jean sighs against him, and Jeremy can't help but smile into the kiss.

When they part a few moments later, Jeremy watches the way that Jean's eyes take a moment to flutter open.

"What was that for?" Jean asks. Jeremy smiles and brushes his thumb against Jean's cheek, right over the small heart tattooed there.

"I'm really proud of you," he smiles. Jean ducks his head, leaning into Jeremy's palm. "You've come a long way."

Jean wraps his hand around Jeremy's, pressing it against his chest.

"I couldn't have done it without you, Jeremy."

Jeremy doesn't think he'll ever get used to the way his name sounds in Jean's mouth, his accent curving around it and voice soft as music.

"Still," Jeremy says. "I'm really proud of you, Jean-Yves."

Jean ducks his head again, but Jeremy can't have that. He reaches for Jean's jaw again. Jean knows him well enough to evade and kiss him instead, the perfect distraction. Jeremy is happy to let him get away with it, because that was his end goal anyway.

They stay on the beach together for a long time. When their friends eventually find them, Jeremy watches the way that Jean lights up as Cat tackles him in a hug and he playfully banters with Kevin, two things that would've been impossible a year ago. Jeremy keeps hold of his hand, both of them on top of the world with no plans on coming down.

[ellohcee]

There are many benefits to being a marine biologist- including the selkie that has made it a habit to see you every day.

Jasper pauses before he can get his joke out as he turns to meet David’s gaze, looking at him with such warmth, and maybe even... affection.

His heart starts beating faster as he’s struck by the image before him. David is bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, his eyes illuminated somewhere between gold and sea-green in such a mesmerizing way, holding so much, his hair a bit tousled and cheeks flushed from the wind and maybe more. He has the sweetest smile on his face, and Jasper can’t recall ever being looked at in such a way before-

He swallows the lump in his throat, hoping to sound normal and not like he’s just been sucker punched. “What’s up, Peaches?”

The selkie’s smile widens just a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners and striking Jasper through the heart just right. “You know it’s silly, but I’m so glad that orca chased me onto your boat,” he says, his voice warm and soothing, simultaneously calming him but making his heart pound.

“Yeah?” he croaks.

“Yeah,” David says sweetly. “I really love spending time with you.”

God he’s so weak, he can barely keep it together. “Me too,” he manages.

“Really? You don’t mind me causing trouble for you while you’re trying to work?” David teases.

“You don’t,” Jasper insists without hesitation. “I totally never expected to make friends with a selkie, or even meet one, but I- I love spending time with you too. I wouldn’t trade you for anything,” he says, softer, his face warming up from the painfully honest declaration as he realizes he’s gone very suddenly out of friendly jokes and into serious territory...

But oh, the way David looks at him, his eyes shining with so much he feels like he could drown in them should he wander too close, like a stone sinking into the sea never to surface, just before leaning in to hug him around the shoulders.

It’s so worth it.

He wraps his arms around the selkie, holding him tight and closing his eyes as he soaks in the embrace and this perfect moment.

The waves are calm, everything quiet save for the gentle lapping of water at the boat, the far off sound of a few gulls drifting on a gentle breeze. David feels so good to hold, his selkie coat soft and warmed by the sun, his embrace gentle but firm, full of affection, and god he smells good. Had he ever wondered, Jasper thinks he might’ve guessed that seals and by extension selkies would smell like wet dog, not that he would ever say this to David. But he smells like the ocean, kind of like rain but with that subtle tang of salt and sand.

“...Jas.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” David says so quietly he nearly misses it over the sound of waves, gentle as they are. “I wouldn’t trade you for anything either.”

The honest, absolutely soft tone he says this in once more pierces like a lance through Jasper’s heart, and oh fuck it, he’s such a hopeless idiot he would fall in love with a selkie. Why not? That’s just his luck. But… he really meant it. He wouldn’t trade David for anything or anyone, nor change him, convenience be damned.

He holds the ginger a little tighter, feeling so lucky to have met him, to be friends with this man even if he has a snowballs chance in hell of dating him. He’s perfectly happy just to have David clamber onto his boat every day and talk to him about the sea life he’s seen that day and bring him shells and trinkets and answering every question of what each piece of equipment does, to see David’s beautiful smile every day and hear his voice and the way he says Jasper’s name so reverently, like he’s something to be cherished. That’s enough. That’s plenty.

“Jas?”

He sucks in a breath as he startles out of his reverie. “Hm?”

“Are you alright?” David whispers, not seeming in any rush to get away but maybe sensing his tumultuous feelings. He always seems to pick out when Jasper’s in a funk and oh he’s in some kind of funk right now, toeing the line right between delight and panic, but all the same...

“Yeah,” he says in all honesty. “Just… lucky to have a friend like you,” he says.

He feels David clutch his jacket a little tighter and there’s a pause, not uncomfortable but definitely feeling of something that wants to be said. Something lingering in the space between them, small as it is. Maybe that’s why it feels heavy. “Likewise.”

After a few more moments of this indulgent hugging the two pull back with matching smiles.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hang onto you for so long,” David says a little shyly.

“It’s cool dude,” Jasper says, blushing. “My buddies on land aren’t really big on hugs so it was actually really nice.”

“Oh! Well I’m glad,” David says, his smile bright and warm.

Jasper’s heart flutters, before he notices the light on David is fading, and looks over his shoulder to see the sun is setting fast. How quickly that beautiful window of time where everything is covered in liquid gold fades to darker tones, just as quickly as their little moment is broken. He feels disappointment swirl up, overtaking the pleasant haze he’d fallen into, joy washed away by cold reality.

“Shit, it’s getting late, I gotta pack it in,” he says regretfully, turning back to David.

The selkie looks a little disappointed as well, pouting cutely. “Oh, alright, you best head back while you have some light to see by. Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, hopeful.

“Same time, same place,” Jasper promises with a grin, his heart fluttering again to see David’s face pick up a little.

“Alright, then I’ll get out of your hair,” David says, and Jasper walks him to the diving platform where they both pause, David looking like he wants to say something, his fingers twining together in a nervous gesture as he opens his mouth.

But instead, he takes a breath, leans in, and gives Jasper a quick peck on the cheek, his face red as he pulls back. “Well, goodnight Jas, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, stepping over the low wall of the stern and onto the platform where waves lap at his feet, turning to look at him for a moment.

Jasper blinks, still in a daze over the little kiss, before he comes back to a reality that suddenly doesn’t seem so cold anymore. “Uh, yeah, seeya Davey,” he says, earning a shy smile from the selkie before he crouches down, turning into a seal.

David looks over his shoulder and gives a cute little bark before sliding forward into the water, swimming away.

Jasper’s heart races in both panic and delight, touching lightly shaking fingers to his cheek in disbelief. “Wack,” he whispers, a silly grin growing on his face as he watches the selkie disappear.

[melodyofthevoid]

[ ○ Hi Mel sorry to bother you I came here again for questions about ocean idiots and so ]

1) if there are still races that we don't know? ( or are there only Centaurs, animal people, half man, half bird, mermaids, dragons)

2) how do you and your friends feel when some characters are confused with pronouns??

3) if there are some facts about ocean idiots?👀

4) what was the reaction of the characters of the Ocean idiots to the future (for example, to the modern world where phones, televisions, cars, airplanes and other technologies)

[○By the way, Mel, I want to say that you are the best writer in the world, I wish you happiness and health <3 ]

No, not really. We didn't want to overcomplicate things for ourselves. There are selkies but like. Idk. Mer offshoot. We're not super keen on over explaining everything? If that makes sense to you, I guess.

I won't lie to you it's really disheartening. Like on some level it's fine to have maybe an initial "oh oops" moment but we... don't need to know that? The comments towards Delta are especially heinous. Like "Oh I thought she was a man, maybe she should be more feminine". Constantly. Just- unending. Like it doesn't need to be a big deal! Most of our frustration stems from that. Again slip ups happen! I get it! But the comments are irritating. This latest video was much better thank christ.

Hmm… Well in terms of little niche facts that I’ve been working on, there’s a lot of little things that everyday folks use as a way to endear themselves to their patron god of choice! Wood bead bracelets are popular for farmers and followers of Dahlia, with more elaborate designs being highly prized. Obsidian jewelry is prized for Ebeko’s followers to the point where his cult has a monopoly on it. It doesn’t tend to leave the continent which makes any that does get out quite pricy. Shell bracelets/jewelry are standard for just about everyone although some sailors prefer rope (shells can be rather fragile). As for Larus, there’s some debate whether shiny gold jewelry will gain his favor or his ire. It’s neither, it’s his attention you may get and that… can really go either way.

I’ll be frank I don’t really know? Mariza would probably hate cruise ships (as should we all). Dahlia would probably go full poison ivy as she should? Larus would fucking love sky diving and all that shit like hell yeah he’ll share the skies. If Ebeko could play animal crossing I think that would heal him.

[nomoreusername]

Sunshine and Rain (Part 3)

Pairing:Sonya x female reader

Summary:While just trying to vent to an object Aris pulls your emotions to the surface.

Was I doing the only thing I was a master at and avoiding my problems (Sonya)? Yes. Yes I was. I refuse to confront this right now or ever. I’ll just run from my issues. I always was good at that.

So I stayed several feet away, just out of sight. Hidden by the shore, I was just below her, every now and then turning and watching her figure before looking back at the waves.

Keeping my feet in the water, I watched as a seashell washed up. Picking it up, I figured it was safe to rant to. After all, I highly doubt a shell will spread my secrets.

“Hey shell. I’m Y/N, and I have severe problems connecting with people. As of such, I won't talk to this wonderful girl about my feelings for her, even though she's the only person capable of helping sort them out. All I know is ever since she kissed me, even if it was on the cheek, my mind had been filled with only her. I have no idea how to fix this problem but am currently making sure we don't cross paths, which seems like a terrible idea. I also make terrible decisions though so it’s fine. Decisions like falling for a girl who doesn't want me,”I ranted.

“Hey-”

“I wasn't talking to a sea shell,”I immediately lied, throwing it in the sea. Turning around, I saw Aris standing there with an unreadable expression.

“I didn't think that you were,”He shrugged, taking a spot by me before I could do anything. Staring at the sunset, lost in our own thoughts, I tried to pretend he wasn't there as my mind was still traveling back to her.

“How have you been, rainy?”He spoke up.

“Excuse me?”I snapped, glaring at him.

“I just asked how you are, rainy.”

“Where the hell do you get off?”I asked in disbelief.

“What are you talking about?”He questioned, playing dumb.

“Nobody is allowed to call me rainy but Sonya. Do you understand? That is my special name from her, and you will not use it again,”I demanded.

“It's just a nickname,”He complained.

“It's not just a nickname. It's my nickname that Sonya gave to me, and it is not to come out of anyone's mouth. Have I made myself clear?”I asked slowly.

“So it's special because it's from her?”He clarified.

“Exactly.”

“So in that case, Sonya is special to you,”He stated, making me sort of regret my outburst as I glared at the sand like it used mind control on me. “I probably shouldn't be telling you, but you're special to her too.”

“I am?”I asked, hiding the unwanted hope in my voice.

“Yeah. She talks about you to me all the time. She goes on and on like you're the only topic to exist.”

“Are you being serious?”

“I have no reason to lie. It's almost concerning, but most of all, it's pure, like she's talking about the stars or the ocean.”

“That's, wow,”I whispered, looking at him again.

“Do you love her?”He asked.

“What?”

“Do you love her?”He repeated. As I instinctively went to say no my throat dried up. Unable to find any words, I slowly nodded my head as the realization hit me harder than anything ever had before. “I thought so,”He shrugged.

“I love someone. I love Sonya,”I managed to say.

“You should tell her,”He suggested.

“I don't know how,”I admitted. “I don't know how to say those words to anyone.”

“Well, I think you can do it. And who knows? She probably feels the same way. After all, she did kiss you,”He pointed out, going to stand.

“How do you know about that?”I asked quickly.

“I told you. She talks about you, a lot. So say something so she'll talk to you instead. As much as I love hanging out with her, if I hear your name one more time I’m gonna go deaf,”He shrugged, giving me a small smile before walking away, leaving me to figure out just how much truth, if any, there was to his words.

But he was right. He had no reason to lie so maybe just this once I could trust someone and tell Sonya how I feel.

[enokvirkow]

rebelichor​:

Ariadne watched him. Still catching her breath — fuck, she was getting out of shape. For a moment she heard the disappointed utterings of Alex. That he wanted her just the way she was… but a little less chubby would be nice too.

Perhaps that was what motivated her.

When Enok told her to get on, she chose the throne. No where made her feel more insecure than sitting on the dip of the handlebars because she felt like her ass was hanging out and that she looked all hunched up and fat, but he had only ever encouraged her. It was a selfish little decision, another to add to the pile, but damn didn’t it feel amazing and like all the troubles were being stripped away when he started to pedal.

“Boardwalk!” she hollered, then tipped her head back with a bit of a laugh.

The wind swept her hair around and she couldn’t help kicking her feet a little each side of the front wheel. Her hands gripped tight onto Enok’s handlebars, where one left behind a sticky-sauce-discovery that he’d get to find another time. Probably when he saw the mark and curiousity got the better of him.

Their pace only slowed when Enok glided onto the boardwalk itself. How many memories were dotted along the strip? They could each point out the shops that had come and gone where the road faced them. And the miraculous ‘treasures’ they found along the beach — a few that made their parents freak, when there were still live creatures inside shells.

Her head turned to look out over the waves. It wasn’t completely calm out there, but still a nice day. Enough to wash away their worries.

“Hey Enok?… I guess I wanted to say sorry. For being a shithead.” Her lips parted. Though whatever else was there remained unsaid. Instead she turned a little, wearing a more relaxed smile. They were moving a lot slower now. So slow, that she felt comfortable manipulating the handlebars with a growing grin. The teenagers traveling in giant arcs, one side, then the other, complete and utter silliness.

He couldn’t deny it. The ocean had a calming effect on him. Always had. Just…. just like Ari had always had an easy time making him grin and laugh. And he missed nothing more than their easy afternoons they had spent here. No worries. At least a hell of a lot less than they had now. 

“Shithead?”

Whether Enok had wanted her to admit that her former questioning at school had been shitty or whether he was genuinely confused would remain a secret - just a moment later he gasped and grabbed the handlebars tighter, when Ariadne started meddling with their route. 

“Ari!”

His alarmed tone quickly dissolved into laughter, letting Ari move the bike in broad snake-lines across the boardwalk for a bit. Just messing around. Like it should be. 

Finally stopping their ride with his sneakers skidding over the old wooden boards, for a small moment Enok let his chin rets atop of Ariadne’s shoulder. he didn’t even think about it. It was a spot that came naturally with their position - and their friendship. So much older than the recent relationships they had manouvred themselves into.

His laughter dissipating, theer was seriousness coming back. Something that made Enok tilt his head a little, bumping against Ari’s. 

“You know - yeah. Fuck Phoebe. But also: fuck Alex.”

A fair deal, right? After all, she had started insulting partners here. 

But Enok felt that her bastard boyfriend deserved it just as much, if not even more than Phoebe. And all this honesty led Enok into asking the most sincere question to her he had had in weeks.

“Oh man, Ari... what have we gotten ourselves into?

[jungwonenthusiast]

hi ! enhypen smut prompt request ! can i have the reader whos a female say #4 with jake or sunghoon whos a hard dom ?? if u can , can u add how the reader and the partner are enemies who got lots of sexual tension so they kinda trease e/o a lot with words and actions ? u dont have to use that plot but thank u♡

A/N: This is one of my favorite works now lol i hope u like it :) <3

Warnings: unprotected sex, rly brief oral (f recieving), degredation

Word Count: 2.9 k

“But it’s a Tuesday,” you tell Jay while zipping up your backpack.

“So?” he says. “Don’t be lame.”

“I’m not lame, just responsible.” you sing your bag over your shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s lame.” he walks with you to the lunch tables. Jungwon and Heeseung are already there chatting it up.

“You guys are coming right?” Jay asks them and they nod. “See? You gotta come.”

“It’ll be fun noona,” Jungwon says. “And you have to come because Heeseung hyung and Jay hyung are probably gonna leave me for girls.” he rests his head on your shoulder for a moment.

“Why don’t you get yourself some girls too.” you suggest and he shakes his head.

“I’m too shy.” he says quietly and you giggle.

“Alright fine, I’ll go.” you finally say and they all celebrate. “Jake’s not gonna be there right?”

“Uhm,” Heeseung looks over to Jake’s lunch table nervously. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” you cock an eyebrow.

“He won’t be there,” Jay says. “It’ll be fine.”

You feel someone bump into your shoulder as you walk to history.

“What the hell?” you say and turn around to see who the culprit is. Of course it’s Jake. He shrugs with a half smile. That fucking ass.

After a few more classes you head home and start preparing for the bonfire party. It’s at a beach so you decide to wear your favorite bikini under your shirt and shorts. Your phone begins to buzz and it's a facetime call from Jungwon.

“Hola~” you greet him.

“Hi~” he says. “Can you take me there? My parents are at work.”

“Sure.” you say while putting all of your essentials into a purse.

“Also,” he hesitates. “I think Jake hyung is gonna be there.”

“What? How do you know?”

“I heard him talking about it during p.e.” he says quietly and you groan.

“Fuck, I don’t wanna go anymore.” you say.

“No you have to go, I will die without you.” Jungwon pleads. “It’ll be fun, we'll just stay away from him.”

“It’s gonna be hard to stay away from that giant ego taking up the whole place.” you roll your eyes.

“He’s not that bad noona, he’s actually pretty nice.” Jungwon shrugs.

“Don’t betray me like that,” you scold him. “You’re on my team alright?”

“Okay okay.” he surrenders, giggling.

You pick Jungwon up and give him the aux for the 30 minute drive to the beach.

You guys groove to SZA together.

Jungwon rolls down the window while you're on the highway and sticks his head out like a dog. He kind of is like a dog (in a good way). He’d be a shiba inu.

“Whoooo!!” he screams as the wind whips through his hair, you smile.

When you get there you park your car and get the beach towels from the backseat.

“Did you put sunscreen on?” you as Jungwon and he shakes his head. “Why do you never listen to me?”

You get a bottle of sunscreen out of your purse and rub a dollop on his face. He scrunches his nose.

“It feels like you're rubbing cake batter on me.” he complains.

“You’ll thank me when you’re fifty and you aren’t a wrinkly wreck.” you tell him while spreading it over his cheeks.

“Can we be done now?” he whines and you sigh.

“Fine.”

You two approach the crowd of people suntanning, drinking, playing volleyball, and playing in the ocean.

You drop your stuff next to Heeseung’s and Jay’s before looking around for them. They’re playing volleyball with who on the opposing team? Jake Sim.

Jungwon must’ve noticed you shooting lasers through your eyes because he grabs your arm. “Come on, let’s go swim.” he tugs his t-shirt over his head and jogs over to the water.

You follow suit, only feeling a little self conscious about stripping with Jake Sim only so far away. But it’s only because you don’t want to be vulnerable in front of your worst enemy, right?

Jungwon’s already relaxing among the waves when you get to the shore. “Why’d you go so deep?” you call out to him.

“It’s not that deep,” he says back.

You swim around with him for a bit before forcing him to look for pretty shells with you.

He gasps. “Baby crab!” he rushes to pick it up. “Look.” he holds it up to you.

You try to pet it without freaking it out. “What if it bites you?”

“It won’t, we’re friends.”

The sun is nearly gone by the time you’re done shell searching and swimming so you head over to the bonfire. You wrap a towel around yourself and snuggle up to Jay. He scrunches his nose.

“It’s cold,” you defend yourself.

Heeseung hands you a white claw and you crack it open.

“What are we doing now?” you ask but you can’t hear Heeseung’s answer over the sight of Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Niki sitting right across from you. You notice how the bonfire highlights the muscles in Jake’s chest and arms. The warm orange light washing over him makes it look like he’s glowing. Is this what Apollo would’ve looked like? “Huh?” you ask Hee.

“We’re probably just gonna play dumb highschool games.” he says.

You inhale and take a big swig of your seltzer.

“Truth or dare time~” Bree sing songs. “Sunoo truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Sunoo answers.

“Do you have a crush on anyone and if so, who?” she asks and he rolls his eyes.

“I have a crush on myself.” he says confidently.

“Fair enough, you go now.” she says to him.

“Heeseung hyung, truth or dare?” Sunoo asks.

“Dare,” he replies and Sunoo giggles.

“Give your phone to Jay and let him text anyone anything he wants.”

Heeseung groans and throws his head back. “Oh God.”

Jay cackles an evil laugh. “Gimme.”

Heeseung reluctantly hands Jay his phone. “You’re gonna text Sophie aren’t you.”

Sophie Morales, Heeseung ex. They broke up only a month ago after half a year of dating. This was about to be brutal.

“You know me so well.” Jay smiles.

“Please don’t say anything too horrible.” Heeseung pleads.

“Sophie,” Jay narrates his text message. “I miss you and your huge tits. Also I’m sorry for not telling you while we were dating but your feet are really fucking ugly.”

Heeseung buries his head into his hands, laughing. “Fucking Christ.”

“And your breath stinks,” Jay continues. “At least your boobs are nice.”

This is what I get for befriending males. You think to yourself.

“Alright that’s enough.” Heeseung snatches his phone away while everyone giggles. “My turn since I was the victim. y/n, truth or dare?” “Truth,”

“What’s your biggest regret?”

“Becoming friends with Jay, because he’s insane.”

Jay guffaws. “I’ve been nothing but good to you.”

You roll your eyes.

The game goes on for a bit until it lands on Jungwon.

“Noona, truth or dare?”

You’d usually go for truth, but you didn’t want people to think you were boring. “Dare.”

“I dare you and Jake hyung to talk to each other in private for at least five minutes.” he says, crossing his arms.

Your eyes widen and you look over at Jake, he looks like he wants to drown himself.

“What? Why?” you ask urgently.

“Because I’m tired of you guys hating each other for no reason. Now go.” Jungwon shoos you away.

“Yeah go talk.” Niki says to Jake.

Both of you don’t budge. Jay tugs at your arm. “Come on, Jake and y/n becoming friends!”

The whole group starts chanting. “JAKE AND Y/N BECOMING FRIENDS!”

You had to admit that their enthusiasm was kind of endearing, so you swallow your pride and walk over to the lifeguard tower. You hear him not far behind you.

You climb up the stairs and let your feet hang over the ledge of the patio.

He sits down next to you.

You let a few moments of silence pass before speaking up. “I don’t want to be here as much as you do, so let’s just wait for the five minutes to pass and then go.”

“Damn,” he says. “Do you really hate me that much?”

You roll your eyes. “What do you think?”

“What did I ever do to you?” he scoffs.

“I don’t need to justify my feelings.” you cross your arms.

“Why are you so dense?” he grumbles.

You whip your body over to him. “I’m the dense one?”

“Yeah,” he says proudly. You want to slap the smug look off of his pretty face. Normal face. Slightly, almost, barely good looking face.

“Such a prick,” you mumble, turning away.

“What’d you call me?” he scrunches his eyebrows.

You look him right in the eyes. You never noticed how dark and piercing they were. “A fucking prick. Cause you are one.”

His black hair is still damp and poking into his eyes. His lips are parted and they look so soft that you almost want to kiss him. But he beats you to it.

I should push him away. Push him away you dumbass. You kept telling yourself but you couldn’t do it. His lips felt too good against yours.

Your arms snake around his waist as he lays you onto your back.

You wish you had a hundred hands so you could touch all of him. Two weren’t enough. He feels like silk and he tastes like red velvet.

He pushes your jaw up so he can get to your neck. You exhale as his tongue dances on your skin. He grinds his hips into yours and you let out a small moan. Why are you letting him affect you like this? Idiot.

“I thought you hated me?” he smirks while kissing your chest.

“I do.” you breathe out.

“You sure?” he asks, his fingers traveling down your stomach and into your bikini bottoms.

“Mhm.” you say.

He kisses your collarbone. “People you hate don’t make you wet like this.”

That just makes you throb even more.

“Fuck off,” you say and he backs up.

“Really?” he says. “Because I will.”

You roll your eyes and pull him in by the back of the neck.

“Touch me,” you say and he happily obliges. You knew were in public but it was dark and honestly, you didn’t care.

“Such a slut,” he says while running a finger up and down your slit. “If you wanted me this badly you should’ve said so sooner.”

“I don’t want you asshole.” you breathe out as he circles your clit.

“You just asked me to touch you princess,” he kisses your neck. “I think that’s good evidence.”

You rub your fingers through the back of his hair and tug it back, exposing his neck. He lets out a small moan. You kiss his neck, sucking and nibbling every now and then. When you pull away there’s at least three red blotches that go from his throat to his chest.

“People are gonna see those you know?” he says.

“Whatever.” you roll your eyes.

“Are you marking me or something? Telling everyone that I’m yours?” he boasts.

It’s confusing how your anger is feeding into your lust for him.

“Shut up and fuck me.” you say and he cocks a brow.

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” he kisses your cheek sweetly. You want to wipe it off and slap him in the face.

“Who do you think you are?” you scoff at him.

“Come on dont play with me,” he pushes one finger into you and you moan. “I can tell that you want it.”

It was true. You were practically gushing.

“More,” you say, wanting another finger.

“Where are your manners?” he smirks.

You swallow your pride. “Please?”

“Good girl,” he says and it sends tingles down your spine.

He pulls your bikini bottoms to the side and rubs his thumb up your slit. “Such a pretty cunt.”

Your thighs are already trembling.

“I really thought you’d still be hating me right now.” he says lowly. “Do I make you that weak?”

You snap to your senses for a moment. “Fuck you.”

“I am.” he snickers and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t give me attitude princess.” he warns you with a dangerous smile.

“Or what?” you test him.

“Do you really wanna find out?”

“What do you think you’re intimidating or something?” you ask and he scoffs.

He sits up and grabs your arm. “Get up.”

“What?”

“Get up.” he says sternly and you do.

He grabs your hand, leading you somewhere.

“Where are we going?” you ask, agitated. If you really didn’t want to go you wouldn’t, but you secretly wanted to continue what was going on.

“My car.”

“What? Why?”

“You’ll see.”

“Hey! Where are you going?” Jungwon calls out. “Don’t leave me!” “I’ll be just a second!” you reply with an unsure smile.

“Backseat.” Jake says as you approach his Mercedes.

So bossy, you think.

You sit in the back seat and before you know it he’s pulling you into his lap.

“Let’s continue shall we?” he says and you don’t waste any time getting your lips on his.

He pushes your hips down onto his and you whimper. You were already so wet and this was just making it worse.

“Please, I can’t wait any longer.” you say, not being able to hold it in.

“For what?” he nips at your neck.

“I need to feel you inside of me.” you plead. 

“That’s better.” he tugs his shorts down and pulls your swimsuit to the side.

You grab the base of him before slowly sinking down. “Fuck yes.” you moan in relief.

He fills you up perfectly and his tip brushes your g-spot every time you bounce.

“So fucking tight.” he growls, holding onto your hips tight.

Your legs begin to tremble from the pleasure so he grabs you by the waist and lays you on your back.

He snaps his hips into yours and you whine.

He smirks. “Look at you all spread out for me,” he kisses your neck. “Taking this cock deep inside you.”

Your fingers trail down to rub at your clit. “Please don’t stop.”

He flips you over into doggy and tugs your hair, bringing your ear up to his mouth.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Really bad,” you whimper.

He smacks your ass and you let out a small squeal.

“Touch with yourself while I fuck you.” he lets you go and you rest on the door. Your fingers move to play with your pussy.

His hands are tight on your waist as he pounds into you.

You feel your knees start to give out and your cunt start to pulse around him.

He chuckles. “Are you close sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Please make me cum, please I need it so bad.”

“Why should I think you deserve it?”

“Please, I can’t hold it any longer.” you say and he stops his movements completely.

He gets close to your ear. “You get to cum when I say so okay?”

You accept defeat. “Okay.”

You start to get more and more flustered as he continues to fuck you just right.

“Fuck Jake I can’t,” you whimper and hold onto the car door for dear life.

He pulls out suddenly and you complain before feeling his tongue on you. Your body tenses up from the pleasure.

“You taste so fucking good,” he says and you arch your back, pushing your pussy into his mouth. He moans against you.

After only a couple circles on your clit with his tongue, you’re ready to come undone. You grab onto his hand.

“Wait wait I’m close,”

And before you can utter another word he slams his cock into you and brings his hand around you to rub your clit.

“Cum on this cock sweetheart, I know you can do it.” he encourages you.

He smiles as your moans get louder and more high pitched.

Your legs start to shake and he grabs you tight. He comes up to your ear. “Be a good girl for me won’t you.”

Your eyes roll back as bliss runs through your entire body. He was probably the best lay you’ve ever had.

Your body goes slack as he cums inside of you.

“Fuck,” he growls and slowly pulls out. He picks you up and holds you in his arms as you try to ride out the trembling.

“How am I supposed to clean up?” you ask.

“Maybe you can swim again?” he jokes and you punch him in the arm. “Do you still hate me?”

“One hundred percent.” you say confidently.

“Are you kidding?” he scoffs. “My kids are in you right now.”

You fake gag and he laughs.

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Poseidon

Fishy fishy fishy… I honestly could write 100 more things for Poseidon MC and Levi. I just love the dynamic between an insecure, otaku shut-in and a chill California surfer dead set on becoming his friend.

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon 

For anyone unaware, Poseidon is also the god of horses. I know it's a weird combo, but I didn't write the mythos.

Lucifer

…..

They came out of the portal….

On a horse….

They brought the mortal down to the Devildom…

On a goddamn horse….

There's a demigod on a live horse brandishing a weapon and doing laps around the Student Council Room…

Congratulations, he already wants to pull his hair out!!

Honestly, it would have been preferable to pluck them out of the sea. At least then they'd just need a towel! What the hell were they going to do with an entire horse!?

And his nightmare didn't stop there. Poseidon is a notoriously mercurial god, prone to bouts of anger and spitefulness for reasons far less grievous than kidnapping his children… 

Their apology was swift and (seemingly) effective, though the tide waters around the Devildom did rise by several feet for some time…

As for the MC… uh… Well, they're an energetic one to say the least…

Lucifer hasn't met a more active individual since Mammon. They horseback ride, swim, surf, skateboard, and probably do ten other things - the point is, they Hardly. Keep. Still! 

They're also annoyingly easygoing… He can't count the number of times they've told him to, "Just chill out," or, "Hang loose…" What does that even mean??

Between having to order a stable made for their horse and just trying to keep up with them, Lucifer already thinks this mortal has caused him more trouble than they're worth… At least they keep Mammon busy...

Mammon

Upon first meeting them atop their horse, Sunset, his first thought was of course:

"I wonder if I sell that...?"

After that, they nearly fed him to sharks for trying to take their beloved steed on same night. Safe to say, he never touched a hair on its head again…

These two had a rocky start, but their relationship mended fairly quickly. As it turns out, the MC is literally one of those "go with the flow" types. You can say it was water under the bridge soon enough.

Mammon actually thinks the MC is a hell of a lot of fun, even if they're super laid-back. Most of the time, they won’t take his drive for money (or fear of his bills) all that seriously and tell him that he’s worrying too much, but they’ll still lend a hand if its on their way.

He finds their ability to control water pretty cool as well. Levi has it to some extent, but the MC can make a whole-ass whirlpool or use water like a whip! 

He once begged them to call up some rare fish for him to sell, but they got all pseudo-philosophical on him about how “trading life for material wealth” is “not cool, dude...”

He also made the mistake of challenging them to a splash fight only once…. They managed to drench the whole family with a single wave….

The only thing that bothers him is their weird insistence on being Levi's "Best Buddy…" Why would someone like them even bother with a shut in??

Is it the water? … Probably water. Levi, that lucky bastard…

Leviathan 

Thinks they're a big normie, no scratch that, a HUGE normie! The biggest normie he's ever met!! They skateboard and horseback ride for Devil's sake!!

...But they’re also, undoubtedly, the best friend he could've ever asked for.

To be fair to Levi, their friendship was sort of forced upon him. The MC took one look at him, his aquatic-themed room, and his pet goldfish then declared their new friendship status at that moment. 

Unfortunately for him, though, they're energetic, extroverted, and generally have little understanding of personal space… aka, an introvert's worst nightmare…

The next month could accurately be described as the MC doing everything in their power to make their stubborn "senpai" like them.

They would drag him out to the aquarium, beach, or pool; they befriended Henry so he could put in a good word for them; and they'd even bring him little gifts or trinkets they'd find on the ocean floor. Pretty shells and stuff like a cat bringing its master a dead mouse.

After he finally began to accept them as a persistent fixture in his life, he introduced them to gaming and anime and started accepting them little by little...

By the end of their stay, these two were practically inseparable. Not just because they like spending time together, but because they figured out they could have a telepathic link due to Levi being part sea serpent. 

No matter how far they are, they can always have a chat! (That no one else can hear so people think they’re just crazy...)

Satan

Satan honestly isn't the MC's biggest fan, he generally finds them too loud and gregarious for his liking. But their horse…?

He never really thought that he'd be a horse man... Yet it didn’t really take long for Satan to adore Sunset, their beautiful golden-maned mare. Apparently she's not their only horse, but by far their favorite traveling companion.

Sunset is a wonderful horse - brave, strong, and well-trained. It only took a few weeks before he was regularly sneaking out to the stables to brush her fur or feed her apples...

After the MC taught him how to ride, that was it. All other forms of transportation were inferior to him now.

Satan would ride Sunset everywhere and he looked damn good doing it! It takes all that fairytale Prince Charming thing he has going on and puts it through the roof.

It's a good thing too, because when I say everywhere, I do mean everywhere. Lucifer had to put seals on the House doors to keep Satan from riding Sunset through the hallways...

Of course, he’ll always let the MC have Sunset back when they need her!... with a little complaining but nothing terrible.

The MC doesn't mind much because Sunset likes him and they know he takes good care of her, but the rest of the House is slightly unnerved at how quickly he went horse crazy… What if they brought a giant crab instead?? No one wants to deal with crab-Satan...

Asmodeus 

Their body is just scrumptious. Oh, how he could look at their swimsuit-clad figure all day!! 😩

Between the swimming and the fighting, their form is toned to all hell and he can't get enough of it! Yes baby, yes!! Take those clothes off again!!! He'll help~! 😘

When he's not staring at them “totally respectfully,” then he's inviting them out to pool parties or begging them to take him riding...

There are parts of horseback riding he doesn’t like, the smell and the jostling specifically, but there is a kind of… romance to it, no?

He loves having the chance to snuggle up to the MC as they trot around the Devildom! It's so romantic, like they’re his knight in shining armor! (Or his demigod in a damp swimsuit, either works. 😏)

His Devilgram is just full of selfies of him and MC riding on the back of Sunset or sitting by the edge of the pool or them in the middle of a swim meet…

Yeah his Devilgram is now a one part him and one part MC-Appreciation account.

After the pact he'll eventually cool down some and stop staring at them like a sex-object, but even then he'll be at every swim meet. Don't you worry~

Beelzebub 

He actually really likes them! It's great to finally have another athlete in the House. 😊

The MC joined the RAD swim team just as soon the coach was able to convince Diavolo that having the child of a water god wasn't completely cheating... 

Since swim and fangol practice ends at about the same time, they walk home together a lot and complain about... sports things... (Forgive me, I don’t know sports. Uhm... Rival teams? Coaches? That one drill everyone hates? Stuff like that.)

Beel also can surf, skate, and snowboard so the two have a healthy competition going. They're about on equal footing so they tie often (except in surfing but Beel doesn't think that should count cause they’re probably cheating).

The only thing that he has to watch out for is Sunset… As in, he has to watch himself around Sunset because he absolutely could eat her on accident… 

Look, he doesn't want to and he doesn't even like horse meat that much, but even he has to admit there are times he gets hungry enough to consider it…

Of course, he knows that if he ever did Satan would rip him limb from limb then the MC would drown the rest so he really, really tries to control himself… but still… She’s a very healthy horse...

At least he didn’t try to sell her like Mammon. The MC hung him over a shark tank for that stunt… He’d feel bad, but Mammon kind of had it coming.

Belphegor 

The first time they met, the MC smelled like beach water and called him "dude-bro…" He didn't like his prospects.

For a while, he genuinely thought that they had a lump of sand where their brain was. They were just too chill!! Here he was saying that he's being held captive and they were like, "Well that sucks, man… I'll help ya, but I've got practice tomorrow. You can wait, right?"

It's not like he expected them to jump on top of it, but some urgency would have been nice…

When they eventually got around to helping him, he was actually looking forward to choking the life out of them for the extra wait. Unfortunately, they apparently had a horse…

Yeah, Belphie found out just a bit too late that the MC could summon their steed to them whenever they wanted and ended up with Sunset's hooves firmly bucking into his back for his trouble…

What followed was Belphegor running circles around the attic from the weapon-totting MC riding their terrifying murder horse until Lucifer finally intervened....

Thank the gods he wasn’t near any water….

As it would turn out later, as long as he's not being held captive in an attic Belphie kind of vibes with their laid-backness… They say they approach life "one wave at a time" or something.

He could care less about what that actually means, but what it translates to is "Stop stressing out and just keep chill" which he's all about.

Everybody should just chill out!... dude…. Nah, he'll let them stick to the “dude”-thing, it feels weird...

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part 2, final

Part 1 / 1.5 / [2]

(masterlist here)

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

then he turns up at your door.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re aware of this because: 

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

and:

b) Said new tenants are apparently very noisy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A sexy living foghorn,” Seokjin says brightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll stay here,” Taehyung decides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me,” Seokjin says primly.

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” You ask, concerned.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m happy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can go get some from my apartment?”

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

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

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

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

And then you freeze.

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

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

The blood is blue. 

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

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

Seokjin’s an android.

(Seokjin’s an android who seems human.)

Seokjin’s a deviant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened to your LED?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Jin…”

“Maybe I am,” you hazard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Much like Taehyung had.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

“How did he—why did he deviate?”

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

Wow.

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

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

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

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

You feel warmed at Yoongi’s words. But. 

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

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

“Has Jin always been like that?”

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

“You love him a lot,” you say gently.

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

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

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

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

“That sounds great,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve missed this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Okay, Taehyung, I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s just, uh. One little thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thing that people and deviant androids do.

A thing that Taehyung does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nice.

“You seem happier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re in so, so deep.

(But who can blame you?)

“I want to go outside.”

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

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

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

So what you say is: “Okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Warmer and softer than it probably should.)

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

(Mysterious. Yeah, right.)

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

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

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

(Whatever this is.)

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

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

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

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

(Shouldn’t hope for more than that.)

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

You’re certain Taehyung will, too.

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

(So human.) 

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

Taehyung is enraptured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like love?” A whisper.

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

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

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

“Oh, Y/n!”

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

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

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

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

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

You panic. Just for a second.

Taehyung doesn’t.

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

And then he immediately slips his hand back into yours.

Namjoon is utterly charmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Loyalty. Dedication.)

(A breath.)

(Love.)

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

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

(More of him.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re staying late again.”

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

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

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

It’s unnerving.

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

“No,” you lie.

Yes, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you would want to. 

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

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

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

It's hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he speaks.

“You’re avoiding me.”

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

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

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

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

“Why are you lying to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Independent?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(No one chooses you. Why would they?)

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

And then all the lights go out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung? What are you—”

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

“Taehyung!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung, though, is intent on you.

“Y/n?”

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

“Yes?”

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

You don’t respond. Not right away. 

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

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

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

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

“I do. I want to be here with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung takes your silence as hesitation, his face softening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More?” He murmurs against your skin.

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

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

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

And you can touch, too. 

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

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

“Angel?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Then he looks down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he turns his head and—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything, you think. I want everything. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, oh God,” you gasp. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” you say.

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

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

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

“Not yet,” you say. 

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

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

“I love you,” he says.

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

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

“Not staying late?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung,” you say, warm and happy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sweetchup]

Bi•valve

Noun

an aquatic mollusk that has a compressed body enclosed within a hinged shell, such as oysters, clams, mussels, and scallops.

AKA

The Most Common Seashell in the Ocean

————————

Vol. 2: Into the Deep // Ch. 8

Type: Poseidon x reader

Word Count: 4,500+

⚠️Warning⚠️: Slight Mature Content

Masterlist

————————

Blue. Everything was blue.

From the bubbles you exhaled to the sun streaming through the window. It was all blue.

Even though you’ve been staying here for about a week, you still couldn’t get used to waking up like this. Underwater. Trapped in a fairytale-like world.

Was this how Triton felt adjusting to the human realm?

“Mom?” As if summoned by your thoughts, you felt Triton shift in bed next to you. The mattress slightly caving in as the young boy cuddled close to your side. “You okay?”

“…yeah.”

You shouldn’t be the one asking me that, you can’t help but think. After all that happened last night, Triton should be the one more shaken up.

…What has this young boy gone through?

Gently, you reach down and run one of your hands through Triton’s hair. It’s silky and soft texture felt ethereal in the water-like environment. Like as if it was threads of gold tediously woven slowly by hand.

“Mom….?” Your hand pauses as Triton lifts his head to look at you. Blue… It must be because you two were underwater but Triton’s eyes were a striking bright blue today. Unlike their usual pale grayish version. Seems like everything would truly be covered in blue while you were here, “Are you sure you—“

“My, oh my. This is unexpected.”

At the sudden new voice, you jolt out of bed. It seemed like you couldn’t even get a bit of peace for a second in the place. However, as you take in the figure that was at the door you soon pause.

A butler? A human looking one at that. Was he perhaps a siren or mermaid? But he also had no tail…

“Hermes!” You feel yourself choke slightly at what Triton shouts. Hermes? As in the Messenger god? He looked nothing at all like the mythology books.

“Good day, Master Triton.” Hermes greets as Triton comes crawling out of bed and up to him. As you watch Triton start telling Hermes a story about something, you see Hermes' gaze shift from the young boy in front of him to you. Red… You are cut off guard as you notice Hermes’ eyes were a surprising color of scarlet red. As in the most ripe apples and cherries or that of a deep red ruby. However that wasn’t what entranced you the most. No, it was the unusual spider web irises that accompanied those pits of red.

“By the way, What brings you here, Hermes?” Thankfully at Triton’s question, Hermes' gaze turns away from you. Allowing you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You weren’t sure what it was but for some reason you felt like you had to be careful around him.

Hesitantly, you pull the covers off of your form and make your way out of bed next to Triton. You didn’t want to get closer to Hermes but you also didn’t want Triton to be left alone with the young man. Who knows what the god could be up to, “Master Zeus wanted me to return a special package to you.”

“A package?”

Nervously, you let out a small gulp as Hermes disappears back into the hallway to grab the mysterious “package”. Should you make a run for it? After all, it could possibly be dangerous. He could—

“Here it is.”

“Ack!” You can’t help but let out once you see what Hermes is holding in his arms. Did Zeus really order Hermes to go all the way to the mortal realm to grab that?

“Alexander the Great!” Triton cheers out as he grabs the ginormous king turtle from Hermes. Clearly happy to be reunited with his trusty stuffed animal. “Oh! I know the perfect spot to put you.”

You watch as Triton races across the room to a corner filled with fluffy pillows and blankets. Even here it seemed he built those nest-like beds. You wondered where he got such a thing from.

“Now, My Lady…”  Startled by the warm breath on the shell of your ear, you feel yourself freeze before shakily turning to look at Hermes standing close next to you, “I have a package from Zeus for you as well.”

“O-Oh really…?” You hesitantly say as you take a step away from the god. Was personal space not a thing for them?

“Yes, now if you would follow me.” Hermes states, gesturing to the door.

“Thank you but I’m going to grab it later. I want to stay with Triton for now.”

“Oh but my Lady. I insist.”

“I’m really fin—“ You are cut off as Hermes places his hands around your waist and proceeds to carry you out of the room. He was so fast you hardly had time to blink or even realize what he had done.

“We will be right back, Master Triton.” Hermes shouts out to the young boy as he leaves the room and makes his way into the hallway. Finally able to realize what is going on, you grab at Hermes’ hands on your waist. Futility attempting to get him to let go of you.

“Hey! Let go of me.” You shout out to the god. However, the only thing you got was a curious eyebrow raise in return.

“Oh.” Hermes let out as if suddenly realizing something. Interested you pause at your fighting, only to soon regret it as you see a dangerous gleam in his eyes. As if a mischievous plan was forming in his head, “I apologize My Lady, I wasn’t thinking. You must be used to the way Master Poseidon holds you.”

“H-Hey—EEepp.”

Instantly, in pure terror, you grab onto Hermes shoulders as he throws you lightly up in the air. Thankfully, you didn’t squeal too hard as you had already known what he was possibly referring to about how ‘Poseidon holds you’.

“Now, is this more comfortable, My Lady?” Hermes asks as he holds you bridal style in his arms. What in the world was with gods and their need to hold Humans, or possibly lesser beings, this way?

Now embarrassed, especially at how the maids and servants whisper to each other as you two walk by, you give up the need to fight Hermes. Knowing there was no chance in hell you would be able to get away anyways with how strong he was compared to you.

“Lord Hermes—“

“Please, just call me Hermes.” The messenger god states cheerfully as he cuts you off. As if he totally didn’t just kidnap you.

After letting out a small sigh in frustration, you continue, “Alright, Hermes. Where are you taking me?”

“Just to the main foyer, My Lady.”

At Hermes' simple minded answer, you feel your eyebrow twitch slightly. If you weren’t already afraid of the god, you bet you would have smacked that smug look off his face by now. You could clearly see now how Hermes was the Son of Zeus, “Okay… So, Why are you taking me there?”

“To meet someone special that Master Zeus invited.”

.

..

…

You swore to god.

“Who is that special someone?” You state, making sure to emphasize on your question this time. As if sensing your frustration, Hermes, clearly pleased with your reaction, smiles slightly.

“Scylla. You are meeting Lady Scylla.”

“…Scylla…?”

You feel yourself pause at the name, an odd sense of familiarity blooming in your brain. You had definitely heard that name before but… where….?

“Scylla, as in Scylla and Charybdis.” Hermes explains, his smile growing wider as he takes in the confused look on your face. As you ponder the second name, it finally hits you about why it had all sounded so familiar.

Scylla was a legendary monster in Greek mythology that lived on one side of a narrow channel of water, opposite to her counterpart Charybdis.

Scylla's description varied from tale to tale but she was often described as a female monstrosity. Her lower body consisted of six serpent-like heads on long snaky necks, each head having a triple row of shark-like teeth. Then, on her stomach were the heads of ferocious dogs.

However, it wasn’t her appearance or the fact that she was a monster that startled you the most. No.

Scylla wasn’t always a monster. No, she used to be a nymph. There are two tales that explained as to why Scylla was turned into a monster in the first place. One of them being, as well as the most frightening one to you, was that…

…Amphitrite was jealous of Scylla.

“W-why am I meeting with Scylla?” You questioned outloud to Hermes. Whose grin only seemed to grow once you asked him.

“Pardon me but it is much more fun if you find out yourself.” Hermes explained casually as he stops in front of a room. He wasn’t…

“Wait—“

“Have a fun time, My Lady.”

And with that, Hermes proceeded to shove you in the room and close the doors behind you. That bastard… you knew you shouldn’t trust him.

“Are you Lady (y/n)?”

Freezing, you look across the room in the direction of the voice. There was no doubt that it was Scylla. But,…

You find yourself pausing as you gaze down at her abdomen.

“Pomeranians?” Instantly, after the word slips out, you cover your mouth. Great going there, (y/n).

Though, it wasn’t just the fact that the supposed ‘ferocious dogs’ were sophisticated Pomeranian that caught you off guard. The lady, well ex-nymph, before you looked about in her late 50s and was dressed quite modestly. Yet also very sophisticated.

“Yes, they are Pomeranians.” Scylla answers, seeming to take a pause as she sips from her teacup before continuing, “Now, as I asked before, Are you Lady (y/n)?”

“Oh, I apologize. I am Lady (y/n).” You answer back, not missing how Scylla eyebrows slightly twitch.

“…It seems I have a lot of work…” You hear Scylla mumble lightly under her breath as she proceeds to shake her head. What was she talking about?

“…Pardon?”

“Oh, nothing. Please take a seat, Lady (y/n).”

Carefully, you make your way across the room to sit at the table. As you do so, you don’t miss the chance to notice how extravagant the room was. Not only was it made of marble and intricate gold carvings like the rest of Triton’s Manor but it also had a beautiful ceiling mural and, next to where the table that Scylla was sitting, a wall to wall and floor to ceiling grand window view.

As you take a seat down across from Scylla, you have to hold yourself back from gasping as you could now take in the full view. There were arrays of colorful Coral reefs and plants. Some that you have never ever seen, perhaps they only grew in the realm of the gods and were special in some way. However, it was past the Coral reefs that were placed outside the window that gained your interest. Far out in the horizon, stood what looked like a grand underwater city that looked fresh out of a futuristic sci-fi movie with its intricate buildings and colorful lights.

“Ahem.” At Scylla’s cough, you finally turn your attention back to the older woman, “I will now formally introduce myself. I am Scylla, a former nymph that worked for Lord Poseidon. As well as…

…Triton’s former Nanny.”

“I see.” You let out as you take in the information the woman has told you. It seemed like just how the other gods were different from mythology so was Scylla. But, you couldn’t write off anything about Scylla yet. You didn’t know her full intentions on accepting to come to see you here today. “Can I ask why you came to see me today, Lady Scylla?”

“Of course.” Scylla answers as she carefully places her teacup back down on its plate and looks at you, “I am not here to hurt you but rather to help you. My first duty in coming here is informing you about everything you need to know. From Master Triton’s childhood to Lady Amphitrite nature, I am hoping to tell you everything possibly important I have seen in over the millennia I have worked for the family.”

Now you understand why she was here. If you didn’t understand the inner workings or secrets of the family, it could honestly get you killed. And that could count for either Poseidon or Amphitrite. It also makes sense why Zeus specifically sent her as he still had the intentions of you replacing Amphitrite as Poseidon’s wife. So, knowing what makes Poseidon tic would be crucial.

“My second reason for coming here is to teach you the proper etiquette of the gods.”

You feel your thoughts come to a screeching halt at her statement, “Huh?”

“I’m going to be honest with you, Lady (y/n),” Scylla vocalizes as she shakes her head, “Since you are a human, you are considered at the bottom in our realm. If the citizens of Atlantis don’t like you, they will kill you. If you disrespect a god or goddess, they will kill you. If someone wants your spot on the throne, they will kill you. If you aren’t strong or smart enough, you will get killed. Respect, etiquette and knowledge are the three things that will keep you alive here…”

Scylla pauses as she looks around to make sure that no one was nearby to hear what she would say next.

“Lady (y/n).” Scylla starts as she surprisingly reaches across the table to hold your hands. “I know of Lord Zeus’ plan to make you the next queen. As a former Nymph, where my kind is often taken advantage of by gods just like humans, I beg of you. Do not. Follow. Zeus’. Plan. It will surely get you killed. To him, if you die, He will simply take another human or some other god to take your place. All he wants is Amphitrite off the throne.”

It wasn’t as if you already didn’t guess that from Zeus. You already knew, deep down in an unsettling feeling in your stomach, that he considered you lesser than himself. No matter how kind he seemed to act to you.

Also it wasn’t as if you were trying to seduce Poseidon or become the next queen in anyways. Your main objective, as it always had been, was to protect and care for Triton.

You are brought back to reality as Scylla lets go of your hands and stands up, “Come. We don’t have much time.”

“Right.” Instantly, you follow the older woman as she makes her way across the room. You didn’t know where she could possibly be going but followed her anyway. “A frame?”

You look curiously at, what you guessed to be, the decorative frame of a mirror. You had no idea why you two have specifically stopped here. Was the frame important in some way, like some sort of secretive family heirloom?

However, you soon doubt that previous guess of yours as suddenly, as if bent by Scylla’s mind and will, the inside of the mirror starts to glow. It continued to glow as the light slowly trickled to the rest of the mirror and once it was fully completed, Scylla moves out of the way and gestures to it.

“You want me to walk up to it?” You ask Scylla as you make a small step to the blinding mirror. Slowly as you grow closer, you reach out your hand to slightly graze its surface. Only to realize it wasn’t a surface at all. “W-Woah!”

You are caught off guard as you are suddenly pulled into the mirror by a great force. Hissing, your eyes stung by the ever so bright light. What is happening? You thought Scylla was going to explain to you about the family history. Could she possibly have lied and tricked you?

Amphitrite… Daughter of Nereus and Doris…

“W-Who goes there?” You shout out, startled by the booming voice. “Were you the one who pulled me in here?”

However, as if the voice couldn’t hear you, it continues it’s speech and you are suddenly placed into a white blank room.

One of 50 sisters, known as the Nereids…Amphitrite grew up as any other goddess…

An ancient stone wall suddenly appears right in front of you. It’s drawings and paintings seeming to depict the beautiful Nereids.

…However, that was far from the truth…

All of sudden the paintings come to life, some of the Nereids were killing and even poisoning their sisters.

…All of those sisters were filled with greed… greed to be ever so powerful like their father and it only seemed to grow when it was announced that Poseidon would choose one to be his queen…

The stone changes once more, completely wiped clean except for one lone woman in the center. A shining crown placed on her head.

…And Amphitrite came out on top. With most of her sisters dead or banished by her, she was now the lone survivor to gain all the power she desired…as the new goddess and queen of the sea…

…However,…Poseidon wasn’t how she expected….

You are startled as the full white room, even the ground you were standing on, changes. The room now taking on an elegant bedroom. A grand circle bed was placed in the center of the room. With Pillows and silk blankets scattered around in it.

A sudden loud creak catches your attention and you spin your head around. Caught off guard at who was in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” Poseidon's voice booms out as he glares daggers at you. His form no longer dressed in his usual attire but instead one made for bed.

“I-I—“ “You can’t possibly expect nothing to happen on our wedding night.”

Taking a step away from Poseidon, you turn and realize he wasn’t talking nor glaring at you. Instead, his piercing gaze was directed at a woman sitting on the bed. A simple yet sexy nightgown covering her form.

You have never seen her before with her long and deep colored scarlet hair, with her sea green eyes and pale clear skin. But you could at least guess who she was.

“Amphitrite. Leave.” Poseidon orders, as he turns away from the woman to shrug off his shirt, “I won’t be asking again.”

The woman only giggles in response, seeming not to take Poseidon’s threat seriously as she makes her way up to the male.

“Oh god—“ You can’t help but let out. Quickly covering your eyes as you see Amphitrite loosen her strap of her nightgown, causing the article of clothing to fall to the floor. What was the woman thinking?!

Even with your heart practically beating out of your ears, you hear Poseidon let out a deep sigh and the loud sound of heavy footsteps making their way past you. From what you guess, this was a memory of the past and the two couldn’t see you.

“W-Where are you going—“ Amphitrite voice is cut off as the door is shut with a loud bang. It is quiet for a moment. Yet it was only a moment. As soon afterwards, the loud banging and breaking sounds ring out around the room as Amphitrite takes her anger out on the area around her. “That fucking piece of shit!! I’ll show you—“

Amphitrite voice is once again cut off. Yet this time not by Poseidon but instead the blinding light as the voice changes the scene. Deeming it safe, you uncover your eyes and take in the new scene around you. You were no longer in Poseidon’s bedroom but seemed to still be in the palace. This time the bed was a simple queen one, it’s sheets covered in blood that scared you for a moment. That is until another item gains your attention.

A baby crib.

Amphitrite was furious about how she couldn’t get Poseidon to bend to her will. She believed that he should be groveling at her feet and craving for her affections…

…This only got worse after she found out she was pregnant with an heir that Poseidon didn’t care for….

Startled by what the voice was saying, you take a step towards the baby crib. That means this crib was…

You let out an audible gasp as you lean over the crib. An ever so familiar pair of pale blue eyes staring up at you. It was baby Triton.

Damn, you wished you had your phone on you to take a picture of this moment. He was just all too adorable.

At the pregnancy of the child, Amphitrite left it in the hands of a nanny. Not wanting to bother with a child that will only hold her back.

“Lord Poseidon. I beg of you, Please do not hurt—”

“Silence.”

That voice… Hastily, you make your way across the room to the door that was slightly ajar. Standing outside was Poseidon, a couple of his attendees and Scylla. Scylla, who seemed to be back when she was a nymph, was on her hands and knees, begging something out of the god.

“Tch.” Poseidon lets out, seeming annoyed. You freeze as you see the male grab his trident and make his way towards the door.

“Lord Poseidon, Pleas— Ack!” As Scylla tries to bring her head up and grab onto Poseidon to stop him but before she could do so an attendee stomps on her back. Stopping her in her tracks.

“Do not come in.”

You back away as Poseidon makes his way into the room, shutting the door behind him. He wasn’t planning to…

You cover your ears as a loud screeching sound fills the room. It was coming from Poseidon’s trident as he drags the blade across the floor, Leaving long scratching indinents in the marble floor.

This is in the past, (y/n). You forcibly remind yourself as you watch Poseidon get closer to the crib. Triton is still alive, he’s not going to die here.

You freeze as the screeching sound stops and Poseidon lifts his trident. Uncovering your ears, you stare, mind boggled, at what happens next.

Poseidon… was whistling.

Was he attempting to soothe the baby before he killed it? What sort of Psycho was he—

“Ah! Stop!” You shout out as Poseidon’s trident comes barreling down towards the crib. He was going to actually kill—

Suddenly, Poseidon’s arm comes to a screeching halt.

“Bo ba ba booo.” Triton babbles away, seeming to attempt to imitate the song Poseidon had just whistled out.

.

..

…

“Tch.” Poseidon imbeds his trident in the marble before picking Trident up by the back of his onesie.

That’s not how you were supposed to carry a child! You could accidentally cause it to choke itself.

As you make your way closer to the two, worried about Triton’s safety, Poseidon once again whistles out. His gaze trained to the baby’s face.

“Boooo ba ba boo.” Triton lets out again, seeming to try his best to imitate Poseidon. Giggling slightly at the end as he reaches out towards his father and grabs a piece of Poseidon’s hair.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Poseidon mutters out as he brings his other hand up to Triton, the time adjusting his grip so that he was holding the baby by the armpits.

Poseidon whistles out once more. This time going slightly slower for the baby to listen.

Was this guy seriously attempting to teach a baby how to sing a song when he tried to kill it only seconds ago? Plus it was a baby for crying out loud.

“Hey! Get back here!”

The door comes flying open with a startling bang as Scylla trips her way into the room.

“I warned you!” Scylla screams out as the attendees' sword comes barreling down at her. However, thankfully, it never hits her. “L-Lord Poseidon-n…”

You cover your mouth as the attendee falls to the ground, his body separated in half by the trident Poseidon had just thrown.

“Silence.” Poseidon orders out to the rest of the attendees, who quickly release Scylla and back away. “You, Lady. Come here.”

“M-me?”

Scylla freezes as she sees the look Poseidon gives her. About how she should know better than to make him repeat himself. Frantically, she makes her way over to the two.

“What’s its name?” Poseidon asks Scylla. Who grows pale as she watches as Triton pulls at Poseidon’s hair. Yet, surprisingly, the god of the sea doesn’t flinch nor remove the annoyance, allowing the baby to continue what it was doing.

“I-uh. L-Lady Amphitrite never gave the child a name...”

Silence. You let out a small gulp as you anxiously take in the scene in front of you. Poseidon definitely wasn’t pleased with this development.

“Pardon me, M-My Lord. May I suggest something-g?” Scylla stutters out as she anxiously twiddles her thumbs. She seemed to be on the brink of collapsing from stress and anxiety.

“Speak.”

“Why…Why don’t you name the boy?”

Once again silence. However, it wasn’t as tense as the previous one. It seemed Poseidon was truly pondering Scylla’s suggestion.

“Triton.” Poseidon booms out. “His name will be Triton.”

“An E-Excellent choice, My Lord.” Scylla compliments. Yet, even though Poseidon accepted her suggestion, she didn’t seem pleased. “A-Another thing, My Lord. You aren’t supposed to hold a baby in that manner.”

“Huh?”

Quickly, Scylla attempts to cover her mistake, “I-I mean-n! You can hold the boy however you want. It just that isn't the most comfortable manner! You don’t have to listen to what I suggest. Please forgive me.”

You are surprised once more as Poseidon gives Scylla the baby. Seeming to tell her to show him how to hold Triton without wanting to ask. You have grown to notice that his pride seems to get in the way of things a lot of the time.

It eerily, in a way, reminded you of what happened last night when Poseidon listened to your own suggestion. Would he act in a fit of rage this time as well? Could this be how Scylla got—

“Bah!” Triton shouts out, startling you out of your thoughts. Currently, Poseidon was attempting to cradle Triton the way Scylla had shown him. The nanny fiddled with her fingers as she worriedly watched the two.

“Booo ba ba booo…. Boo boo boo boooo… boooo….” Triton babbles out, this time somewhat replicating the song accurately.

“Heh.”

Heh? You are startled at the sound Poseidon makes. Did he just laugh slightly?

Inching closer, you take in the look on Poseidon’s face as he looks down at Triton. As if his cold exterior had cracked ever so slightly, you could see a sliver of fondness in Poseidon’s cold blue eyes. A look that showed love for his newborn son.

…Yet, you thought Poseidon didn’t feel that way about Triton.

“My Lord.” Poseidon's fondness quickly disappears as he turns to look at Amphitrite who stood at the door. You could see an ever so slight smirk on her face. “I didn’t realize you wanted to visit our son. You should have told me, I would have come with you.”

Oh. Was it because…

“Zeus and Hera wanted to see the child.” Poseidon lies to Amphitrite as he gives the child back to Scylla. Seeming to believe her husband, Amphitrite's smile soon turns to a scowl.

“I see.” She bitterly spits out before walking away. Not wanting to stick around for any longer.

Once Amphitrite footsteps are no longer heard, Poseidon turns back to Scylla. Whispering in a low voice so that the attendees can’t hear.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Same time. Don’t be late and don’t tell anyone.”

With that Poseidon walks away, his attendees quickly chasing after him. As Scylla seems happy with the new found development, hugging Triton tightly to her chest as she showers him in praises, you… didn’t know what to think.

You…

…Couldn’t wrap your head around why your chest aches so much when you watch the two.

…What in the world happened between Triton and Poseidon that changed them…?

Author Note: Just in case people didn’t see my notice about this yesterday. I decided to split Ch. 8 into two parts, due to it revealing a lot of things. So the second part will be up tomorrow (Friday). If there is any confusion, please feel free to ask or comment. I will be checking my tumble a lot today since I know this is a crazy chapter.

Taglist: @angeli-fucking-cat @marixxhq @sproutcorner @orophaea @anime-lover-forever-1127 @fortuna-stella @icy-spicy

[tinawriting]

Beach trip (R.L)

Requested: Yes/No

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!reader

Navigation

Summary: After finishing with school, the group decide to go on a beach trip and Remus finds the opportunity to confess his feelings for Y/n.

Warnings: spoiler of Carrie I gues?? not proofread, alcohol, my english

A/N: Thank you so much @sunrisefairy for posting this and inspiring me, I got so excited I didn’t even read it once so they might be a lot of spelling mistakes, maybe one day I’ll fix it.

Word count: 1.5k

The morning sun hitting her face, the wind blowing her hair, the sand getting in between her toes. She looked at her right to see James and Sirius wrestling in the clear water of the ocean. Lily and Peter looking for shells a little farther away.

At her left, Remus was sitting with his nose almost touching the book in front of his face.

"You should wear your glasses," she said looking at him. He just left and eyebrow, his eyes not leaving the page he was on and she huffed. "Alright, go blind."

A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his eyes meeting hers. He doubled the corner of the page and closed the book, smirking at the way she winced.

"What did the poor book do to you?"

He shrugged. "It's easier that way, I don't have any bookmarks."

She looked away from his brown eyes, focusing on the soft waves. "You're a monster."

He chuckled. "You know what else?" He asked leaning towards her. "I also write notes on them, and one time a ripped a corner because I needed a piece of paper."

She looked at him again and moaned. "I love when you talk dirty to me." She said sultry.

He laughed and her heart skipped a beat. He looked so angelic. Little crinkles adorned the corner of his eyes and a dimple appeared on his left cheek. She wanted to see him like this everyday, without bandages all over his body and without that frown he would have constantly when it was close to the full moon. It was almost too much so shifted her gaze to the book on his lap. She grabbed it and turned it upwards, caressing the spine.

"I didn't think you'll be into this at all," she said reading the title. "I thought you’ll be more a poetry kind of guy."

He hummed. "I like this one though, the things Carrie goes through, how her mother wouldn't even explain to her what was happening with her body. How she blamed her for everything. It's interesting how everyone who bullied her regrets it the moment she takes action, but you know it's not genuine."

"Yeah, I think the book made the readers empathize with her, maybe we shouldn't though, she did kill a lot of people."

They kept talking about the book and their point of view. She always liked talking with Remus, he always gave his opinion with valid arguments and respected the other person thoughts, it was a fun banter, and she couldn't get enough of this, enough of him.

A loud splash made both of them turned their heads, just to watch a soaking wet Sirius holding a very angry Peter by his feet and dipping him repeatedly into the water, James' loud laugh filling the air, and Lily next to him with her hands full of shells.

When Y/n turned around again, Remus' eyes were already on her, and he looked away quickly, a slight blush forming on his neck and cheeks. She cocked her head in confusion and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," his voice cracked and his blush became more evident. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just hungry, are you?"

It took a lot of work of processing the word that left his mouth because of how hast he said them. She decided to ignore it and just smiled softly at him, nodding.

"We should play a game." Said James with his mouth full of biscuits. Lily made a face and passed him a napkin.

They were sitting together in the lounge of the house they rented for the weekend. Lily and James were sitting on the floor under the same blanket, a plate of biscuits on James' lap. Sirius was sitting on the couch next to Peter. Remus and Y/n were sitting on armchairs. The group decided that with the chilly night the best idea to warm themselves up it was to drink firewhiskey, so it was an understatement that they all were a little bit tipsy.

"Sure," said Peter. "What do we do?"

"Spin the bottle?" Said Sirius smirking.

Remus huffed. "What are we? Twelve?"

"Aw Moony, are you afraid of kissing one of us?" Said Sirius making obnoxious kissing noises.

Y/n decided she had to save Remus from this one. "We should do a bonfire." She said looking at the dark sky behind the window. "The night it's beautiful."

They agreed that if they were going to go outside they had to at least carry all the blankets and the rest of the firewhisky.

Lily and Remus started making the bonfire while the rest made themselves comfortable around them. Y/n noticed how even behind his sweater, Remus' arms flexed as he lifted all the wood. How after lightning up the fire his beautiful brown eyes would look even more bright. How the flames made his face look sharper but softer at the same time. He was incredibly breathtaking, and it broke Y/n's heart to know that he didn't think that about himself. She would gladly remind him everyday.

Y/n smiled smugly at the three boys. After the fire died down and everyone agreed it was time to go to sleep. Y/n, Sirius, Peter and Remus had to decide who would get the big bedroom. The house counted with a master bedroom -it belonged to James and Lily, of course- another bedroom with a double bed and a smaller room with three single beds.

They decided to finish the discussion of who was worthy of the big bedroom with a game or cards, Y/n won.

The three boys made their way to their bedroom and she snickered a little at how Sirius was mumbling profanities at her. She decided it was time for her to go to sleep too.

Y/n woke up in the middle of the night, a loud noise could be heard from the kitchen. She looked at the clock at her bedside table. '4 AM'

She groaned and walked her way to the kitchen to see Remus struggling with a pan.

"Everything alright?"

She watched at how Remus' back tensed and then relaxed, he turned around with a sheepish look on his face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up," he said putting the pan on its place. "I just wanted a glass of water."

"It's okay," Y/n said walking up to him, amusement all over her face. "How did you manage to knock everything up if you just wanted a glass of water? And what are you doing up?"

"I was distracted." He said scratching the back of his neck and not meeting her eye. "And my back hurts like hell, that bed was made by the devil himself."

She chuckled and passed past him to grab a glass of water for her and touched his arm on the process, she heard him make a sound at the back of his throat and she turned around, her back against the counter. "Alright, what's up with you? You've been weird all day. And can you at least look at me?"

He sighed and looked her in the eye. His cheeks tinted with pink, his scars standing up more than ever, his eyes soft and vulnerable. "I don't know how to behave when you're around."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Are you really going to make me say it?" When she didn't replied, he let out a soft exhale. "I honestly have no idea when it started but one day you weren't just my friend anymore, y-you became so much more to me and it might be my lack of sleep but I don't think I ever wanted to kiss you so bad in my entire life."

She felt her eyes widen and her heart nearly burst out of her chest, her hands trembled slightly at this revelation and she wasn't sure it was out of nervousness or excitement, maybe both.

She smiled brightly at him and reached out a hand to pulled him close, she saw how he hesitantly gripped her hand a little tighter. She reached out and grabbed the front of his t-shirt to pull him down, their lips meeting softly. She pulled his face between her hands and felt how hot his cheeks were, his hands found themselves on her back, pushing her even more against the counter. His tongue brushed her bottom lip and she gladly opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, a soft sound leaving his mouth at the sensation. When they broke apart they were both a little out of breath, soft smiles grazing their lips.

"You know, my bed is big enough for two."

Remus smiled and kissed her again, short and sweet. Just because he could now. He grabbed her hand and led them to the bedroom, getting under the covers they snuggled close to each other. Her head found its way into the crook of his neck, his hand played with her hair until she dozed off with a smile on her face.

[lexosaurus]

Aurora

My Truce gift for @thelegendaryloaf! I was so pumped when I was assigned you, and I absolutely LOVED working with your prompts! Happy holidays, and I hope 2021 treats you well!

Characters: Danny and Valerie Genre: Friendship Word Count: 3523 Summary: Up close, Valerie could see him more clearly. The stars and planets that speckled throughout his face, the tiny bits of multicolored light that sparkled in his eyes, the way his aura seemed to ebb and flow as if it were the aurora in the northern sky. It was as if Phantom was someone else entirely.

Read on [ao3] [ffn]

---

“Ugh, where is that stupid ghost?” Valerie grumbled, gliding through the air on her hoverboard. She had been on her way home from Star’s house when her watch beeped to life, alerting her of an unwanted ghostly visitor. And, if the watch was correct, it was a rather powerful ghost too.

After all, very few ghosts could ping her from so far away.

But like the dutiful hunter she was, she suited up, trying to ignore the way her stomach knotted up with nerves. As much as she enjoyed sending ghosts back to the hell they came from, going up against a ghost of that much ectoplasmic power was sure to empty out her first aid kit.

She glanced down at her watch. She was getting close now. She should be able to hear screaming, see people fleeing in terror, but there was nothing to suggest a powerful ghost had breached the city.

Which meant that Phantom was likely the ghost responsible for cutting into Valerie’s precious sleep.

Valerie was going to kill him. Again. 

Her radar was leading her towards the outskirts of the city, which was odd for Phantom. When he wasn’t baiting ghosts and causing destruction to Amity, Valerie could find him at the park or on top of some tall building. 

But outside of the city? This wasn’t like him.

Maybe it wasn’t Phantom. Maybe it was some tall ghost hellbent on baiting ghost hunters far away from the populace, away from any emergency response, so they could be destroyed in peace. Maybe Valerie was walking straight to her own doom.

Oh well. It wouldn’t be the first time her career as a ghost hunter had gotten her into trouble.

“Ok, he’s definitely in there,” Valerie said, shifting between her radar and the large building in front of her.

She glanced down at her watch, then back up again. Was her watch leading her to...an observatory?

“Why the hell is he in there?” 

Valerie flew low to the ground, making sure to keep out of sight of the open roof. She was almost certain that Phantom was inside the round building, but she just couldn’t figure out why.

It didn’t make sense. He was a ghost. He didn’t care about space. What did he have to gain from traveling this far to the edge of Amity just for a stupid observatory?

She could turn back here. Just go home, leave Phantom to do whatever weird thing he was doing on his night off. And why wouldn’t she—it was Saturday! She could be in bed instead of keeping Phantom out of trouble.

But it was her responsibility. Her duty to Amity. Sure, maybe Phantom wasn’t a purely evil ghost hellbent on Amity’s destruction, maybe he was just a cocky asshole with a hero Obsession, but someone had to keep him in check. 

And that someone was about to send him back to the Ghost Zone.

“Alright, Phantom.” Valerie launched herself through the open roof and hovered above the room. “Very funny. Now, come on, it’s time to—”

“Valerie!” came a cheerful cry from below her. “You made it!”

“Phantom?” She looked down and nearly fell off her glider. Below her was Phantom, but he looked...different. 

His aura had changed, and instead of a bright white glow it swirled with violets, teals, and blues. His freckles had turned into stars and planets which shimmered across his skin, and his eyes positively sparkled.

Valerie regarded him with disgust. “What the hell? Why do you look like the Milky Way threw up on you?”

Then he did something Valerie never expected a ghost to do in a million years: he giggled. 

“I’m so glad you’re here! We have so much to talk about. Saturn and Jupiter are right next to each other, and through this telescope you can even see all of Saturn’s rings. The rings, Valerie! And oh my goddess, if you thought that was cool, wait till you see the Pleiades!” Phantom reached a hand out, and his swirling aura shot forward, wrapping itself around the telescope in front of him.

“Wait, don’t break it!” Valerie shouted, touching down on the floor. But, before she could so much as ready an ecto-gun, she stopped.

Because the telescope wasn’t breaking apart.

It was moving. 

Valerie watched in a mix of horror and fascination as the telescope in front of Phantom adjusted itself, shifting around and settling into place. The aura dimmed, leaving behind a telescope that didn’t look any more ghostly than before Phantom’s interference.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on right now?”

Phantom’s beamed. “Look! Take a look!”

“Oh hell no. I’m not going anywhere near that possessed thing!”

He laughed, and for a moment his aura brightened. “Just trust me, Val!”

“Don’t call me that,” Valerie muttered, but nonetheless stepped towards the telescope. She gave one last suspicious glance Phantom’s way before she leaned forward and looked through the stupid metal thing.

Saturn stared back at her, its rings preening like a peacock against the vast emptiness around it. She had never seen Saturn before, not outside of Google Images anyhow. It looked exactly like all the pictures showed, and yet seeing it in person was...really cool. 

“And wait!” Phantom’s childish voice bubbled from behind her. Cold swept over her and she flinched, her arm instinctively twitching for her gun, before she realized what was happening.

Phantom was wrapping his galaxy aura around the telescope and moving it again.

“Okay, look now!”

Valerie glanced quizzically back towards the ghost, searching for any signs of malevolence, but his innocent smile never wavered.

“Are you high or something?” she finally asked.

He giggled again. “Stop making jokes and look already!”

She rolled her eyes but relented once more. When she looked through the telescope this time, she was met with another tan colored planet. This one had brown stripes running through the sides, warping to show an unmistakable eye-like figure towards the middle of it.

“Is that...is that Jupiter?”

“Yeah!” Phantom clapped. “And if you look, there should be some of its moons in view too! Look around it, Val!”

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered without any real malice. Sure enough, a few tiny tan dots surrounded the planet. “How many moons does it have, anyway?”

“Seventy-nine!” Phantom said.

“Jesus, wonder what its tides are like.”

Phantom playfully nudged her. “Silly Val, it doesn’t have an ocean! I know you know that. But if you think that’s crazy, Saturn actually has more moons than Jupiter does! It has eighty two.”

She stepped away from the telescope, and once again Phantom’s aura took command, adjusting the lens to a new spot. Phantom immediately jumped to the telescope with a ferocity that Valerie had only seen him use in the heat of the moment when fighting other ghosts. Yet, she noticed the way he delicately touched the telescope, allowing his fingers to gently hold the metal shell as he peered into space with a fascination that seemed too ethereal to be real.

Phantom was destructive, he was a fighter, he was driven by his Obsession to fight and be a hero. He wasn’t...this. 

“Seriously, what the hell happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” Phantom asked in a singsong voice.

“I mean this,” Valerie emphasized, allowing her arms to sweep out around her. “All of this! What...Phantom, I know we’re not friends, but—”

“Of course we are!” 

Valerie blinked. “Huh?”

“We’re friends, Val!” Phantom repeated, detaching from the telescope momentarily to hover next to Valerie. 

She could feel his cold aura brushing against her arm, and she suppressed a shudder. “Are you messing with me?”

Phantom peered up at her, his glowing eyes seeming almost offended by her accusation.

Offended? Hurt? Phantom? 

“Val, why would you say that? Of course we’re friends! We’re hanging out right now, right? That’s what friends do!” 

Up close, Valerie could see him more clearly. The stars and planets that speckled throughout his face, the tiny bits of multicolored light that sparkled in his eyes, a shooting star that traveled across his cheek, the way his aura seemed to ebb and flow as if it were the aurora in the northern sky.

It was as if Phantom was someone else entirely. It was like another ghost had taken possession over him. Was controlling him from the inside out.

Valerie’s hand slowly moved down towards her belt, but it didn’t seem to matter. Phantom didn’t notice. In fact, he shot her a beaming smile and turned his attention back to the telescope, rambling about how astronomers believe that diamonds rain on Uranus and Neptune as if Valerie’s hand wasn’t slowly inching towards her gun.

“It’s just a hypothesis really,” Phantom said. “Scientists can’t really study inside the planets yet because they’re so far away. But I hope it’s true! It would be so cool! Imagine, you’re just an alien on these planets, and then suddenly you walk outside and there’s solid diamonds falling from the sky! They wouldn’t be that pretty probably because the diamonds wouldn’t be shaped nicely, also those planets aren’t habitable to any life so there’s no aliens, but it’s still cool to imagine! Oh, oh, but if you thought that was cool, there’s this other planet—not in our galaxy—that’s really really close to its sun so it’s super hot but guess what? Val, you’ll never guess! It’s solid ice! The gravity is so strong that it forced all the water on its planets into ice and—”

Valerie gripped the gun, raising it to eye level and clicking the safety off.

Phantom’s head snapped up. He looked to the gun, then to Valerie, and his aura faltered.

“Val?” Phantom said, the stars on his face dimming. “I...I don’t understand...why…?”

“You’re not Phantom.” Valerie’s voice was steady. “I don’t know who you are, but get out of him.”

“I don’t understand…” The colored flecks of light in Phantom’s eyes faded, leaving them back to their vibrant green. “I...just…I...” His aura fluctuated before turning back to its hauntingly white glow.

“...Valerie?” Phantom 's voice was cautious. He took stock of the gun once more before a hint of realization bled through his expression. He slowly raised his hands. “Wait! I know what this looks like, but I swear I wasn’t doing anything. Don’t—”

“Phantom! There’s a ghost inside you. It was possessing you! I need to take it out. I need to—”

“Wait, Val, stop! You don’t know what you’re doing!” 

“I think it’s trying to lead us to a trap. This will only sting for a moment!”

“No! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Phantom glanced wildy around the room, his eyes locking onto the telescope once more.

Then, his aura flared, the aurora fought to return, his freckles sparkled like stars once more. A hint of childlike wonder hit his features and for a moment, he seemed lost in the fascination of the observatory.

It was the perfect opportunity to shoot.

But Valerie’s hands were shaking. They were unsteady, just like they were when she first started using the equipment. And in that split second of uncertainty, that moment of hesitation, Phantom gripped his hair and pulled himself out of his stupor.

“No!” he groaned. “Not now!”

“What the hell is going on?” Valerie shouted. 

“Don’t shoot! Just—ugh, gimmie a sec…” He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “I just godda...I just need a second.”

To Valerie’s surprise, she waited. Maybe it was the growing respect she’d begun to feel for Phantom over the past year, maybe it was her fading hatred as she learned more about ghosts, maybe it wasn’t anything deep and it was just that Valerie was confused. In any case, she followed his pleas and watched as he pulled himself together, drawing his shimmering aura inward and allowing the familiar homogenous white aura to wash over him.

He gave a final sigh of relief. “Okay. Okay, I’m good now. You can lower the gun.”

“Tell me first.” Her voice allowed for no arguments. “Tell me what the hell just happened, and then maybe I’ll think about it.”

“It’s complicated.”

Valerie noticed how he seemed to be making a visible effort to ignore all the astronomy equipment around them. His eyes were trained to her and her only.

“Then enlighten me.”

“I…” He hesitated.

“I’m giving you five seconds before I blast you unconscious.”

He blinked, and then his expression shifted into the cocky, shit-eating grin Phantom that Valerie had come to know over these months, “As if you could hit me.”

“Don’t change the subject, Phantom. I’m serious.”

He sobered. “Right. Sorry. I...listen, it’s personal, okay? I’m telling you because I trust you, but you can’t tell anyone. If any of my enemies find out…”

“Tell me.”

“Okay.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What do you know of...of Obsessions?”

“Every ghost has one. It’s what controls their core, what gives them power. All ghosts are driven by their Obsession and if they manage to fulfill it or they’re somehow blocked from feeding into their Obsession for too long, they’ll cease to exist. Why? What does this have to do with anything?”

“I…” His face screwed up before he gave out a frustrated huff. “Oh, what the hell! I have two Obsessions.”

Valerie faltered, her gun lowering ever so slightly. 

She didn’t know what she expected, but this? 

“You what?”

Was this even possible? Better yet, how was it possible? Every ghost had an Obsession, but every ghost had one Obsession. It was impossible for a ghost to have two. It would be torment for the ghost, the two Obsessions constantly battling inside their core for dominance.

It would tear him apart from the inside out, wouldn’t it?

But Valerie watched as Phantom’s eyes strayed beside them to a small white telescope sitting off to the side of the room, and Valerie watched as his aura seemed to fluctuate again as the other side of him fought for control.

Once again, Phantom screwed his eyes shut and fought the aura down, allowing his natural white glow to pulsate over his form brighter than before. 

“Can we take this outside?” he asked, his voice tight. “This room is...distracting.”

Valerie allowed her arm to drop, her gun hanging loosely at her side. “Sure.”

“Ok, I need to...I need to slip back into it to close the observatory walls. I can’t access those powers in this form. I’m not dangerous in that state, so please don’t shoot me.”

She nodded, momentarily forgetting that he couldn’t see her with his eyes shut. But he seemed to hear the unspoken words regardless. The blues, greens, and purples of his aura swirled around him, overtaking his aura in a brilliant display of light. The stars and planets returned to his face, and when he finally opened his eyes, it was as if Valerie could see the entire Milky Way within his corneas.

He raised his arms, his face relaxed, and allowed his aura to seep out to the walls. The room glowed, and Valerie watched with an open mouth as the incandescent colors of the northern lights guided the observatory walls closed. They cascaded through the walls before finally dimming, leaving Phantom as the only remaining source of light.

“Okay,” he said, the childlike bubble to his voice echoing around the room. “Let’s go!”

Before she could blink, Phantom grabbed her arm and spread his aura out around her. She let out a yelp of protest before she could feel a familiar chill overtake her skin.

Phantom was...he was turning her intangible. 

“Ready?” He asked. His eyes seemed to glow brighter in the dark.

Valerie looked up at him, breathless.

He grinned and pulled her forward, shooting them both through the walls. They flew up for a moment before shooting back down towards a cluster of trees. 

Valerie had flown on her hoverboard many times, but this was incredible. It was as if gravity didn’t exist. Her body was weightless, flowing across the air with a precision that she’d never felt before.

But as soon as it started, it stopped. The duo landed on the ground, and Phantom broke contact with her. Warmth immediately filled her veins. She glanced back towards the observatory, but the trees blocked her view.

That was probably intentional, if Phantom’s earlier display of cognitive dissonance had anything to do with it.

Valerie waited once more, watching as Phantom’s aura seemed to waver, before settling back into white. When it seemed like he was more or less back to normal, she finally spoke. “Okay, explain. What do you mean you have two Obsessions? How is that possible?” 

“I don’t know.” Phantom’s gaze was downcast. “I mean, my, uh...death was rather, um, complicated. I think.”

She raised an eyebrow. 

Ghosts never talked about their death. According to Maddie Fenton, it was a taboo. Bringing the topic up would only result in angering the ghost.

So for Phantom to bring his own death up like this…

This was uncharted waters for any human.

This was serious.

Phantom pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t explain it, but it didn’t go right. I don’t—I can’t…” He huffed, his eyes turning up to her with an almost desperate look. “You must have noticed that I’m just different, right?”

Valerie nodded slowly. “I have, but you’re still just a ghost.”

Phantom’s eyes widened before turning back to the ground. “Right. I...no, you’re right. I’m just a ghost. But I…”

Valerie watched as his eyebrows pinched, his mouth thinning as something inside of him fought to surface. She wanted to speak, wanted to ask what did he mean when he said he was different, but she didn’t.

She couldn’t. 

She didn’t know what to say.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quiet. “When I died, it went wrong. And my core couldn’t decide on what it wanted to be, so something inside of it fractured. One part of it focused on the people in the room with me, the people that I was worried about. I wanted to make sure they were safe. My friends. I wanted to protect them.”

Valerie held her breath.

According to studies, most ghosts didn’t remember their prior life, or the people in it. Memory loss was just a part of the process of transforming from human to ghost.

And yet…

Phantom clearly did.

“The other part of my core went to the thing I was doing just moments before. I was...I wanted to explore. I always loved space and astronomy. I wanted to work for NASA and see other worlds and...other dimensions. I know it sounds crazy, but it was just who I was. Who I still am.”

He looked up at her, and Valerie saw remnants of stars speckle in his eyes. “So my core settled on two modes. And depending on where I am or what I’m doing, it switches between them. My powers shift too. When I’m normal, I can project ectoblasts and control ice. But when I go into my space mode, I can’t do any of that. But I can control astronomy equipment, as you saw, and I can locate any star or planet in the sky.”

“So that’s how you knew where to move the telescope?” 

“Yeah.” He held out his hand, and a little ice Saturn formed in his palm. “I don’t know how I know where things are, but I just know. But it only happens when I let that part of my core take control of my body.”

“I see.” Valerie breathed out. “I get it. I get why you don’t want anyone to know. That’s kind of terrifying, knowing that you have a half of you that’s so defenseless.”

“Right…” Phantom set the planet down on the grass. “If word got out...if the government found out…”

Realization hit Valerie like a truck. “They could set up a trap, couldn’t they? Lure you into a place like this and take you out. It would be too easy.”

“Exactly,” Phantom said bitterly. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

Phantom nodded, relief evident on his features. “Thank you, Valerie.”

Before she could stop herself, she stepped forward. And then again, approaching him slowly as if she were afraid he would disappear. 

But he didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.

He trusted her. Even after everything, he trusted her with one of his most vulnerable secrets.

She closed the gap between them, resting a hand on his shoulder and looking him square in the face. “I mean it, Phantom. I won’t tell anyone. Well, so long as you promise me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Bring me back here sometime, alright?” She shot him a grin. “This place is pretty cool, and if I have some sort of space wizard with me, I bet we could find a lot of sweet stuff, yeah?”

His aura brightened, and the smile was evident on his face. “Sure thing, Val!”

---

Thanks for reading!

[freshouttaparsnips]

But, despite his best efforts, Edge was awake before him that morning, noticing that Papyrus was nowhere to be found, waking Sans on the couch with a near violent shake. Sans glared up at him, Edge glaring back before whispering a harsh “Sorry. Where’s your brother.”

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woooo, this fic won the poll from the Helping-A-Friend Drive (sorta, it was a two way tie and I chose this), so it’s getting updated until its done!!

ya’ll might read back a bit, this is chapter 9 lol

reader it on Ao3

or read it below!!

(and check out the post explaining my drive and how to help!)

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It wasn’t very long after the Fell brothers showed up, perhaps a week at most that Sans felt a change in the air. It was familiar, unfortunately, and it… was coming at a really bad time, actually. Neither of the dust bros would have any idea of what to do about any of it, which was a problem all on its own.

The actual issue was something else entirely, but he couldn’t really be honest about it. Grillby was the only one of anyone that knew anything about it, and Sans would really have rather kept it that way.

But, despite his best efforts, Edge was awake before him that morning, noticing that Papyrus was nowhere to be found, waking Sans on the couch with a near violent shake. Sans glared up at him, Edge glaring back before whispering a harsh “Sorry. Where’s your brother.”

Sans blinked. “What’dya mean? Isn’t he usually out runnin’ with you around now?”

Edge was quiet for a disconcertingly long time, before finally answering. “Normally, yes, we would be halfway done with our run.” He glanced up the stairs at Papyrus’ room, the door firmly shut, the “No One Allowed!” sign hung.

Well. At least Paps had done Sans the decency of putting the sign up. That was always nice.

“It’s alright buddy.” Sans finally drawled, scratching at his back as he sat up. “But we should head out for a while. Grab your bro and lets skedaddle.”

Edge looked about two seconds from arguing, but Sans deadeyed him long enough that he scowled, turning on heel and stomping up the steps.

It was a good thing Paps had his room soundproofed when they came up here. That was for damn sure.

Red finally tromped down the steps after a very grumpy Edge, the two of them looking like they were about to start a fire for fun or something if Sans didn’t start explaining himself pretty quick. Good thing he had about zero plans to.

“Alright, grab your coats, kiddos, we’re goin’ on a field trip.”

He didn’t give them much actual time to argue, grabbing them both by the arm and taking a short cut the straight hell outta there. Papyrus didn’t need the two of them breathing down his neck while he was dealing with shit… and none of the running had to do with Sans not wanting to be anywhere near the house for a while, nope.

No, this was entirely pragmatic, beneficial for all of them, and they could pick up a few of the essentials on the way there.

~.~

It took a couple pit stops, and a bit of dodging whenever they actually got to their destination, but when Sans finally let them get a good look at their surroundings, the bones stopped flying (he was pretty sure they weren’t actually aiming for him), and their sockets got wide.

Living on the west coast had its benefits, mostly the ocean. Sans took the kid out here at least once a month, Toriel usually accompanying them for the sole reason that she actually really enjoyed sunbathing. Wasn’t cause she and Sans had been best friends for a long ass time, ‘course not.

“Is that…” Edge started, before stopping as Sans stuff a plastic bag first in his, then Red’s hands.

“The ocean? Yeah, don’t go too far out or we’ll see if skeletons can actually drown.” Turning to Red, he gave a wink. “There changing rooms over yonder, I got you both a t-shirt and trunks. I hope they fit.”

And with that he turned on foot, heading straight down towards the beach, the water looking as chilly and inviting as possible on such a warm day. It was a shame… Papyrus would have loved to see the utter hidden joy in Edge’s eyes as he grabbed Red and pulled him towards the changing rooms.

Sans let them at it, it wasn’t like they were going anywhere else with this opportunity right in front of them, and besides, Sans had someone he’d been waiting to see for a while.

“Sans!! Sans you little goofbone, we are over here!” Toriel’s voice carried over the crowd, but Sans didn’t give a shit who looked to see who was shouting. He only had eyes for the Queen of all Monsters, and the child that sat on a beach blanket next to her.

“Heya Tori. Long time no see.” He answered, padding through the sand to stand next to their little picnic spot. The kid was chomping down on a sandwich, a little juice box next to them on the blanket. Toriel was laid out, like usual, but was sitting up a little to greet little old him. “Nice to sea you.”

Toriel laughed, the sound loud and abrasive in the best of ways. Taking a breath, she grinned sharp. “Shell we settle down and talk a little? Perhaps ketchup on current events?” She held up a ketchup packet, Sans snorting at the obvious pun before he waddled close enough to plop next to her on the blanket.

“Yeah, that sounds great actually.” Settling in, he wiggled into her ample back, ignoring her laughter as she swatted at him, though still letting him lay where he wanted.

“So who are your guests?” Toriel finally asked, watching Frisk, who’d given Sans a look before taking off towards the water.

Sans sighed, really not wanting to spill the beans so early, but Toriel had actually figured it out on her own pretty quick. When he’d gotten a call, the texting not working on her phone again for whatever stars forsaken reason, she’d mentioned going to the beach, and he’d agreed to come. Then Papyrus coming had been brought up, and Sans was really bad at lying actually, when he thought about it.

“They’re cousins. I think. I dunno skeleton family lines, we probably aren’t even related.”

Toriel hummed to herself. “How fortunate. The tall one is very fine.”

Sans choked on air, tears breaking over his sockets as he laughed. “What the hell!” he garbled out, though he watched as Edge and Red slowly made their way over, clearly unnerved by the amount of humans.

“I only speak the truth.” Toriel whispered, sure of herself as she smirked, standing to her full height to greet the murder bros.

“Hello! I’m told you are not related to Sans, but that you know him. You are very welcome to share in our picnic, I brought plenty of food.”

Red was staring gobsmacked, clearly looking for similarities in the Toriel he’d once known, while Edge was looking purely intimidated.

“I… Thank you, your majesty, but we couldn’t possibly-” Edge tried, but Toriel only gave him a look.

She gently took his hand from his chest, patting it once before leading him over to the blanket. “When I say there’s enough, there’s enough. Take a break, guardsman, you’re no longer in the presence of royalty.”

Sans was pretty well gobsmacked himself, if he was honest, but sitting there on the blanket, watching Toriel work the brothers in the sly, kind way she did everyone that started out difficult… it was awe inspiring.

He only hoped Paps was okay, this time.

[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part ii

part i    part iii  AO3 

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 2.918

Warnings: some mild sexual content and swearings, like usual

Author’s note: okay, i know this one's a little short but i promise there'll be more coming on the next chapter, i promise.

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The first time Bell showed her face at Langley, it was two weeks after the program. She wore beige, a ruffled high-neck blouse that made her hazel eyes, like charred nut shells, hard and just about indestructible, popped.

She stood at the lobby, regarding the place like she’d waltzed into a wrong banquet hall, the band played in the background, chandeliers dripping like arctic icicles, the bar drenched in opulent gold.

She didn’t belong here.

But Adler met her there, anyway, Hudson in tow.

“Have I ever done something to him?” Bell asked after the rather short-lived meeting, squinting at the vacant spot Hudson left them. She’d yielded very few words. When she did, it’d been all business, crisp, so it surprised him now to hear her uttering something with more than 2 syllables.

“What do you mean?”

“Have I deliberately done something to piss him off?” she elaborated, quieter, but the glower remained.

Adler carefully studied her behind his tinted shades. It still troubled him to a degree that he couldn’t read her. Like she locked herself off. They say eyes are the window to the soul, but thus far, he saw nothing. Fuck the poets.

“No. At least, not as far as I can tell,” he grits out, curious to see where she was heading with the conversation. “Why?”

Bell hummed, but seemingly unconvinced. A beat, then: “He doesn’t seem to like me that much.”

You don’t belong here, he thought and his face went cagier, back stiffer, but no doubt intrigued. Very much so by this mysteriously curious creature.

Perceptive and diamond-sharp intelligent, he pondered. They might have secured the bag after all.

“It's not you. That’s just as warm and fuzzy you’ll see Hudson with everyone, trust me,” he uttered, hoping that she bought the fib. She did. At least, he thought so. “Come on, Bell, we’ve got a job to do.”

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Adler finds her outside the garage the next night, smoking alone, reading in secret. The ground is still wet from the rain, straggling cloud wisps and every artery of this place fucking freezes his bones. Bell ditches her gloves inside, but has her coat on, the collar popped up like antennae.

"You aren't cold?" he asks when she doesn’t notice him. Too engrossed in her own bubble. She does look better, though. Park is right about that one at least.

"I'm good," she answers without looking up. "Am I needed for something inside?"

"No, just thought I could use some fresh air."

He’s studying her, raking her from head to toe. Suddenly, he doesn’t care if she would notice him. Then he steps closer, standing next to her, lifting his cigarette to his mouth.

“What are you reading?”

There’s something about this secret element to her that has him on his toes. Everything about her is curious- frustratingly curious, careful, as Bell rolls her neck to meet him. In the low light, she looks quite new, he learns. And his eyes beg for him to linger.  

“Amerika. Kafka,” she says. “Have you read it?”

A subtle shake of his head and, “No.” While Bell nods, silent, like she doesn't know what else to say to him. “Should I? Give it a read?” Adler adds, just to keep the conversation going.

She shrugs, a cloud of smoke escaping her nostrils. “I can’t say that Kafka is ever a favorite of mine, but he really is sui generis. And Amerika is probably the most approachable of all his works? It’s funny too.”

“I never thought I’d hear Kafka and funny in the same sentence.”

“Yeah, well, it’s very subtle. And if only you can understand his nightmarish sense of humor, that is,” she explains, shrugging again, like she’s embarrassed. “I don’t know, maybe you’ll like it.”

Frankly, he hates Kafka. He hates his vatic, dead-eye vision of the world; that acute sense of hopelessness clinging onto his main protagonists like vines, but Adler finds himself nodding, anyway.

“Sure, lend me your copy once you're done with it." If she’s surprised by his answer, she does not tell her. But Adler thinks she’s smiling though- just the barest quirk of her lips, but it’s enough for him to know that she appreciates the gesture.

A brief, unmapped silence ensues.

"I'm sorry, by the way."

Adler arches an eyebrow at her. "For what?"

Bell slots a bookmark into the book, closes it, frowns at it.

"For yesterday. I, uh… I feel like I was being insolent to you.”

He looks sidelong at Bell and tries to read her. Her expression is raw and open, a painting visible through a small tear in the paper. For some reason, that catches him by surprise.

“You already apologized, you know?” Adler teases lamely.

“I know, but still it was uncalled for and very unprofessional of me. You’re my CO, not some random BND agent I’m forced to work with. I shouldn’t have said that," she mumbles softly and sighs, world-weary, heavy, sounding like a woman twice her age. "It will not happen again. I promise you."

"Hey, consider it water under the bridge, kid. You’re in a rather rough place right now, I wouldn’t hold it against you,” he tells her, fond. “What matters is you’re alright. We can’t catch Perseus if you’re green around the gills.”

Her eyes meet his. He meets her back.

“Thank you.” And Bell rotates her body to face him. Mussed brunette hair and sharp cheekbones, mouth kinked up in sympathy as she says, “Is this what you have to put up with all these years?"

He summons a smirk. "With you? More or less."

And then the woman does the unexpected; Bell laughs. She fucking laughs. Delicate sounding, like a tinkling glass, petals wrapped in satin, moonbeams through frosted windows. It dies, too soon to his liking. Adler privately lets the sound of her laughter replays in his head, as if trying to pocket it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s only after Ukraine when he discovers that she smells different. That wintry floral smell of hers that he’s accustomed to is commingling with something else.

But now-

Now, there's music in the air.

Sims does this sometimes, bringing his Zenith Trans-Oceanic, or as he would call it the Tranny, to the safehouse and they would tune in to international radio stations. Cream's Sunshine Of Your Love is playing- or more specifically, their song is 5 seconds away from being cut off abruptly by the DJ. The song reminds him of Vietnam, regrettably. The root of all madness.

“Next up, is my favorite ever track-to-track transition on an album. This is Pink Floyd’s Brain Damage and-”

Adler stops whatever it is he’s scribbling. He sits up, ramrod straight.

“Mind switching to another station?” he asks suddenly, glances up at Sims quickly who, as Adler suspected, is giving him a rather odd look.

“Why?”

"I've always hated Pink Floyd." Only because he’s out of reason. Only because he can feel Bell’s confused stare, searing into his temple. Only because it’s the only way of escaping this. "Change it, please."

Sims opens his mouth. The unspoken: how about that time in Denver?

The telling jerk of Adler’s lips warns him not to ask.

The other man clamps his mouth shut, seemingly gets the message and switches to a different station. He never brings his radio again.

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Frank Woods is exactly how Adler saw him last time- or since Hue City, that is: tigerish and intimidating- a kick in the head voice, a hurricane in the shape of a man and he is making his way to him right now.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?”

"So talk."

Woods shakes his head. "Not here."

Adler looks at him at last now, curiosity creeping over him. He then stubs his cigarette, nods once and leads them both to his office.

Once they’re inside, he locks the door, secures the blinds.

“What is it?” Adler takes a seat behind his desk. Woods remains standing. He paces around the room, a hand on his bearded chin.

“What the fuck is going on with your girl?”

Adler doesn’t know which one is worse, the fact that Woods manages to sniff out something going on with Bell or that he just addresses her as his girl. Either way, it's bad. Either way, Adler should have expected the former issue. Woods is astute as he is dangerous. There's a reason why the CIA gave the green light for Mason and Hudson to save him in Da Nang all those years ago, after all.

"What about her?" Adler asks, even-toned, giving nothing away. Even though he is in the ‘need to know’ column regarding Bell’s brainwashing, this is something Adler initially wishes he could keep under wraps.

“Don’t bullshit me, Adler. She has that look on her face- I see it in her eyes. The exact same look Mason has been wearing since ‘Nam,” Woods tells him, point-blank, never being the one to settle for niceties. After Hudson, Adler thinks he simply can’t tolerate the agency anymore.

“I saw it all, remember? Had a fucking front row seat to his relapse and shit, so don’t tell me she’s alright. Not when it looks like she could snap out of it any moment.” Woods has his hands on the table and looks at him dead-on. “Tell me I’m right. Tell me there is something wrong with her.”

He regards the other man coolly. Woods is no longer asking. Adler is out of move.

“You're right,” he answers simply, eventually, tipping his king over on its side, stopping the clock. "Did you talk to Hudson regarding this?"

"Since when did I report to Agent stick-up-his-ass? Fuck no. That's why I came straight to you.” Woods heaves a heavy sigh, like he’s the one with all these burdens. “Now, what the hell’s wrong with her?”

“She’s suffering from brain damage."

“Shit. All that ‘cause of MK-Ultra?”

“One of the few factors that caused it, yes.”

His mouth goes flat. "How bad is it?”

“Bad. We’re trying to minimize for any collateral as we speak, at least until we finally get our hands on Perseus. But she… she might not make it.” Adler leans back in his chair, like his body feels heavy all of the sudden.

Woods nods. Uncharacteristically silent, looking strangely contemplative, sympathetic even. That should be categorized as an oddity itself, Woods and him, two proud Americans, Vietnam veterans and she’s just another red, another blood they would indubitably sacrifice for their country and they’re sympathizing with her? Yet something deep inside Adler, something resonates like the throat of a storm, sinks its teeth into him, confounds him, every time he thinks of her.

Woods crosses his arms over his chest, glances at the door, as if someone might knock anytime soon, then back to him.

"So, what's the plan?" He quickly adds, "if things go south, what are you gonna do?"

"It won't come to that. She'll come through, I know it," Adler counters, suddenly defensive. Whatever the use of his tone indicates, Woods ignores it.

"You sure about that?”

"Are you doubting me?” Adler spits out a retort. A quiet fury grasps him tight, but he forces himself to keep under a tight lid.

Woods holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"Look, I’m just saying, that woman is a loose cannon- you can’t be too careful."

"We have everything under control, Woods. And this is the least of your worry right now."

"Alright, okay. If you say you and Park have her contained already, then fine. I trust you,” he says and heads for the door.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Woods says again. He’s facing the door, back to him. “Whatever happens, keep Mason in the dark about any of this."

“Of course. He isn’t on a need to know basis from the very start, you know that.”

"Good. ‘cause the less he knows the better." Woods pauses like he's constructing an entire sentence in his head. He peers over his shoulder. "I mean it. He’s been through enough. I don’t know which ground you crawled up from, but up here, some people implement this kind of civility to other people.”

The words sting, yet Adler stares back at him, seemingly unfazed. "What, you’re saying that I’m simply heartless?”

“Nah,” Woods says, satirical and sardonic. “You’re just Adler.” And with that, he’s gone.

1976

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It was eight o'clock on a mid-September evening and Adler found himself coming home to an empty house.

His wife had already left a week prior, crossing the country with a self-proclaimed film critic she'd met at the premiere of The Shining last summer, but Adler didn't know that yet.

He went to the kitchen. Dropped his suitcase, pulled off his coat and scarf. He reeked of cigarettes, cheap air freshener and jet fuel- air travel is simply sickening, in terms of its cost and smell- and in a desperate need of a hot bath.

"Honey?" He switched the lights on. She wasn't here. So Adler headed upstairs, to their room where they would rest their bones every night for the past 15 years. The door was slightly ajar. He expected to see her sleeping from under the duvet, hair splaying all over the pillow.

What he found was a folded note on his bedside table. He stared at it, his heart at his throat, fearing the worst, the unimaginable. He picked the letter and unfolded it.

Forgive me.

Russell,

Live or die, but don't poison everything .

His head did pirouette. So, this was it. This was what it felt like, he thought.

Not heartbreak, not sadness. But a collapse of the world- his world and all he could do was watch from the sidelines.

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1981

Adler stares at the words now, sleeves rolled up, anatomical heart. The paper is fading, wrinkled and it smells like smoke and decay and tears, capped with something akin to regret.

It has his name on it, begins with it, and ends with an apology, written in cursive. Like microscopic snakes dancing around his peripheral vision, hissing in his ears.

Live or die, but don't poison everything.

No one likes to be told that they are sick, but Russell Adler has learned to acknowledge it, embrace it, weaponize it. Her words mean zero shit to him now. You can't condemn someone to the depths of hell when it's the only place he's known all his life.

So, he takes the letter for the last time, remembering how the ink used to smudge his calloused fingers, crumples it up, that satisfying crunch dins in his palm, and tosses it into the fireplace.

The paper crackles. Good fucking riddance. It really takes all this time for him to grow the guts, apparently, and he just stares and stares as the fire begins to engulf everything, wiping away his past failure.

He promises he would never fail again, at anything. No matter what the cost, failure is never going to be an option.

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Bell arrives at the garage with frantic eyes, a half-burnt cigarette between her lips and uncharacteristically late. Color peppering her cheeks- red, like an apple bitten into.

“I’m sorry, I overslept,” is her excuse, but she’s looking at the room strangely, he thinks, almost like she’s seeking a particular face.

When she makes her way to her desk, when she whizzes past him by the board and her planet is entering his orbit for the first time in the morning, Adler, as if by accident or by design, inhales deeply.

His breath snags.

She smells like someone else.

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(Someone fucked her last night)

The telephone rings in the distance.

“Sims. Yeah, sure, let me get him. Hold on.” He puts the call on hold. “Doc, you might wanna take this one.”

(Someone was in her bed; beside her, above her, under her. Inside her. He imagines her fingers digging into the mattress as they rolled her onto her stomach, mouth trailing down the ladder of her spine. Their breaths intermingled in the seraphic glow of her hotel room)

Adler mechanically crosses the room and picks the receiver.

“Adler.”

(If he herds her away from prying eyes and pushes down the collar of her shirt, would he see the evidence there, taunting him? If he kisses her, would he taste them instead of her? )

"Perhaps," he says over the phone, his face hard. "But my decision is final. I'm sending Woods and Mason to Yamantau. They'll leave in a few days."

(Did they make her come?)

"Of course. Why do you think I chose them for this mission?"

(If she made them?)

“Most likely, but we're prepared for this- you know we are," Adler says, customer service polite, an old recording on a playback. "Right. Well, that concludes the matter then. Yeah, you have a wonderful day to yourself.”

Adler hangs up the telephone. Breathes out a sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose for a few good seconds, before remembering that he has an audience.

"Oof. Sounds rough," comments Sims, dark eyes slanting in concern.

(Maybe she likes that, rough. Teeth biting the back of her shoulder, that sweet juxtaposition of pain and pleasure coursing through their veins, his hand curling around her throat from behind as she pants and mewls like-)

(But this isn’t about him. Never about him)

"That's one way to put it."

Someone else fucked her. It shouldn't leave an acrid taste in his mouth, but it does.

[essays-for-breakfast]

One Candle Still Flickers

Melizabethweek Day 2: Heaven and Hell

Please note that this piece contains mentions of blood and violence. If this makes you uncomfortable, turn away now.

Scorching heat. Blistering cold. Air that burns the lungs and tears at the sensitive tissue in the throat until even screams of agonizing pain become an impossible feat. And oh, does he scream.

Compared to even the foulest depths of Meliodas’ wretched hellscape of a home, the Demon Realm, Purgatory offers a charming hospitality no one can withstand for long. He tries, of course. Tells himself that he overcame worse pain, that the frostbites on his arms and the iron taste of blood in his mouth don’t compare to all 106 times he watched Elizabeth die, and that the shredded skin on his fingertips is an illusion summoned by his father.

After all, only Meliodas’ emotions roam the desolate canyons.

The weakest part of himself trapped in the cruelest part of the world.

Somewhere in the smoke-heavy clouds, obscured by the constant ash rain from volcanic activity, the Demon King laughs. Meliodas spits out a lump of blood and sends the towering frame of his father a humorless grin. At least one of them is having fun.

The next step costs him more energy than he has to give, and Meliodas falls to his knees. More ash under his fingernails, another lungful of distillated fume eager to kill him. The searing pain while his illusory organs devolve to embers for the thousandths time almost entices a begrudging respect for his father out of him. He has defied the scorching heat and the blistering cold since the end of the Holy War, and he still has the liveliness to laugh at Meliodas’ failed attempts to escape.

For how long have they played this game now? How many years, decades, and eons have passed since the curse pulled Meliodas into Purgatory?

He doesn’t know. The creator of this ugly fusion between a glacier and a volcano hasn’t bothered to install a clock.

Ash flakes tumble from above and leave black scars on the back of Meliodas’ hand. The forefinger twitches in a desperate struggle to hold onto life, hope, anything that will help him stand again.

“Elizabeth…” he whispers.

“Will you die with the witch’s name on your lips too?” The Demon King’s voice thunders in Meliodas’ head, and a fiery eruption from the nearest volcano punctuates his words.

Meliodas pushes himself on his forearms. “You made sure I can’t die, remember? You’re getting rusty, old man.”

“Your insolent tongue is just as worthless as the entirety of your emotions. They only hinder you from becoming my successor.”

“I’ll gladly take my insolent tongue over a world where I become like you.”

The Demon King points a finger the size of a grown man at Meliodas. “There is no stopping it now. As we speak, my loyal subjects are gathering the Ten Commandments, and your body will soon fuse with their magic. Then neither the Seven Deadly Sins nor your dear goddess will be able to stand against the reborn Demon King.”

“Then I guess I just have to find the exit before that happens.”

The Demon King’s laugh rings for a long time between the twisted rock formations. Meliodas climbs to his knees, but his shell of a body refuses to support the weight of his worries. More ash under his fingernails, another lungful of distillated fume eager to kill him. Another century gone by without a glint of success, without a glimmer of hope.

Purgatory may never kill him. But to survive in this world is to endure endless suffering where despair gnaws at him with every step until he loses himself in shapeless shadows, destined to wander the lava riversides and blizzard-coated mountain peaks for the rest of time.

Meliodas takes another step.

For her. Elizabeth.

He has to return to Britannia before the Demon King can reach his horrid claw around her. Before the curse claims her life anew.

Her face, in the variant as princess of Liones and all the incarnations before her, keeps Meliodas upright and pushes him to scale another cliffside, even as his field of vision shrinks and the shadows at the edge take over.

Golden Warmth. A liberating breeze. Puffy fine-weather clouds as far as the eye can see, an entire ocean of them. And in between these white waves float islands with alabaster towers and grass so eternally green it can only exist in a place far beyond all destructive influences. An endless summer sun caresses his neck.

Meliodas digs his fingers into the ground where he fell, although he hardly feels the sharp pebbles anymore.

Why do the memories of the Celestial Realm return to him now? Elizabeth, the very first incarnation he fell in love with, took him to her home once. They played a dangerous game of hide and seek with the countless Goddess warriors there. If even one of them had seen through Meliodas pathetic disguise, at least one of the parties involved would have lost their head. Despite the threat of discovery, Elizabeth dragged him to all her favorite places with a cheer she rarely allowed herself to show. A vast field of golden wheat hems. The top of an abandoned tower, half destroyed and seized by ivy tendrils.

Amidst the bloodshed of the Holy War and despite the feud that divides their clans, Elizabeth offered Meliodas a hand. With nothing but a smile and her belief in the good in others, she pulled him out of hell. Shoulder to shoulder with her, he saw heaven for the first time.

“Elizabeth,” Meliodas says. He hardly recognizes his voice. “I let you down again. If it’s always ending like this, why’d you take my hand that day? Why didn’t you give up on me?”

The warmth of her presence is so very far away. Where she used to stroke his arms, only freezing numbness remains. Where she used to kiss him, his lips only taste the burning aridity of Purgatory.

But even if she is so very far away, an incarnation of Elizabeth is still out there, alive. Maybe she is standing amidst the chaos of magical and hellfire explosions and leads the war against the cruel fangs of darkness as she always did. Maybe she is gazing into a star-sprinkled sky and waits for his return. Maybe she still believes he will fulfill his promise and free her of her curse.

A blood-red vail has overtaken Meliodas’ vision. When he struggles out of the dust to his feet, he has lost his humanoid shape. A shadow stands in his place, a perversion of the dragon creature with which he shares the name of his sin. Wrath.

Somewhere hidden in the smoke screens, the Demon King triumphs. At last, his son’s emotions have given into hopelessness.

But in a place deep in the insides of the shadow dragon, Meliodas keeps a flame alight. Elizabeth’s face kindles the spark, her gentle hands shield the candle against the hurricanes and hailstorms, and her voice, filled with tireless encouragement, nurtures the beacon.

She fought for him during the Holy War. They fought for each other against the overwhelming might of gods. Even if she is so very far away, Meliodas will fight for her.

As the shadow to her light.

Scorching heat. Blistering cold. Claws that dig into the most treacherous slopes carry him forward, step by step. He tears through Purgatory’s pitiful inhabitants and shreds any creature that hinders his search for the exit. For a moment, he may lose himself and taste this senseless wrath the Demon King wants him to dissolve into. But the flame inside endures.

Years, decades, and eons go by, glaciers melt and magma chambers freeze, while Meliodas fights. For her. Elizabeth.

The dragon creature which serves as Meliodas’ shell roars and bares its teeth. His current opponent is of the nasty type. He doesn’t yield. Neither does Meliodas.

They slam each other into the rock formations, break each other’s bones, and throw themselves at the other as though this brawl is all they’ve ever known and all that ever mattered.

Meliodas should hate his opponent. After all he, aside from the Demon King, stands as the only one with the power to deter his escape. And yet… this gritty, pesky bastard he crushes and is getting crushed by has the air of familiarity to him. Meliodas knows his fighting style. Furthermore, he knows all too well the flame that convinces his opponent to strike blow after blow until they collapse into a heap of limps and shadows.

They both feel the exhaustion in each haggard breath. And yet they both won’t die.

Meliodas’ opponent mumbles something. His words have never quite reached through the shadows clogging Meliodas’ senses, but they gain a new clarity now that the frenzy of battle flees him.

“…holding out for you in the land of the living,” a familiar voice says. “And I… want to see the woman who means the world to me.”

Yeah. I do too.

[yeosangsleftbicep]

sand, salt, and tears

series information:

pairing: Johnny x reader, Jaehyun x reader

summary: You have a boring job at the beach for the summer, but one day your life is spiced up after meeting a handsome lifeguard named Johnny and all of his friends.

genre: lifeguard au, summertime romance

warnings/themes: alcohol, drugs, (eventually maybe) smut, fluff, second-lead syndrome (?), angst, love-triangles, jealousy

"I’m here to help, you’re gonna be okay."

Ch.1

warnings: blood (small injury), swearing

word count: 2.1k

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You never intended for the summer between your sophomore and junior years of college to be packed with hard work and stress. In fact, you thought that having a part-time job in a beach town would be quite the opposite. That it would be full of seasonal flings, sunburns, and plenty of time relaxing on the beach enjoying your sappy romance novels. Instead, your absolute bitch of a boss, Cindy, had you working 35 hours a week wiping tables and taking orders, sometimes even being a substitute bartender if it was a busy night. Luckily for you, your best friend Karina also decided to take the plunge into the world of summer waitressing with you, and the two of you had almost every shift together. But still, you would much rather be stretched out underneath the sun right now than punching your 100th order of the morning into the restaurant’s computer system. You sigh aloud at the thought of the salt water lapping at the shore, seagulls flapping around while the local surf rock station plays quietly on the radio in the sand next to you.

“Y/N!!” an obnoxious voice shouts, shaking you out of your seashore reverie. Your eyes refocus just in time to see Cindy storming towards you in anger, her eyes scrunched with a fury that only ever comes out when you’ve messed up. “You’ve been standing there for 2 minutes doing nothing,” she hisses through her teeth. “Pull yourself together. You only have a half hour left on your shift, and then you’re free to be as useless as you want.”

“Sorry,” you mumble under your breath, holding back a sarcastic retort to the last part of Cindy’s criticism. You punch the order into the system and sweep yourself back into the dining room to do rounds and check on the tables that you’ve already served food to.

---

True to her word, Cindy released you from hell 30 minutes later. As quickly as possible, you strip off your apron and change into one of your favorite blue bikinis in the employee bathroom, wanting to hit the beach as soon as possible. You find Karina waiting outside the restaurant in her white Jeep Wrangler, roof and doors removed for the warm summer weather. On the rare days when the two of you don’t share a shift, this is always your routine. Karina picks you up at the end of your 2 o’clock shift and drives the two of you to the beach where you spend the next four hours basking in the sun and body-boarding in the water.

Today is no different, and the two of you soon find yourselves spreading out your towels and slathering yourselves in sunscreen, preparing for an afternoon of the reason you truly came to the small beach town this summer: relaxing. After an hour or so of sunbathing and reading some rather spicy parts of your latest romance novel, you and Karina decide it’s time for a dip in the ocean. “Hey, Y/N, go check what the water temperature is so we can mentally prepare ourselves before turning into popsicles in the ocean,” Karina giggles, gesturing towards the nearest lifeguard stand. You nod in agreement and make your way over to the back of the tall white chair where information such as water temperature and high tide is usually posted. As you near the stand however, you notice that instead of temperatures and warnings, someone had written the words ‘Ask me!’ over the chalkboard.

You glance up at the lifeguard to try and catch their eye, but an umbrella has been propped sideways to block a northward wind, preventing you from being able to see the person sitting there. “Excuse me!” you shout, hand shielding your eyes from the sun as you make your way around to the front of the stand. “Is everything okay?” a gentle voice responds. The lifeguard, a rather lanky, handsome man with black hair brushing the top of his ears, leans over. “Everything’s fine,” you respond with a timid smile. “I was just wondering what the water temperature is?”

The man’s form visibly relaxes as he realizes that there was no emergency and you just wanted some information. “Oh! Yeah, the temperature is 67°,” the lifeguard responds.

“Okay, thank you!” you shout, turning away to walk back to where Karina was waiting.

“Wait! Are you planning on boarding at all?” he asks, forcing you to turn around. He glances over at Karina and the boogie boards lying on the sand next to her while she watches us.

“Um, yeah. Is that okay?” you respond, placing your hands on your hips.

“Of course, of course! You should just know that there’s some serious undertow and a pretty strong rip current in this area today. If you get pulled out just swim parallel to the beach to get back in or signal if you need help,” he smiles helpfully.

“Oh. Thanks, but I think I’ll be okay,” you nod. “I’ve been coming to this beach and boarding since I was a little kid.”

The lifeguard just shrugs and sits down, but you can feel his eyes on you and Karina as the two of you grab your boards and dive into the frigid waves. Unfortunately for you, the lifeguard was quite right about the strong currents, and you spent half of your time in the water struggling to not be dragged down the entire length of the beach. After about a half hour of unsuccessfully attempting to catch some waves, Karina sighs and starts to swim in. “Maybe tomorrow will be better conditions. Neither of us are working so we can be out here all day if you want,” she exclaims, always the optimist. “Ok,” you reply. “I’m going to stay out here a little longer and then head in. Do you mind taking my board?”

You un-velcro the strap from your wrist and push the board towards Karina for her to drag it onto the sand. As soon as you let go of the board, you begin to realize just how much you were relying on it to keep you afloat in the strong current, especially considering you aren’t in an area where you can touch the bottom. After just a couple of minutes of treading water, you decide to follow Karina’s idea and begin to swim towards the shore. Karina sees you making her way towards her, but she waves her hands and shouts, pointing to the ocean behind you. A quick glance tells you that there’s a massive wave just seconds away from crashing on your head. “Shit,”  you curse, turning around and bracing yourself to be pommeled. Had you been farther out, you might have been given the chance to dive under the wave as it crested, but you were in the exact area that, when the wave finally arrived, the only thing you could do was take a deep breath and hope for the best.

As the wave crashes around you and catches you in it’s white waters, you tuck your knees into your chest, feeling yourself bounce around, your shins catching the sharp shells and rocks being thrown around you. After what feels like forever, you finally resurface, gasping for breath and a little red-faced from the embarrassment of wiping out, but still alive. And yet, something felt weird. As you catalogue your surroundings, you notice that you are farther from the shore than you were when you went under. Much farther. You try to plant your feet on the sand beneath you, but instead begin to sink below the surface. Having been tired out from fighting the waves for the past hour, you begin to panic, forgetting everything that the lifeguard had just told you about swimming out of rip currents.

In your own panicking and splashing around, you fail to notice someone swimming towards you. Someone wearing red swimming trunks with a bright orange buoy tied around their waist. When the lifeguard finally reaches you, he grabs your wrist to place your hand on the float, causing you to scream out in surprise, still not realizing that someone was there to save you.

“Shhh, shhhh calm down it’s okay,” the lifeguard says, reaching for your hand again. “I’m here to help, you’re gonna be okay.”

You try your hardest to hold in your tears as you grip onto the lifeguard’s buoy, but you feel like you can barely breath from the panic that you just experienced. You squeeze the orange plastic so tightly that your knuckles turn white, something that the lifeguard is quick to notice. “You’re going to be okay,” he once again reassures you. “What’s your name?” he asks in a soothing voice.

After a few deep gasps, you’re able to get out, “Y/N.”

The man smiles. “Hi, Y/N. I’m Johnny. I’m going to get you back to solid ground, okay? But I’m going to need you to stay calm for me, okay? Or else it’s going to be a lot harder for me.”

Unable to respond, you just rapidly shake your head, eager to have your feet touching the earth again. Johnny places one of his hands on the other side of the buoy, and uses his right arm to begin towing you back towards the shore. In no time, the water grows lighter as you and Johnny cut through the water, eventually reaching an area where you can once again stand. “Are you okay?” he asks, turning towards you with a worried sound to his voice. You once again nod, embarrassed to meet his eyes and not trusting your voice to be stable if you spoke.

Johnny gives you a once over, his eyes lingering on your knee. You follow his gaze and notice that during the wave, a shell must have gashed your leg open, and a steady flow of blood is now streaming through the cut on your knee. “Why don’t you come up to my stand and let me check that out?” Johnny asks, although it comes out as more of a command. “O-Okay,” you whisper. He places a steadying hand on your back and guides you up the sand to where Karina is waiting for you. “Oh. My. God,” Karina shrieks, seeing the injury on your leg. “She’ll be fine,” Johnny comments to her. “I just want to clean and bandage the cut to make sure that it doesn’t get infected.”

He guides you to sit down on a foldable chair at the base of the lifeguard stand while he climbs up to get a medical kit. “This might sting a bit,” Johnny apologizes in advance, opening the bag to pull out an alcohol wipe. “It’s okay, I can handle it,” you grimace.

“Just like you said you can handle the ocean?” Johnny asks, looking up with a small grin. “Sorry, too soon.”

“For your information,” you begin. “I would ordinarily be able to deal with that wave, no problem. I just wasn’t ready.”

“Mm-hm. I’m sure,” Johnny nods sarcastically.

“Hey,” you frown. “You don’t know me well enough to be making fun of me- HOLY SHIT THAT HURTS!”

You glance down to see Johnny dabbing at the wound on your leg with the cleansing cloth. “Sorry,” he grimaces. “I did try to warn you.”

Johnny goes to wipe at the cut again, another wave of pain rolling over you. You involuntarily reach out to squeeze the closest thing, which happens to be Johnny’s bare back as he’s bent over your knee. “Jesus, woman,” Johnny swears, pulling away as your nails dig into his skin in pain. Your hands shoot up to cover your mouth. “I’m so sorry!” you squeak. He sucks air in quickly through his teeth as he glances over his shoulder to look at the scratches you left on him. “I normally have to buy someone a few drinks before I get them to mark me like that,” he chuckles, turning his attention back to your leg, which he begins to cover with a bandage.

Your cheeks color a bright red at the suggestive comment, although luckily Johnny doesn’t glance up at that moment to see your embarrassment.

“There. All done,” Johnny says, gently patting your knee and standing up. “The next time I tell you to watch out for the rip, listen to me,” he orders, raising an eyebrow at me. “Yessir,” you say seriously, giving him a sarcastic little salute. Johnny’s grins. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

“See you around, Johnny,” you respond, slowly limping your way back to Karina.

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a/n: Please like if you enjoyed it so I know whether to keep writing!