#i can still use everything fine there's just some bright ass neon lines on the side now

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Watching the lefthand side of my phone screen steadily fill with more neon lines that are probably the result of the cracked screen

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

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

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

then he turns up at your door. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No human could ever look this good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“After you, please,” he says.

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

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

“Not as pretty as you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's just depressing, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Purple.”

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

You think it suits him better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Of course, you never do.)

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

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

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

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

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

You promptly roll off the sofa.

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

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

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

Ah. 

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

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

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

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

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

V looks utterly enraptured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go for it,” you say.

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

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

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

Just for an instant.

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

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

But then V laughs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

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

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

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

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

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

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

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

“Morning,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Thank God.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

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

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

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

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

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

So you do.)

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

“Morning.”

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

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

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

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

It’s… nice.

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[timextoxhajima]

The Boyz as things and feelings (just cause)

this is a small thing @haechanhues​ needed help with so i decided to make it an actual post uwu [this is gonna be pretty long cause i might write little scenarios]

[THE BOYZ AS THINGS AND FEELINGS]

SANGYEON - MIRRORS AND PILLOWS

mirrors make a place look bigger than it really is - i feel like sangyeon has that ability to make you feel like you’re more important on your worst days

the things he’ll do just to make sure you’re alright, even when he knows you’re not

he also has the ability to reflect what you need: sad? he’ll come and hug you and let you cry or talk about your shitty day. happy? he’ll joke about the way you snort while laughing then he’d probably do something dumb to keep the energy up there

mirrors also feel very private and at-home, and that exactly how i feel he curates an environment

pillows are self-explanatory ig, smth to cry into, smth to fall asleep with while hugging, has the best homely scents ever, very comfortable

i imagine going home after a long day and finding your partner also tired, but he’s cooking or like in the couch watching tv and he just invites you into his arms uwu

“tell me about everything! whatever that makes you happy or sad and i’ll try my best to be who you need at that point of time!”

JACOB - FLOWERS AND MUSIC

ok like jacob with a guitar is just a stellar sight to behold, he looks like he was born to hold one, and his vocals are super underrated imo, most of tbz’s discography doesnt really suit his voice - i really wish he had a chance to have more lines in more ballads or maybe even a solo thing

he would drag you out to go on walks after he knows you’ve buried yourself in your work the whole day, and he’d be the kind to stop at a pretty flower and contemplate plucking it but he wouldn’t cause he’s a fairy and wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a pretty flower

would probably play a piece in the background while you’re stressed w work and hum a tune so the singing wouldn’t distract you

would stop when he notices you stopped working and your sad ass is probably crying lmao

he’s a very soft and gentle man imo

he’s the innocent daisy amidst other bright colored, flamboyant flowers but he still stands out

“i’ll grow you a rose bush in the yard so i don’t have to be sad about plucking flowers next time.”

YOUNGHOON - WINTER COATS AND COFFEE AND PASTRIES

he definitely radiates tsundere vibes on first sight, but when you get to know him, he’s obviously the opposite: a crybaby

but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t keep up his model-like appearances when he’s outside - in fact, he’d be the one to influence you into caring more about how you look (of course not materialistically, but more into actually caring about making yourself feel good with your fashion and appearance)

i chose winter coats as a symbol of coverage - he doesn’t show much of himself unless he’s close to you (like when you wear winter coats to keep warm, he’s a burrito because he doesn’t bother too much about sharing his feelings), but when he does, it feels like he has the ability to keep you warm and comfortable, even on the coldest days, even if his inner savage comes out

it’ll be like he scooped you into his coat and has you warm in one of this inner breast pockets

i see him as the kind to get regular coffee and like, a tart or something, at a cafe. it adds on to the warmth, when he remembers what you like. the details. maybe you like your coffee with cinnamon or less sugar or something, but then he tops it up with a muffin and he knows you like it heated up so he specifically asks for them to do so

ok but he’s defo the kind of guy that catches people’s attention at public spaces so every now and then when he’s laughing or smiling, some girl would gawk at him and he would be embarrassed about it, but lucky for you, you’re already wearing matching coats so they know the man’s taken uwu

“if only they knew how long it took to convince you to wear that coat.”

HYUNJAE - CONCERTS AND CONVENIENCE STORE DATES

classy but calm. dream-like but realistic. 

i say concerts as in the instrumental, ballad kinds. he loves it and he knows you probably need the sleep where you have that kind of background white noise/music that provides you the best quality of sleep there is. but when you’re not dosing off, he’s admiring how much time you’re willing to invest into being at something he loves

of course, in turn, he doesn’t complain much when you’re hungry and you meet him down the street at the nearest convenience store for some instant noodles and potato chips with a coke and he lets you ramble about your day 

he would probably buy you an ice cream just so you’d feel better, then regret it when you get a stomachache later cause it was like 2am in the morning

you probably have like 5 of his hoodies at home that you refuse to wash cause his scent is tainted all over it and the only time he gets to take them home is when he stays over or visits and he sneaks one into his bag when you’re in the kitchen making tea or a bowl of noodles

then you’ll get it back without even knowing it was gone

the kind that would probably surprise you after a day of work with a casual date idea to the movies, and i mean showing up at your place, impromptu, after he knows you’re home with two tickets 

“act like my girlfriend for once and go on a date with me, would you? your work isn’t going to be there with you when you die at 90.”

JUYEON - STARGAZING AND VR GAMES

as dumb and sometimes bimbotic as he seems he is, he’s gotten most of the visible constellations memorised and he would not hesitate from telling you all about his childhood with his family when they would travel and try to spot every single constellation they can remember

which brings me to the point where he remembers what you like, but... backhandedly. he doesn’t remember what you like but he remembers what you hate instead, so you don’t ever have to worry about getting that licorice flavoured jelly bean

he would offer a midnight walk to help you relieve your stress, cause he knows you just like seeing the nightsky amidst the peace and quiet while he rambles on for his own satisfaction. not everything has to be so emotionally attached and shared. you can share blissful moments without being the reason for each other’s and that’s totally fine.

juyeon is kind of a scaredy cat in the sense that he isn’t really into horror movies or games but he’s always had that dream to become a pilot and so for his birthday, you brought him to a vr game arcade where he played some plane simulator and ever since, you’ve been taking turns to surprise each other with a new vr arcade spot or adding on to the vr game console set you have at home

“maybe i should digitalise you so i can see you in the vr game”

KEVIN - KARAOKE SESSIONS AND NEON LIGHTS

the best-friend kind of partner you would come across once in a lifetime

a billion film shots of you after he drags you to the karaoke and he beats you at super intense songs like the bohemian rhapsody just cause he can hit those high notes and solely because he was screaming on the floor when he did it

almost left his film camera behind 

absolutely LOVES those walks along streets where there are a million neon lights

would come across that one sus neon light signs that indicate a sex toy store and he would give you that sly smile and probably joke for you to go in 

kevin has a moon neon light in his room and you have a star or something (whatever you want)

corrects your grammar and pronunciation, only for you two to bicker about it even more when you use google translation and there are different pronunciations depending on where/what accent you’re using

he really is your light in the dark, even if he’s known to be introverted. once he’s comfortable enough with you, he makes you feel like the most important person in the world

has one of those portable speaker microphones at home and he drones on and on and on with some billie eilish song until you hurl a pillow at him

“so you’re the tough girl, like it really rough girl, justcan’tgetenoughofkevingirl, chest always so puffed girl”

CHANHEE - DUETS AND STRAWBERRY PICKING

(i could not find a more candid, softer aesthetic pic for chanhee rip)

his entire wardrobe fits you - the only problem is that he’ll never let you wear it in fear that you’d stain or tear something

shared playlists because that’s how similar your taste in music is, and so sometimes when you have your earpiece in and you’re humming the melody of that song, chanhee picks it up immediately despite not hearing that song, and ends up harmonising with you

got kicked out of the library once or twice because it was exam period and the two of you won’t shut up

ironically doesn’t sing that much if you’re not around

chanhee is a true blue introvert - which is a miracle that you’ve managed to tear through that barrier of his and find out that he giggles at every stupid thing you do: he’s having a bad day? trip over the pavement. he’ll laugh. it works

dragging him out to go strawberry picking was so difficult - but of course chanhee isn’t safe from how beautiful and enticing the fresh fruits were.

didn’t touch anything strawberry flavoured OR any strawberries for the next month or so

his straightforwardness comes with the breakdown of his barrier - but that’s what brings you comfort. he will never lie, he will only be sarcastic and even then, you’d know it’s true

i used duets as a symbol of harmony and being in-sync, though never really exactly the same, and that’s how it is with chanhee. your thoughts are very similar even though he’s much more introverted than you, but that’s what binds you 

“i’m gonna tell the librarian i don’t know you if we get kicked out again.”

CHANGMIN - CITY TOURS AND MATCHING OUTFITS

city tours - the kind that you already know inside out and yet you STILL travel the area as if you were a tourist 

that’s exactly how it is with changmin: you know him inside out, after being friends for so long, but it never gets old

you’re used to him biting your hand out of nowhere and yet it startles you all the time. that stupid chucky doll in his living room? old, but it never fails to scare you

he doesn’t ever talk about it that much, but he loves it when you co-ordinate outfits

no, it doesn’t mean you wear couple tees, but it’s aesthetically pleasing to changmin that if he wears cool tones, you would too

he’d be reserved about his thoughts and feelings sometimes but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think or feel them

there’s a strange sense of familiarity with changmin, because you kind of know what to expect but then you’re never disappointed, you know?

“i got you this white pigeon cause it looks like the one i already got... you can give it back to me if you don’t like it though-” /he takes it before you can accept it/

HAKNYEON - STAND UP COMEDY SHOWS AND RUNNING ALONG THE BEACH

there’s something about ju that makes it very casual and easy-going

he hates horror genred themes so fuck that, he would queue online just for the latest ali wong comedy show, even if it’s an online show, and he would laugh until he cried

sometimes he’s a drama queen but that makes it alot easier for you to know what he’s thinking or feeling - it makes communication alot easier

that means a lack of arguments

he’s also very empathetic but straightforward, exactly like how comedy shows are - because they are relatable, they are funny because they bring out the irony and sarcasm and all the dumb things in life that people are sometimes afraid of talking about and hak just says whatever he wants to say, even if he knows it might be hurtful or upsetting

he prioritises truth and honesty over anything else

it makes you a better person, honestly

beach walks - very calming, very liberating. he lets you yell and scream and kick sand back into the water because you can, and he does it with you

tries to teach you how to skip rocks but you suck and you can’t so he just pulls you away from the pile of rocks you amassed

“flick your wrist like that, not like you’re meowing!”

SUNWOO - SOCCER FRIENDLIES AND STUDIO SESSIONS

he will NOT go easy on you in a friendly match: you might be one of the fastest players of the female team but he’s ruthless in his ball-stealing, so even if you were fast enough to keep the ball out of his reach, he’d still be able to snatch it right out between your feet

very, very competitive and does not like to lose

you would always play the ‘ladies first’ card but then he’d throw the ‘feminism’ card back at you 

sometimes you act more like siblings than anything else 

the only time when he isn’t fuming with competition is if you’re injured because he accidentally tackled you - he’ll gracefully give himself a yellow card before absolutely trashing you in the next match

has one foot into the production game recently - likes to play with the beat board and mixing tunes, and since you’ve had your hand in doing music remixes for a deejay job before, you’re there to identify which songs have the same bass line or beat counts for easier mixing

would make you a playlist of remixes but wouldn’t admit that he spent a whole day in the studio without you just so it would be a surprise

a soft boy stuck in the wraps of an egoistic man

“a day? please. i illegally downloaded half these remixes off the internet cause i’d think you’re too internet-dumb to find them.”

ERIC - BAKING AND SKATEBOARDING

full of impromptu, casual ideas to hang out 

baking is a fucking mess - why did he suggest it when he doesn’t even have the right ingredients?

wanted to replace eggs with water - like ok thats supposedly healthier, but why????????????

he likes cleaning so that was the only fucking bonus in baking - had to call his mom for help halfway through because the cookies looked more like goop than playdough

gave up in the end and he repaid his debt by helping clean your kitchen

tried to teach you how to skateboard, but he ended up falling off his own in the process and now he’s got a grazed knee 

the kind of person you’d have so much chaotic fun with, he’s that friend your mom told you to NOT hang out with that much if not you’d get run down by a car 

has the most fucking random pieces of clothing in his wardrobe, like where did he even get that pink coat from?

“no you have to do this and like lift up your leg and then kinda rest your weight on it before flicking your ankle and like- whOA- OH OW OHNO OHOHOH OW”

[captaincravatthecapricious]

In Which I Project

Jon has some sort of neurodivercence and it is making work hard.

@janekfan

cw Jon is really really getting down on himself about what his brain is making hard, so cw for that and internalized ablism relating to things like rsd and executive dysfunction.  Jon also takes this out on his coworkers, because that is how Jon can be.  This chapter is a bit heavy with a hopeful end. If there is a chapter two, it will have a lot more fluff, promise.  (The reason Jon doesn't have a diagnosis is because I am projecting and I am not 100% what all is going on in my brain, this is just my experience.)  Also mentions of alcohol and food.  

Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  

Why is he like this?  Why can’t he just fucking be a normal, functional person. Why does his brain behave like a backed up, broken drain.   He can’t think today.  

He’s been staring at his computer since 6:30 this morning.   He’s been here eight hours.  And it isn’t like he isn’t getting anything done.  But it’s not what he meant to do.  

He was going to check his email, record a statement, do some filing, check Martin’s work, then do some follow ups and check his email again before going home.  

Well.  He checked his email.  Then he noticed a flaw in what he filed yesterday so he had to fix that.  Then the loo was out of toilet tissue and he had to go chase down that, because the building’s maintenance tends to skip the Archives half the time.  (Which is usually fine because it’s used by four fairly neat people, but doesn’t help when they run out of things).  Then Elias had requested a meeting.  And that sent Jon spiraling because he wasn’t supposed to have a meeting today.  That was supposed to be tomorrow and while it’s nice that he doesn’t have to do that tomorrow it threw off his whole day and now he just feels like he’s going to cry or pass out or break his jaw by clenching it so hard.  

He can’t do it.  

He tries to make himself record a statement.  He does.  

But he can’t open the file.  

He can’t.  

He wants to scream in frustration.  Which, of course, is when Martin walks in.  

Jon doesn’t mean to yell.  He really doesn’t.  He doesn’t know where this vitriol comes from.  Was he always like this?   He doesn’t even remember what he says, just the acrid taste of bitter words on his tongue.  

When Martin flees, he tries to open the file again but the color and whine of the lights breaks down on him and his dragging fatigue.   

He tries to loosen his jaw.  Wiggles it side to side.  It pops, but ultimately goes back to tense.   It’s starting to give him a headache.   

He can’t do this.  It’s barely lunch.  He’s gotten nothing done.  

He tries to open this statement.  

He opens his email instead.  

The library wants his books back.  

He’s tired.  He means to gather his books and bring them up, but he ends up cleaning his desk and making notes on half researched statements he forgot about yesterday.  

That puts him off balance.  He hates not finishing.  It makes him feel on edge.  Like the world is going to drop from below his feet at any moment.  Like, in forgetting, the world has already dropped from beneath him, and he’s been walking on empty air and delusions.  And if this has already happened, how can he be sure it didn’t happen before.  

He finishes cleaning and files the loose statements away.  

He finally remembers to drink some water.  

He rubs his eyes against unshed tears and exhaustion.  It’s too bright.  Too loud.  

He takes his books up to the library.  

Hannah in the library tells him to remind Tim to return his books, she he does that.  

Jon is.  Edging towards …probably a nervous breakdown, if he’s honest with himself, by the time he stands before Tim’s desk.  

And Tim isn’t going to relinquish his books without a fight.  

“You can give Martin a rest or I’ll tell Hannah that you lost her books.”  Tim crosses his arms.  

It’s reasonable, Jon knows.  He’s behaved childishly.  This is more than warranted.  But, unfortunately his brain isn’t working.  He’s caught up in the disappointment in Tim’s tone, and again, the floor drops from beneath his feet.  Stomach dropping.  He tries to convince himself that, no, Tim doesn’t hate him.  All he as to do is agree or apologize which he should do anyhow.  But.  But what comes out of his mouth is something along the lines of, “Tim, I’ll thank you not to try to run my department.   This is hardly professional behavior.  Who do you think Hannah is more likely to believe?”   

This wouldn’t have been so bad, if not for the force and anger in his tone.  Misplaced confusion and frustration and exhaustion.  

He turns on his heel before Tim finds the words to argue.  

This is it.  

He’s ruined everything.  

Tim will never talk to him again and Sasha won’t either because he was rude to Tim.  And of course Tim’s mad at him because he was a prick to Martin.  

It’s all his fault.  He should have been able to stay on task.  He’s an adult, damnit!  

He finally opens the file but he hitches a sob before he can squeeze the introduction out of his tight jaw.  

He can’t do this.  

He can’t do this job.  

He can’t sleep at night and work all day.  Can’t even feed himself or get to the store once a week.  

How the fuck did he make it through school.  He’s a worthless mess.  

Georgie knew it.  

He wants to scream.  

They’re talking about him.  They must be.  That shouldn’t matter to him.  He’s their boss.  Besides, he was right even if he was rude about it.  Martin does make irritating mistakes.  He could have been more professional about handling it, but he still had to say something.   And Tim.  Tim had no right to bargain that way.  He has a responsibility to the library, and trying to use it as leverage against Jon is ridiculous.  

But at the same time.  There are the closest he has… had to friends.  Tim was his friend.  Right?  

Had he made that up too?  Has some memory of some earlier misdeed fallen out of the torn hole in the pocket of his memory where he looses things like hours, tasks, sleep, meals, meetings, half-finished statements on his desk.  

Why is he like this?  

He gets some more work done.  But none of the stuff on his list.  

He tries to make himself read the statement, again.  But he doesn’t.  

It’s late.  He’s left with lingering taste of disappointment and discontent.  

Today’s been a wash.  

He looks angrily at his scribbled to do list on the neon sticky note, from the stack Tim gave him back in Research.  Nothing’s been crossed off.  Statement has been circled twice.  He rubs at his eyes.  Tries to wipe away the tension headache.  Remembers to take a drink of water, finally.  It’s been hours.  It does help, a little, soothes some of the anxious desperation and crushing despair.  He wonders how much of it would be soothed if he got himself a hot meal.  How would it compare to the relief of finished that statement.  

But…. he won’t be able to go home and sleep if he doesn’t finish, because he won’t be able to relax until he gets it done.  

He allows himself 5 minutes to cry.  He sets a timer.  

It doesn’t help.  Doesn’t even offer the release he’d been hoping for.  

He dries his eyes with his sleeve.  

He reads the statement.  And scolds himself for taking all day to get to it.  It wasn’t hard.  It wasn’t even that bad.  It was a foolish statement that reeked of mischief and falsehood.  And he wasted his whole day avoiding it.  

He cries again, then.  No timer.  

He leaves his office.  He’s finally done with the day.  It’s edging on 21:00.  He feels like shit.  Of course he hadn’t brought a lunch, why would he have enough brain cells to do that?  He did make a halfhearted attempt at breakfast.  But that was a lot of hours ago, and he’d barely managed a few bites before his anxious stomach had stopped him.  He doesn’t feel hungry now, but he knows he is by the shakiness if his limbs, the over-lightness in his head, the irritation at himself still thick in his veins.  

He still has to get himself home.  

Then he hears footsteps on the stairs.  He thinks about going back to his office, but the idea of going back in there makes his head spin.  He’s spent too long in his office.  Christ, he just wants to sleep.  Just wants to be in bed without having to get home and make dinner or order dinner or shower or get in bed.  He just wants to be there.  Just wants to be there and sleep of eternity.  He angrily brushes away a stray tear.  

Of course, it’s too late now to try to hide, and eh certainly can’t hide how rumpled and tear-stained he is.  So he stands there dumbly, some archaic part of his brain reasoning that if he stays still, maybe no one will see him.  

Tim sees him.  Tim is laughing on his phone, pleasantly buzzed, and fumbling for the jacket he most likely forgot before going for drinks.  At least it’s still fairly early.  At least Tim still cares enough about his job to wrap it up at a decent hour.  He spots Jon, and hesitates.  Jon doesn’t look like he’s doing well.  He trails off mid chuckle.  “Sorry Sash, I’ve gotta go.  I’ll talk to you later, yeah?  Had fun tonight.”  

What does he say to Jon, who’d been a right ass earlier.  Jon, who is now teary and frozen, staring at him with exhaustion and mortification.  

He makes a decision, making a conscious choice to make himself smaller and softer.  “Hey, come back to mine, I’m going to buy you dinner.  As my boss, you’re a prick, and I haven’t forgotten that.  But as my friend, you need a curry.  Maybe we can sort out my asshole boss and my upset friend at the same time, yeah?”

[hrtiu]

Bobannec fluff? Maybe patching up wounds post battle? :>

Thank you for the ask! And sorry to the other asks in my inbox that I haven’t gotten to yet 😅. Anyway here’s a quick bit of fluff, I hope you like it! Also @luoiae this could be a response to your prompt about food the other day :)

“You shot me,” Fennec said, shoving past Boba to get to the mess. 

Boba shut and sealed the entry hatch and trailed in after her. “I wasn’t aiming for you.”

“Is the fact that you’re a shit shot supposed to make me feel better?”

Boba narrowed his eyes at her. “His armor deflected the shot. I won’t apologize for being unable to calculate ricochet vectors off the top of my head.”

Fennec let out a noise of disgust, then pulled off her jacket, her face contorting with pain. Her nose crinkled as she twisted to get a look at the charred blaster shot just below her bicep. Boba’s harsh brow softened.

“Fen,” he said, stepping to her and placing a hand gently on her arm. “Let me-”

“I’m fine,” Fennec snapped. “The job got done. I can take care of myself. Let’s just get out of here.”

Boba drew his mouth to a line, but let her go. She retreated to the bunk they shared above the cockpit and Boba set their course. He considered joining her for the hyperspace travel, but decided against it when he found her curled up in their bunk like a wounded tooka, on the defensive and body primed for counterattack. Her pride wounded as much as her arm.

He slept on a pull-out in the mess.

Slave I’s insistent beeping bulled Boba from his dream and he dragged himself from bed to start the landing sequence. They were on Canto Bight, here to meet with their client and collect the rest of their payment. Boba leaned back in his seat and looked out the cockpit at the glittering city. They still had a full day cycle before they were scheduled to meet with the client, but he’d probably just spend it aboard the ship. Canto Bight wasn’t really his scene.

The ladder to their bunk thunked with heavy, awkward steps and Fennec stalked her way into the cockpit. 

“Are you feeling better?” Boba asked.

She said nothing, though the hand clutched tightly around her arm was answer enough. She reached the copilot’s seat and for a moment Boba hoped he might join her, but she just rummaged around in the chair's side console until she located her favorite canteen. She tucked the canteen under her good arm, then headed back towards the ladder up to the bunk.

“I’ll be in my bunk,” she called over her shoulder.

“Our bunk,” Boba muttered under his breath.

“It’ll be our bunk once I’ve regained full use of my arm.”

Boba sank further into the pilot’s seat. He hadn’t meant for her to hear that, but Fennec always seemed to hear everything. It was like she had ears in the back of her head in addition to the extra eyes.

The automated part of the landing sequence ended, and Boba guided the Slave I to an upscale, high-security docking bay on the outskirts of the city. Boba didn’t think he needed that sort of thing, but everything on Canto Bight was upscale. There were no budget options.

Boba let his head fall back on the headrest and looked up at the durasteel ceiling that separated him from Fennec. He could offer to patch her arm again, now that she’d cooled off, but he doubted her response would be any different. He could bring her some pain meds, but if she wanted some she’d already gotten them for herself. Fennec was… self-sufficient. Independent. It was one of the things he lov- liked about her. But sometimes it could be a real pain in the ass.

Boba crossed his arms and puffed out his cheeks, considering for a moment a venture out into the city to kill time if nothing else. Canto Bight was a den of mynocks, parasites eager to make a credit but too delicate to get their own hands dirty. But it did have some good food.

Boba blinked. That was it. That was the solution to his problem.

He hopped to his feet and opened the entry hatch, locking the ship tight behind him. He had no doubt Fennec could hold her own against any intruders, but he didn’t want her to have to do so injured. The neon glow of the casino town swallowed him whole, the insistent beat of music pumped throughout the city dulling his senses. He fought against the haze and forged onwards, to a boutique bakery near the racetracks he’d heard of but never visited himself. 

A quaint bell jangled as he stepped through the door, and a kindly Twi’lek woman looked up from the counter.

“Welcome!” she said, then her warmth diminished as she took in Boba’s scars and worn clothing.

“You specialize in Chandrilan sweets?” Boba asked.

The woman’s features brightened again. “Why, yes we do! What are you looking for today?”

“Got any bliss fruit tarts?”

A half hour later Boba slipped back onto the Slave I, a bright pink box wrapped in white ribbon clutched in his hands. He approached the ladder to their bunk cautiously, then climbed up just far enough to set the pink box on the lip of the bunk space. He slid it forward enough to ensure it wouldn’t get knocked down, then retreated silently to the mess.

It took her some time, but he’d expected that. He went through their transmissions while he waited, measuring prospective clients and ordering them by priority and preference. Then her soft footsteps sounded against the durasteel floor. He smiled.

Fennec slid her hands around his shoulders and leaned in close, the sugar sweet on her breath.

“I forgive you.”

A tension Boba hadn’t even realized was there seeped from his bones, and he relaxed into her touch. “Enough to give me one?”

She pivoted around and sat herself in his lap, one arm slung around his shoulder while her other hand held the purple pastry to her lips. She bit into it, her eyes closing in appreciation as she chewed and languidly swallowed. Then she kissed him, soft and tempting. A bit of flaky pastry stuck to his lip, and the decadent scent of the bliss fruit filled his nostrils.

Fennec pulled away and looked him straight in the eye, a wicked smirk to her lips. “That’s as close as you’re going to get.”

Boba found he was ok with that.

[wolf-zer0]

Ya want some WORLD-BUILDING????

Have some world-building!

*REMINDER* This is based on characters, not real people.  I’m not going to be writing any shipping/smut content, especially involving minors.  Please be respectful of content creators’ boundaries!

The Crystallos Empire (AKA the Antarctic Empire)

Largest the countries (takes up most of the southern half of the map) but agreed to stop expansion after a bloody battle with Valeriana 

Centered on a large snowy mountain in the middle of the tundra 

Mostly stays out of other countries’ business, but will step in as a last resort 

Has some of the most well-known citizens in the world because… they’re pure chaos 

Attack at your own peril 

Has vast deposits of ores and gemstones, and the metalwork from Crystallos (mainly weaponry, armor, and jewelry) is highly sought after 

The only known food export is potatoes.  Wonder why… 

Associated Colors: Royal blue, light blue, crimson, gold 

Aesthetic/Vibes: gothic vibes, white stone and large stain glass windows, not particularly opulent or extravagant but still impressively royal looking, think catholic cathedral but brighter and with less Jesus (can you tell I’m a recovering catholic yet?), spires shooting into the sky that’s visible even during a blizzard, cavernous halls full of sunlight and echoes, snow that can comfort and kill in equal measure

Notable Members:

Philza Minecraft:

Angel

Visible wings look like a harpy eagle

Probably the most powerful person in the world

Didn’t mean to start an empire it kinda just happened

Also didn’t mean to adopt kids but his Dadza alarm went off

Usually kind but will not hesitate to use violence when necessary

Technoblade: 

Is pig.  

With braid.  

At least 8 feet all

Extremely adept fighter, skilled in almost every form of combat.  

Not a people pig, prefers his potato farm to being a prince

Hella protective of his family but will not hesitate to bully when given the opportunity

Wilbur Soot: 

Muse who can influence people through song

Can’t totally control people (yet) but can subtly push them in a certain direction

The public face of the imperial family

Would rather insult than fight but can and will cut a bitch if he needs to

Because inspiration is fickle he’ll have some … strange episodes (see: the Sand Incident)

Tommy Innit: 

Child.  

Chaos incarnate.

Is he human?  Is he not?  No one’s sure yet.  

But he’s a gremlin and a hellion and willing to throw down at any moment.  

Has a surprisingly caring side, but no one outside his immediate circle has ever really seen it.  

The Kingdom of Valeriana (aka Dream SMP)

Oldest of the countries 

Located in the middle of a massive forest at the center of the main continent 

Home of the Fae Courts

Ruled by a single king who is chosen by a tournament held every 100 years 

Known for causing chaos in other countries, but after an Incident with Crystallos they have kept their meddling to annoyances rather than outright declarations of war 

Considered the most magical of all the countries, and traditional enchantments almost all come from Valeriana 

Associated Colors: neon green (duh), bright yellow, forest green, light brown, blood red (more saturated than Crystallos), rose gold 

Aesthetic/Vibes: spooky art nouveau (idk what else to call it), lots of plants and nature but with an edge of danger, poison gardens and carnivorous plants, hedge mazes that lead everywhere and nowhere, laughter deep in the forest, deer with eyes just a hair too human, Alice in Wonderland on steroids 

Notable Members: 

Dream: 

Current king of the Fae

As long as he’s touching the ground, he knows where everything and everyone is

Can terraform

Unlimited in the boundaries of his kingdom

Much more limited outside of his realm

No one has ever seen what he really looks like, even before he took the throne

Since people outside the kingdom don’t know who he is, he’ll wander the outside world and challenge random people to fights

Never says what happens to the losers

Only one person has ever beaten him: Technoblade

He might have a lil obsession around Techno, but it’s fine.  

A little competition is healthy.

Sapnap:  

High Lord of the Summer Court

Dream’s right hand man

Likes fire a little too much probably

George: 

Human that Dream took a liking too and yoinked from the mortal world

Dream and Sapnap made him immortal but he hasn’t realized it yet.  

Skeppy: 

Changeling who started growing diamond-like scales across his body

Is vaguely allied with Dream simply because he’s Fae, but is more loyal to BBH

Like a lot of other Fae, likes to make challenges but he makes them less deadly.  Not totally safe, just less deadly.

Badboyhalo: 

Demon who was kicked out of hell because he was too nice

Found Skeppy in the Overworld and the rest is history

Cursed by the Demon King that the moment he says a swear word, the entire world would end, but can never tell anyone that he is cursed

The Merchant’s Guild

Not quite a country, more of a international power 

Oversees the largest and most important businesses in the world 

Makes sure that no laws are broken between different countries and everyone gets a fair shake 

Has a very large reach, so some members have dabbled in espionage for various groups 

From the outside it looks like the whole thing is kept together with duct tape and hope, but its actually pretty functional

The main members are just… a lot. 

More concerned with keeping things working than influencing other nations (although there are still jokes about it) 

The most valuable thing they trade in is information

They have a lot of fingers in a lot of pots, but are trusted with their information 

Associated Colors: dark blue, teal, deep yellow, burnt orange, copper

Aesthetic/Vibes: art deco babie, angles and lines, very modern and streamlined, sleek suits instead of armor or robes, whiskey in a crystal glass, wars won by words not weapons, knowing when someone’s lying without them saying a word

Notable Members:

Schlatt: 

Ram-man with a plan

Not that bad of a dude, but is in a position where he is constantly in possession of highly sensitive information and that does things to someone’s mental state

Drinks pretty regularly but not a full blown alcoholic

Trying his best

Can be a snarky asshole sometimes

Quackity: 

Lucky duck.  literally.  

Duck man with an uncanny ability to absorb good luck from people (typically Fundy) and apply it to himself

No one knows when or why he joined the guild, but now he’s there

Pretty damn smart, but hides it behind humor

Fundy: 

FOX!  

With BEANS!

Trying his goddamn best but life (and Quackity) make it very difficult

Usually is stuck with the shit end of the stick when getting jobs/contracts/etc. 

Wilbur being his dad is an inside joke that’s gotten a life of its own.  

(No Fishfuckers Allowed!!!)

Puffy: 

Badass sheep lady who captains a ship and commands her own armada

Schlatt’s sister

Also part of Storm’s Landing’s council and acts as the main liaison between them 

Do not fuck with her she will kick your ass.

Storm’s Landing

Port city that became a country after becoming a safe-haven for seafarers

Led by a council of important people, with the head of the council known as the Admiral 

Closest ties to Crystallos and the Merchant’s guild because: 

1) Clingy supremacy!!!!

2) it’s a good idea for a guild to have good ties with a large sea power

3) all the dads for Tubbo

Associated Colors: navy blue, scarlet, white, brass 

Aesthetic/Vibes: Nautical (obviously) with heavy “Age of Exploration” vibes, barnacles crusted on treasure chests, think tall ships and pirates and shit, respecting the ocean because holy shit she’s gonna smash your boat to pieces on a whim because she can, has an edge of darkness because when you go deep enough who knows what you’ll find down there (maybe mermaids???) 

Notable Members:

CaptainSparklez: 

elected to Admiral after the previous Admiral went missing on a routine voyage 

(idk who it used to be, I just wanted to make him new at leading)

not 100% sure about the whole thing, but handling it pretty okay

still answers to “Captain” instead of “Admiral”.  

Niki:

If Storm’s Landing had a queen, would be it unquestionably

Never gets robbed even though there’s a well known “underbelly” in town

Could probably end wars with her croissants

Has a significant history of empathic abilities in her family, so she can tell how people are feeling at all times

Eret: 

Owns a magic store in town that really only shows itself to people who need it.  

Having a bad mental health day?  

He’s got a warm blanket and a cup of your favorite warm beverage waiting.  

Dysphoric?  

She’s got the perfect outfit and affirming words already prepared.  

Trying to find that specific book but can’t remember the title or plot, only vaguely know the color of the cover?  

They’ve got it.  

Ranboo:  

Not sure why he decided to move to a seaside city when he’s not chill with water, but now he’s here and he’s too anxious to leave

Known for teleporting around town randomly when nervous, and the people who find him are always willing to let a hand if he gets lost

Tubbo: 

This boi!  Has so many dads!  

Epitome of “Kindness does not equal weakness.”  

While a lot of people underestimate him, he’s not some fragile little flower

He hasn’t fully grown into his ability to speak to animals (he can only understand bees right now)

He’s just as much of a shit stirrer as Tommy.  

When they meet up, look out.  Something’s getting destroyed.

The Astral Academy

An independent university focused on advancing knowledge in the arcane arts and engineering 

Not a country, but has the political power of one due to their vast resources and building prowess 

People can’t enter unless they are invited or have been given entry as a student 

There are a bunch of potential doors scattered around the continent that could lead to the Academy, but no one is sure where the real entrance is 

Associated Colors: royal purple, lilac, sepia, sky blue, silver, bronze Aesthetic/Vibes: bright academia, massive libraries with bookshelves stuffed to bursting, workshop benches covered in scrap and prototypes, open air observatories, runes waiting to be translated, the crackling energy that comes from successful collaboration, falling down a research rabbit hole, bursting with pride after a project is a success

Notable Members: 

Sam

Purpled

Ponk

Punz

Antfrost

Jack Manifold

I don’t know much about these characters, so if you have any ideas please let me know!

Zero’s OC Land - The North Haven

Smallest and newest country 

Recently gained independence from under a cruel dictator (not schlatt lol)

Located in a pine forest at the base of a huge mountain range 

Has pretty good relations with the other countries, but outsiders don’t know much about them 

Main exports are wood carvings and leather goods 

Associated Colors: Maroon, dark brown, black, pewter 

Aesthetic/Vibes: medieval but with a modern twist, dark wood lit by a roaring fireplace, snow-covered woods without a living soul in sight, half timber houses and detailed wood carving, no outrageous ornamentation or extravagance 

Notable Members:

Tyr: 

Lord of the North Haven

trying to keep his people safe and protected

one of the few remaining Spirits (higher in power than the Fae, but lower than angels)

Spirit of Justice

lost a hand in the war for North Haven’s independence

didn’t want to become the leader but does a pretty good job at it

Adopted 5 kids and is trying his best

Bragi: 

Heir Apparent

24 year old human

can influence the world by speaking (not singing) but has to be careful about which words he uses

has a book full of phrases that have proven effects (a spellbook of sorts)

has a friendly rivalry with Wilbur

Freya: 

Spymaster

actually the oldest but abdicated because she feels she’s not the right person to lead a country

age unknown because she’s the last known [REDACTED] (it’ll be revealed, but I wanna build suspense)

has gyrfalcon wings and heightened senses

chronic insomniac

Forseti: 

Official Librarian

20 years old

hybrid with an unknown entity

has black fingers with sharp claws

always wears gloves to hide them

can create portals to places he’s been or to people he knows (the second is much riskier, but not impossible)

knowledge sponge

wants to join the Astral Academy but is too nervous to apply

Odin: 

Older Twin

The “Sensible One”

17 years old

Has an uncanny sense of direction

Can’t get lost no matter what

Can manipulate magnetic fields

Loki:

Younger Twin

The “Hot Headed One”

17 years old

can manipulate fire

idolizes his older siblings, particularly Freya

The Institute

Creeping around in the background

Up to bad things

Something’s going on in the world, but no one’s noticed yet

They will though… soon

Aesthetic/Vibes: minimalism (the worst kind of vibes imo), think laboratories or empty hospitals, harsh artificial lights and cold floors, labyrinths of monotonous hallways with no doors

[optimistic-dinosaur-nacho]

Impress Me

Jake Jensen x Single Mom!Reader

Warnings: Language, Porn Mentions (Use of MILF) Summary: All you wanted was to go to your daughter’s soccer game and an couple of assholes took their damn time to get rid of their abnormally large hummer. The driver happened to be a bit attractive and end up your way again.

Nothing like a nice Jake Jensen fic for all you beautiful people out there! 

This is a true story that happened yesterday, the guy parked like an asshole with a large hummer and to tell you, our town is not a big place so there is no point on driving a large vehicle to show off chicks. It ain’t cool.

Unless you’re Jake Jensen and/or Chris Evans

You were rushing around the house, searching every room for the item that had been missing since. Your daughter, Ava, couldn’t stop asking for it. It was important for her game. “Mom, have you found them yet?” She shouts from the living room. You groan at her last and final shout as you lifted yourself up from looking under the bed.

“No, Ava!” You sighed, “You sure you didn’t leave them at grandma’s house?” Your sister comes in and she already had your daughter’s duffel bag. “The game doesn’t start in another hour. You can stop at the sports shop and get new cleats.”

You groan and turn to see your daughter and sister. “Okay. Sweetheart, I’m gonna grab you new ones, okay?”

Ava pouts, “But I loved those shoes.”

You roll your eyes, “Ava, just this one time, okay? After this, we can call grandma. Do you remember what size you got?” Your sister looks at you strangely while your daughter crosses her arms, “As a mom, shouldn’t you know that?”

You nod awkwardly and turned, “Yeah, um, Liz, can you take her there? I’ll meet you guys there.” Your sister nods and reaches for your daughter, “Come on, Ava. Let’s go.” Your daughter follows your sister out and you let out a sigh. Taking another look in every room, searching every crevice and no sign of your daughters shoes.

And they were neon yellow shoes, you could’ve saw them anywhere with the bright highlight. 

With that said, you took your keys and hopped in the car. Luckily the sports shop was not that far from the field where your daughter would be playing at. Your sister kept you updated that Ava’s shoes weren’t in her car or the bag. You knew they had to be at your mom’s house.

Maybe at your ex-husband’s house. Shit. Not long ago, you filed the papers. It was nothing involved with your daughter. You both started to fade apart. He wasn’t rude or a penniless guy. There was something you both knew it wasn’t gonna keep up.

Especially for Ava, you both shut down for some reason.

After that, you had custody for Ava but she always visited her father 5 times a month. Soccer was coming from her dad. He taught her everything and he signed her up for soccer. He still supported her. You liked him for that.

He came to games if he could. His work always got to him, but he always made plans for Ava. You just never saw yourself having a future with him no more. But for Ava. Of course.

You pulled into the parking lot just in front of the store, seeing people go in and out of it as you rummaged in your bag for your card and you lifted your sunglasses on top of your head.

You stepped out and rushed in, asking the worker where the soccer shoes were, he happily took you over. Shin guards, soccer balls, jersey’s, you found the cleats just on the end. You almost bump into a couple of men in the aisle. One of them let out a ‘woah’.

“Sorry,” You say kindly, the man grins, “You’re good, ma’am.” The three other men, one wore a cowboy hat, one with a grey beard but looked intimidating and a taller man who look twice as much. A woman happened to be with them as well. 

“Pooch,” The beard man says as you raced down the hall, the man turns, “What?” The two men shook their heads at the guy. “Have you guys seen Jensen?” You ignore their conversation and searched the right size of shoes. You spot the ones that looked like your daughter’s.

You reached up and take them in hand, immediately running back to the cashier. You reached for your phone and see a text from your sister. They’re already stretching on the field. You groan and did all your swiping and pin code. Not taking your receipt, you ran out the door.

Coming to a stop once you met the front of your car, you groan. 

A hummer parked next to yours. “How am I-?” You throw your arms up and sighed. You hear someone come by and they head to the hummer. “Excuse me,” You ask, the man turns and jerks his chin up. “Yeah?”

You point, “Is this your hummer?”

The man turns to the large car and nods, “Yeah?” You point toward your car, this time, “I can’t get in my car. Can you park somewhere else?” The man walks up to meet your side and see the problem. He then points, “I’m in the line, so I don’t think it’s a problem. Just squeeze through. You look small enough to do it.”

You gawk at him, “Excuse me?”

The man holds his hands up, “Sorry. Just hop in your passenger seat and slide in-”

“Just move the damn hummer!” You say, the man laughs and reached for his chest. “I have friends inside, can you just wait for a couple minutes. They’ll be out in a second.”

“I’m in a rush! My daughter has a game!”

He nods, “I can see that. I can go grab my friends and I’ll move the hummer.” You would’ve kicked the front of his car, pull the crowbar that hadn’t been used for a situation like this from your trunk and go psycho. All you could do was throw your arm up, “Fine. Asshole.” You walk to your passenger side and threw your purse in the back.

You start to lean in till you lifted your head up to look at him again, “You know, this town doesn’t feel impressed by your huge ass vehicle. It just makes you more of an asshole.”

The man puts his hands on his hips and quirks a grin, “I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. But I’m glad you kept me informed about it.” You hopped in the passenger seat and would’ve been in the most awkward situation when the man watched you slide your ass into the driver’s seat. 

You sighed heavily, turning on your car and stared at the man. You look down to the center console and saw your drink. Your eyes lifted up to him.

You rolled your window down and grabbed your cup. “Hey, asshole!” You called out, the man and held the cup out. “How’s this to impress you?” The man’s face drops when you open the lid.

“No, wait-!” You dump the drink over the side of his hummer and you threw the cup on the floor of your car and pulled out. The man reaches for his head and drops them to look at you. You didn’t look back. But hell, did it feel good. Never in your life ever stood up like that for an asshole. But why the heck did he look good? 

He groans to see the liquid drip down the side of the hummer as his friends come out.

“Hey, Jensen, you ready-? Woah, what happened here?” Pooch asks, seeing the spill on the door. Roque sighs, “Who’d you piss off this time?” He asks, Jensen shook his head and opens the door. “Just shut up, we’re gonna be late for my niece’s game.”

The group look at each other and gave questioned looks before jumping in.

“Mom!” Ava calls, you rush over to her and sat her down. “Here, let me help,” You got down on your knee and began to slip on her new shoes, tying them and making sure they were a perfect fit. You thanked God they did. Ava grins, “Thanks, mama.”

You grin and nod, “You’re welcome. Now, go have fun.” Ava smiles, jumping onto her feet to head on the field with her team. Her pink jersey with the number 5, you loved seeing her in her jersey. She sometimes wore it around the house and knew how passion for soccer. 

You always saw your ex-husband in her.

Somewhere in the bleachers, someone was bursting out in laughter before slapping the man’s shoulder beside them. “You pissed off a woman for not moving the hummer? You really are a dick-”

“Hey, some people should be able to use that rock in their head that they call a brain,” Jensen says, glaring at Pooch. Cougar leans over, “Roque’s right, though. You really made a dick move.”

Jensen shakes his head, turning to the field to see his niece out in her pink jersey with the Petunias. He sees another girl run for the group and playfully tackles his neice making him grin. His eyes seemed to follow where the girl had ran from, seeing a familiar woman on the sideline. 

“Shit,” He grits.

Pooch turns, “What’s up, now?” Jensen leans back a bit and inhales, “She’s here.” All three men, Pooch, Roque and Cougar look around. “Oh, shit! Where? Is she cute? Hot?” Pooch asks.

Cougar used his binoculars and spots her. “Hey, she’s the girl Pooch was flirting with.” Pooch glares, “What? I was not! Give me that!” He snatches the binoculars and looks down. “Oh yeah...” He says, seeing you walk up to the bleachers. 

“That’s her?” Pooch asks, staring at Jensen who shook his head. “What a coincidence that her daughter is friend’s with my niece.” Roque pats Jensen’s back like a proud man, “A mom? Is she single?” Jensen grimaces at him. Pooch cackles, “Ah-ha! This man got himself a MILF-!”

“Can you guys shut up? We’re at a kids game!” Jensen shouts, the parents around the group glare at them, causing all of them to shut up for a second. Jensen leans back to the boys, “I don’t know if she’s single. What I do know is that you all are thinking the wrong thing.”

Roque chuckles, “You turned red the second you saw her-”

“You know, I’m gonna move down,” Jensen began to stand up and move while Roque grabs him before he could. “Ah-ah. No, you aren’t. You’re watching her,” He says, Jake shakes his head. “I’m not watching her. What do you think I am, a freak?”

“Be sure to wave,” Roque waves over to you and Jensen turns to see your face look over and he immediately leans back. “Roque, dammit!” He grits. Luckily you don’t notice Roque waving as you turned away and spoke to your sister. Pooch purrs, “Ooh. She’s got a friend.”

“Guys, can you cut that out. The game is about to start.”

You sigh in relief and watched your daughter run to the sideline with her group. Your sister turns to you, “What’s up with you?” You turn to her and furrowed your brows. “What?”

She grins, “Look, your daughter’s out there and that Hummer asshole is not gonna bother you anymore. Just let it go.” You shook your head and saw that the game began to start. With that, you quietly watched the game and cheered when the Petunias made a goal.

.

Halfway through the game, the Petunias were in the lead. Ava was on a roll and you were proud of her. The other team looked defeated but the kids were all tired. You were sure Ava was tired as well.

You watched as Ava took the ball from the other team causing you to jump up. “Yes!” You shout, “Go baby!” You watched as the other girl beside her runs to her side.

Roque touched Jensen’s shoulder and pointed, “Look.” Jensen turns to you on your feet, cheering. Jensen looked out to the field and saw what had to be your kid. She had the ball, but then he noticed his niece run up and collides with your daughter. “Oh!” His boys all say loudly as the two girls fall on the field.

Jensen stands up, “I gotta-Hey!” Your sister stands up as you rush down the bleachers to your daughter on the ground. The coach blows her whistle. “Ava! Hey, are you okay?” You asked, your daughter nods while you look to the other girl.

Number 21. 

“Hey, sweetie, you alright?” You hear clamoring behind you, a man runs up to what may be his kid. “Hey, you alright?” He asks, he lifts up his head to see you. Your sister runs up, “Excuse me? Your daughter needs to watch where she runs-” You stammer toward your sister yelling. Jensen furrows his brows, “She was trying to help! The field is slippery, I saw her slip.”

“Liz-”

“Well, tell your daughter to watch her footing,” Your sister grabs your daughter’s shoulder and guides her to the bench. “She’s my niece, actually,” Jensen adds. You watched him as he nods once, “Hi. Nice to see you again.” You turn away and followed your sister to have Ava sit down for the rest of the game.

Jensen checked on his niece and made it back to his friends, Clay was laughing. “Wow, that was a scene to watch.” Pooch cackles, “Her sister was feisty. What’d she say?” He asks. Jensen sits down and looks over to you and your daughter. 

Going back to watch the game. Luckily the Petunias had won and Ava was feeling a bit better after she hit her head pretty hard. With enough water, you took your daughter’s gear and packed it up. 

You settled Ava in the back of your car, “Wait, mom,” She says, stopping you from closing the door. You nod, “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot my bottle at the bench,” She says. You look over to the field, seeing a couple of people leaving and packing up. You gave her a nod, “I’ll go look for it. The air is on so you can stay cool. I’ll be back.” Ava nods as you closed the door and made your way back to the field.

Everyone seemed to be gone and emptied the field for you to be able to search for a bright blue bottle.

You checked the bench where you last sat, you peer up on the bleachers to see water bottles, other things but not your daughter’s water bottle. You sighed till someone spoke up.

“I’m assuming you’re looking for this,” A familiar voice said, you turn to see the hot blonde guy you dumped your whole drink on his hummer. He grins, eyes squinting from the sun shining in his face. “Your daughter is number 5, I saw her little name on the bottom of the bottle with her number. I thought I’d have to chase you or meet you at another game.”

You take the bottle into your hand and grinned slightly, “Thank you.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and you held the bottle tight in your hands. He nods, “Not trying to impress you with my charms, this is just being nice for you. You seem kind of out of it today.”

“Yeah, I-...” You shake your head, “I’m sorry I dumped my drink over your car. I was just stressed from the past week and-” 

He lifts his hand up, “It’s all right. I understand. I know a thing or two about chasing soccer gear for family.”

You grinned, “She’s your niece?” Jake turns to his niece down the field with his buds all cheering for her, he nods. “Yeah, my sister is on a business trip. I know how passionate my niece is with soccer. Your daughter is one tough player. She took the hit like no other. I’d see them cry after.”

You smiled, “Yeah, well, she gets it from her father.” Jensen didn’t notice a man with you during the game. Was he the type to not make it? So much for making a move by Roque’s advice to apologize and ask you out.

“Didn’t make it?” He asked.

You peer up at him in question. He lowers his head, “Sorry.” You look down at your daughter’s bottle and sighed. “He only sees her 5 times a month.” Jensen glances up to you again. “Makes it to a couple games and he spends time with her on the field to practice,” You say.

Jensen nods and turns to see his friends were gone. He turns back to you and grins, “Can I take you back to your car?” You didn’t know this side of this guy. And hell, you felt even more bad on how this guy was nice but can be such an asshole sometimes.

He was like no other.

You agreed and walked back to the lot with him, “The name’s Jensen, by the way. Jake Jensen,” He says, you look over, “My friends call me by my last but you don’t have to.”

You pull the corner of your lip and nodded, “I’ll decide on it.” Jake smiles at you and the two of you look forward to see the same hummer beside your car. Just like last time. Jensen curses under his breath. Roque opens the driver door and peaks out.  “Aye, Jensen, what took you so long?” He asks, a huge grin forming on his lips. Jake turns to you to see the silent glare as he nods, “I’ll move the hummer this time.” You grin.

“You better.”

You watch as he rushes over to the front seat, pushing Roque into the back. He rolls his window down and pulls out, giving you the chance to hop in your car. With a small grin, you opened your car door. Jensen grins, “You know, if you really wanted to impress me, you find the day to go out!” He says.

You lightly laugh and shook your head. “I’ll see you at the next game, Hummer boy.” Jensen rolls the window back up with a smile as you hopped in your car. Your daughter completely confused.

“Who was that?” You turned on your car with a small smile, “A new friend.” Ava leans back in her seat and looks out the window, nodding. “I like him.” You hear from her, causing you to look in the rear view mirror to see her eyes look out the window. You then pull out.

“You asked out a single mom?” Pooch asks, he pats Jensen’s shoulder, “Way to go, man!”

“Hummer boy? Looks like someone’s got a nickname,” Roque laughs making everyone in the car laugh. Jensen shakes his head, “It was a joke, now shut up, I’m driving.” Through the rest of the day, his buds teased him, pushed him around like he was the young guy in the group. 

Here comes the comments for part 2

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[commonwealthoccurences]

Stuck

CW: Claustrophobia, hints of a panic attack description 

Word Count: 2,043 Prompt: Elevatorfic Day: 15/27 Sole reflected on their willingness to clear out Nuka World, almost singlehandedly, as blatantly stupid. Sure, they had encountered a lot during their time in the Commonwealth, and the raiders not protesting at them volunteering wasn’t suspicious at all, considering how lazy they could be despite their greed. However, Sole was regretting everything they had volunteered to do for the ungrateful bastards about the time the elevator screeched to a halt and what lighting they had shattered on the floor next to their boots.

They’d already felt sick from the heat that pressed against their skin, bringing forth a layer of sweat that caused everything to stick to their skin. Gage wasn’t much better off, considering he felt the need to complain every two seconds about how he was sweating his balls off, despite the fact that he and Sole and just about everyone in Nuka World were in the same weather. They’d lost count of the amount of times they’d glared at him, trying to get him to shut up to no avail.

The realization that they had to travel down into the depths of one of the buildings to get a necessary chip had Sole begging the universe to grant them some sort of freedom from the heat. They would be underground, so it would be cooler there, right? They had to hold onto that hope, otherwise they were going to end up strangling Gage before he could get out another word.

That hope halted just as quickly as the elevator did, complete with the terribly bright sparks of metal on metal and jarring drop that nearly had Sole falling back into the wall behind them. A lantern they’d found and set up on a hook in the corner went crashing down as well, spraying the floor of the elevator with hot oil, causing Sole to suck in a whistling breath as they jumped out of the way. It cooled somewhat rapidly against the lukewarm metal floor. With no light and no escape from the heat, they were stuck.

Gage burst into another round of loud cursing, kicking at the doors that were quite content to remain tightly shut, sending Sole flying to wrench him away from the doors with a furious and exasperated, “Gage! It’s a fucking elevator, that’s not how it works!”

He yanked himself out of their grip and pushed them away, pressing a hand to his face as he began to pace in the limited area of the elevator. Sole wanted to feel bad but the heat had gotten them both riled up and irritated with everything that dared to move that day, and this was just another wrench in well set plans that would’ve had Nuka World up and running sooner rather than later.

With another kick to the walls of the elevator, Gage dropped down to sit on the floor, seemingly having already forgotten about the spilled oil. His head remained in his hands, braced against his knees as he attempted to shut out the area around him. Sole pried their fingers into the crack where the doors were clamped shut even though they knew how poorly that would go, and sighed in frustration when, exactly as they thought, nothing happened. With a shake of their head they turned away, back towards Gage, just barely able to see the outline of his form in the darkness.

The image of him curled in on himself with his arms braced on either side of his head like he was trying to protect himself from something was enough to have Sole tilting their head in confusion. Gage wasn’t exactly someone they’d say had a lot of fears, and whether that made him a little reckless, or he came across somewhat cocky because of it, Sole couldn’t say. What they did know was this was concerning and they had no idea what was causing it.

Internally cursing the heat that was beginning to build in the tiny space, Sole kneeled next to him, grimacing at the way their knee dipped into the pooling oil. For a second, they raised a hand to rest on his shoulder, but swiftly thought better of it when they remembered what his reflexes were like. Instead, they simply placed it on their thigh and muttered a quiet, “Gage, you okay?”

He heaved a breath and tilted his head back, looking at them with his jaw clenched and eyebrows creased. “The hell was it called before the War? Claustrophobic?” He tried to fake a laugh for fail of anything better, but failed, instead letting out a suppressed groan of discomfort.

Sole didn’t know how to help. That was the first thing they thought. He needed help and they didn’t know how to make things easier, to relieve some of the pressure that was inevitably crushing down on his chest. Even they were uncomfortable with how boxed in they were, sweating even more as the heat trickled in with no escape, amplified by their body heat. Sole dropped down to sit next to him, resigning them to accepting their fate in the oil, and leaned their back against the wall, looking over at Gage.

His eyes were now squeezed shut, his hands trembling where they rested on his knees, knuckles white from how hard he was gripping his legs in terror. Sole ground their teeth together, thinking. They had a direct line back to the camp, thank God, and someone would be over to help them out relatively soon once they made contact. Sure, no one really liked them and Gage, but things wouldn’t run smoothly without them. First they would make contact, then they could focus on Gage.

With that, they brought their Pip-Boy up to their face and tapped it to turn the light on, flinching as the green beacon filled the room. Despite the initial scare, it seemed to help Gage as he looked around, committing his surroundings to memory for fear that the light would vanish as soon as he got comfortable. Just a few more minutes and then they’d figure it out together. With a couple more taps, Sole navigated their way to the radio section and tuned into the raider frequency that allowed them to communicate. A familiar, grating voice came through just moments later. “What’s going on, Boss?”

Sole had to sigh at the situation. “Old elevator decided to fuck us over. Any chance you can get down to Kiddie Kingdom to get us out of this shitshow?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Caps. And I won’t skin you alive when I inevitably get out of here.” They snapped back.

The voice over the radio let out a laugh. “Sure, Boss. We’ll get movin’.”

Thank God they hadn’t fucked one of the factions over when they were splitting things up. Gage didn’t care much about making people cranky, but they knew at the time it would’ve come back to bite them in the ass. Sole dropped the arm that held their pipboy and began unbuckling it with a resigned breath, ready to get the weight off their limb and get what little air they could filtering over their sweating skin.

The Pip-Boy settled against the elevator floor with a few clangs of metal, not in the puddle of oil, the green light cast across the space hauntingly. It rested at an angle that perfectly accentuated Gage’s gaunt cheekbones and his hollow, tense expression that made Sole worry for him for the first time that they could remember. His breaths were coming much faster and shorter than they had been. He was panicking, and Sole needed to stop it before he really worked himself up. “Gage.” They spoke softly, but he jumped anyway. “I’m gonna put my hand on your arm, okay?”

Whether or not he had nodded in response or there was a shift of the light was up in the air, but Sole took it as a cue to move forward with their plan. They reached over and placed a hand on his arm, letting him get used to that for a moment, before sliding it down to his hand. Carefully, they worked their hand under his, turning it to grip him firmly in an attempt to ground him. After a moment of processing he grabbed onto them quite hard, like they were the only thing anchoring him. His breaths were getting even shorter. “Gage, breath. We’re just fine. Help’s on the way, you heard them, yeah? We’re gonna be okay, but we gotta be patient and wait for them to get here.”

“Hate it.”

“Hmm?”

“I fucking hate it. Feels like it’s gonna collapse on us.” He held onto them even tighter.

The metal shifting periodically in the building probably wasn’t helping him fight his fears. “These buildings have stood here for hundreds of years, they’ll last far longer after we leave. The elevators are built to last, too, Gage. Don’t let your brain trick you, okay?”

With that he turned and looked at them finally. His eyes were shiny, bordering teary, his jaw clenched so hard Sole felt their teeth begin to hurt in sympathy. They smoothed their thumb over the back of his hand, smiling softly in hopes it would be somewhat reassuring. Gage’s breaths were still ragged, far too uneven to be comfortable. Sole made sure he was paying attention when they shifted closer and turned towards him, bringing his hand that they were cradling towards their chest.

Gage rolled his eyes. “Now’s not exactly the time, Boss.”

Sole fought the urge to smack him across the back of the head, telling themself that he was only trying to cope with humor. They rested his hand flat against their chest and he watched warily, eyes curious. “You need to breathe with me. If you hyperventilate it’ll only make things worse, so let’s avoid that.”

Gage, surprisingly, agreed readily and nodded in response, swallowing harshly as he tested the position by adjusting the pressure of his fingertips against Sole’s skin. It was hot, far too hot, and they could feel how his skin felt like boiling water against theirs, but they told themself they didn’t mind and drew in a slow, long, even breath. Gage’s breath in return was much more ragged and choppy, but it was progress, and they’d take it.

With that Gage slowly brought his breathing closer to normal and was able to fight the lightheadedness that was making nausea rise in him. Neon danced along the walls, reflecting off the pool of oil and glass shards that had been scattered across the other side of the elevator, resembling some sort of radioactive underwater show. Sole watched the refractions with careful eyes, mentally crossing their fingers that someone would be around to free them sometime soon. They’d done all the dirty work, even got trapped in an elevator for it. All the raiders had to do was get there and find the external emergency release. God knows they’d complain about that too.

Gage’s posture slumped down, a contrast to the previous live-wire tension that had been running up and down his frame. He sighed and brushed a hand over his forehead, wiping sweat off his brow in a swift motion. His head was still bowed towards his lap, his hand on their chest as they looked over his shoulder at the bright display. With an exhausted breath blown between chapped lips, Gage simply leaned forward and rested his forehead against their crossed legs, hand coming down to land on their knee. Accepting the situation rather quickly, Sole picked up his hand again and worked their fingers between his, knuckles bumping uncomfortably and palms sticky. He squeezed their hand for reassurance. Checking to make sure they were still there in case he needed them. They squeezed back.

The pair let the silence creep by, simply accepting that they were in a short waiting game, whether they were to be rescued by the raiders or to pry their way out kicking and screaming if they had to. After a few beats, Gage spoke up in realization. “Aw, fuck! Of course the lantern broke.” He swore, realizing what he was sitting in. Sole had to sigh and looked to the ceiling to summon their patience.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Empires on the Horizon XIV

Jason is a CEO: Part XIV

masterlist for other parts, more jercy, bad headcanons, and an abundance of crackships

SURPRISE!!! i finally got my laptop back and thankfully they didn’t have to wipe anything so i still had all my work! Between you and me i was more worried about all my fanfics than my uni work...... But I’ve learned my lesson. Do everything on google docs now!! Anyway this is a Percy POV and i hope you enjoy because i’ve missed this little universe more than you could possibly know and we’re finally (only fourteen chapters later) getting to the jercy part of this fic?! LOL it’s been wild.

i know i’m releasing a ton of fanfics at the moment so i hope you guys don’t feel overwhelmed. You know i adore your comments and thoughts but please don’t feel pressured to read all the fics i’m posting. I’ve just had a lot of time in the last weeks so it’s been easier to create. Please take care  of yourself, i love you very much and i hope you have a magical holiday season!

Percy Jackson stretched his legs out in front of him and draped a blanket over them. There were few things he indulged in, but a good plane seat was one of them. He was spoilt for it but having the space to lay his unreasonably tall body down for eight hours seemed like a worthy investment. The announcements that continuously filtered through the crackly speakers were background noise as the bustle of people getting to their seats flowed throughout the cabins. He stared out his little window at the neon-jacketed guides and airport officials directing people to wherever they needed to be. He loved watching people just do things. There was something calming about knowing others weren’t interested in him in any way. That people got on with their lives despite the turmoil nobody knew about.

A flight attendant stopped next to him with a polite smile, “Champagne sir?”

“No thank you, a water please. Too early for alcohol.” He grimaced.

Mirth danced in her eyes as she glanced up at the rest of the passengers, some dangling flutes between their fingers. “Absolutely sir, anything else?”

He shook his head, before leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. His pre-flight ritual, which consisted of him snuggling as comfortably as possible it his seat and trying to fall asleep, was already behind. The presence of a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed CEO taking up the scattered pieces of his mind. It was crazy to think they had met almost a year ago, crazier still to think that about how much they had changed in that time. Percy at least felt like a completely different person to the one who had stepped off a plane from Hawaii all those months ago and attended his alma mater’s dinner. Although the university had surprised them with plaques honouring their contributions, it was seeing Jason Grace, learning about him that felt like the real reward. Hell, he was only half joking when he said he’d marry the guy the next Tuesday.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen. Please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We will be taking off shortly. In the meantime please turn your attention to the screens in front of you for a video detailing the safety measures you will need to know while aboard this flight.”

He blinked back into the world and turned half his attention to the screen and the other half to locating the blonde he couldn’t seem to keep away from. He knew the safety briefings by heart, but he always felt bad for not paying attention. Someone worked hard to make those. He didn’t spot Jason in the two minutes the video played and then it was too late because the plane gave a low rumble and suddenly, they were lurching into motion. His heart climbed to his throat and he gripped his fingers underneath the blanket.

“Okay Percy,” He mouthed to himself, “You can do this. It’s at most fifteen minutes of instability and then you’ll be up in the air and you won’t even feel it.”

“Just fifteen minutes.” He kept repeating, taking deep shaky breaths. “Fifteen minutes.”

The plane jaggered down the runway, slow enough that he could still read the road signs indicating altitudes and compass directions and all sorts of fun information he didn’t care about. He felt the huge machine turn into the long stretch of tar that led them to the sky and his stomach clenched painfully. This was always the worst part. Take off. It felt like his entire body flew off with the plane while he stuck to the ground, superglue cementing him to the floor with no escape. He didn’t feel free. He felt torn.

The plane gave a horrible lurch and then it was screaming down the runway, grass and yellow lines blurring past them. They were going so fast he’s sure they’d break the sound barrier. He squeezed his eyes shut. Knuckles white as he twisted his hands together. The plan flew down the road and into the sky. His whole body felt suspended in space. He wanted to come down. He didn’t want to be here. Even with his eyes closed he could feel how high they were. He hated it.

Slowly, the plane started to level out until he felt his body realign: feet under him, hands beside him, head above him. He opened his eyes, spots dancing in his vision as they got used to the light once more. The seatbelt sign dinged above him, and a series of clicks followed. People got up to use the bathroom and grab things from the overhead compartments. He wasn’t going to get up until he was out of this plane. So he shoved his headphones over his ears and pressed play.

I will always love you how I do

Let go of a prayer for you

Just a sweet word

He gazed out the window, clouds close enough to whisper to, and his lips pulled up in a soft smile. The sky was beautiful. It just sucked that they had to get into a death trap to get to it. With his ocean eyes pinned to the balls of cotton hanging in the blue expanse his mind drifted. Reyna. He blinked. It was almost shameful how little he had thought of her since their breakup considering their year together. She had taught him tai quan do and baked him blueberry tarts. They had escaped to a little bubble in the forest and watched the leaves turn brown as they tumbled in bed. He knew she tapped her right foot when she was annoyed but her left fingers danced when she was excited. He knew she liked her eggs fried hard because she didn’t have time for sloppy yolk, but she liked them scrambled soft because it meant a richer croissant. But despite this she did not light his soul on fire. And he did not light hers either. They were merely striking matches without wood to burn. He heaved a sigh as he watched the threads of his relationship flutter before his eyes and fell asleep to them disappearing in gold strands leaking into the clouds. He succumbed to the bright sun and the soft warmth of memories and he didn’t wake until a loud announcement gave the signal that they were landing.

It was over so fast he didn’t have time to panic and he was grateful. Finally he was collecting his bags and walking out. A driver with his surname scribbled on a plaque stood front and center and with a quick flash of his ID and a hello they were piling into the car. He didn’t get a chance to see the blonde beauty, but the island was small and time was a plenty. They would find each other again.

“To the hotel sir?”

“Yes Luca, and then please stick around for half an hour. It’s just a quick freshen before I go to work. We have a lab meeting.”

The man nodded and then focused on the busy Italian streets they were navigating. He took in the colours and sounds as they whizzed by. It felt like a different universe. People were loud and excited and full of life and the little markets seemed to pull energy from the sun and direct it into joy. He wanted to tell Luca, to pull over, screw work, and take in the beauty of this little section of the world. But his phone buzzed in his pocket and he knew with a disappointed sinking in his chest that adventure would have to wait.

“Hello Percy,” Rachel Elizabeth Dare bubbled, ‘I assume you’ve arrived?”

“Yes Rach,” He sighed but amusement caught between his lips, “Have you got news for me?”

“No,” She sounded suspicious, “Why would I have news for you?”

“Because you only track my exact times when you want something but you’re too scared to ask me so you wait till I’m halfway across the country before asking.” He wanted to laugh as she made an indignant sound.

“Okay fine,’ She grumbled, “I wanted to know if I could close up the scuba for the weekend. I met a girl and i wanted to go out on Friday night with her.”

He couldn’t hold in his laugh any longer, “Of course you can Rachel. But I’m curious to know…” He trailed off.

“Ugh you are impossible.” He could imagine her eye roll so vividly. “It’s Clarisse. The principal from your old school.”

“Well, well, well,” He grinned, “I better be getting premium seats to the wedding.”

“Why does everything always end in weddings for you?” She groaned.

“Scuse me for wanting a happily ever after.” He scrunched his face, “Oh and guess who’s here?”

“Is this a good guess or a bad one?”

“Good.” He smiled, “Very good.”

She gasped, speaker crackling at his ear, “Tell me!”

“Jason Grace.”

“What?” She squealed, “Are you guys going to have hot rebound sex and then realise you like each other more than just casual fuck-buddies and end up getting married and adopting like six children?”

He burst with amusement, “Slow down there Rach. I know I throw around the marriage idea, but kids seem like a big commitment.”

“You right,” She said decidedly, “Kids are a lot of effort. Just get married then. But no eloping!” He pictured the crease in her freckled brows. “I want to be a bridesmaid.”

“Can’t promise anything,” He giggled.

“Perseus Jackson!” She scolded.

“Oof the full name.”

“I will tell your mother and she will kick your ass.”

“Okay, okay,” He laughed, “No eloping. I have to go. But remember to take the keys for the scuba with you. We do not need the fire department breaking the door again.”

She grumbled about hating him and then blew him a kiss and ended the call. With a smile still playing on his lips he thanked Luca and rushed into the hotel. Thankfully the check in was painless and fast and he was stumbling into his room in no time. He barely had time to appreciate the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows and the ocean view it laid out before him. He promised himself he would take the time when he got back.

Quickly he hopped into the shower cursing when he realised he’d forgotten to take his socks off. With a horrified shudder he peeled them off and chucked them into the laundry basket, thankful it gets emptied every day. The water beat against his back, fogging up the glass and calming the racing in his veins. He gave himself the luxury of one extra minute to just take a deep breath and screw his head back onto his shoulders and then he jumped out and shoved on a pair of black slacks and a white button down. He didn’t bother to do the top few buttons, figuring he’d have time in the car. Instead he fastened a watch to his wrists, rolled up the sleeves till they sat at his forearms– any attempt to bear the Italian heat– and then he slid his feet into a pair of sleek ankle boots and mussed his damp curls. With half a moments glance at the mirror to make sure his face didn’t have patches of sun-cream and his collar was straight he grabbed his briefcase and walked out.

Glancing at his watch distractedly he rounded the corner, only to bump right into a hard chest.

“Oh,” He frowned, stepping back into a door. “Jason.”

“Hey,” The blonde smiled, “What a coincidence?” He laughed.

“You’re staying here?” It was really starting to feel like the universe was trying to tell him something.

‘Yep,” He gave a shy smile, blue gaze bright. “Guess you’re going to see a lot more of me then you expected huh?”

“I think you may be at more of a disadvantage than me.”

Jason looked at him, eyes dragging from his face down his body and eventually dropping to his shoes. Percy gave an involuntary shiver as the blonde tracked the same slow pace back up. “I think this could be very advantageous.”

“If you don’t stop staring at me like that I’m going to be very late for my meeting.”

He laughed, the previous sultriness giving away to a sparkle and flashing white teeth, “See you around Jackson.” He started walking away.

“Wait!” Percy called, “Date? Tonight? We can explore the city together?”

Jason smiled as bright as diamonds, “Sounds fun. Meet you in the bar at?”

He realised their time depended on when his meeting finished and suddenly, he wanted to cancel the whole thing and start now. ‘Seven thirty?”

“See you there. And have a good meeting.”

The blonde walked away, and Percy felt this time like he was floating away while his body remained superglued to the floor. He wanted to live in this feeling. Because this did not feel like being torn apart. This felt like coming home.

The elevator dinged down the passage and he crashed back to reality. With a string of curse words he raced for it and jumped in just as the doors began to close.

The meeting and subsequent lab tour felt endless and he concentrated on little less than half of what was being said, his mind more interested on the things waiting for him at the hotel, the person. But eventually it was over and him and Luca were cruising towards the Casa de Vita.

“Anything else you need sir?” His driver looked at him from the rear-view mirror as they turned into the hotel road.

“Recommend any good places for a first date?”

“Already met a lady sir?” Luca’s dark eyebrows almost touched his hairline in surprise.

“A man actually.”

The Italian chuckled, nodding his head as if in on some invisible joke, “The Tesora. It is just down the path and near the ocean.”

“Thank you Luca, have a goodnight.”

“And you sir.” Luca winked before peeling out of the entrance and fading into the setting sun.

Percy strolled to his room with a smile on his face, lost in a world full of possibilities. It was unsurprising then that he didn’t see the extra bag against the wall, or the shoes neatly placed by the door that weren’t his.

He took off his watch and undid the few buttons on his shirt, head lost to the glimmer of the ocean. He let his shirt fall open as he slipped off his shoes and walked towards the windows. The view really was spectacular. No matter how much he travelled it always blew his mind the places that existed, that he had yet to learn of. It was irresistible. It was perfect. It didn’t fail to cross his mind that the ocean was the exact same colour as a certain pair of gorgeous blue eyes. He blinked the image away, turning around, and his gaze landed on that exact aquamarine gaze.

“Jason?” He gasped, clutching his chest in surprise. “What are you doing in my room?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags (if you want to be added/taken off the tag list just let me know. All my channels of communication are open):

@lesbian-peanuts​​

@leydiangelo​​​

@queen-of-demons-and-hell​​

@msdrpreist​​

@sparkythunderstorm​​

@nishlicious-01​​

@lucyisblue​

@pjo-hp-things​

[pinkhairedlily]

i'll be with you (but it'll be a different kind)

pairing: yoonkook/yoonjin | rating: G | ao3 read here

a short study on moving on

Yoongi broke the vinyl like he would a plate, a quaint awareness of a disaster but the quick denial of letting it fall – on the floor, in pieces. He swept each shard, vacuumed, and threw them in the bin. He crushed his music sheets and notes, thought better of it, and lit them with a scented candle.

Well, for fuck’s sake, the candle was his gift too.

So Yoongi walked to the collection area at three thirty in the morning, against the gusts of cold November wind, carrying all the evidence of the killer and the remains of its victim. He stood in front of the stack with an impulse to do something. Say a prayer? Curse them? Curse himself and bring them back to his apartment?

Ah, he wasn’t that stupid.

He truly wasn’t.

His stupidity was drained when he decided to fall in love with his roommate and friend that couldn’t be his in this lifetime.

So he came back to his home rid of everything Kim Seokjin owned and touched. Yes, even the bedsheets he washed yesterday.

“The couch it is.” He plopped down to its uncomfortable mattress and was immediately lulled not by the comfort of sleep but by the escape it offered.

He lost track of time in the next days… or probably weeks because the next time he went out for a walk to the mart, he was greeted by imposing Christmas decorations and too tall synthetic trees that wouldn’t look good in apartments that only housed one.

He came back, still alone, but at least joined now with ingredients for proper homemade food. He won’t be lonely on Christmas, not with two bottles of wine, a variety of seafood (which Namjoon hated the most, and Yoongi would order in the largest serving just to spite him), and his good old comfy socks.

He switched on the television to watch Melancholia, a fitting holiday movie in his honest opinion, and turned it up to the highest volume to tune out the looping Christmas carols outside his window and across the hallway where other occupants have rooms over to tide away the lonesome.

It was two thirty and two disaster films later that he heard the ghost of his broken heart.

It was one of the songs he wrote for Jin, the notes not at all the same, but the melody line was correctly embodied. He started up from his drunken stupor on the floor and trudged towards his kitchen sink where he dabbled his face in water.

It wasn’t the alcohol. So it certainly must be the crazy in him… well, until he realized the notes were coming from next door. The walls were thin anyway.

He nonchalantly knocked on the door of his neighbor, not caring at all if it was the devil’s hour, not when the tenant itself did not care about public disturbance.

It opened a crack wide enough for Yoongi to sweep the whole place up in seconds. Tidy floor, unmade bed, three monitors on a desk, neon lights, a christmas tree unabashedly decorated with the most frivolous pieces beside the dining table, and a guitar on top of it.

“Did I wake you?” He was taller than Yoongi, buffer, and very decorated like his Christmas tree. Daith, lobe, and eyebrow piercings, sleeve tattoos on his right arm, and shoulder-length electric blue hair tied in half-ponytail. But what caught his attention the most was the doe eyes that seemed too innocent, but Yoongi was familiar with the pretension that hovered on the surface. This boy knew pain enough to effectively cover it.

“That was my song,” Yoongi said in his usual deadpan delivery. He couldn’t get any cheerier than this.

John Doe perked up (if it could be any more possible). “Ah so you’re the one!” Then his expression immediately shifted to wariness. “Oh wait, you might be offended. I should apologize – “

“Some notes were mismatched, yes. Couldn’t be helped when you learned it by ear.” Yoongi looked at him for confirmation, and John Doe nodded enthusiastically. “But it’s all right. You played the piece so beautifully for someone who did not know it was a love letter.”

The way John Doe changed his smile to a thin line Yoongi knew at once that this was a person who simultaneously wore their heart on a sleeve but chained it before it could truly fall.

“Is it safe to assume the letter’s non-reciprocation when you haven’t played those songs for a month?”

“What else could there be?”

The neighbor bit the inside of his cheeks before answering, “Maybe you just didn’t need love letters anymore?”

Yoongi sighed. “Just keep it down. It’s three in the morning.”

“But it’s Christmas?” John Doe’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh my manners! Merry Christmas Sir!”

“I don’t believe in Santa Claus. Or Jesus. Or capitalist splurges.” Yoongi shoved his hands into his sweatpants. “I have marinara surplus. Do you want a plate?”

-----------------

When New Year rolled again, Yoongi knocked on his neighbor’s door. He slept with headphones in full volume, god be damned his hearing, on newly bought bedsheets that did not smell of Jin and pillows that did not have a strand of his hair. He really couldn’t turn down John Doe’s question of whether he could still play the cursed song or maybe he was two-bottles-of-wine-disoriented enough to put up a rather good argument why he shouldn’t.

“So will you cover your ears when you go to sleep?” John Doe asked after his second slurping of seafood marinara.

“Why should I?” Meanwhile, Yoongi surfed Netflix for his disaster anxiety fix.

“Try Seeking a Friend for the End of the World.” John Doe finished his plate clean. He let out a burp with an apologetic smile to his temporary Christmas host. “Well, I was wondering if I could still play the song. It’s yours anyway so you have all the rights.”

Yoongi’s eyes glazed over the first few seconds of the film, slightly amused at the insurance agent selling an apocalyptic package. “When music is released to the public, it never becomes the composer’s alone. It is also owned by the listener…and whatever they deem the music to be.”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

“I just let you eat my food.”

“I’ll be your friend for the end of the world.”

A beat. “Fine. Min Yoongi.”

But it was a week of listening to ragged notes and misplaced sharps, and his (still) perfectionist ass wanted to right it.

“It’s open,” Jungkook yelled from what Yoongi presumed was his computer chair.

He sauntered inside with measured caution and watched his neighbor tick away in codes on three different screens. Yoongi silently slid the music sheets on a small free space on Jungkook’s desk.

“Software developer?”

“Not really. I’m a solutions specialist, the yes-boy,” Jungkook replied with a smug grin. He hit enter and the lines start to jumble together as he swiveled to face Yoongi. “You re-wrote your notes. You must be a producer or something.”

Yoongi clucks. “Close. A film composer.”

“Do you go to Hollywood?”

“I’m not made for performative limelight. The shadows are bright enough.”

“Cool. I want to make a film someday.”

“You have a day job.”

“Can’t a man have two dreams?”

“Touche. One can never have too many.”

“What’s yours then, Yoongi?”

“Just one but it won’t be mine.”

-----------------

March. Spring coming alive, and for the first time in months, Yoongi genuinely thought he was getting better and over him. Jeon Doe (maybe he’ll always call him this) was a light companion – not imposing, a bit fluttery, but steady in his essence. Perhaps it was the continuous wonder that ebb in his eyes or the utterly soft disregard of pain for something nonchalant.

On the eve of March 1st, he stroked again the keys of his piano, and Jungkook came into his unit and accompanied him with a guitar. It was an improvisation of chaotic notes in Yoongi’s head and by magic, Jungkook floated with that tornado. The contrast and the blend gave way to an unlikely partnership of melody and rhythm.

And on March 1st, Yoongi felt butterflies again when Jungkook joined him on the bench and giddily watched his fingers dance on white and black.

But on the second day of the month, the butterflies were replaced with quicksand.

Kim Seokjin called and wanted to meet. It was funny how in a moment of hesitancy, it was his heart who doubled and his feet that led. Their favorite bar, whiskey on the rocks for Jin, dry scotch for him, and an expanse of silence of between them.

“He’s too busy with production at the moment.” Jin downed his drink in one gulp. Yoongi didn’t even need to ask.

And I’m the only one who’s available. “At the moment is how many months?”

“For three months now.”

“You should break up.” An unsolicited advice Yoongi gave more than twice with not much success.

“If I was a music company, maybe he would do me,” Jin jested, holding the empty glass in his hand. “Should I buy one?”

“Buy his affections as well and monopolize them.” It was a banter Jin was used too and maybe by now, he should have known that Yoongi hid half-truths in them.

“They’re too intense for me alone. He’s always destined for the world.”

What could Yoongi do but surrender at the unspoken request of comfort. “There’s someone who treats you like you’re his whole world.”

“I wish I did too.”

Yoongi never had a sip of his scotch, but Jin’s languid kiss was enough to get drunk on. He lost the flutter and the lightness, and dove headfirst in heavy, steely waters. Yoongi missed the suffocating pressure and the sensation of bursting at the seams. If his heart would burst at this moment, it would shatter a hundred times more for the many touches and whispers to follow. He would gladly die in this misshapen illusion.

-----------------

“Your door was always locked,” Jungkook greeted a month after, carrying a big tub of fermented kimchi. “My dad dropped by to give me spares.”

Two weeks before this, Jin left in a hurry to go to the airport, saying Namjoon had been in an accident, and two weeks after, Yoongi never heard back from him.

He accepted the side dish from his neighbor, but nothing went past Jungkook. Realization was plain in his face, but he chose not to comment on it.

“Yoongi.”

“Hmm.” It was danger meeting Jungkook’s eyes so Yoongi kept his downcast.

“I told you before.”

“What?”

“That I’ll be your friend for the end of the world.”

Yoongi didn’t respond, and Jungkook took the cue to leave.

He repeated that same line later that night when he heard Yoongi trash his place, his bare arm catching the brunt of a baseball bat just before it landed on the piano keys.

“Why would you go so far?” Yoongi sneered, anger seeping through his controlled demeanor.

“Why would you go so far?” Jungkook cradled his arm like he cradled his pain. Like it was nothing. “It’s the end of the world.”

“I need a friend.”

-----------------

It was easier being with Jungkook – lighter, happier, with no care in the world. He was also honest in a straightforward, unassuming, and endearing way especially when those doe eyes of his were used to an advantage.

When he told Yoongi in the middle of Battle Royale, out of the blue, with no precedence whatsoever that “I don’t want to be just your friend”, it knocked the air out of the latter. And when Jungkook followed it with “You can use me, however you want”, Yoongi knew he had to get things sorted.

Lest he wants Jungkook trapped inside the vortex of unresolved feelings.

So Yoongi didn’t give him a tangible response. He just skidded closer to him on the couch and Jeon Doe took the cue to lay his head on the crook of his neck as another student was slashed to their death on the screen.

When credits rolled in, Yoongi dipped his head and found Jungkook already waiting with bated breath.

-----------------

“Ah, you found me.”

Jin was back in his penthouse in Seoul, alone with no Namjoon in tow.

“Am I a week early?” Yoongi asked.

“I just got in today.” True enough, unopened suitcases littered his living room. Too many suitcases for a vacation. “I’m relocating back. Is there such a thing?”

Yoongi went to one luggage and punched in the password Jin used when Namjoon and him got together, it did not open, so he tried another combination. Ah, only his birthdate. Yoongi packed the first of his clothes to cabinets he was all too familiar with. He went on with this rudimentary task with Jin at the kitchen, cooking up something for the two of them.

In a parallel universe, Yoongi would have been happily contented with this.

Tidied up, folded, and free, the two went through a simple steak and pasta dinner.

“We broke up.” He twirled his fork endlessly. “It hit me when I saw him go to an award show. I could never keep up with him, Yoongi, not when I’m taking a backseat while his dreams sit in the front.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Jin stared at him like he was betrayed.

“Don’t be silly,” Yoongi repeated, drawling each word. “Namjoon and his goals sit in another sports car while you drive a rundown secondhand.”

That made Jin laugh. “You’re merciless.” And then he grimaced. “I never felt this neglected. It was never this way when I was with you.”

“We’ve never had anything, Jin. You didn’t let me have anything,” Yoongi finished clean his pasta. He folded his napkin like a good guest and waited for Jin’s retort.

But he just sighed, defeated. “I destroyed what good we had. I’m afraid I also lost the friendship.”

“You know I can’t go back again to you.” Yoongi didn’t know if he threw a question or a statement.

“I saw it the instant you came through that door.” Jin put down his fork and trained his eyes on his best friend. “Happiness looks good on you.”

“You would have known already if you had just looked at me.”

Jin gave him a sad smile. “And it would have been the best sight had I tried harder.” He picked up again his fork, his lips pursed, his eyes brimming with tears. It was a foreign scene, Jin coming undone in front of him, not because of Namjoon, because of him. “So who is this guy?”

“I call him Jeon Doe.”

Jin kept brushing the side of his eyes while he twirled strands of noodles in his fork. When he opened his mouth to eat, tears brushed down his cheeks, breaking in rivulets as he chewed. “That’s a stupid name.”

Yoongi noticed the upwelling – the comeuppance of what was lost trying to mask itself as the crescent emotions. He knew it when Jungkook kissed him back that night, that he could never go back to this uncertainty. “And stupidly in love with me too.”

Jin continued to chew with salty tears. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

His hands clenched at the name that left his lips. “I got tired of being your placeholder. You couldn’t just leave and expect me to stay in one place. I also crack every time you touch me, and I shatter every time you go. I broke, Jin. I got torn apart, and I wasn’t sure whether I could still handle your overspilling love for someone else when I couldn’t even hold any for me.” Yoongi’s fingers stretched to touch the dam that escaped his friend’s eyes. “You must understand.”

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” Jin repeated. “And I understand it. I get it now. I see it. It’s just overwhelming – this mountain of regrets and what-ifs and utter disregard I made for my own happiness.”

“I got in the crossfire.”

“A victim willing.”

“But not anymore.”

Jin shook his head. “No, not anymore.” He intertwined his fingers with Yoongi. “I hope it works out for you and Jeon Doe.”

Not a minute longer, Yoongi pulled away from Jin’s touch. “I hope you heal.”

-----------------

Jin saw them on the same piano bench, playing a duet in the middle of a wedding reception, hands flying about, touches fleeting but enthralling, releasing captivating, fluttery sounds – almost akin to freedom.

He was seeing now in full high-definition panorama the gravity of his consequences. He let go of his two great loves, one he loved with no fail, the other he took to fail.

And so he welcomed the splendor of pain. He had two great loves, and regardless of how they ended, they deserved a thorough journey of grief. He could only hope that at the end of it was what he saw in Yoongi.

Freedom.

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 39 Pt 1

The noise that filled the apartment woke her up, the sheets cold on Gustaf’s side of the bed telling her he’d let her sleep in. In the few days since the visit from Uncle Elias the kids had hardly been home. Gustaf taking them out for lunch and the movies, Stellan and the boys going bowling, and the pajama party with Valter and Gustaf’s two youngest brothers last night. She could hear Gustaf chatting to Stellan through the ajar door, the boys settling back in after the overnight with grandpa. The happiness in their voices made her smile, far less grief than this time last year, not a hint of anger or sorrow. She heard Gustaf get them situated before he came in, smile wide, damn she loved that smile, the look of him.

“Hey there lovely lady.” He murmured sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning down to claim her mouth. God the man knew how to kiss.

“Hi.” She breathed out, wrapping her arms around him securing him to her. “Sounds like the monsters are back.”

“They are, and they’re excited that we leave for the cabin tomorrow.” His kiss lingered. “Time to get up, lots to do.”

“Yeah, I need to take them shopping later for snacks, I promised them one treat each for the trip.” She kissed him sweetly. “I’m starting to regret my decision as it means I have to take them out in public.”

He chuckled, those laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “What were you thinking?” He said, the sarcasm thick.

“I wasn’t, that’s the problem.” She snorted, thumb brushing his crows feet. They both laughed at the squeak of dad dad as Lily padded her way into the room all excited, Gustaf picking her up and kissing her until she giggled. “Someone had a good time away.”

“Dad said she was running the house as soon as she woke up this morning, keeping the boys in line.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me.” She muttered. Just looking at him with her in that instance made her belly flip, the whole kids of their own thought sailing through her head like a bright neon sign. He placed Lily on the bed and she crawled over to Sildie for cuddles while Gustaf took a shower.

“He’s much happier today huh little lady.” She murmured as Lily snuggled in. She’d been worried, the days since Elias had been brutal on him. She’d phoned Elsa and dealt with more paperwork while Gustaf was shut up in his office laying down the law with his lawyers and security team. She’d never heard him so angry, the shreds he’d stripped off the building security, the anger and fury that had unleashed again as he made arrangements to have Dana’s entire family under surveillance. Especially when they were informed he’d made bail and the trial wouldn’t be until April 5th. Sometimes the system just sucked and so did the timeframe. She also knew that being away for filming over the next few months was making this whole situation far worse, she sensed his anxiety already poised to drag him under. It was a clusterfuck and added pressure he didn’t need.

“I’m going over to mums for lunch today, she wanted to chat about the whole Ana thing.” He said as he came out wrapped in nothing but a towel, setting all her wild fantasies aflame. “She’s... concerned.”

“That’s one way to put it.” She said softly. “Do you need us to be there?” Her voice was quiet, apprehension he thought.

“Not if you don’t want to be.”

“I do, I just don’t want the kids around when we’re talking about all that, about her.” She would protect them from it as much as possible. “They don’t need that in their lives.”

“I already told mum it would just be me.” He toyed with her wisps of hair at her face and kissed her tenderly. “For exactly those reasons, and I also know that Eija and Alex are there today too, family meeting about it really. I’ll get them up to speed. It’ll be fine.”

“You know the spiel as well as I do now anyway.” She trailed a finger along his jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” His thumb brushed the dark shadows marring her cheek, it still made his anger flare. He tossed a shirt and jeans on and collected Lily from the bed. “Up you get love, I’ll make some tea.” He kissed her quickly and went to see why the boys were suddenly so quiet.

She could hear them play fighting as she dressed, and smiled. The beginnings of their family, fun times, happy memories, they’d build more tomorrow and over the coming weeks. The ruckus she came out to made her chuckle, three boys tackling the fourth freakishly tall one. He was a big kid at heart, that gorgeous smile plastered across his face, not a hint of anxiety or stress in him. They were both eager to be in the mountains away from everything for a while.

Leaning against the counter she watched, videoing what she could. She laughed as Lily came to the rescue of her dad dad, the boys laughing, so carefree and happy, just as it should be. Gustaf could never fully understand the precious gift he’d given them, stability, love, a family. He’d brought them together as a family unit. “I hope you’re seeing this brother.” She muttered under her breath. “He loves them as if they were his own.” Her smile went wide as Lily tackled Gustaf to the floor, the boys cheering. She fisted a hand and tapped it on the counter thinking. “He’d make a great father.” She whispered, her breath catching. Breathing out a steadying breath she saw Gustaf calm them down and leave them to play some Mario cart.

“They’re ready to go when you are, they’ve had breakfast.” He chuckled, that gorgeous smile lighting up his face as he stopped in front of her, fingers reaching to toy with the soft waves of her hair she’d left down.

“I love seeing you this happy.” She said, hands cupping his face and kissing him sweetly.

“You make me this happy love, so do they.” He kissed her, sensing something had knocked her off kilter a little. “I love you Sildie, the five of you are my world.”

“You’re ours sweet man.” She smiled, her kiss lingering. “Go have a good lunch with your mum, we’ll get some snacks and shopping for the trip. I need to get Lily another jacket, she’s grown out of her other one and the twins need new boots.”

“Fun times.” He grinned.

“Joyous.” She said sarcastically at his chuckle. “Go on. Get going.” She swatted his ass and took a sip of her tea. His arched eyebrow at her butt slap had that mischievous smirk tug her lips.

“A very dangerous game to play kitten.” He growled and devoured her mouth thoroughly.

“Text me your dinner order, I’ll pick something up.” She said changing the subject as her body melted at his touch.

“Mmmm hmmm. Will do lovely lady.” He purred. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He could tell something was bothering her, more than her usual grief and the shitstorm that Ana had created, the way it had dragged Elias and Dana’s side of the family into the mix. So much going on in that wicked smart brain of hers. He knew she was piecing something together but there was something else she was chewing on. Walking across the street to his mothers he thought about the conversation they were all about to have, the steps he would take, had taken, to protect them all, those measures Sildie had already put in place. They would rally around him, protect him, protect Sildie, the kids, like a family should. It still irritated him that he had to resort to such drastic measures of security and legal restraints but he was out of time, options, and patience.

Sildie and the kids hit the mall, John, their shadow as she like to call him, following their car and staying a respectable distance from them as they shopped, eyes ever watchful. She felt bad for dragging the guy out on a chilly afternoon for them to go shopping, but if this was going to set Gustaf’s mind at ease while he wasn’t here with them she wasn’t going to argue. He was already under enough stress and pressure, he didn’t need anymore. She didn’t think Ana would blatantly harm her or the kids, but there was always the what if, the maybe. Those thoughts that raced through her head a mile a minute. Just look at Elias, she thought bitterly. Not in a million years did she see the connection between him and Ana coming.

Her lawyer brain kicked in as she helped the twins find shoes. How did he fit into it? How did he know her? Was he just a junkie? Was Ana just his supplier? Something more? Had there been a relationship between them? Was Elias part of the syndicate? Was the rest of Dana’s family involved? How far did Ana’s claws dig in? Questions she hoped would be answered when the law finally caught up with her. After that, it wouldn’t take long for Elias to sing, to rat on her to save his own ass.

With a new coat for Lily and new boots for the boys, Brendan included because his toes were already touching leather from the pair she’d bought a few months ago, they stopped in for ice cream. It was their weekly thing, an after shopping treat that had carried over from Dana that she didn’t have the heart to stop, especially when mint chocolate chip was involved and it kept a part of their mother with them.

With groceries in hand they headed back to the car, John helping with the heavier stuff, boys laughing, and a chattering Lily in her arms playing with the zipper on her new coat. As they neared the car the happiness of the afternoon turned to ash and vinegar in her mouth as she looked closer.

“John take the kids to your SUV please.” She said quietly and handed her bags to him. “Brendan, take Lily please and get everyone in the car with John, stay with him ok?” She saw the shock on the teens face, the questions of, who and why echoed there. “I’ll explain later.” Was all she heard herself say as she approached her vehicle slowly.

The windows had been smashed in, seats ripped, red paint covered every surface inside as if a paint can had exploded. The vulgar messages on the doors, the paint splattered and shattered windshield. She felt the panic attack surge up, the nausea and lightheadedness threatening to consume her. “Breathe.” She whispered and sucked in a breath. “Just breathe, the kids are ok, it’s just a car.” A car Gustaf had bought for her, for the kids. He’d bought it to take care of her. Pulling out her phone she took photos of it all and texted them straight to Detective Holmberg, her phone rang a moment later.

“Sildie it’s Leon. I’m on my way. Are the kids somewhere safe?” He said hurriedly. She could hear him moving as he spoke. “Are you safe?”

“Yes they’re with John our security detail, in his car.” She didn’t like how pathetic and shaky her voice sounded. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t touch anything.”

“I haven’t, I just took pictures.” As she was speaking to him she noticed a blonde woman watching her a few cars over. It took her a second to recognize her through the haze of adrenaline and anxiety coursing through her system. “Ana’s here, a few cars down from me.” She snarled, an overwhelming urge to cut a bitch slammed into her so violently the anxiety flipped a one eighty into full on lethal rage.

“Don’t approach her, pretend she’s not there. We maybe able to box her in, I’ll have the parking lot cordoned off.” Which she could hear him relaying that order as he drove. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Ok.” She would not crumble and give Ana the satisfaction, and she would not retaliate. She wanted to though, oh how she wanted some divine retribution right here, right now at her own hand. Everything she’d done to get at Gustaf, to cause him more pain, more grief. Yes, she thought, I’d like to have a knock down drag out with you, you vindictive bitch, she thought as her gaze flicked to Ana and then back at the car.

Calming the rage her thumb hesitated over Gustaf’s number. She knew she had to make the call or he’d be more furious at her for handling it on her own, especially after what went down with Elias. But part of her wanted to spare that sweet soul of his any further pain. She choked back a sob as she knew this would hurt him, cut into him so deeply. Her rage gave way to anxiety once more as she stared at his number. All that peace he’d found these past few weeks was ebbing away. “Together.” She breathed and hit dial, the sick feeling in her stomach growing with every ring.

“Hey lovely lady.” She could hear the joy in his voice and she was about to shatter it.

“Hey handsome.” She breathed, anxiety rising.

“You ok?” He went on full alert, he knew that tone, something had happened.

“I’m fine, so are the kids, the car not so much. Not an accident.” She blurted out quickly and held back the sob.

“Ok, good to know.” His gut threatened to abruptly launch his meal out via his teeth. “Talk to me love.” He said gently at her sudden silence.

“Ana’s here, she vandalized the car and is sitting a few cars from me. I’ve called Leon, and he’s just pulling in.” The lawyer had surfaced to take care of the situation, he could hear it in her voice, but it shook.

“God fucking damn it!” He roared, his temper snapping out. She could hear the chair he was sitting in get pushed back explosively, crashing to the floor. It was the last straw for him, she knew it would be and felt sick for it.

“Gustaf, take a breath, please.” She stayed calm, her voice quavering with the tears that threatened to fall. She was only just holding it together. “Were fine, the kids are in the SUV with John at my request. I’m not in any danger and Leon is here.” She willed her voice to not shake. “He just pulled up.”

“I’m on my way to you.” He seethed, he would fucking murder the bitch.

“You won’t get in they blocked the car park so she has no where to go.” She tried for calm, her voice betrayed her as the anxiety surged forward again.

“The hell I won’t.” He spat and she heard the unmistakable slam of a car door. “I’m on my way.” The line went dead.

She’d never heard him this angry, never had him be so short with her. New Year’s Eve was one thing, confronting Elias another, but this? This was an entirely different level of anger, explosive, reckless, and violent.

“I take it that was Gustaf?” Leon asked coming to stand beside her.

“Yes. He’s on his way and rather angry.” That was the understatement of the century.

“Quite rightly.” Holmberg muttered. “Where is she?” He asked, paying particularly close attention to a spot on the drivers side door as he spoke.

“Your eleven o’clock, four cars down, blue...” She said softly, only flicking her eyes to make sure she had the details correct.

“I see her.” He texted the location to his team and let them handle it. Before Ana could tear her eyes away from Sildie and the mayhem she was gloating over, her car was boxed in and police were hauling her out.

Sildie wasn’t interested in the takedown, or the profanity spewing from Ana’s mouth as they cuffed her. She turned her back on Ana, not giving the woman another moment of recognition. It was difficult not to retaliate, because she wanted to, she wanted to March right over there and lay her out cold for what she’d done to Gustaf. Rarely did Sildie want to get into a physical altercation but she was certainly ready to make an exception in this case.

She peered into the car once more, her focus drawn to the rear view mirror and what was no longer hanging there. “She took it.” Her choked tone had Leon turning sharply.

“Took what?” He asked, but she couldn’t answer him, her voice had ceased working as the grief swallowed her whole. Silent tears tracked down her cheeks and she felt her world bottom out. As they placed Ana in the back seat of the police cruiser she felt familiar arms around her, turning her slowly until she was breathing in that familiar scent.

“Sildie.” Gustaf sighed, the relief that she was ok flooding into him. Eyes searched for John’s car and landed on him a moment later, the respectful nod saying the kids were fine setting his mind at ease.

“Sildie, what did she take?” Leon asked again softly as she buried her face in Gustaf’s chest and wept.

“Something missing?” Gustaf asked flatly looking at Leon with ice cold eyes.

“All she said was she took it.” Leon shrugged.

Gustaf leaned down to peer into the car and his temper went nuclear. “I will fucking murder her.” He snarled, holding Sildie tighter to him. “The charm from her rear view mirror is missing, the one her brother gave her.” He said evenly, barely able to contain the contempt in his voice.

“I’ll need you to check the rest of the vehicle to see if anything else is missing.” Leon’s voice had turned flinty.

“Give us a minute ok?” Gustaf asked, he had to talk Sildie off the ledge of a panic attack and stuff his violent fury back into its box.

“Take your time, it’ll take us a while to process this mess.” Leon said and moved away.

Gustaf stood there, soothing her as best he could when he knew all she’d be able to feel would be the waves of anger rolling off him. “You’re ok love, I’m here.” He murmured. “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.” She sobbed. “I’m sorry... the car.”

“No, no, you’ve done nothing wrong, look at me.” He said tenderly trying to get his anger under control. “Look at me love.” When she did it crushed him. “I’m the one that should be sorry for dragging her into your life.”

“But the car.” She hiccuped.

“Is just a car. It’s insured. I’m more livid about what she took from it.” His rage banked as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, she needed him to be calm. They were both stressed and him letting the anger gain the upper hand wasn’t the answer. He’d have time to unleash later.

“It’s gone.” She sobbed.

“It is love, I’m so sorry.” This was tearing her apart and cleaving his soul into pieces. That charm wasn’t something he could replace. He couldn’t fix it.

“Oh shit, the kids, they’re still with John...” she said hurriedly swiping the tears from her face, realizing she didn’t have the luxury to fall apart. “And I just left...”

“They’re perfectly fine, look.” He pointed to the SUV and the kids waved back.

“We have to get them home.” She sniffed pulling it together, it was a stupid charm, it wasn’t like someone had died, she berated herself.

“How about you hang here for a little bit and help Leon out while I go and grab a new car seat for Lily? Because we can’t take anything from the car and her seat is trashed.” He said softly.

She let her gaze drift over to the items already being bagged, spare shoes, sweaters, and Brendan’s hockey gear. “Leon? Can you open that bag real quick.” She asked pointing to Brendan’s gear.

“Paint in the bag too.” Leon said sharply.

“And his mask.” Sildie sighed, before another sob broke free.

“I’ll have another made love.” Gustaf said softly.

“It’s not the same.” She sniffed. “You had that made for him, your first gift to him. You have no idea what it means to him.”

“I know it’s not the same love.” He pulled her into a hug while Leon was trying his damnedest to wipe the paint off the teens hockey mask. “I might be able to take it back and get it cleaned and refinished. I’ll figure it out, I’ll fix it. Somehow I’ll fix it.” He kissed her temple and lingered, willing his system to calm down so in turn he could soothe hers. “Are we able to get this stuff back at some point?” He snapped at Holmberg and immediately regretted his tone. It wasn’t Leon’s fault, Gustaf was just on a razor thin edge.

“I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can.” The detective looked at Gustaf, yes, he thought, Leon was pissed too, good.

“Appreciate it.” He kissed Sildie softly. “Go sit with the kids a moment ok? I’ll get Lily a new seat and we can go from there ok?” She just nodded and walked to John’s car. The slump of her shoulders told him this had kicked her hard.

“I knew her brother.” Leon said quietly. “My wife was close friends with Dana. I’m doing everything I can Gustaf, but I have to stay within the confines of the law, so do you. Don’t go doing anything crazy, get a good attorney and take the spiteful bitch down.”

“Do me a favor.” Gustaf said bluntly. “Search Ana’a car real quick for that charm, or her pockets. The rest of this I can replace, that I can’t, and it will destroy Sildie if it stays missing.”

Leon nodded. “Go get Lily a car seat, I’ll look myself right now and call it in for when they process her at the station.”

“Thanks.” He huffed and scrubbed a hand over his face. As he started to walk away he turned. “I’m sorry, for snapping earlier.”

“Not necessary, I’d be a little snappy too considering the circumstances.” Leon said, a tight smile gracing his lips.

“Well regardless, I’m sorry. There was no need for it, you’re only trying to help.” He wasn’t that person anymore, to rage without reason, without sucking it up and apologizing like the man he was trying to be.

“All good.” Leon said, clasping a hand of Gustaf’s shoulder and squeezing it in support.

He knew he could be an insufferable prick when he put his mind to it or the rage swamped him, that wasn’t him anymore. “And that’s what you’re hoping for isn’t it you fucking bitch.” He muttered as he walked to the baby store across the street. “You’re hoping to get me so riled up I’ll snap. Well I’m way past that. Coming after me was one thing, going after Sildie was the biggest mistake you ever made. By the end of this you’re going to wish you’d never fucking met me.” He said with conviction.

She explained it as much as she dared to the boys, the plea in her eyes to Brendan to just go with it so she could explain more when they were away from the twins. His tight nod all she needed to have some measure of relief. She watched Gustaf walk back to his car and fit the new seat. This will destroy him, she thought, all that peace he’d found obliterated in the instant she’d phoned him. Destroying another life, just like she’d destroyed the boys. It was a spiral, she knew it was happening yet she was powerless to stop her thoughts diving so deeply out of control. It was all too much and she’d reached her tolerance level of bullshit.

She hopped out of the car as he approached and went to him.

“Load the kids up and head home, love. Take care of them and let me worry about all this ok?” He said gently, he would be her calm now as he knew she was far from done today. “You ok to drive?” A nod was all she could give him. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I need to get them home before Lily implodes.” She said trying her damndest to pull it together, she had shit to take care of not wallow in self pitty.

“I’ll stay here with Leon until the car’s towed and then go hire one for our vacation. I’ll send John back with you to help with the groceries ok?” He watched her carefully and was concerned.

She nodded and leaned her forehead against his chest, breathed him in, his scent soothing her jagged emotions.

“That’s it love. Breathe a minute. It’ll all be ok, you and me, we’ll fix it.” He murmured and stroked the nape of her neck tenderly.

She let herself just exist for a moment, collect the shred of composure she was clinging to and pulled it together. Drying her eyes she kissed him softly, the grief he felt already echoing in his eyes.

“There’s my girl.” He said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll be home a little later. Do you need me to send mum over, or dad? A sibling? I have plenty to spare.” His attempt at humor got the chuckle from her he was hoping for.

“No, I’ll be ok.” You won’t be, he thought, but nice try.

“I love you Sildie. Together love.” He kissed her tenderly.

“Love you too, not letting her win, it just knocked me a bit.” She sniffed.

“I know, me too, but we’ll knock back harder.” He kissed her brow and looked at her. “Come on, I’ll get Lily bear settled, because I can hear her starting to ramp up for a full on I’m tired and hungry meltdown.”

Gustaf helped her get the kids settled in the car, fielding questions from the twins as vaguely as possible. “Text me when you get home.” He said softly.

“I will.” Her voice was that eerie quiet he didn’t like. It only got like that when she retreated into herself and it killed him to see her like that.

She seemed to be on auto pilot as she drove home, aware enough to drive, but not really caring about what was happening around her. John helped her get the kids inside, the groceries for their trip piled on the counter. With the kids occupied she sat in her office, the process of writing notes about the incident clearing it out of her mind as the words appeared on paper. Gustaf’s text tone interrupted her asking if she’d got home and she swore, she’d forgotten to text him.

We’re home. I’m so sorry I zoned and totally forgot.

It’s ok love. You’re all home safe that’s what matters. I’m headed to hire a car, be home soon. Is John still there?

He left a little while ago but he said they have someone watching the building. He stayed until we were settled.

Ok, that’s good.

I love you.

Love you too lovely lady. I’ll be home soon.

He came home an hour or so later and could hear Sildie reaming someone on the other end of the phone in her office, door shut tightly.

“She’s been in there for nearly an hour.” Brendan said quietly.

“You know who she’s flaying?” He asked carefully and the kid shook his head.

“I haven’t seen her this mad since she yelled at grandma after mum and dad...” He stopped suddenly and shook his head not wanting to voice the rest of the sentence.

“Well she’s super upset about the car so I’m not surprised.” Gustaf said carefully, he wasn’t sure how much he should divulge.

“Why would someone do that?” Brendan asked as he walked with Gustaf to the kitchen out of the twins hearing.

“I don’t know B.” Gustaf sighed, he was beat to hell and he knew he’d have to talk Sildie down before she imploded. “The short version ok, because I’m beat to hell.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to collect his thoughts. “It’s an ex girlfriend, the ex girlfriend, the one that screwed me up. They arrested her and things could get a little messy. Your mum has had to bust ass on making sure you guys are safe and it’s all just a little too much for her today.”

“Is that why we have John and Andrew come with us everywhere?” The kid was a quick study.

“Yes. I promised Sildie I’d keep you all safe too.”

“Oh.” The teen looked a little shocked.

“I love you guys, you’re my family Brendan and there’s absolutely nothing I won’t do to protect you, to make sure you’re safe, that Sildie’s safe.” He said softly as the teen hugged him tight. “Absolutely nothing.” His head came up at the sharp shout from Sildie’s office and he decided he needed to get in there and deal with it. “It’s getting late, you guys eaten yet?”

“Yeah we got something on the way home, there’s some here for you too. We weren’t sure when you’d get home.”

“Thanks. Can you get the twins in a bath or shower, I need to go see if she’s ok. Did the cold groceries get out away?”

“Yeah they’re away.” He said and started to unpack the rest.

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea @fay-walden @nandadb

[illneverrecover]

growl | kth (m)

➛pairing: Kim Taehyung x reader  (per usual) ➛summary: Clearing his throat, he tries again, gaze intense. His eyes are about to fall out of his skull with the power of his attempt at a telepathic message to his friend. “Come on, Jimin. Ask me. You know what? I’ll help you. I pick dare.” A sly glint of amusement pulls at the edge of Jimin’s mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. You look back and forth between the two of them, not sure what was happening but sure as hell knowing it was going to be nothing be trouble. “I dare you to sing a song that shows off your best growling for our girl here,”  ➛genre: non idol!AU, friends to lovers, slice of life, smut ➛word count: 4605 ➛rating: explicit/mature (y’all been knew) ➛warnings:  alcohol use, cursing, cliche use of ‘truth or dare’, Seokjin singing dope songs at karaoke, Jimin being chaotic, slight dirty talk, semi public sex, oral (male receiving), swallowing, Taehyung being a secret softie. ➛notes: Firstly, I would like to start off by saying that this fic idea came from @destiel1597 and the pure lethal sex that is 5th Muster Taehyung™, so this is truly their fault. The both of them. Secondly, y’all should’ve known that the minute I saw  5th Muster Taehyung™, I’d have to let the thirst out somehow. I don’t have self control. Lastly, shoutout to my bby @taetaesbaebaepsae for assisting me & @purpletigertaetae for spamming me with rude Tae inspo to fuel the thotting. You the best.  I promise my next fic will be about another member. If Tae would just RELAX I wouldn’t have to be like this!! ➛song: Toxic - Alex & Sierra (which is the version Tae sings in this. Listen to it and picture him singing it and tell me you wouldn’t do the same). Ma City - BTS 5th Muster version (which you should go watch immediately if you haven’t - this growling Tae was the muse for this entire sinful piece.) 

                             ᴄʀᴏss-ᴘᴏsᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ AO3;; ʟɪɴᴋ ɪɴ ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ 

“How many times are you going to dare me to sing this song?”

Seokjin’s face had a thin sheen of sweat, the bright disco lights of the cozy karaoke booth bouncing off his skin, showing the exasperation evident on his face.

“Until it stops being funny. So…” you look around at the others, pausing to sip at your drink. “Never. Get to it, lover boy.” 

He sighs heavily but did as he was told, picking up the microphone and waiting for the flatscreen to start scrolling with the lyrics. The first few bars of the song blared through the speakers, and the guys gave supporting hoots to encourage him. 

Despite his earlier protest, he quickly gets into it, eyebrows furrowed as he dramatically swings the mic, belting out the first few notes. “I gotta take a little time, a little time to think things over...I better read between the lines, in case I need it when I'm older…” 

Next to you, Taehyung laughs deeply, throwing his head back as the elder continues, eyes glistening with unshed tears. No one else in the room was faring much better, every single person in some stage of cracking up at his theatrics. Forcing Seokjin to sing Foreigner songs is always hilarious, and one of your favorite parts of your friends bi-monthly karaoke meetups.

No one really knows when or how the tradition started (though rumor has it, it was at your drunken demand to ‘show off the golden pipes’), but these nights in the same small private room of your local karaoke bar had quickly become the favorite in your friend group. Twice a month, regardless of what was going on, everyone agreed to meet up for dinner, drinks, and the most ridiculous yet always entertaining game of truth or dare - karaoke style.

It was typical of your friends to never do anything the normal way, and this was no different. Instead of selecting songs of personal preference to sing for the room, they were always chosen as either a dare, or a failure to participate in a truth. It was asker's choice, and the victim wasn’t allowed to veto, less they wanted to foot the entire bill for the evening. And between seven men in their mid twenties and the pickled livers of you and your friend, Nari - that was a hefty price to pay. 

Seokjin reaches the chorus, the build up so intense that it’s no surprise when he drops to his knees, his tenor still in pitch and  beautiful despite the theatrics. “I want to know what love is! I want you to show me! I want to feel what love is, I know you can show me!” 

He’s clutching at his chest while staring into Yoongi’s eyes, the younger man expressionless as if this performance was something he saw on the regular. Which, to be fair - it was.

Slinging back the dregs, you lean to grab the bottle of vodka on the table before a large hand beats you to it, Taehyung smiling down at you as he scoots closer. “The usual, milady?” 

You slap his arm, eyes rolling. “Gross, no one says ‘milady’, Tae.” 

He giggles, filling it halfway with the liquor before topping it off with some seltzer - just the way you like it. You were only two drinks in, but the honeyed sound of his laugh always flustered you, a light burn flushing your cheeks. His long, dark hair was wavy and messy in that perfect way that made you want to sink your fingers into it, and between that and the peek of golden chest through the undone buttons of his dark dress shirt, you found yourself feeling thirsty. Well, thirstier than you normally were for Kim Taehyung.

It had become a running gag with the other guys - your little school girl crush on Taehyung, something that they used to tease you at any given opportunity. It seemed to personally offend them that you wouldn’t say anything to the brunette, and no matter how many times you explained you didn’t want to fuck with the group dynamics, they couldn’t seem to stop sticking their noses directly into your business. You’d be annoyed by their immature comments if it wasn’t for the fact that the handsome man seemed completely oblivious to them - and your feelings. 

Thank fuck for that. 

Handing you the freshened beverage, Taehyung moves to pour more into his glass before settling, large thigh pressing into your own. He has always been an affectionate guy, so when he threw an arm over your shoulder just as Seokjin hit the last notes of the song, you didn’t blink an eye. 

However, Jimin did.

He had been watching all night, seeing the way his best friend was buttering you up, going out of his way to try and make you laugh, to make you smile. The way you would scoff and roll your eyes to hide your heated cheeks or the way your thighs were pressing together any time he touched you. Taehyung’s feelings for you were practically neon red signs to Jimin, and yet you seemed obnoxiously unaware - something that was starting to make Jimin crazy. 

Getting involved probably wasn’t wise - neither party had asked for his help. But since when did he ever claim to be wise? Jimin prided himself on being a meddler - he couldn’t just not meddle. Especially when such an opportunity presents itself.

Bowing to the loud cheers, Seokjin moves to sit back down on another sofa, chugging the remnants of his glass. “Alright Joon, it’s your turn - Truth or Dare? And try not to be lame this time, please.”

Namjoon scoffs, faux offense on his face as he glares at his elder. “Hey! Picking truth isn’t lame! I’m telling you my deepest darkest secrets here!” 

“Pretty sure admitting that you want to touch Nari’s tits isn’t a secret, but nice try,” Yoongi deadpans, causing the room to break out in laughter.  You tried to focus on the game, on what ridiculous question Seokjin had prepared for Namjoon, but instead all you could feel was the warmth of Tae’s arm draped around you, all you could think about was how he smelled like a mixture teakwood and lavender, and how much you wanted him to ruin you.

“Y/n!”

Snapping your eyes towards the shout, you come face to face with a deviously smirking Jimin, leaning forward on his knees. He was twirling the straw in his glass like a super villain, and everything about the look he was giving you had your nerves on edge.

“Yes, Jimin? Is there something you need?”

“It’s your turn - truth or dare,” he coos, eyes dancing with mischief. God, he’s such a fucking Slytherin. You were in for it now - you could feel it in your bones.

“Last time I picked ‘dare’ you made me sing half of Evanescence’s discography-”

“Hey, to be fair, you knew it all  by heart and fucking nailed it,” Jungkook interjected, giving you a proud grin.

“Well - yeah, okay I did, thank you very much - but as I was saying, I’ve learned my lesson. I pick truth,” you reply smugly, glaring at the dark haired man. Jimin may look sweet, but luckily you know better than to ignore his cunning.

Which is why you shouldn’t have been surprised when he started cackling.

Eyes creasing into half moons, he threw his head back, running a hand through his hair as he faces you once more, eyebrows waggling. “What’s one thing about Taehyung that you find attractive?”

You choke, grappling for your drink to soothe the burning in your throat, though you were sure it was only making it worse. Face on fire, you looked at him with wide eyes as you cough in a feeble attempt to remember how to speak. 

A warm palm starts patting your back, the man in question leaning down to look into your eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Tae, I’m fine,” you glare at Jimin, his victorious smirk enraging you further. The last thing you want to do is answer this truthfully; anything obvious is going to weird Taehyung out, but you know if you try and give a lame answer, Jimin will have no issues calling your ass out for it.

“Well, I like his singing voice…” you murmur, eyes focused on the ice melting in your glass, which you immediately bring to your lips once more.

Jimin rolls his eyes, scoffing. “His singing voice? What does that even mean?” he kicks at your leg, pushing you further. “Like… the tone? Or just how it sounds?” he sputters incredulously, choking back a laugh.

“Fuck you! Yes, how it sounds. And also when he does that deep growling thing?” you shiver, shaking your head. “I don’t know, it just gets me. It’s really hot.” 

Whoops, seems the vodka had done some of the talking for you, but it was too late to take it back. You feel your skin heat, but you hold your head high, raising a brow at Jimin in defiance.

The room falls silent for a beat, all eyes on you until Jungkook wolf whistles, everyone breaking out in hoots and yells. You turn to the man next to you, expecting him to blush coyly or even brush you off with a gentle smile - he was nothing if not kind - but instead you find a shit eating grin peering down at you. Cocking your head, you look at him questioningly, but he just winks before slugging back the rest of his drink, his gaze drifting to Jimin’s over your head.

It was all he needed to hear.

Your words were the perfect fuel to the fire of alcohol in his veins to make Taehyung feel bold, yet he was still sober enough to know that this could finally be his chance to show you how he feels.

“Jimin, ask me a question.” Taehyung declares, leaning back into the sofa, dark eyes dancing with mischief. 

“Technically, it’s Y/N’s turn to ask-” Namjoon mumbles, but is quickly shut down by the shouts of displeasure from the group, Hoseok and Jungkook both nudging him while the latter murmurs something about being a ‘cock block’. 

Clearing his throat, he tries again, gaze intense. His eyes are about to fall out of his skull with the power of his attempt at a telepathic message to his friend. “Come on, Jimin. Ask me. You know what? I’ll help you. I pick dare.”

A sly glint of amusement pulls at the edge of Jimin’s mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. You look back and forth between the two of them, not sure what was happening but sure as hell knowing it was going to be nothing be trouble. 

“I dare you to sing a song that shows off your best growling for our girl here,” 

The room erupts in cheers and howls once more, your eyes widening as you reach for your glass. Shit, you’re going to need more vodka to survive this, and you know it. 

Taehyung moves languidly to the front of the room, the side of your body he had been pressed to all evening now left cold. He scrolls through the screen with a sharp focus, honeyed gaze looking over at you every once in awhile to make sure you were still paying attention. And the smile he would give when you were- it practically had your heart in your throat. You looked over at Nari, trying to get her to join you on your couch of pain, but she just blew you a kiss before settling back into her spot next to Yoongi, throwing you a shrug.

That bitch.

All too soon he gives a cheer of victory, looking out over the group as he selects the song, moving to the microphone stand. He poses in front of the room, everyone in attendance on the edges of their seats with anticipation for the music to start.

And then the first notes ring out, and a switch flips.

Gone was the sweet and goofy man you’ve all come to know, and in his place is a demon in black, looking like pure sin. His eyes darken as they land on you,  his lips curving in a confident smirk as he grabs the mic to pull closer to his mouth. Sensual plucks of guitar fills the room in a familiar tune, though a version you hadn’t heard before - the upbeat pop turned into a song of seduction.

“Baby can’t you see, I’m calling. A girl like you should wear a warning. It’s dangerous, I’m fallin’...”

Taehyung is all lust powered flirtation, hips seductively sliding back and forth as he continues to croon the lyrics, casting his molten chocolate eyes to your own. He was dancing closer, his steps slow and purposeful, and you felt the rest of the room fade away as you focused on him - and only him.

The chorus hits, and he smoothly switches from his velvet baritone to growling along with the lyrics, body rolling before sliding on his knees directly in front of you, so close you could see the sweat trail down his neck to bury into the open V of his shirt.

“Taste of your lips I’m on a ride. You’re toxic, I’m slipping under. With a taste of a poison paradise I’m addicted to you - don’t you know that you’re toxic?” he purrs, leaning into you,  a singular finger coming to trace up the exposed skin of your calf.

Everything was suddenly too hot, the room too stifled - you couldn’t get any air to cooperate and flow into your lungs, all your blood pooling in your cheeks. Your heart is racing, sweat dotting your hairline as you stare at the dark haired male in front of you, unable to pull away.

“I think Y/N is about to orgasm in the middle of this bar.”

“Min Yoongi, I swear to FUCK, I will murder you,” you force between clenched teeth, turning to glare at the blonde in question. You can see the retort build on his lips before a palm cups your cheek, pulling your attention back forward.

Taehyung was a breath away from you now, pupils blown wide and voice dangerously low as he continued singing, each word dripping with desire. His hand curves around your jaw, a finger slipping down the long column of your neck until it graced the thin skin of your collarbone.

“Too high, can't come down. It's in the air, it's all around...Can you feel me now?”

Fuck, he was going to ruin you.

Mouth falling open, you squeeze your thighs together uncontrollably, your hands death gripping at the sofa beside you in an effort to keep yourself from moaning. It was embarrassing; how easily his performance was turning you on, how a few throaty murmurs of a song from this man had you falling apart. 

Taehyung was nothing but sinful temptation, and he knew it. 

A small part of you heard the cat calls and lewd shouts from your friends, but you couldn’t concentrate on them. Not when the tall sex god was leaning nearer, using your knees as leverage to pull himself up so he could push your thighs completely together, walking himself forward until he could perch into your lap. Oh my fucking God, he’s sitting in your lap.

The music swells into the ending crescendo, and he continues to rasp the lyrics in low, dulcet tones, eyes never leaving your own. “Intoxicate me now, with your lovin' now. I think I'm ready now, I think I'm ready now,”

You gasped, the intention of the words and the vehement look in his eyes making it seem like it was more than just a song - it was a statement, a confession. Breath seized in your rib cage, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth to stop you from asking more.

Shit, you were ready to risk it all for Kim Taehyung.

Before you could say anything further, he growls out the final lines of the song, the sultriness of his voice causing electricity to race down your spine as he holds out the final note. The music finishes, and his chest is heaving with the effort of his seduction, eyes sparkling with pride.

The entire booth erupts into boisterous claps and cheers, several of the guys standing in ovation causing Taehyung to chuckle nervously, the switch seemingly flipped once more.

He slides off your lap, panting as he moves to pour himself some water, leaving you to gape at him fully. His dark curled locks are dampened with sweat, and despite the easy grin on his face you could clearly still see the fire burning deep in his gaze.

“What the hell, Tae! Where did that come from?” you shout, though a smile was already on your face. “You gotta warn a bitch first, damn. I think I’m sweating,” 

Hoseok moves to stand beside him, slapping a hand onto the younger’s shoulder. “Yeah man, I mean she’s probably dripping everywhere by now.” 

You shriek in indignation, punctuating the sentiment with a lime wedge beamed directly at Hoseok’s over-sized skull.

“Hey, don’t attack me! What, do you need us to get you a pad?”

“Sincerely fuck you, Hobi.”

While the others continue to congratulate Taehyung for his one man show, you suck down the rest of your drink, moving to stand. Your knees wobble, and you’re unsure what affected you more - all the booze you drank, or him. Damn, you need a moment.  Slinking toward the exit, you search for the bathroom,  relief washing over you as you spot it down the hallway. 

You’re about to grab for the handle when lithe fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you to turn around before your back is pressed to the cool wall of the club. You hiss at the contact, eyes blazing as they take in the culprit - Taehyung. 

“Tae?”

He smooths his hands up your arms until each palm is flat against the wall on either side of your head, effectively trapping you in place. His pupils are brimming with depth-less lust though the smile on his face is sweet, the clash making your head swim. 

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you back there,” he murmurs, eyes searching your own. “But it was the perfect chance, and I had to act on it. I couldn’t just sit back and wait any longer, Y/N.” 

“Wait any longer for what? I’m not sure if I’m following-”

“Wait any longer to tell you how I feel about you. Wait any longer to do this.”

You weren’t expecting for his mouth to press against yours, but your lips moved automatically, parting and sighing to accommodate him. His body soon followed, relaxing against your form as his hands moved to cup your jaw. You groaned at the feeling of him, your fingers wrapping around the base of his neck to tangle into his hair. 

Feeling him like this only makes you want more, tongue moving to lick at the seams of his pout before he was sliding his own in kind. He groaned when they met in the middle, the sound causing arousal to pool rapidly low in your gut. Dragging his teeth against your lower lip, he gave you a nibble before pulling away, forehead pressed to yours.

“Does this mean you like me too?” he questions breathlessly, small smile on his face. 

“I’ve always liked you, Tae,” you whisper, turning his head so you could suck at the tender spot under his jaw, his answering whine encouraging your ministrations. “I liked you when we were friends, and I think I like you a bit more after that display.” 

He chuckles lowly, digits sinking into your hair only to pull you back to meet his gaze. “When we were friends? What, are we not friends anymore?”

“Well, not just friends, I hope….” you purr, leaning forward to press your mouth against his swollen bottom lip. “Friends don’t know the way you taste, do they?” 

A groan of your name is his only response before he’s back on you, licking into your mouth with such fervor your knees start to shake. His tongue is relentless, seeking to savor you fully before moving to taste the skin of your neck, your collarbone, the top of your breast. Falling into the lure of Taehyung was all too easy - almost enough to have you forgetting that you were in some stale bar’s dim hallway. 

Grabbing his shoulders, you spin until you have effectively switched places, Taehyung’s tall form now pressed against the wall as you nibble at the exposed skin of his chest. “I think you deserve a performance of your own, don’t you think?” you sigh, eyes inspecting his own, awaiting his approval. 

“I think I’m one lucky bastard who would be a fool to say no to someone as amazing as you,”

The blatant affection in his voice makes you freeze, your throat tightening with every hopeful squeeze of your heart. You were trying to convince him to let you suck him off in the karaoke bar bathroom, and he had to go and say sweet shit like that? 

Shaking your head, you giggle at the sentiment. “You’re too good to me, Tae,” you hum, hands gripping his biceps to drag him towards you, legs propelling you back until you feel the door give way, the light to the restroom automatically clicking on. 

A victorious grin quirks at your lips when you see the private bathroom empty, and a quick flick of your wrist has the door locked just as Taehyung envelopes you into his chest. 

His kisses only intensify, lips undressing you until you were soft and wet and pliant, grasping for anything you could to ground you to him. You make quick work of several more of his buttons until you could nip and bite at his chest unrestricted, your hand fumbling with his belt. 

A low, throaty moan echoed as you grasp his length, freeing him from his trousers enough that you were able to feel him completely in your palm. His cock was just as beautiful as he was, long and thick and dripping with precum, and the thought of having it in your mouth had a rush of arousal flood between your thighs. 

You wince when your knees hit the cool tile, though the promise of tasting him numbed any senses but the ones attuned to him. You thumb at his leaking head softly, his groans edging you near until you could smell his excitement, breath ghosting hot on his cock. Mouth falling open, you slide forward until his hardness was resting on the bed of your tongue, your lips closing to give the tip gentle sucks.

“Fuck, love.  You don’t have to do this, you know, we can-”

Swirling your tongue, you push further, hollowing your cheeks to take him deep into your mouth until he was kissing the back of your throat, your nose nestled into the coarse hairs against his pelvis. His size already had your jaw aching, but the way he groaned your name made it worth the discomfort, and you glide back until only the head remained.

Letting him fall out with a lewd pop, you lick a wide strip up the side of his cock, peering up at him through your lashes. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“God, please don’t.” 

The words were barely out of his mouth before you moved yours back over his length, taking him as deep as you can each time, relishing the way he stretched your throat. You couldn’t stop imagining how he’d feel inside you, how intense and satisfying the initial burn would be when he was fully sheathed in your aching cunt - how much sweeter your orgasm would feel because it was caused by his cock, caused by him.

His dulcet whines and soft moans were the only sounds besides the wet slide of your mouth, and hearing him sound so desperate for you had you mewling against him, your fingers itching to press against your throbbing clit. 

“You’re taking me so good, love. Feel so fucking amazing  wrapped around my cock,” he hissed, a hand lowering to tangle into the tresses at your crown, guiding you gently. “Such a good girl for me. I’m going to make you come so fucking hard when we get home,”  

His hips started thrusting to meet your movements, the slides becoming sloppy as he got close to his peak. “With my fingers, my  mouth, my cock. I’m going to have you coming so much you’re going to have to beg me to stop.” 

The naughtiness of his words had you moaning around him, the vibrations causing him to let out a cry of your name. You’re sure your panties are ruined at this point, the tops of your thighs sticky with arousal, and as much as you want to touch yourself, you wanted to fall apart under Taehyung even more. 

Pulling off to let air return to your lungs, you glide over him with your fist, urging him to let go. “Come for me, Tae. Let me taste you,” you rasp, before sinking your mouth down him once more. 

“God, you’re so fucking perfect. You gonna swallow me, love?” he breathes, both hands coming to wrap deep in your hair as he continues his pumping, lust filled gaze boring into your own. You nod as you blink up at him, your lips swollen with abuse.

“Fuck, that’s it.. So good, love, I-I’m coming-” 

You still as he tugs at your locks, holding you in place as he thrusts his length deep in your mouth, the warmth of his release coating your raw throat. Swallowing, you allow him several stutters of his hips before he pulls away, hands smoothing to cup your face. 

“Holy hell, Y/N, that was…. Are you okay?” Worry etches his brow as he reaches out for you, taking in your messy appearance - saliva mixed with come dripping from the corners of your lips, black mascara trails smudging the edges of your cheeks. You’re gasping for air, but you couldn’t help the satisfied smile as you took his hands, allowing him to raise you to your feet. 

“Seeing you fall apart was one of the hottest things I’ve ever witnessed, Tae. I’m more than okay, trust me.” 

He blushes at your words, and the irony that the complement made him more shy than when he was ramming his dick down your throat not lost on you.  

He tucks himself back into his pants before adjusting your clothes as well,  delicate thumbs rising to wipe away the remnants of your shared tryst off your face before giving you a chaste kiss. 

“So, does that mean… you’ll go out with me?” he questions hopefully, giddy anticipation in his eyes. You weren’t sure if you would ever get used to the rapid switch of power Taehyung wields between sweet and sin, not that you were complaining. 

“Yes, Tae. I’ll go out with you,” you grin, the brightness of his smile infectious. “Plus, I seem to recall someone promising to make me come so much that I’ll be begging them to stop…” you trail off, mischief evident in your teasing glance.

Throwing back his head with a honeyed laugh, he pushes open the door, arm gesturing out to the empty hall before him. “Ah, yes - I believe you are correct. After you, milady,”

Groaning, you slap his chest as you walk past. “Say that again and I’ll go home with Seokjin.”

[otonymous]

A Moment In Time (MLQC Victor - NSFW)

Description: Things get wet and wild with Victor Warnings:  NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Spoilers for the “Rooftop Date” with Victor, very mild spoilers for main plot Word Count: 3011 words (~15 mins of angst/fluff/smut) AO3: read here

Author’s Notes: I got a couple of requests for something spicy with Victor, and @leoamber66 specifically requested a story inspired by the karma card depicted above, so I decided to amalgamate that scene along with one of the production scenarios and his “Rooftop Date.”  The lines marked with an asterisk were taken directly from the date.  Hope you all enjoy it and happy reading!

Tagging: @leoamber66 @kitsune-mana

All characters & Mr Love: Queen’s Choice owned by Elex

“I miss you…”*

God, I must be drunk, you think to yourself, trying to suppress the sick lurch of your stomach. No doubt you’ve had too much to drink if you’re hearing Victor’s voice in your head, an echo of the phone call he made to you at an ungodly hour that very morning.

Despite your brain fog, you vaguely recall him mentioning something about France before the line went dead, shortly after you informed him he had dialled the wrong number. The memory of the affection in his fatigued voice brought a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you chalked it up solely to the alcohol in your veins.

Carefully stepping around the pool on the roof of the building and moving beyond eyeshot of patrons in the adjacent restaurant, you lean against the ledge, looking out over the twinkling lights of a city too bright to sleep, the breeze blowing off the river below caressing your face.

And somewhere in those neon pinks, yellows and greens, you see Victor’s face: the firm set of his masculine jaw, strong brows furrowed in displeasure...his eyes, cool and assessing, as he tut-tutted at your inability to hold your alcohol.

“Yup. That’s exactly the type of face he’d make,” you say, the night wind spiriting your words away as soon as they leave your lips.

You hoped you didn’t make a complete ass of yourself in front of all those telecommunications CEOs Victor invited you to dine with. But in all honesty, everything after your second shot of Moutai was a blur. That was the one thing you could never get used to in this industry: the hard drinking culture that came part and parcel with sealing business deals.

And as you sat there watching these ruddy-faced men throw back the alcohol like it was water, the respect you already had in spades for your father deepened. How many nights did he spend entertaining those so-called VIPs, his liver and gut paying the price in securing funding for the company? The thought that you could never thank him again for all the sacrifices he made for your family stung like smoke in your eyes.

And what of Victor, who made up some excuse or another to intercept most of the shots that came your way?

You shake your head, chasing the thought away. Victor is a big boy. He can handle himself. He’d just scoff at your concern if he ever learned about it.

So with your mood sunk low by the dull ache of longing for your father and the prospect of a horrible morning hangover, you excused yourself and left Victor behind with the group of middle-aged men, expressly ignoring the look he shot you as you exited the private room of the Michelin-starred restaurant.

You preferred the food at Souvenir anyways.

“How long are you planning to stand there like an idiot? Everyone has already left and you’ve blown a perfect opportunity to forge business connections.”

The sudden appearance of Victor’s voice — this time, outside your head — makes you jump, his sharp tone grating against the headache already forming at your temples. And while you were grateful for his help, tonight was not one of those times when you could stomach his delivery. To your dismay, he was only getting started.

“You really don’t care about the future of your comp-“

“I’m sorry, Victor. You’re completely right. I shouldn’t have excused myself like that. Could you please, just…leave me in peace tonight?”

Sighing, you turn to face him, seeing Victor for what seemed like the very first time tonight: backlit by wavering aquamarine waters, the ethereal glow softened his features, and even you had to admit he was incredibly handsome when his face wasn’t pulled into a frown.

Tall and broad, his white dress shirt lay crisp against a beautifully toned chest, and the entirety of the man exuded an aura of power, wealth, and the determination to have the world in the palm of his capable hand.

Despite all this, the only thing you could focus on was the tenderness that suffused his gaze as his eyes met your own.

“I miss you…”*

In the ensuing silence, Victor’s voice, travelling thousands of miles to whisper in your ear with a single phone call, came back to haunt you at the worst possible time.

Don’t look at me like that.

Throat growing uncomfortably tight, you tug on the satin collar of your red dress — the motion recalling the time Victor had hurriedly readjusted his tie after Chik left his office. But not before the up-and-coming actress had given you a cold once-over.

For all that she was unpleasant however, she was also gorgeous. And standing next to Victor, they looked like they belonged together.

Please don’t look at me like that, not when I’m not the one in your heart.

Perhaps it was the alcohol. Or the fatigue of working endless days and nights, trying to keep your father’s legacy afloat. Whatever it was, the memory irritated you, and you wanted nothing more than to be as far away as possible from Victor and his unsettling gaze.

“I’ll have the progress report ready for you on Thursday. Thanks again for dinner.”

Bidding Victor goodnight, you brace yourself against your wobbly knees, stepping around him in stilettos you weren’t used to walking in as you made for the restaurant’s entrance.

But then he reaches for your wrist, holding you in place - the grip comfortable despite being firm.

“You got a call this morning, didn’t you?”*

His voice is low and gentle, so contrary to the imperious way by which he usually addressed you. And as the heat of his touch penetrated the delicate skin of your wrist, you guessed that he must be inebriated, conveniently ignoring the signs that indicated otherwise.

“What did you hear?”* The LFG CEO pressed on, the strength of his grip not abating.

“Just a few simple sentences. I won’t blab to anyone…”*

Victor’s lips fall open, neither confirming nor denying as uncertainty danced across his face. So sure in the way he carried himself professionally, his vacillation now enraged you for reasons you could not comprehend. And before you could stop yourself, the words spill from a tongue loosened by alcohol.

“Why don’t you go visit her if you miss her so much?”*

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you continue, masochistically twisting the blade embedded so deeply in your heart you liked to pretend it didn’t exist.

“As long as the two of you are in love, nothing can get in the way of that. She…I think she must be a beautiful and gentle person…”*

Blinking, you push back the sting behind your eyelids, ignoring it like you ignored the despondency you felt every time rumours of Victor’s supposed significant other splashed across headlines of media outlets everywhere.

“You talk too much.”*

Gone is Victor's hushed tone, replaced by the simmer of an indignant anger that threatened to boil over. Reflexively, you step backwards as Victor closes in on you. And as the ground disappears beneath your feet, the last thing you see before falling into the pool is the panic in his eyes.

The chlorine burned as it travelled up your nose, adding to the fear that gripped you when you realized that, even in stilettos, you couldn’t touch the bottom of the pool. Desperately trying to surface, you cursed your inability to swim as you fought against the wet drag of your clothes, your frenzied movements carrying you farther and farther away from the edge of the pool.

All of a sudden, the waters around you violently displace as strong arms wrap around your waist, guiding you to safety.

And with that first breath of air filling your lungs, you are struck by such intense nostalgia you cannot help but look around, surprised to find yourself in a rooftop pool instead of a sunshower in the middle of a busy street, the car that would’ve careened into you already speeding off into the distance.

The only thing that hasn’t changed is the sensation of being held tightly in the arms of a man who always arrived in the nick of time: Victor.

He moves you onto the ledge of the pool, and it isn’t until your coughing subsides that you realize everything seems strangely still. The flashing lights that cascade along the length of a nearby tower like falling dominoes had frozen in place. Turning towards the restaurant, you see diners through the floor-to-ceiling windows, utensils raised in mid-air en route to open mouths like some comical tableau. Finally, you look down to see Victor still half-submerged in the pool, head resting on your thighs while his heaving chest gradually slowed.

The glint of his vintage Patek Philippe wristwatch catches your eye.

“You…you stopped time?”

He raises his head, fixing you with an incredulous stare.

“That’s the first thing you think to say after I just saved your life again?”

Snappy retort not forthcoming, you focus instead on the way he combed a large hand through wet strands of jet black hair, unable to tear away from the sight of a water droplet running down the bridge of his nose to rest at the cupid’s bow of his lips.

And suddenly, you burned hot despite the damp clothing laying cool against your skin.

“Or perhaps you’re fine with everyone seeing you the way you are now?”

Of course. Victor was right, as always. Your up-do had completely disintegrated and wet satin clung to your body, outlining every curve in a way that left little to the imagination. And although his tone had been sharp, you were touched to find him attentive to such a detail.

“Wait here and don’t move,” he says, starting to swim towards the pool ladder. But before you can even process your actions, you’ve already grasped his arm, feeling the impressive flex of his bicep under your grip.

“Why did you get angry?”

You did not know where this bravado had come from, for your impromptu dip in the water had an immediately sobering effect. But the surprise that flashed across his face was strangely satisfying, goading you on.

“Did I touch a nerve earlier?”

Victor drops his gaze, seeming to contemplate the question. And although time had stopped, you grew more and more impatient as you awaited his response.

“You tried to encourage me when you thought I was courting another woman.”*

Accusatory. Hostile even. His voice was every bit what you had come to expect from Victor. But the hurt in his eyes was a surprise that filled you with regret, sinking to the pit of your stomach like a stone.

But perhaps it was a diamond in the rough — a glimmer of hope hiding behind the meaning of his words. And if it was, did you have the courage to reach out and touch it?

As intuitive as Victor’s business acumen was, perhaps he had already seen through you, for his lips were on yours before you could even react, water spilling onto the ledge as he hoisted himself onto your body, arms encircling you for the second time that night.

The alcohol on his breath. The scratch of his five-o’clock shadow. The softness of lips that were as endearing as rare when curled up into a secret smile. Victor’s kiss was so intoxicating you desperately searched for signs you weren’t slumped over your desk at work, dreaming in fitful sleep.

But the insistent press of his body against yours told you this was real. And the way you melted in his embrace brought with it the realization that even if you were dreaming, you did not wish to wake.

His tongue drawing slow circles about your own, your world slowly tilted under Victor’s control until all that filled your vision were the striking features of his face amidst the backdrop of an ebony sky. By then, you were already caught between wet ground and the subtle grind of his pelvis against your core.

Slightly breathless, Victor pulls back to study you with naked intensity before bringing your palm to rest against his solid chest. And as his large hand covers yours, the racing heart beneath it beats electric through the fabric of his now-transparent shirt.

“When will you finally get it?”*

The plea in his voice sounds so foreign for having come from his lips, and when his question is met with silence, he continues,

“Dim-witted as you are, let me spell it out for you.”

Free hand reaching for the knot of his tie, Victor removes it with a single yank.

“So there’s no room for misunderstanding.”

Thumb and forefinger deftly undo the top button of his shirt before sliding to the next in line.

“I would never go near another woman…”*

Smooth skin pulled taut over muscle and sinew, more and more of his bared torso gradually comes into view.

“…when all I want is you.”*

Hands finally dropping to his sides, Victor pauses, exposed and patiently awaiting your response. And although you weren’t sure if your pulse throbbed in time to his heartbeat or your own, nothing felt more certain than the compulsion that made you fist your hand around his loosened collar, pulling him down to quench the desire raging through your body.

Surreal, like a scene from a movie, you watched your reflection off the glass panes of the restaurant’s windows, putting on a show for the unwitting patrons within as Victor bent to run his tongue along the column of your neck. And when you gasp to feel him sucking at the tender flesh, he intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing as he rejoiced in the thrill of marking you for the world to see.

“Mmm, Victor!”

You barely suppress a moan as he kisses down your bare legs, stopping just as he reaches your ankles. Looking up, he taps his watch and says,

“Scream as loudly as you want, no one can hear you. No one…besides me, that is.”

The subtle flush on his cheeks made him even more alluring as he unbuckled the delicate straps of your heels, gently sliding them off before pressing kisses to the sensitive arch of your feet.

And caught up in the eroticism of the moment, you’re barely cognizant of the path the hem of your dress has travelled until it’s resting around your hips, Victor’s gaze falling on the promise beckoning in the space between your legs. His eyes darken with a primal hunger, bottom lip disappearing behind the bite of even, white teeth.

Exacting. Arrogant. Ruthless. You had thought all these things of Victor when he first announced Loveland Financial Group was pulling funding for your company. Never in a million years did you imagine you’d have the CEO between your legs, cheek rubbing against the lace panties looped around your thigh like a bridal garter as he made you tremble with every flick of his talented tongue against your clit. And when your back arched to feel the sure slide of his long fingers deep into your pussy, the wonder in his gaze makes you think that this was something he, too, never anticipated.

But life has a funny way of bringing people together, and there was no denying how right it felt to have Victor penetrate you to the hilt, dropping tender kisses at the corners of your lips as he rode out the undulating flutters of you clenching tightly around his sizeable cock.

“You feel…so good….”

He whispers in your ear, the warm pants of his exertion incendiary against your skin.

“Would it be okay if I didn’t hold back?”

Eyes dark with desire search you, their corners crinkling as he breaks into a smile as natural as it is breathtaking when you nod. And when you almost think to point out that he really is quite handsome with a grin on his face, Victor takes the words from your mouth when he wraps your legs around his waist, saying,

“Hold on tight.”

You had always guessed that Victor had no shortage of muscle beneath those bespoke suits, but your suspicions were now confirmed with the effortless way he bounced you in mid-air, your arms looped tightly around his neck to anchor yourself against the incredible depths he was reaching within you.

And just when you bordered on the verge of exhilarated breathlessness, Victor’s release finds your own, the warmth he leaves behind slowly trickling down the inside of your thigh as he pulls out.

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“W-what happened to the two of-”

“Goldman, get the car.”

The LFG CEO’s stern command was more than enough to send his assistant scrambling to obey, dropping any further questions as to why the two of you looked like drowned rats.

Drawing the lapel of Victor’s suit jacket closer over your chest, the spicy notes of his cologne recalled the way it smelled on the skin of his neck, and you couldn’t help but steal a glance his way.

But Victor already had his eyes trained in your direction, ignoring the scandalized stares of diners in the vicinity as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, seemingly amused by your attempt to draw back.

“V-Victor! What if rumours start flying about you?” You hiss under your breath, turning away so he couldn’t see you blush.

“So what? It’s not like the rumours are unfounded in this case. You have to stop worrying about what others think. The only opinion that matters is mine.”

You whirl around, incredulous, only to find yourself in his arms again — the world falling silent once more as Victor steals another moment in time, his kiss stretching an instant into an eternity of bliss.

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Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

[kinglazrus]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton

Chapter Two: Unusual Clients

Word count: 2403 | [ffn] [ao3] | [previous] [next]

Tucker guides Valerie to a viewing gallery that overlooks the floor two storeys below. The door clunks and hisses as it closes behind them, sealed tight. Glass encases the gallery. The windows are angled outward so you can peer down without sticking your cheek to the glass. There's a slight distortion to it. Not much, but enough that Valerie knows the windows are thick and strong, built to take damage.

Tucker beckons her over to a door in the gallery's short wall, holding it open for her. It leads out onto an open balcony with a bulky safety rail along the edge, curving along the wall, only to dip into a set of stairs that winds all the way down to the bottom floor.

A loud bang startles Valerie. Instinctively, she lashes out, the dark bracer on her wrist expanding into an armoured glove. A compact gun pops out of the top, a bright red light building inside the barrel as it whines.

Tucker holds up his hands. "Whoa. A little jumpy, aren't you?"

Valerie huffs, masking her embarrassment with annoyance, and lowers her arm. The glove retracts, slithering over her arm, condensing back into a bracer. "I need to have good reaction times in my line of work."

"You and everyone else in Amity Park." Tucker leans over the balcony rail and calls out, "You all good down there?"

"Just dandy, kiddo! Thanks for asking!" Valerie immediately recognizes Jack Fenton's booming voice. He is, by far, the most vocal of all the Fentons.

"Let's go. I want to see what blew up."

As they walk down the stairs, Valerie scans the bottom floor. Two figures occupy the middle of the room: Jack Fenton, wearing a bright orange jumpsuit as neon as the sign outside, and Maddie Fenton, who boasts a much subtler, more pleasing blue. Along with their jumpsuits, they wear protective goggles, gloves, and boots. A smoking crater stretches between them.

Maddie pushes her goggles up and sighs in dismay. "Looks like another no good batch, honey."

"Damn. I'll pack it away with the others." Jack bends down to an open metal case at his feet. Nine glowing green vials rest inside, embedded in protective foam padding. The tenth slot is empty. Jack closes the case and tromps over to a rack against the wall, sliding it into an empty space next to dozens of identical cases.

When Tucker and Valerie reach the ground floor, the first thing she notices is a wide metal door tucked underneath the stairs, lurking in the corner of her eye. "Why did we take an elevator up and stairs down when there's a door right there?" Valerie glares at Tucker.

"Safety procedures. If the Boom Room is occupied, you have to enter through the top door," Tucker explains.

"Boom Room?" Valerie asks. The receptionist, Octavia, called the room the same thing.

"It's where we test our more volatile inventions." Maddie drags down her hood, shaking out her short auburn hair, and smiles at Valerie. "You must be the Red Huntress. I'm Maddie Fenton, but Maddie is fine." She holds out her hand.

Valerie takes it, giving it a firm squeeze and a shake. "You can just call me Valerie. Why do you test in here?"

"Well, it's not called the Boom Room for nothing!" Jack bounds over. Without even shaking Valerie's hand, or introducing himself first, he grabs her shoulder and turns her bodily toward the heavy doors. "All doors into the room are blast resistant. We only have these babies down here for hauling in the big buns, or when we're testing out ecto-powered engines. Can't exactly fit those through that tiny thing up there." Jack jerks his thumb over his shoulder, pointing back up the stairs. "But that's not the only thing! You see, when we built this place, we–"

"Jack, dear. Could you start the unlocking procedure? I think we've done enough testing for today," Maddie interrupts, gently touching Jack's shoulder.

"You got it, Mads!" He scampers toward the doors without a second thought. Valerie watched him go, her eyebrows knitting together as she puzzled over the sudden dismissal.

"Good call, Mrs. F," Tucker, hovering at Valerie's shoulder, says. "I don't want to miss dinner again. It's pot roast tonight." That only makes Valerie more confused.

"Sorry about that, dear. If you let Jack get going, he won't stop lecturing for anything." Maddie smiles softly. "As much as I love hearing my husband talk, I know not all people do."

"Oh, uh. No, it's fine. I actually am curious about the room." Valerie gives the metal panels stretching twenty feet up the wall a pointed look.

Valerie's statement ignites and eager glean in Maddie's gaze. "Oh! Isn't that just fantastic? In that case," she points over Valerie's shoulder, "do you see those vents on the wall behind you?"

Valerie turns and looks up. The first three vents rest inches above the metal panels. From there to the ceiling, a new row of vents digs into the wall at five-foot intervals, all the way to the top.

"Everything below those first vents is blast-proof, even the stairs. It keeps the rest of the building safe. To prevent the other walls from blowing out, those vents lead directly outside, into a courtyard in the middle of the facility. Up there," Maddie points to the ceiling, which is a wide skylight, "the windows can be opened using a control pad by the door. If a big enough explosion goes off, it gets directed up and out rather than through the rest of the building."

Valerie is impressed. Very impressed. She also thinks the Fentons are insane. "What are you making that could cause that big of an explosion?"

"Nothing, usually." Maddie's charming smile feels very out of place in this situation. "But right now we're working on an ectoplasm based strength enhancer."

Valerie wrinkles her nose. "You want to make ghosts stronger?"

Maddie laughs. "Don't be silly! This is for humans. We're just having trouble making a batch that won't explode when agitated." She gestures to the rack of briefcases. "There's no way to safely dispose of them, yet, so we keep it all here for now."

Thinking about it all, Valerie feels lightheaded. They're in the middle of the city. If all those cases explode at once, it will blow up half the block. Suddenly, she isn't so eager to explore Fenton Works anymore. In fact, she would like very much to leave the building now, thank you. But Jack's not finished with the doors. With few other options, Valerie pushes on

"You want to make... some kind of super-soldier serum?" she asks.

"Oh, dear, no. It's not for anything like that." Valerie waits for Maddie to elaborate, but all she gets is that same pleasant smile. It's sweet. Too sweet for how much pain she sees in Maddie's eyes. Valerie wants to ask more about the project, but that severe smile beats her curiosity back.

A loud siren rips through the room, one long shriek, accompanied by a flash of red light. Startled, Valerie whirls around, although she manages to keep her weapons at bay this time. At the doors, Jack has his hand on a biometric scanner. Something within the door clunks, the sound followed by a low hiss.

Valerie shuffles her feet as the door swings wide, edging away from Maddie and closer to Tucker. Nudging him, she grabs his attention and subtly tilts her head toward Maddie.

"It's a sore spot," Tucker whispers under his breath.

Valerie nods.

"I think it's about time we head home. Danny should be waiting for us, and I'm sure you want to know the details of the job," Maddie says.

Valerie nods again, too nervous to say anything. The Fentons aren't like any client she's had before. She's used to her richer clients being stuffy snobs, spoiled kids who heard something go bump in the night and got spooked. Sometimes there are genuine concerns. Malevolent ghosts that won't leave them alone. Lost souls lingering in places they shouldn’t be. It's always a humbling experience for her clients. Ghosts don't care how much money you have; they do whatever they want. And if Valerie wasn't there to save their asses, well... they're lucky she's there.

But the most glaring difference between the Fentons and any past jobs is skill. The Fentons are ghost hunters by trade. They dedicate themselves to outfitting people with personal ghost protection, be it basic defences or actual weaponry. They make guns and vehicles. They teach classes about ghosts. They're at the forefront of Ghost Zone exploration. Anything Valerie can do, the Fentons already do better.

Which is why she doesn't understand what they need her for. Surely whatever is going on with their son, they can protect him far better than she can.

—

Sitting in the living room of the original Fenton Works building, Valerie marvels at how homey it is. For fifteen years, this place housed what is now a world-famous company. Not even the whole building, but the basement. The rest of it looks like any other house—which makes sense because it is their house. But knowing that scientific history was made in the room below her feet makes Valerie giddy.

She bounces her knee and resists the urge to get up and pace. Right now, more than anything, she wants to go downstairs and see the original lab. Science had never been her forte in high school, and she barely understands that side of ghost hunting, but it fascinates her to no end.

A loud creak down the hall has her head snapping up. She starts to rise, then sits back down, driving her fist into her knee to keep her leg still. She wants to look professional and courteous, although by this point that image is already ruined. Tucker shattered all formal pretenses when he picked her up. Still, Valerie wants to try. So she sits up straight, setting her shoulders and raising her chin, and watches the corner expectantly.

Maddie and Jack step into view, but only them.

"Danny will be along in a moment. Things have been rough for him, recently," Maddie explains. She and Jack move to the opposite side of the room, stopping on either side of a comfortable looking armchair.

"While we're waiting for him, can I ask what exactly the job is? Your request was vague." Not just vague, it had been devoid of all useful information. Two days ago, Valerie got a call inquiring about her services, how much she charges, and how long she would be available. The voice on the other end hadn't been Maddie's or Jack's. Now that she thinks about it, it was probably Octavia calling on their behalf.

"For a few months now, Danny has been experiencing a minor haunting," Maddie states bluntly.

Valerie's blood runs cold. "A haunting?"

Jack nods, his expression grave.

"For months?" Valerie continues. "But that's..." Completely unprecedented. The longest haunting on record is thirty-four days. In Valerie's two years of official work, and her four years of unofficial experience before that, she only witnessed two hauntings. The first victim lasted a week before they were possessed. The second barely lasted a day.

"We've got good defences here, but they're designed for more tangible ghosts," Maddie says, an ironic twist in her grim smile. "Haunting Shades are much harder to keep out."

"And you can't drive it off?" Valerie asks. "You of all people should be able to. If you can just find the Shade the next time it visits–"

Jack silences her with a cold look. "You think we haven't tried that?"

Right. World famous-ghost hunters. Anything she can do, they have already done better. She's confident in her skills, worked hard to get where she is today, and, from time to time, deserves a little of the arrogance she feels. Sometimes, however, that means she forgets some people have worked much harder and gone much farther than her.

Maddie and Jack Fenton are two of those people

"Sorry," Valerie says quietly. Who is she, who has never been able to fight off a Shade before, to shame the Fentons for the same fault?

"No need to apologize. We've all got our moments." Jack beams. Valerie almost has whiplash from the complete three-sixty in personality. "This Shade's a slippery one. Even when it's here, we can't find it."

Maddie takes over for her husband. "We've got people working on that. Before Danny's haunting started, we were already working on a new ghost deterrent aimed at Shades. A business partner of ours has been heading the project. That's why we need you."

"For what, exactly?" Valerie asks.

"There's a week-long conference Jack and I need to attend. If all goes well, we could make a breakthrough in the anti-Shade project. But we can't bring Danny with us. Long trips aggravate his condition."

Valerie barely resists the urge to ask about said condition. She will see his condition for herself in a few minutes, but she can't help it. Danny doesn't photograph well, and the few pictures of him post-accident reveal very little about his person. The same morbid curiosity that grabs hold of you when you see the aftermath of disaster takes her now. She's not proud of it, but she feels it, nonetheless.

"We want you here as insurance. We don't think anything will happen, but we'd rather not leave Danny alone with everything that's going on," Maddie finishes.

Distantly, the stairs creak.

Valerie nods slowly. "Okay. I understand. I'll take the job."

"It'll be like a vacation for you! Our Danny's a lot stronger than some ghost. He's putting up a hell of a fight." Jack punches the air. There's a familiar glint in his eye, the same look Valerie gets from her father whenever he talks about how far she's come. Seeing it makes her smile.

"What does Danny–" Someone clears their throat, interrupting Valerie. Her head snaps toward the noise, her eyes finding the newcomer immediately. Pallid skin, sunken eyes, slouched against Tucker, Danny Fenton stares back at her.

"Hey. Valerie, right?" His voice is faint and hoarse.

Doubt pools in Valerie's gut. The smile vanishes from her face. Whatever confidence Jack has in his son, she doesn't share it. Forget surviving the week, she doesn't think he'll live through the night.

[chilling-seavey]

Nothing Revealed/Everything Denied - Chapter Eleven

A/N Long awaited.

Christian had lived in LA for nearly a year and only realized he had never been to Santa Monica Pier when Michelle commented in his livestream chat. Her comment took him by surprise; mostly because they hadn’t spoken outside of work in almost two weeks after their incredibly awkward interaction at the fittings and he couldn’t help his sudden pause as he processed her message.

“Uh…” Christian furrowed his eyebrows as he skimmed the chat as if it was a difficult question to answer, “No, I have never been Santa Monica Pier actually.”

He took a breath and forced himself onto the next message from his viewers, not wanting to be caught looking like an idiot when people were probably screen recording. He was mid-sentence when his phone buzzed on the desk beside him and he glanced down to see a text from Michelle.

Are you up to Santa Monica tonight?

“One…second…” he said softly to his stream before picking up and unlocking his phone.

To the viewers, he looked like he was in intense concentration, typing and re-typing furiously like he had received the most important news of the decade. But all he was trying to word out was a chill,

Sure. Sounds fun. I’ll pick you up at 6?

Great!

Christian couldn’t hold back his grin as he set his phone down again and turned back to his livestream, “Where were we?”

At 5:55, Christian was parked outside Michelle’s apartment. He was never one for being late – especially when it came to her – and he needed to get out of the house before Tyler came home anyway so he wasn’t harassed by his brother about spending too much time with his co-worker. Michelle came rushing out of her building in a white shirt and jeans with her brown hair pulled back in a bun. Christian couldn’t help but let his eyes just take her in as she approached the car and she shot him a smile as she climbed in, setting her bag on her lap.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Christian replied, trying not to sound too terribly awkward. It was as if in two weeks he forgot how to speak to her yet still had all these weird feelings that had only been growing in their time apart.

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to the pier.” Michelle chuckled as she buckled her seatbelt and Christian pulled out of the parking lot.

“Yeah…me too.” Christian said through a soft breath, trying to stay focussed on the road as his two-handed grip on the steering wheel tightened. Michelle helped herself to his phone, his small smile giving her the go-ahead and she put on some music and turned up the volume.

Christian took their silent drive to the pier as a moment to collect his thoughts, trying not to overthink every little thing. It was easier, though, once they parked and they got out of the car to the view of the sunset and the bustling pier in the distance. Michelle pulled her phone from her pocket to snap a few pictures as they headed down the sidewalk towards the park.

“We should start with the roller coaster!” Michelle suggested, staring up at the rides in enticement as they waited in line for tickets.

Christian passed over his credit card to the lady at the booth and he paid for a full night of tickets.

“You didn’t have to buy mine.” Michelle tisked when he held out a stack to her.

“I wanted to.” Christian shrugged with a smile.

She thanked him, mirroring his grin, and they headed for the rides. The awkwardness easily melted away after their first round on the roller coaster; Christian screaming a bit louder than honestly necessary enough to have Michelle wheezing of laughter by the time they got off. He wouldn’t admit that he wasn’t actually scared, just desperate for something to break the slight tension.

“You always surprise me, Seavey.” Michelle laughed as they headed for the scrambler a bit of a ways away.

“Surprise you how?” Christian asked, smiling over at her.

“Just…whenever I think I know you, you surprise me.” Michelle shrugged, handing her ticket to the booth outside the ride and Christian did the same as they got in line.

“Is that a good thing?”

“I think so. Keeps you interesting.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to be bored of me.” Christian shouted after her as they rushed into the ride and found their seats.

“You don’t get motion sick, right?” Michelle asked as the operator made sure they were buckled in.

“No. You?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” she shrugged.

Christian’s eyes went wide. 

“I’m kidding!” Michelle nudged him teasingly. “I’ve got the strongest stomach I know.”

“I can tell based on how you wrote an incredibly gory war film.” Christian scoffed.

Michelle only laughed and he glanced over at her sitting beside him in the small metal buggy, their arms and thighs brushing as the ride started and the dusk ocean air blew through her messy curls lightly, the lights from the park reflecting in her eyes enough to make looking away from her nearly impossible. That was until she was thrown against him by the force of the ride and he was pulled back into the moment, sharing in her laughter as she almost fell off the seat.

By the time their tickets were spent up – mostly at the games where Christian was determined to beat her at something – they headed to find something to eat.

“Here, you can have my bear.” Michelle offered, holding out the huge bear she won at their last game.

“I don’t want your pity gifts.” Christian huffed playfully.

“I won it for you. Now stop being such a whiner and accept him.” Michelle shoved the bear in his arms. “Look, he loves you.”

“Thanks.” Christian chuckled.

“Now, I’m buying dinner because you bought the tickets.”

“I’m not going to even try to argue that.”

“Good. Because you won’t win. You’re a smart man.”

Christian only smiled over at her as she ordered them each a slice of pizza and a drink. With dinner in hand, they found a spot to sit by the edge of the pier overlooking the ocean under the neon lights of the park.

“Wonder what would happen if I jumped right now.” Michelle looked over the edge.

“Uhm, please don’t.” Christian laughed. “You would probably die and then David will make so many changes to your manuscript.”

“Oh, that’s a cold threat.” Michelle gaped, turning back to her pizza.

They fell into silence for a moment as they ate.

“How are your final practices going?” Michelle asked, her voice much softer than it had been the rest of the night.

“Fine. Great. I’m looking forward to starting to shoot.” Christian said.

“Me too.” Michelle nodded. “Dean told me you’ve been showing great promise honestly. But I didn’t doubt it originally anyway since-“

“Dean?” Christian didn’t mean to cut her off but his mouth spoke before his brain could catch up.

Michelle glanced up at him almost shyly, “Yeah, he took me for dinner last week.”

“Oh. How was that?” Christian asked flatly.

“Really nice. He’s really sweet. He took me too this steakhouse downtown and we had a private room and everything.”

“Nice.” Christian said into his can of pop, letting his eyes wander out over the dark ocean.

“He and I went over my script with other that he’s worked on and he had so many compliments for me that I swear my face was bright red.” Michelle giggled lightly, pressing her hands to her cheeks like she was reliving it. “I really enjoyed his company.”

“Because he had money?”

“What?” Michelle frowned for a moment.

“Sorry.” Christian sighed, looking down at the bear that was sat on his lap. “We should go.”

He got up and threw out the paper plate and his can before starting down the pier for the parking lot, Michelle rushing after him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Michelle grabbed his arm to slow him down and they fell to a stop near the railing.

Christian sighed deeply, licking his lips nervously as he stared out over the beach.

“I only went on the date with Dean because you made it obvious you didn’t like me back like that.”

Christian nearly broke his neck to look back at her at top speed, “Where’d you get that idea?”

“All the time.” Michelle said like it was obvious. “You kissed me at the party, drunk off your ass, and then never did it again. After that you avoided me like the plague. I figured you regretted it so…” Michelle shrugged. “I should be allowed to do to dinner with other people without you getting jealous and weird if you don’t like me like that.”

Christian sighed, pushing a hand through his hair before resting it on the railing, “That’s not it. I just…I don’t know how to balance this movie and…a relationship…with a co-worker.”

“So you don’t regret kissing me?”

“God, no!” Christian answered almost too quickly through his nervous laughter.

Michelle smacked his arm, “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“I was scared!”

“You are scared of too much, Seavey. Life isn’t a game of Outlast.”

“Shut up.” Christian chuckled lightly, shooting her a small dimpled smile.

“I’m serious. This is my big break too and it’s important to both of us. I’m not going to let you start simping and fuck up your shot at fame here.”

“Simping? Oh my Lord.” Christian bit back a grin.

“Yeah.” Michelle crossed her arms over her chest as he stared at her. “I only wanted you for a reason.”

They fell into silence a moment, sharing calm bashful smiles, before Christian slipped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. She tossed her arms around his shoulders to keep him close as they shared slow chasté kisses on the pier under the neon lights.

[turtle-steverogers]

alright babe heres the first 5 I saw: "why are you covered in neon body paint?" "best not to ask" and "I cant breathe, I cant-" and "I cant walk just go on without me" and " ive had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with" and "hey guys im here and im ready to bitch"

hey guys, saph and i were facetiming earlier and she dared me to finally answer this ask she sent in like fall 2018 except i had to use all the prompts and the result is…well, i’m not sure what it is.  but its got criminal race and spot and a cryptic ass albert who makes lava lamps for his niece.  so yah. enjoy!

warnings: its pretty much crack, but there is a brief anxiety attack

ship: platonic race/al/spot

word count: 2490

editing: no

Something a Little Off-Kilter

-

Race was nine years old when his ma grabbed him by the chin, turned his face towards her and told him in all her harsh Italian-mother sternness, “We do not run from people, Antonio.  You have Mancini blood in your veins and Mancini’s do not run!”  And Race, with eyes blurred from tears and nose dripping with blood from the fight he’d just fled, nodded vigorously before trudging miserably to his bathroom to clean up (and cry a little more).

But he’d learned two things that day.  One: what a maiden name was and that his ma’s is Mancini and two: running is for losers who never want to stop running.  And he’d more or less kept up that sentiment, even if it cost him a black eye and some dignity in some circumstances.  Like that one time in eleventh grade when Spencer Reiding called him a fairy and in turn, Race had beat the living shit out of him until his little entourage had shown up and knocked him out cold.  But seriously, ‘fairy’? It’s not 19-fucking-50.

Race supposes, though, that all good sentiments meet their maker at one point or another.  Self-preservation over morals and all that, right? 

“Floor it, Christ, are you flooring it!?”  His grip on the ‘oh shit’ bar is white-knuckled and he can hear himself panting as he twists in his seat for what’s probably the hundredth time.  The blue and red flashing of the cop car that had been following them is nothing but a speck at this point, but Race isn’t really keen on taking any chances right now.  Tonight had been a close fucking call.  

“Yes, I’m flooring it, asshole!” Spot shouts, swerving around a lone subaru that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere on the otherwise empty stretch of desert highway.  Normally, Race would be surprised at the sheer lack of cars that are out, but he supposes 4 am in buttfuck Arizona is not prime time for travels.  

Letting out a little whine, Race turns to face forward again, stealing a quick glance at Spot as he does so.  He can see the faint worry lines on his face, reflected from the miniscule lights of the dash.  They’d opted to leave the headlights off for optimal covertness, but the moonlight over the desert proves to be more than sufficient.  

Spot’s anxious, Race can tell.  He remembers a year ago when the two of them had first met in that dingy bar in Brooklyn.  Spot had been nothing but a stoic mask at that time, only showing faint hints of amusement every now and then.  It had been incredibly disconcerting, especially to Race who wears his heart on his sleeve, to behold such utter passivity, but Race had since learned to read him.  Spending everyday together for twelve months is really the best lesson in a person’s tells, Race has found.  And really, when he spares a second thought to it, their situation and relationship therefore, is a strange one.  Two broke college grads down on their luck and bearing fuck all from their families meeting by chance and somehow finding themselves stuck in a loop of money laundering and identity theft in order to stay above ground.  Maybe not the best solution to their problems, but hey, Race never claimed to be smart with his choices.  And the rush of adrenaline is as much of a drug as the coke they sell on the side.

“God fucking damnit, is he still following us?” Spot says, eyes flitting to the rearview mirror.

“Dude, he caught us balls deep tryna break into a fucking bank.  He ain’t gon’ let us off that easy.” Race says, “Jesus fuck I told you we should stick to the other stuff.  We were making big cash just fine pulling paychecks from easy civvies.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can tell me ‘told you so’ when we get somewhere I can think.” Spot sounds exhausted and on-edge and Race himself is looking forward to this whole ordeal blowing over so they can find a place to ditch this car and grab a new one and maybe crash at some shitty inn no cop would think to look.  Yeah, laying low for a couple of days sounds perfect right now.  They don’t even have to leave the room.  Denny’s orders in, right?

“Oh, I will.” Race says, sighing an internal sigh of relief as the distant lights of a small town come into view.  Thank god.

Spot mumbles something that sounds like, “Fucking finally,” and eases up on the gas, turning abruptly once they enter the city perimeter.  

They’ve gotten good at this: losing tails, but Race still holds his breath as Spot loops around the backroads of the town, looking for a place to dump the car.  It’s a few minutes until Race can see the lights of the cop car reflecting off the drug store they’d passed upon first entrance and he hisses out another curse, jabbing Spot in the arm.

“Stop here,” He says, “If he finds the car, fine, but he sure as hell ain’t finding us in it.”

Spot looks like he wants to fight back, but instead, he surprises Race by pulling to a surprisingly quiet stop by an old auto-shop.  He gestures for Race to get out and swiftly grabs their duffels from the back seat, tossing Race’s to him, both pausing when the cop car cruises in front of the alleyway closest to them.  Inaudibly, they let out synchronous sighs of relief when it continues on. 

They cheat behind the auto-shop and are barely settled into identical crouches when a quiet, “Psst,” captures both of their attention.  Race jumps violently, only barely recovering in time to slap a hand over Spot’s mouth as he begins to shout in surprise.

“Over here,” the voice whispers again.

The two of them turn to look at where the auto-shop’s back door is now open and Race squints as the silhouette of a man comes into view.  He can see the man waving a hand in front of him, beckoning them closer, before exchanging a look with Spot.  A silent conversation passes between them, we’ve made bad choices before, what’s one more? And Spot shrugs a little before hoisting his duffel back onto his shoulder and tiptoeing towards the man.  Race follows behind warily. 

Now that he’s closer, Race can see that the man is about their age- young and a little rugged looking with hair that curls towards his jaw at the nape of his neck.  His face and arms are splattered with- well, Race’s first thought is that it’s blood, but upon further inspection, he sees that it’s paint.  Bright yellow and orange neon paint.

He has a lot of questions.  Like, how the fuck did you notice us lurking behind your building at four am? And, why did you think it was a good idea to interact with two obviously suspicious looking men? But all that comes out is, “why are you covered in neon paint?”

Spot drops his head in a groan and the guy laughs somewhat maniacally, “best not to ask, it’s a long story.  Well, actually it’s not.  You see, it’s my niece’s birthday tomorrow and she really likes lava lamps so I’m hand making a few for her and that includes painting the bases and she’s going through that quirky eight year old phase where everything rainbows and neon is super cool, so I’m making them neon tie-dye,” he says it all in one breath and Race finds himself struggling to keep up, “anyway, the names Albert.  You two look like you need some help.  Wanna come in?”

The whole situation’s fucking weird, but Race and Spot exchange another look, this one holding the quick debate of, what other options do we got? And a moment later, they’re hustling into the dingy auto shop.

The lights are dim on the inside, but it’s a surprisingly cozy set up.  The side dedicated to cars is immaculately organized, with a few hanging from the ceiling and others lined neatly on the ground, propped up on floor jacks where necessary.  On the other side is clearly where Albert lives, with a couple curtains sanctioning off a twin bed and desk, where sure enough, three lava-lamps, varying in color and size, are set on a few sheets of newspaper.  

Spot frowns as Albert locks the door, turning to them with a smile, “I’m assuming the cop car out there’s for you guys?”  When Race and Spot don’t answer, he continues, too lighthearted for the situation, “Yeah, figured.  Feel free to lay low here ‘til the threat’s passed.”

“If the police are clearly after us, aren’t we the threats?” Spot asks, “Wait, no, hold on, aren’t you gonna ask us what we did?  Aren’t you put off at all?”

Albert waves a hand, “Nah, I do this all the time.  Just don’t try to murder me and we’re good.  You look like nice enough people, just a little down on your luck.  I don’t mind you camping out here while ya need.” He sets off towards his desk, seemingly to finish the lava-lamps, “The door across from the supply closet is technically an office, but I stuck a mattress and some blankets there for people like yourselves.  Feel free to crash.  If the bull comes by, I didn’t see anything.”  With that, he’s gone.  Behind the curtain as if he’d never been there.

Race blinks, bemused, and looks at Spot.

“What the fuck did he mean, ‘I do this all the time’?  Who the fuck is this guy?”

Spot shakes his head, looking more lost than Race has ever seen him, “Hell if I know.”

The office-turned-guest-room turns out to be more spacious than Race had anticipated and he and Spot are sitting on the mattress, munching on granola bars that were placed unceremoniously in a bowl by the door, when they hear a knock from outside.  

Race feels a pit of dread form in his gut and he lowers his granola bar, appetite lost.  It’s the cop, it’s gotta be.  Who else would be knocking before dawn?  And oh god, they’d left the car right out front, how much more obvious can they be?

Race glances at Spot, who’s also stopped eating, and hisses, “If he catches us, run.  Go on without me.” 

He means it, but Spot just huffs out a bitter laugh, “As if.  Now shut up.”

They strain their ears, listening as Albert opens the door, feigning sleep they know he hasn’t gotten in his voice, “Officer.  Is there a problem?”

They can’t hear what the cop says, but Albert’s side of the conversation is fairly clear, “Hm? Oh, the paint?  I was working on a project for my niece and must have dozed off before cleaning up.  Anyway, how can I help you?”  There’s a pause, “Two- what? I haven’t heard anything about no bank robbers, that’s terrible! I- oh, that car, that’s…strange, that wasn’t here when I went to sleep.  Sure, you can check around back, but I doubt ya’d find anything.  I’da heard if someone were moving around out there and I didn’t hear nothing last night.  Yes sir, I- oh?  Nah, I’m afraid I can’t letcha search my shop.  Not without a warrant.  Mm, sorry officer.  Yes, I understand the caliber of the situation, but it is my legal right to deny your entrance to my home without substantial reasoning.  Mhm, but see, that’s a hunch.  I don’t see no warrant.  Okay, officer.  Yes. just around back.  Go ahead.  Alright, officer, okay.  Nice chat.  Goodbye.”

The door closes a second later and Race lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  All at once, the adrenaline of the night hits him.  They’d almost been fucking caught, Christ, what if they’d ended up in jail?  What if they still end up in jail?  He couldn’t survive jail, fuck, he wouldn’t even be able to afford and lawyer and shit-

His body is shaking, vibrating really, and a weight is steadily growing on his chest.  Involuntary tears prick at his eyes and he brings a hand up to the front of his shirt, tugging as if that would release some of the pressure from his lungs.  

“Race?” Spot sounds distant and Race turns to him, knowing he looks panicked, but having no capacity to change that, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Race says, voice high and pitchy, “I can’t really breathe, I can’t-”

“Shit, hey, it’s okay.  I think you’re having an anxiety attack,” Spot says, sounding uncharacteristically gentle, “I know a lot happened tonight, but we’re okay,” He places a comforting hand on Race’s shoulder, “Just breathe, it’s okay.”

Race nods, closing his eyes and focusing on Spot’s touch, allowing it to ground him.  A few moments later, he’s feeling calmer, if still a little shaken.  

“You alright?” Spot asks, not removing his hand.

“Yeah, I dunno, man,” Race says honestly, “It’s been a rough ass night and all I want right now is something to drink and someone to cuddle with,” his eyes fly open as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  He hadn’t meant to say that.  He’s not sure why he said that.  It’s not even like he and Spot have that sort of relationship, nor is he particularly seeking that out.  But now that it’s out there, Race wouldn’t say no to some good old physical comfort.

Spot seems to sense that and laughs a little as he removes his hand from where he’s still gripping Race to sling his arm around his shoulders.  It’s a little more intimate than they usually are, but friendly and comfortable nonetheless.  Race takes a deep, shaky breath and rests his head back against the wall, leaning into Spot’s side.

“Yeah, it’s been a fucked up night and I think I’m still deciding whether or not it’s real or just some weird fever dream,” Spot says, “Like, who even is that guy?  What the fuck is his deal?”

“Lord even knows,” Race says, “But I think I got my fill of crazy for a while.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They lapse into silence and Race is just starting to drift off when the door to the office opens and Albert pokes his head in, somehow covered in even more paint than before and holding up a bottle of tequila, “hey guys, I’m here and I’m ready to bitch.  The cop is gone now, though I wouldn’t recommend skipping town just yet- better safe than sorry.  Also, bank robbers, huh?  Haven’t had your kind in a while.  You’re a fun type, though the arson that I met last week was pretty spicy.  Anyway, drinks?  I know it’s early for alcohol, but I get the feeling y’all need it.”

Spot doesn’t even try to lower his voice as he says, “Yeah, I don’t think our fill of crazy is over yet.”

-

don’t ask me what that was about, i genuinely don’t know

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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