#i hate the way shops are organised as is it always seems like they use the stupidest system possible

[nerdie-faerie]

How dare they rearrange everything in Lidl since I was last here less than a week ago. Where the fuck is everything?

[bucky-h0e]

Just Ten Minutes | Oneshot

Single Mom!Y/n x Bucky Barnes

Prompt: Bucky had finally explored the world of dating in the new century and found someone who he loves dearly. Now he has to explore the world of fatherhood to support his girlfriend and her baby girl.

Sort of requested by @browneyedgirl22 - I hope you enjoy it!

I admit, it is a bit faced paced but I'm working on that! If anyone has any feedback then please let me know!

If you like this then be sure to check out my current series 'Of Summer Days and Winter Nights' and 'Serendipity'!

Masterlist

~

Bucky and Y/n had only been dating a short while, a couple of months. Yet in those months, they had moved quickly through their relationship. Of course, they would have preferred to take their time, but it wasn't often that it was on their side. Whilst Bucky had been trying his best to adapt to the new century, finally having the time to do it, there were still occasions in which he was needed. Y/n on the other hand, was juggling not only her new relationship with the ex-Winter Soldier, but also her job and sweet baby.

Amelia had been from a previous relationship, her father having decided to not be in the picture - though he did send some financial aid for her. They were comfortable, and Amelia seemed to love Bucky just as much Y/n loved him. When they were first introduced, of course there was hesitance there. Bucky had never been left to care for Amelia on his own - why would he? But, he always included her whenever he was doing something for Y/n. If he brought flowers, there was always a small bundle of daisies for Amelia, even if she didn't understand why. If he brought cakes or dessert, then there was something sweet for Amelia that she could chew on. Small things that showed Y/n he cared for the small girl and knew they were a package deal. And that didn't worry him. He had spent time with Sam's nephews, gotten used to the childlike fascination with his arm and grew comfortable being around children. But Amelia was a lot younger than Sam's nephews.

He may not be her father, but if she came with Y/n, then how could he say no? There were times where he was nervous, of course. On one occasion, he had offered to take Amelia whilst Y/n nipped to the toilet during shopping. It would only take a few minutes and Bucky knew he could handle that. However, as he stood, holding the little girl who refused to get in the pushchair because 'she was a big girl and could walk on her own' yet 'didn't want to stand because her legs hurt'; he couldn't help but get slightly nervous. What if he dropped her? What if he was squeezing too hard when she wriggled? Luckily, it had just been a quick trip to the bathroom, but just from that small trip, Bucky knew his nerves may just get the better of him.

But, all of that would soon have to wait.

Having received a text from Y/n to cancel their date because she had much more work than she had expected, Bucky couldn't stand the thought of her having to over work herself. He knew she'd get sick by the end of it, burnt out and tired and that she would end up hating it because she couldn't look after Amelia properly. So, to prevent that, he got their lunch and dinner on his way over to her apartment, grabbing some food that was appropriate for the two year old that would inevitably join them. Using the key, he shot her a quick text, letting her know that it would be him walking through the door and not a stranger. He thought he'd see her pottering about, trying to organise whatever chaos her daughter had created in her wake, but instead, he found her slumped over the coffee table in the living room. Nodding along to whatever rant Amelia was talking about, letting her draw on her skin in an attempt at keeping both Amelia entertained and herself awake, pots and pans boiling in the kitchen like she'd forgotten about them and toys strewn about. It was clear that Y/n was currently having a hard time.

Smiling softly, Bucky places the bag of groceries on the floor by the door before making his way through the mess, kneeling once he'd managed to do so . Amelia squeals and hugs him as tight as her little arms can manage and he returns the favour, gently pulling her up into his lap. "Hey there sweet girl. Can you do Buck a favour?" He asks, tilting his head as the little girl nods quickly.

"Yes!" Smiling, he points over to some of the toys, "Can you clear up a little? Just some toys that you're not playing with, then when you've done that, we can play together." She pouts and pulls a face at him, wanting him to know her displeasure about the idea.

"Yeah I know, you don't like tidying up. But, we need a lot of space if we're gunna play right? So, we need to tidy up. I'll even come and help, but I gotta make sure mummy is okay first, yeah?" With a sigh, and as much attitude as a two year old could muster, she starts going about her business tidying up, making Bucky chuckle at the dramatics of it all.

Once Amelia was sorted and cleaning up her toys, haphazardly throwing things inboxes which Bucky knew he'd have to sort out later, he gently pulled Y/n to his chest, wrapping his arms around her exhausted body.

"Is it gone?" She jokes tiredly, peeking an eye open to see her daughter tidying. Bucky chuckles softly, rocking them gently.

"No, just busy. This is your chance to escape." He smiles, planting a kiss on her head as she sighs dreamily, "escaping sounds nice. maybe to Paris?"

"I don't think we have time for Paris," He muses, glancing at the girl who seems to be distracted from her chore. "Definitely have time for a short nap though, come on, up you get." Y/n groans, and Bucky can't help but laugh at the dramatics obviously shared by mother and daughter. With a grunt, Bucky stands, pulling his girl up with him and guides her to the bedroom. An arm wrapped around her waist to secure her as she stumbles through the apartment.

"Buck I have to clean and start making dinner, then I have to do the assignments. Shit, Amelia needs her snack - Bucky I don't have time to nap, I-" She stops at Bucky starting to shush her, pushing her to lay on her bed once he got her seated. "Don't shush me Barnes."

The man sends her an apologetic smile, kissing her temple softly, "I'm sorry love, I won't do it again. But you need to rest or you'll burn out. I will sort out dinner and lunch. You can clean and do work when you wake up," he smiles, there was absolutely no way she was doing either of that today whilst Bucky was here. He leans down, starting to take off her shoes and jeans, letting her get more comfortable to fall asleep, kissing the exposed skin gently before wrapping her up in a blanket. As soon as her head hit the pillow, Y/n could feel herself begin to drift. But there just so much to do, granted she wouldn't be able to do much if she was exhausted. So... maybe a ten minute nap wouldn't hurt.

"Okay Barnes, ten minutes. I will take a ten minute power nap and that is it."

"Ten minutes, got it."

"I'm serious James," He kisses her softly, brushing the stray hair from her eyes as he nods, "Ten minutes. I promise, I love you."

She grumbles her response, turning on her side and sighing loudly into the pillowcase. "I love you too Buck,"

After making sure she was tucked in and on her way to sleep, Bucky stood quietly and made his way out of her room, pulling the door closed on his way. Now to deal with the mess.

As he walked to the kitchen, he took a quick glance to make sure that Amelia was still occupied before turning off the stove, emptying the pots and pans and putting them in the sink to soak. Then, he made his way to the groceries left at the door, bringing them into the kitchen and putting them away. Once that had been done, he made a start on snack for Amelia. Said little girl was currently led on the floor, her tidying taking a backseat as she began to play with some of the toys left out. Seeing a few more toys on the ground, he set the small plate of fruit on the counter, walking over and tidying up the rest into her toybox before picking her up and lifting her high in the air. She squeals and giggles, kicking her legs in excitement as she's lowered to sit on his hip.

"Again! Again!" Bucky grins, "Again?!" he teases, setting her up to be lifted once again. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! Again- Ah!" She bursts into laughter, feeling herself get lifted once, twice, three times more. "Okay sweet girl, snack time." He sets her down at the small plastic table in the corner of the room, where Amelia would normally do her colouring. But it would do for this as well, especially whilst he cleaned up the place. Bringing her plate down, he gently ruffles her hair when she thanks him before digging into her snack. Making his way around the room, Bucky picks up any stray toys, straightens the blankets on the cough - why Y/n had so many he would never know - and picks up any stray washing up that needed to be done. Then, he washed and dried everything whilst Amelia ate her snack, cleaning her plate last when she brought it up and thanked him once again.

Finally, with everything washed and the place looking tidy once again, he set himself down on the couch, laying down and helping Amelia climb up after him. Bringing toys with her, she sat on Bucky's stomach and used his chest as a place to put the toys she'd brought. Occasionally, she would show him once and he would respond with great interest, watching her play with a smile on his face. Honestly, he thought he would be more nervous, like he had been any other time they'd been alone together. But Amelia was a smart little girl who would tell him if she was uncomfortable one way or another. And besides, if Bucky could make Y/n's day slightly better by looking after Amelia for a few hours whilst she rested, then he was happy to do it. It's not like he didn't love spending time with the girl anyway.

The two stayed like that for the next couple of hours, Amelia differing between playing and watching TV. Occasionally, she would take her sticker book and start picking stickers which she would then place on Bucky's arms. Currently, his right arm was covered in unicorns and stars, with his left arm having been decorated in rainbows and flowers. As he watched her, he smiles, loving the way she laughs and giggles whenever he tickled her teasingly or gave her a tight hug or teasingly complained about the stickers.

"I see you've gone with two different themes, that's great, real cute, you know? Oh, mixing it up, flowers with the unicorns huh? That's nice, real artistic." Whilst he knows the two year old may not completely understand him, she seemed to be enjoying herself enough and that was enough for him.

"James Buchanan Barnes."

Bucky looks at Amelia with a exaggerated shocked expression at the sound of his lovers voice, causing the girl to giggle. "Uh oh, mummy's awake." He whispers to her, sitting up and letting the girl fall back onto the couch before walking up to his tired partner. She stands, leaning against the wall with her hip sticking out to one side. Arms crossed in front of her and her face in a scowl.

"Hey love, I was just about to wake you."

"Ten minutes my ass James."

Grinning, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close to him, kissing her cheek. "Aw come on, you expected me to actually wake you in ten minutes?"

"A promise is a promise Barnes." She states, grabbing a sticker on his flesh arm and ripping it off, causing the man to flinch slightly and let out a whine of 'Hey'. "I swear to god if there are stickers on my couch."

"Mummy!" Kneeling down to catch the girl barrelling her way to the pair, Y/n hugs her tightly and picks her up. "Hey baby girl! Sorry for leaving, did you have fun with Buck?" She asks, smiling as she feels Bucky's arms wrap around her once more and pull the pair closer to him, leaning on the wall beside them.

"Lots and lots! We tidied up for you!" Bucky winks at the shocked Y/n, who seemed to only just take in the apartment after her anger at Bucky's 'betrayal' had passed. "You did?" She asks, looking at Bucky specifically who shrugs his shoulders in return, nodding.

"You didn't have to do that Buck," She smiles at him, gently putting Amelia down, who runs off to play with her toys once whilst Bucky leads Y/n to sit on the couch.

"I know, but I wanted to help you out a little bit. That's what I'm here for. To support you ad Amelia." Y/n smiles at him, not understanding how she had gotten so lucky that Bucky had been okay with the fact that she had a child.

"Thank you Buck, seriously." She leans forward, pressing her lips to his. He smiles into the kiss, bringing his hands to gently cup her cheeks, tilting his head slightly. Pulling apart, he licks his bottom lip quickly, gazing softly into her eyes before kissing her once more. Y/n sighs into the kiss, melting into the couch and pulling Bucky in with her.

"Anything for you, Y/n. Now, you keep your pretty self comfortable on this couch, and I'll go make us all some dinner yeah? You've been asleep for three hours." He muses, placing one last kiss on her lips before standing and making his way to the kitchen to cook for his girls. Y/n watches him, biting her lip softly, grinning at his back before she blinks and glares slightly.

"THREE HOURS!?"

[cxtherine]

spencer reid x fem! reader - all too well chapter II- i love you, i'm sorry

a/n: i literally had to rewrite all of this, so i'm weeks behind where i wanted to be because my laptop deleted this, and the next 2 chapters so i'm sorry it's so late

tw: bodily harm, gore, unrequited love etc.character death, train crashes.

when the train doors slam behind me, i know it's too late. i should've probably thought it through more than i did- but at least the slam was satisfying enough, bags in one hand with my favourite things. i've left everything i've ever known behind. 8-year-old me would've been upset, but now i'm sort of numb, like the way you just get used to cold ice cream on a hot day.

the sky, though, is gorgeous. perfect ambers and pinks, sinking down with the sun. if i could, i'd paint it.

the train is almost empty, and i sit down by myself, in one of the seats with a table so i can put my bags underneath, and my phone and water on the table. the scenery that's starting to flash by outside the huge window is stunning, and it's perfect for me to reminisce on everything that led up to my somewhat-running-away to start a new life, to get away from who i'd become.

when i was a little girl, people used to tell me i should be a lawyer. it was their own, politely masked way of saying i was rude, outspoken. i'd hated my loudness, and knew it wouldn't do me any favours. in the end, i suppose it did.

i met my ex-boyfreind, spencer reid, because i was shouting at a man on the train for my first day at work. he'd touched me inappropriately, and in my disgust, stress, and evident anger i'd yelled in his face. it was then that spencer stepped in, the doe-like brown eyes i'll never forget flickering with concern, and then disgust as they landed on the man i'd been confronting. his hand slid into mine, and it was clammy but somehow, for a stranger, oddly comforting. it was half-an-hour of awkward, polite conversation with spencer after he'd intervened, that made me realise he was going to be one of my new colleages.

it was half a week after that that he became my best freind. we'd done everything together- dr who conventions, nerdy as it seems- and we sat together on every flight to and from cases for work, and just enjoyed the freindship we had. he taught me chess, which i was awful at, and then every card game under the sun. it was a surprise, really, when it became my three year anniversary of working with him, and three years of him being my closest freind and supporter.

more unsurprisingly, we fell in love. it was just perfect, like the movies i would've watched as a teenager on my parent's old TV. coffee shop dates, pinkies interlinked, winter walks. kisses at work, kisses at home and under that big old oak in the town center. in short, everything was just as i'd hoped for all my life. i had a job which made a difference, and a boyfreind who was as kind as he was handsome. i met his mom, and he met mine- diana and i formed a bond, over laughing at his childhood pictures.

maybe i was naive to expect it to stay that way.

it'd been 4 months, of perfect, pure love. we sat on the bench, beneath the oak tree where we'd first kissed, where we'd talked about children and marriage and..other things. every 'thing' we could possibly think of. i hadn't really planned it, spencer'd always been more organised than me, but when i told him i loved him, i wished he'd said it back.

i knew, and still do, what spencer's been through. love has let him down, over and over, but i really thought that we were the greatest thing in each other's lives. 'i'm sorry' isn't exactly a typical response to your girlfreind saying she loves you.

the angry, disappointed little girl who just wanted love had taken over. we'd fought, of course, like any couple does,but it was worse. so much was said. too much, so much that i cried and yelled until my eyes and throat felt scarlet and he just.. blinked those big doe eyes,like i was being irrational, like i was the problem, and left.

left,like both of us had promised we never would. i ran, and i ran faster than i ever have. booked a train ticket, sold my flat. bought another one, upstate and hours away. resigned from the BAU, found another job as easily as that can happen.

i'm going to hate my new job. i know that already. tucked into my train seat, i sigh. the train is finally out of Quantico, and i feel the tenseness that has slipped through the cracks in my heart and into my bones slowly, slowly leaking away. i never really believed in heartbreak. maybe soul-break is the better term, because there's no part of me that doesn't feel utterly destroyed.

the train jolts, and the sip i'd been taking of my water splashes down my front. confused, i rise to my feet. a few minutes later, we're still stuck. i just want to leave. i follow the carriages to the engine-room, irritated. why can't anyone just help me escape? i hate it here.

there's a body, and it makes me jump. slumped on his side, blood pooling down his chest. the profiler in me knows it's been an efficient kill, by someone impatient and well-trained. a perfect slit through the carotid, and then, when i turn him over, fingers trembling, the human in me makes me gag.

his stomach is cut, wide and deep and enough to expose his stomach. suddenly, everything is too bright, too much. i can't even profile what the hell's going on, because there's a honking in my ears, loud and deep and irritating. i straighten up, and look out of the train window.

there's another train, coming right towards this one. i realise there's nothing i can do at the same time that i realise i'm going to die, and then there's the crash, and everything vanishes.

[argyrocratie]

Hein:(...)By the way, I remember you had a direct confrontation with far-right ultranationalist political Buddhist organisation called “Patriotic Association of Myanmar” which we call “Ma Ba Tha”. You were modelling with Buddhist monk uniform with punk fashion. That triggered them. Can you please share us more about it since it was never recorded properly by the mainstream media locally and internationally?     Kyaw Kyaw: That’s a long story. I will have to explain since their existence as a grassroot movement called 969 movement around 2012. As you know, an Arakanese Buddhist woman called Ms. Thidar Htwe was raped by three youth rapists who happened to be from Muslim Rohingya community. They somehow dragged the whole identity instead of focusing on the individuals and the whole Arakan-Rohingya riot happened in Arakan. We produced a song called “Fuck Religious War” and stayed against this fear mongering politics of both Buddhist nationalists and Islamists. However, the riot spread to the whole nation. The whole Buddhist community stood in solidarity with the Buddhist Arakanese population against Rohingya people and in broader Muslim population. A lot of racism, xenophobia and fear mongering politics happened on both sides. That later escalate into broader anti-Muslim bigotry racist politics with 969 movement. As soon as we notice the grassroot involvement and influential status of 969 movement, we, Rebel Riot, created a new song called “Stop Racism, against 969, Fuck Fascist Monks” against the 969 movement solely.

(...)

But that incident you mentioned was around 2017. The 969 movement reached its peak at 2014-2015 until they decided to go after NLD and Aung San Suu Kyi. After that, they sort out become weaker. Our Rebel Riot band was invited to Thailand for a tour around 2017. We were requested by an alternative photographer for a blasphemous but yet interfaith photo. It was called “Sons of Anarchy”. We dressed as Buddha (a monk), Jesus and Shiva in Punk outfits. The main message of the photo we intended to offer was that “the religious leaders are having fun together and get along with each other, but yet the followers are killing each other”. We posted the photos on our official page and even mentioned Venerable Wirathu and assaulted him on Facebook. That backfired us. The next day, our post was shared by tens of thousands of people. Win Ko Ko Latt, an ultranationalist grassroot organiser of 969 movement reposted the photos and started to organise a movement against us. Even his post was shared by thousands of people. I had to edit the post to look more appropriated. We received a lot of death threats again. They targeted against me specifically since I was the one who dressed as Buddha (a monk). DVB reached out to me amidst the whole controversary. 

(...)

969 movement somehow managed to propagate me as an enemy of the whole Buddhism to all the people. For all of our social movements, Food not Bombs Yangon, Books not Bombs, and Free Shop, we are dealing day to day basis with the grassroot people which includes religious people, I got worried that they might also attack the social movement for my involvement of the photo shooting. I reached out to Win Ko Ko Latt, surprisingly he was humble and deleted his post as per my request. We mutually agreed to meet and discuss the details to solve the controversy. When I arrive to their headquarters of Patriotic Association of Myanmar at Insein, there were a lot of monks in the room, just like how we used to sit in the internet café. Seems like they’ve some sort IT related operations going on. I told them that I want to solve the conflict mutually as I didn’t really want the grassroot especially the working-class people to hate us. Since they are the people, we always encounter and organise at our social movements. Win Ko Ko Latt on behalf of the Patriotic Association of Myanmar promised us that they will meet with us peacefully and solve it properly in front of the media, etc. 

At first, I was thinking of how I would dispute their points and so on as if I’m Socrates or Castro or something. I was hoping of a civic debate and even planned to justify my actions with my understanding of Buddhism. In reality, once we arrived at their place, there are hundreds of 969 supporters waiting for us at the monastery. They surrounded us while we’re talking to their leaders. Since before we started, they demanded us to apologise in front of all their supporters and they were no media except the right-leaned pro-969 media. We tried to push back but since we were outnumbered as a few of us from Rebel Riot went there. One of the monks from the Patriotic Association of Myanmar told us that their Theravada Buddhism is currently challenged by internal threats like us (those who were born as Buddhists) and external threats like Muslims and Christians. I response back that in my understanding of Buddhism, the internal threats are not people, but greed, anger, and ignorance. They started shouting at us, demanding us to sign of apology letter, and so on. Those friends who came along with me, also insisted me to sign the apology letter since we were outnumbered and some of them even had weapons with them. They never gave me a chance to speak anymore after my response. Finally, I had to sign for an apology letter, just to survive there. I cried like a kid after all the incident as I felt ashamed becoming a tool for their propaganda machinery. They put those photos across all their media and celebrated as if they have won a battle against us, the progressive social movements.  Hein: So, they demanded apology from you not to sue you under blasphemy law? Given their influence around that time, that would be a terrible experience for you. Being targeted by the nation-wide influential far-right ultranationalist political organisation is apparently not favourable. But I think it was a milestone of your activism. The more important question is that did you find leftists in general and anarchists from Burma showing solidarity with you? I’m pretty sure global punk scene will show unconditional solidarity with you. However, what about local anarchists and leftists in general? Did they show solidarity with you in face of the nation-wide influential far-right ultranationalist political organisation targeting you?   Kyaw Kyaw: Local punk anarchist bands and those from Rebel Riot, Food not Bombs Yangon, Free Shop, and Books not Bombs showed solidarity with me, some even reached out frequently to me after the incident. However, there were a lot of anarchists, so called anti-fascists, and student activists who were making fun of me, for being forced to apologise. I was already depressed, seeing them making fun of me, instead of showing solidarity, made it worse. Some international punk anarchist bands issued statement of solidarity for us, some bands from UK even organised events for us. That was a big relief. However, there were a lot of local anarchists who called themselves anti-fascists as well as a lot of students and activists, making fun of my situation instead of showing solidarity. I was hoping for them to show solidarity at least in public and criticise us privately for our tactical error. It never happened, yet they publicly shamed us for signing the apology letter. I know we were wrong; they were not wrong to criticise us. However, we didn’t expect such level of public ashaming as if we were some idiots. They even told us that “Pussy Riot” from Moscow were better and braver than us. I felt as if we got attacked from behind within the left during a death match with the far-right groups.

If I were them, I would start a social movement called “Saffron movement” and do series of photo shooting along with monk robes. So, all progressives across the country can participate, with a hope of mass involvement. They never did that. Even now in 2024, there are some leftists who are still making fun of us for being forced to apologise. Of course, we will never get over those traumas too. Looking back, I learned a lot out of that experience. Some of those from the left accused us of betraying our own values for signing the apology letter. I admit that we were naïve and ignorant of the traps set by the far-right fascists, but we never betrayed our values. We were outnumbered and no mass movement or digital social movement showed up in solidarity for us locally except some closed comrades of us. I can take the experience as something we were naïve, but I would like to deny those accusations of us betraying our own values from here. We, Rebel Riot, never betrayed our values of punk subculture, individualist anarchism and anti-fascism.  

-"Interview with Kyaw Kyaw from The Rebel Riot Band"

[shibalen]

♡ 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒖𝒑 𝒇𝒐𝒓 Sunny🍃

i match you with . . .

𝑲𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑯 !!

Kaveh would for sure fall in love with your colourful character—from the way your friendliness draws out the smiles of strangers on the streets to how big and awe-inspiring a world exists in your mind.

He would be drawn to you from the very beginning because you looked like you were always on the move in search of something new and exciting.

You like sarcasm and banter? Wonderful! Kaveh is super easily provoked but unlike with Alhaitham he knows you don't actually do it to get under his skin and takes your teasing as a playful challenge.

Kaveh is incredibly thankful to finally have someone who actually listens to him. Of course, many at the Akademiya respect him but you make an effort to also understand where his thoughts come from, what his ideals are behind his way of thinking.

Thinks it's really adorable when you daydream and seem to disappear into a world of your own. He often asks what you're thinking about because he loves hearing what's on your mind. In addition, he hopes explaining all the tangled up thoughts from overthinking might help you organise them.

On the other hand, as well-defined as his own values and ambitions are, I don't believe he's oblivious to the pressure of needing people to have a good opinion of you. His wide-spread reputation and fame certainly hasn't come without this problem.

Therefore, he would do his best to always reassure you your value does not revolve around what others think. He hates seeing you hurt from all these unrealistic expectations and thinking about them makes him fume.

The same goes for times when you feel inferior. Kaveh won't have any of that, not on his watch. In this man's world you stand on the highest pedestal of brilliance and he does not hesitate to let you know that.

God knows Kaveh would take you out shopping every day of the week if he had the financial freedom to. He'd spoil you with more gifts than you could perhaps even handle: flowers, jewellery, clothes, you name it!

Although it pains his hopelessly romantic heart that he is not capable of that right now, he'll make sure this comes true in the future.

Meanwhile, enjoy his undivided attention and him doting on you in every other way he can think of ♡ Being a renowned architect and a lover of all things fine in the world, Kaveh prides himself on his creativity after all.

♡ 𝑴𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮

It was truly the perfect night for new encounters. The Grand Bazaar was bustling with life as visitors from all over Sumeru and beyond had gathered to watch Nilou's latest performance.

You were one of her most loyal fans so naturally you would not miss a performance this big for the world, even though the crowd was too tense for your liking. You had even shown up early enough to get a spot close to the stage.

However, as the show was about to begin and people filled the area in front of the stage to the brim you still found it hard to see on the stage. What made it worse was that an incredibly tall man just happened to push his way right in front of your line of sight.

Obviously you weren't going to have any of that but just as you were about to tell this guy off another voice came from beside you.

"Hey, you, sir. Mind moving more to the side a bit? The rest of us are also trying to see the performance."

You wouldn't have thought someone clad in such eloquent-looking clothes would have a voice that loud and a tongue that sharp. You couldn't help but grin as the man blocking the view moved aside.

"Thank you, but I think I had it."

"Ahaha, better luck next time then."

His wink and light-hearted response made something in your heart flutter, and when he noticed you were still looking at him he too seemed to hesitate.

Out of the kindness of his heart or awkward embarrassment, he snapped you out of your daze by whispering the dance was about to begin. At that, you hurriedly redirected your focus, feeling silly for not having even noticed your own staring.

Thankfully, you forgot about the issue immediately as Nilou's dance drew you into a different kind of trance. It wasn't until the end of the evening and you leaving the bazaar that the thoughts about that pretty guy literally came tapping you on the shoulder.

Because there he stood, a somewhat sheepish smile on his face. "Hey, I noticed you seemed really into Nilou's dance. I'm a big fan myself. Would you like to join me for a drink in Puspa Café? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Oh, I'm Kaveh, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you."

It was quite clear to you he had rehearsed these lines in his mind before coming over to you, yet you could detect no ill will in his tone or his small, hopeful smile.

One cup of coffee with this stranger couldn't hurt, right?

♡ 𝑩𝑳𝑼𝑹𝑩𝑺

The line between friendship and something more lingered between you for quite a while, mostly because you were so comfortable around each other you could be as honest and close as you wished.

Yet the closer you grew the more clingy Kaveh became. Don't get him wrong, he didn't do it on purpose: physical affection is just a part of his way of showing his love! Of course, he also respects your personal space.

But oftentimes you find yourself trapped in his arms and you might as well accept that. This is your new home. Whether you're snuggling or casually doing work, Kaveh needs his daily hugs.

Also absolutely melts when you run your fingers through his hair.

During moments like these you like to tease him that despite putting on such a confident, self-assured front, he's such a softie at the end of the day. Naturally he protests to this because he wants to look cool in front of you but the second you continue playing with his hair he admits defeat.

"Only for you though," he mumbles, burying his face in your chest.

When he's extremely busy with a project, working himself to death day and night alike, you usually come by the Akademiya or his Alhaitham's place to remind him to rest. And if that already doesn't make Kaveh's heart clench in adoration for you enough, you just had to bring all those cakes to eat together.

He can't refuse you when you ask him to come sit down and you know it ( • ̀ω•́ ) Kaveh probably knows it too but he's too grateful and too much in love to do anything about it.

And once he's finally free again he makes up for all the moments he made you feel lonely, so expect to be pampered more than usual.

That doesn't mean just quality time with hugs and kisses but if Kaveh earned any money from the project, he takes you on a vacation somewhere exciting! Maybe Inazuma now that the borders are open, or Mondstadt for the Windblume Festival?

He wants to do the tradition of giving you a Windblume to show his love so bad aaaa—

You have a secret spot high on one of the Akademiya's rooves where you can watch the perfect sunset together and go stargazing. Kaveh may not be a part of the Rtawahist Drashan but he knows enough about the stars to chat on and on about them with you.

Loves dancing with you! Whether it's in a tavern swinging you to upbeat traditional music or somewhere private as he holds you close, sharing these intimate moments with you lights up his world with sparks and glee ♡ man cannot stop grinning.

Invites you play TCG (and gossip ahem) with him, Cyno, Tighnari and Alhaitham if you're interested. He'll make sure to take any pressure off your shoulders so you could have a fun relaxing evening. Everyone else assures you too that there is no need for any kind of formalities (o˘⌣˘o)

Alhaitham info-dumping all of Kaveh's embarrassing stories

Matching outfits! I repeat, matching outfits!! Also matching charms, probably something silly/cute like a cat that reminds him of the one you have.

All in all, an extremely fun and loyal couple! Kaveh 100% devotes himself to your comfort and happiness because you are the star that lit up his universe at its darkest.

𑁍 𝑱𝑬𝑾𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑹𝒀 𝑩𝑶𝑿

— favourite memory with you

When he got locked out of the house (again lol) and you invited him to stay over at your place. It was you were coming back from a late library study session that Kaveh realised he didn't have the house key, so you kindly suggested that he'd stay over because it was already so late. At first he got kind of flustered cause you weren't together yet but you kept insisting it was fine so he gave in. Poor guy was still tense enough you would be sleeping in your bed in another room. Well, on the bright side, in the end you didn't actually do much sleeping cause you stayed up the whole night playing games in your room. When the two of you finally did doze off it was your head on his shoulder and his head resting on yours ♡︎ For Kaveh this memory is special because it was the moment he woke up next to you that he realised this was the sight he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life.

— favourite places to kiss you

Oh he's such a gentleman, so sweet and tender with the kisses he leaves on your jawline and corners of your mouth. Likes to have a romantic mood set up before kissing you on your lips: smiling at each other, leaning in close and letting your foreheads touch before closing his eyes and the gap between you.

— favourite nicknames to call you by

'My muse' and 'dearest' are his personal favourites because how well they suit you. Alongside are the other few terms of endearment that he likes to call you by. Contrary to first impressions, I see him as the type to carry a lot of meaning for the names he uses instead of having a dozen random ones. So if he uses something beside your name, know he says it with great emphasis on his feelings and thoughts ♡︎

❦︎ 𝑰𝑵𝑲 𝑩𝑶𝑿

— Truth be told you'd known this was coming from the moment you learnt his name. Ah, a famous architect. I have heard all kinds of stories and rumours circulate him. It must be a handful.

— But you had also forgotten about this detail as you and himgrew closer, as nothing else seemed to matter when you were bantering in a café over something meaningless or laughing your hearts out on your stroll through a golden landscape . . . or when he was holding you close on sleepless moonlit nights.

— When the issue did arise, the rumours had already began spreading like wildfire. Neither of you knew why people suddenly thought your relationship was some merit-based agreement: that Kaveh could get additional funds from you and you got the fame.

— This was obviously a neither true nor logical assumption, and you'd think residents of the nation of wisdom knew better and check their sources twice. However, the harm had been done and wherever you went on the streets of Sumeru City or Port Ormos you couldn't escape the subtle glances of distain. There was always someone whispering in behind your back.

— You hated it and Kaveh hated it, not because he was worried for himself—he was used to this happening to him—but for you. He knew exactly how much this was hurting you and the helplessness against it made him feel pathetic.

— There was nothing left for either of you to do except to wait for the wave to pass or make the gossip stop. The only way for the second option to work, of course, was to go your separate ways.

— You had both been thinking about it, but Kaveh was the one to bring it up one evening. Still, his proposal hurt. His face and voice were tight with regret and you could tell he was trying his hardest to hold back the tears he grasped both your hands in his.

— "This is my fault. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. You've been through so much you don't deserve. I think . . . the only way to make this right is making sure you don't have anything to do with me from now on."

— "You can tell everyone I was just using you, and you won't have to worry about them spreading any false rumours about you again. My muse, you deserve so much better than I can give you."

— What shall your answer be? There is no right or wrong choice after all if all you want is to be happy again.

♡︎ runner up: Kamisato Ayato

note: Ngl I fell a little for Kaveh while writing this hehe ^^ but thank you for your patience, you sound amazing, I really hope you see this! I would also like to personally thank Calm Down by Rema for sponsoring the feels for this matchup (｀･ω･´)ゞ

[neverforpickles]

one thing you’ll never take away from me is my love of thrifting. i used to never like thrifting in the philippines where we call it “ukay-ukay”, it’s a massive long table filled with unorganised clothes and i hated it. i hated the smell, how disorganised and shabby it looked. and i can understand, those were very overwhelming and you can seem to never find what you’re looking for in an endless pile of crap. but since I have moved in here in Australia, my parents reintroduced thrifting to me in a different way. it is now in little corner shops, looked after by older ladies with kind delighted smiles with all the enthusiasm in the world. suddenly, my loved of thrifting came back or maybe it has always been there. i now look forward on specific days where we go thrifting on another towns. now it is no longer overwhelming, it is organised, i can browse without dying with its closet scent. the point is, i like looking at different people’s personalities and characteristics in these pieces of clothing and what-not that they’ve donated and making them my own. it allows me to conserve and gain a perspective

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Chapter One - I definitely, Absolutely DO NOT Live In A Group Home! What Are You Talking About?! (Okay, yeah, I do.)

(2,638 words)

Atsushi’s Perspective: 

I watch the tiger beetles crawl by one at a time. They form a line, order in the chaos, sunlight glinting off their backs.

There’s an older boy, Tatsuhiko-kun, who likes to light them on fire with a magnifying glass or even just matches. He scares me, his long unruly white hair as unnatural as his bright red eyes and pale skin. He’s a bully, we call him a vampire behind his back. I think even the directors are scared of him . . . and I’m his favourite target.

My watch shows it’s five minutes until my online lesson with my tutor so I gather my things and head back inside. I’m officially back in the trap, and I choose to walk in here. I laugh at my own patheticness. But it’s not like I want to be here, it’s just that I have nowhere else to go. The streets are full of bandits and broken glass and people worse than bandits.

The care home is a giant house, all the “extra” rooms with the expectation of the dining room the kitchen and the study turned into bedrooms for us kids. There were four bedrooms to begin with and a spare room was turned into a nursery for the youngest, while the basement is storage. Each bedroom now holds six children, two towers with three bunks each per room. It’s rather cramped and we’re always fighting for blankets and closet space. We fight for everything actually, the smallest trinkets to keep to ourselves and life-saving resources, including food and seats at the dining table. The directors never try to stop us, just let us settle things ourselves. I have scars and scratches all over my body and even a few burns from the scrimmages, but I can’t make myself win.

The youngest of us are skinnier than even I am, I can’t make myself kick and punch them. So whenever it comes to a fight with one of them I let them win, they know, everyone knows I go easy on the young ones. That only makes them come at me harder to prove they aren’t only winning because of my kindness. A girl with faux nails she probably stole from a shop raked her hands down my face digging in deeply. I’m lucky I still have my sight.

I used to feel guilty about kicking, punching and scratching anyone, even the older kids, but it’s what I have to do to survive. I was kicked and scratched too, I deserve to get a place at the table. Nobody wants to eat on the floor, the floor is cold and there are rats there. I think if I win enough then Tatsuhiko will leave me alone, maybe even take me in (not like I want to be around him but at least then I’d be with him instead of at his mercy).

I head to the director’s office, the only safe place in the house. Clean polished wood with a  desktop computer. The director dials the number for me and then leaves, laughing at me for wanting to keep the illusion.

“Hello, Atsushi-kun. How’s your week been?” Kunikida-san asks, he has no idea just what kind of week I’ve had. My shoulder aches from where an older boy twisted my arm nearly all the way back to keep me from getting the piece of fish he wanted.

“Oh, just the same as usual. At school, we’re learning to identify phases of mitosis in onion root tip cells and whitefish blastula. It’s really cool how you can the cells moving and stuff.” I keep my smile as bright as I can, I’m not a good liar but Kunikida has never seemed to suspect anything.

“Good, how are your parents? Is your mother better? Is your father back from his work trip yet?” he asks casually, not looking up from the papers he’s organising

I hate it when he does that, so easily asking questions that could break my entire ruse.

“Nope, you just missed him, he was home for a few days but he had to go to Shanghai for another meeting. Mum’s feeling much better, but she still napping right now so you probably won’t see her today.”

He sighs, looking a little frustrated, “Hmm, well I do hope I get to meet your parents eventually. I’m surprised they leave you alone so much.”

“Oh, I don’t mind it at all. I’m just fine. So what are we working on today?” I deflect

He looks surprised but pleased as he always does when I act so eager for the lessons, I suppose most kids hate maths. (I’m not an exception, but these lessons are my hour of freedom.)

-

The lesson goes great until the door opens and the director comes in to get me for dinner. I’m about to hang up when two of the boys barrel through the doors, the older one chasing the younger one, with a garden trowel in hand, obviously fighting. The director yells for us all to get out. I end the call and run away, the fury on the face of the director still burning in my peripheral vision. Maybe he won’t punish me.

-

I hide in the closet of my room that I was too big for three years ago. The door opens and I tumble out, falling prone on the floor in front of the director.

“Get up, boy! Sit!” He jabs his finger to the lowest bunk.

I hang my head to sit on it without bumping the bunk above.

“You���re going to call your tutor back and tell him how sorry you are that your siblings are such brats. We will not let others know what goes on here, it’s our private business. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I force the quaver out of my voice.

The director takes my hand in a way that could almost be friendly except for the fact that his grip cuts off my circulation and makes my hand burn. He locks the door, the deadbolt engaging tightly, and stands on the other side of the monitor as I dial Kunikida-san.

The man answered before the first ring.

“Oh my goddess, Atsushi-kun! Are you alright! I’ve been trying to reach you!”

I force a laugh, “Ah, Kunikida-san, don’t worry, I’m fine.” I show him my uninjured hand, “My siblings were just playing a game of tag that’s all, you know how it is with brothers.”

“Siblings? I thought you were an only child?” He asks, not realising what he’s just done. The director motions toward his cane, the one he uses to spank us. I haven’t been hit with the cane since I was ten.

“Um . . . I lied. I’m sorry, I just felt ashamed you know, because being a middle child with a cool older brother is so lame and all, and my younger brother does stuff that’s really embarrassing you know. Like, uh . . . telling everyone that I have to have a tutor. I didn’t want them all teasing me.” I know my voice sounds desperate, and I can tell he doesn’t buy it. And why did I say everyone? Should I clarify I mean my friends and not the fact that I live with a baker’s dozen other kids?

“I see? Well if your father is out, who was that shouting then?”

“My uhhh-uncle! My uncle, yeah, he came to stay to look after my siblings and me while my mum wasn’t feeling well. I promise I’m totally fine.”

“Oh. May I talk to him, I’d like to share your progress with someone at least?”

“No.” I say it too quickly and try to take a breath to calm myself without looking too suspicious, “He’s busy making us dinner and dealing with my brothers.”

If Kunikida-san believed me at all before he definitely doesn’t now. “I really would like to talk to him.”

“You can’t!” My voice starts to become strained with horror as I think of what would happen if the director talked to Kunikida-san.

Thankfully, I’m spared an answer when the other directors knock, the rhythmic knock they use when there’s big trouble. There must be really big trouble because the directors run towards the living room, leaving me. It’s stupid to rebel but I jump up and lock the door again, breathing hard. I want to dink onto the floor and cry but Kunikida-san is still on the line. I should hang up, I should. He has no idea where I am and he’s in a different part of the country so there’s no way he’d be able to tell anyone and get me in trouble with the director, but for some reason, I don’t hang up.

“What are the names of your siblings, the ones that came in earlier today?”

What? Why? Why is it that out of all the kids in this wretched place the few ones I don’t know the names of had to come in here? Should I just make up some names? 

I must have hesitated for too long because he speaks again, “Atsushi-kun, are you alone?”

Why is he asking that? “Y-yes?”

“Okay, now tell me, honestly, what is really going on?”

“N-nothing.”

“Atsushi-kun, I’ve ignored a lot of things. The way your parents are never around and the fact that you seem to have new injuries every time I’ve seen you, waiting for you to tell me when you felt comfortable. But I can’t ignore this any longer. You seem scared out of your mind, are your parents abusing you?”

The words slip out, a single sentence ruining everything.

“Don’t say that, they were good people!”

“Were?”

Shit, oh crap, oh shit!

The anger boils up inside of me rising like a tiger about to pounce, “My parents are dead, okay! Dead, gone! Forever.” I breathe deep, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. The directors always told me, not matter what I do, DO NOT get angry.

Kunikida-san’s face changes to one of kindness, the hard professional expression falling away. “Are you living in a group home?”

I feel like I’m on a mountain, the air much colder and thinner. Why did I say that? How do I fix this? I’ve never told anyone that I’m in a group home, even my school friends. I’d hate to trouble them with worrying about me. Now what?

“Yes.” I finally say

“For how long?”

“As long as I can remember.”

He sighs a heavy sigh, “Well, damn.” It’s the first time I’ve heard him swear. “And you haven’t been adopted?”

“Adopted?” the unfamiliar word sits funny on my tongue.

“Yes, taken in by another family. You’d live with them and they’d care for you and raise you. It’s a legal word which means you’d be their child not only emotionally but legally as well, on their insurance plans and they’d deal with your healthcare and schooling.”

“That’s a thing?!” I ask surprised, a look of horror crosses Kunikida-san’s face.

“Did you not know? Don’t people come and visit the children?”

“No, sometimes new kids come, but no adults have ever been here besides the directors.”

He doesn’t say anything for a full minute, fuming. I’ve never seen him so upset. So now he’s angry at me as well. I want to cry. I know I should hang up before the directors come back, but I don’t.

“Atsushi-kun, you’re seventeen right?”

“Yeah, my birthday was a week ago.” I only know my birthday because of my school records, we never celebrate.

“ . . . the legally, you can leave. Why don’t you come and stay with me, if you want to of course?”

The words are so different from what I expected that my own words can’t form. “What? You’re not angry?”

“No, of course not, why would I be?”

“You just look mad.” I say shyly

“I am, but not at you. I just can’t believe that a care home could be run so poorly. It’s a care home’s responsibility to make sure that the children find good homes.”

“ . . . I didn’t know.” I say stupidly.

“So, what do you think?”

“I- You want me? You don’t have to take me just because you think you have to.”

“I do have to, it’s my duty as an adult, but I also want to. You’re a great kid, smart and kind. It’s probably too late for you to find a foster family because you’re almost an adult but I’ll be happy to take care of you until you go off to university.”

University? I can’t even imagine it. I’ve never considered that someone like me could go to university. My eyes are filling with tears before I can stop them.

“You mean it?”

“Of course. My roommate, Katai and I live in Yokohama. Where are you?”

“Tokyo.”

“Alright, that’s only about an hour’s distance. I’m coming to get you.”

“Thank you.”

He turns calling to someone over his shoulder, “Katai, come here?”

“Yeah, Doppo?” A scruffy man with huge round glasses comes up behind Kunikida-san. There’s a red futon draped over his shoulders.

“Can you track this IP address?”

“Of course I can, but why? Have you suddenly decided to become a hacker as well?”

“This is serious,  I’m adopting another child.”

The man looks vaguely surprised but doesn’t question it. He stares at the screen. It’s a bit creepy.

“Oh, sorry, I’m using my ability.”

“Ability?”

Kunikida-san tries his best to hide the “Yes, certain people have them. Katai can control any technology within his sight. He’s tracking the location of the computer your on right now so I can find you.”

“That’s so cool.”

The man in question smiles.

“Done.” he hands Kunikida-san a piece of paper.

“See you soon, Atsushi-kun. Stay safe.”

“I will.” 

I don’t want to end the call but I know I’ll see Kunikida-san soo so  I do, tears spilling down my cheeks. 

I unlock the door, peeking out, but there’s nobody around. I hear screams from the backyard. A whole group canning spree. There must have been a brawl and now the directors are punishing everybody. Feeling like a coward I slip out the front door, and creep down the driveway the setting sun at my back. There’s no point going back to get anything. None of us owns anything besides our school uniforms, which the directors keep safe in a special closet for us. 

There are barely enough clothes for all of us and they’re shared, we fight for anything we can find in our size. I’m one of the few older boys but I’m skinny so I can wear smaller clothes. I don’t have much competition but the boys I would have to fight could easily kill me if they felt like it. I’m so tired that most of the time I end up wearing the same thing for days on end. I hate fighting for things I don’t need to survive (food & water), I’m a coward and I’m perfectly happy to take whatever clothes no one wants. Most of the time I end up with the same thing, a torn white collared shirt, which I keep from falling off my shoulders with suspenders, trousers that are too short for me, and this belt that’s way too long for anyone to wear. I have to wrap it around me three times so the other kids don’t pull on it. 

Thankfully I’m still in my school uniform, the nicest clothes I have by far. I find my loafers, which I’d left on the mud mat by the door, and they’re the only reason I don’t cry out in pain from the sharp gravel driveway.

I climb a tree easily and wait to be saved just like I used to do when I was a kid, only this time I know someone is actually coming.

Vampires Beneath The Moonlight (SSKK)

Atsushi’s parents are dead and he's lived in a group home for as long as he can remember. Because he hates being a bother, he’s been hiding it from everyone, but when he slips up and says something to his maths tutor on a Zoom call his cover is blown.

His tutor convinces him to come to stay with him and his roommate, Katai, and finish his last two years of high school in their city. He’s 17 so he can legally leave the home. He then makes the journey to Yokohama and meets a certain eyebrowless boy and the rest of the mysterious Mori family, but are they as human as they seem? (of course not!)

(A/N: I finally started the SSKK Twilight AU!)

[velidewrites]

The Holiday

When two sisters with a terrible taste in men (or is it?) decide to swap houses for the holidays, they don't expect to fall in love.

But guess what?

They do.

Pairings: Elucien, Feysand, background Jassa

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: A bit of spice ;)

Notes: This was written for my FAVOURITE @vulpes-fennec for the @acotargiftexchange! I hope you enjoy this fic inspired by the iconic movie "The Holiday" (my god was Jude Law hot in this one). Thank you so much to the amazing mods for organising this event. Merry Christmas everyone!

Read on AO3

Elain Archeron adored Christmas. The bright, golden lights shimmering from every corner of New York City, the sound of song and laughter on the streets, the scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls filling her small bakery as she pulled them out of the oven.

Truly, there was nothing quite like it.

She wished her sisters were with her, though. Yes, they each had their own lives now, yet Elain couldn’t help but miss the old days—when there wasn’t a thing in life they had to worry about but the continuous presence of Feyre’s bright paint on her and Nesta’s clothes, paint that had somehow managed to find its way onto the fabric despite their younger sister’s adamant protests and rather theatric displays of shock and confusion.

Elain sighed. This Christmas would mark two years since she had last seen Feyre. There would be the wedding in spring, of course—but April was months away, and Elain had nearly gone insane last year when Nesta cancelled last minute and Feyre made it clear she was not coming. It had been a miserable holiday, and Elain shuddered at the prospect of ever having to spend it in solitude again. New York, while certainly beautiful at Christmastime, had a cruel way of sometimes making her feel lonelier than ever.

She supposed she had Greysen, now. As for Nesta…

Her phone vibrated in the small pocket of her apron, and Elain wiped the cinnamon off her hands, the fragrant streaks of the spice staining the cream white fabric.

Are you busy? Nesta’s name appeared above the message.

I’m about to open the shop, Elain typed her reply. I was just thinking about you. How come you’re awake? It was nearing six in the morning in Los Angeles, and while Nesta had always been an early bird, getting up before the sunrise seemed almost too dreadful to accept.

Working on a case, or, more specifically, this dickhead of a prosecutor. If he thinks I’m going to let my client go for the shit deal, he’s got another thing coming.

Elain smiled. I almost feel bad for the poor guy.

Well, you shouldn’t, Nesta answered. Anyway. Got a minute?

Sparing a quick glance at the clock hanging above the large coffee menu, Elain asked. What’s up?

It was unlikely for Nesta to devote so much of her time to a conversation, let alone a text exchange, and frankly, Elain was getting worried.

The reply arrived in an instant. Feyre left her fiancé last night.

Elain’s eyes widened, and without thinking, she dialled Nesta’s number.

“You know I hate talking over the phone,” her sister said in a manner of greeting.

“Well, you hate texting too, and there are way too many questions in my head for my fingers to catch up anyway, so deal with it,” Elain said. “What happened? How do you even know?”

A brief pause. “She texted me for legal advice. Apparently, the asshole wants to keep the house.”

Elain’s brows furrowed. “Didn’t Feyre buy it under her name?”

Nesta sighed. “Don’t even get me started.”

Neither of them had ever had the chance to meet Tamlin, and from what she was hearing, Elain decided it had perhaps been for the best. “Do you know why she left him?”

“I don’t,” Nesta said. “Feyre didn’t tell me. She only asked me this one thing and when I asked her more questions, she just left me on read.”

Elain chewed on her bottom lip, mulling over the words before she spoke again. “Maybe I should call her. Or text, at the very least.”

Another sigh. “I don’t know, Elain. She seemed like she could use some privacy.”

“Surely we can’t leave her to deal with this alone?”

“I don’t know,” Nesta repeated, papers rustling in the background. Elain winced at the sound, the unpleasant pitch scratching at her ear. “I need to get back to work now, Elain. Let me know what you decide do,” her sister added, and then the call was over.

Elain suppressed the urge to scoff, though her focus was quickly reoriented to the time again as she spotted a noticeable queue gathering outside. Whatever she decided to do, she would deal with it later. First—work.

With a smile on her face, Elain opened the door.

***

Elain had been dating Greysen for six months, though she felt as though they’d been together at least five years. Only a short walk away, he was always there to offer his company, in whatever way she’d need him. Greysen was so…familiar.

This year would mark their first Christmas together, and though Elain had no expectations, it was only natural for her to have hopes.

She wouldn’t mind a proposal. A proposal meant stability in her hectic world, a source of comfort in a trying time. If Greysen asked, she would say yes. She would. Happily.

With that thought in mind, Elain placed her keys on the counter, her other hand grabbing the carefully wrapped cinnamon rolls she’d put aside earlier this morning.

“Will you be able to close up tonight?” she asked Nuala. “I have to drop these off at the office.”

The office. She liked that world. It made her feel as though she was part of Greysen’s world—his other world, one that did not revolve around her. If she was being honest, she knew very little about her boyfriend’s professional life—he worked in investments, he’d told her as much, though he’d also added the “details would bore her.” And so, Elain remained blissfully oblivious.

At the very least, paying him a surprise visit would mean she got to see him in a suit. Greysen looked good in suits.

“Sure,” Nuala’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Are we still on for Saturday?”

Elain nodded. “Of course. I’m so excited to meet your sister”

Nuala smiled tentatively. She hadn’t been working at Elain’s bakery for too long, though in that time, the two of them had managed to build a close bond. Elain enjoyed her company, quiet and with an aura of peace. Nuala blended in perfectly with Elain’s little corner of the world. “She can’t wait, either,” the woman said.

“I still can’t believe you have a twin.” Elain shook her head. “Does it make it any easier?”

The corner of Nuala’s mouth twitched. “Twins or not, sisters are always a pain.”

Elain sighed. “Tell me about it.”

“I’ll see you Saturday.”

***

Greysen’s office was only ten minutes away.

Their pastry drop-off had an unspoken routine—the concierge would let Elain in, she’d then take the elevator to the fifteenth floor to be greeted by the secretary. From then, depending on whether Greysen was in a meeting or not, Elain would either leave the food at the reception or deliver it personally—with a little extra treat that was hardly appropriate for a serious office. She didn’t care. She’d shaved her legs last night and she wouldn’t let her new lotion go to waste.

Silence greeted her as she entered the office, the distant ringing of the phone breaking it occasionally with a high-pitched, irritating beep.

It was unusual for it to be this empty, but Greysen was definitely out there somewhere—he’d sent her a text earlier in the morning, after all, wishing her a great day and not to wait for him with dinner. He’d be working late again and there was no need for Elain to hang around her apartment with a cold meal.

A few cinnamon rolls would make a nice gesture, though. Greysen would know she was thinking about him and his wellbeing without imposing her presence on him too much. And so, Elain circled around the reception and walked straight into her boyfriend’s office.

She did not expect to find him half naked with the secretary bent over his desk.

For a moment, Elain said nothing, the pastries crushed on the floor somewhere by her feet.

Their eyes met, and Greysen open his mouth.

“We’re done,” Elain told him, proud to have kept her voice steady enough not to reveal the slight tremble of her jaw. She tore her eyes away from the sight and turned on her feet.

“Elain!” Greysen’s voice called behind her.

She did not grace him with an answer. In a few short steps, she walked out of the room, shutting the door with a loud bang.

And then, she was gone.

***

Elain had gotten so used to staying at Greysen’s apartment that her own home felt like a stranger’s. Too dark and too empty, the space only accompanied by the sound of sirens that had usually accompanied the New York City landscape.

She set the cinnamon rolls on the counter, promising herself not to look at them until the next morning. She would deal with them—with him—later. Right now, Feyre needed her—or at least, she hoped she did. Elain could not bear spending the evening on the couch by herself, with nothing better to do but dwell in the events of the day.

Pulling her phone out of her purse, Elain sat at the small desk in the corner and typed in her sister’s name.

Hey. I know it’s late, but I want you to know I’m here if you need someone to talk to.

It was nearing midnight in London, though Elain had a feeling Feyre wouldn’t be sleeping. Breakup or not, she had always been more nocturnal, opting to paint under the pale moonlight. Her painting of the night sky over New York still hung over Elain’s dresser.

Her phone beeped a minute later. I’m awake.

Elain held her breath, staring at the notification until the screen turned blurry. What, exactly, do you say to someone who was just about to be married?

I heard what happened.

Pathetic.

The phone beeped again. Nesta?

She’s worried about you, Elain replied. We both are.

She could practically feel Feyre’s loud sigh, as if her sister was standing right beside her. I hate men.

Elain almost laughed. I’m right there with you.

Feyre’s message came only a few seconds later. Did something happen?

Elain fought the urge to bang her head against the table. She cursed herself for being so selfish—Feyre’s situation was much worse than her own, and yet, Elain somehow managed to direct the topic to herself. It’s nothing. Really.

Like Feyre would ever buy that.

Sure enough, her sister’s name appeared on the screen, the loud buzzing of the phone on her desk breaking the dreadful silence. Elain closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath before answering.

“It’s really nothing, Feyre.”

“I don’t care,” Feyre’s voice, a tinge distorted by the static, came through the speaker. “If it’s two men we’re shit-talking tonight, so be it. It might make me feel better, actually.”

“Alright,” Elain said, then grimaced as her own voice echoed through the call. “God, your service must be terrible.”

“I live in the middle of nowhere, Elain,” Feyre said. “I’m standing on a dining room chair just to try and catch some signal.”

Elain chuckled. “How is it there?”

She knew Feyre had moved to the outskirts of London, thought that was about the extent of her knowledge. The only thing Feyre would ever send her—apart from the one singular photo of the Big Ben from when she’d taken a trip to the city—was the stuffed deer head hanging above her fireplace with the caption: “Gross.” Tamlin, it seemed, was a hunter—a hobby Feyre had not been particularly fond of.

“I feel like I’m going insane,” Feyre finally said. “It’s too…quiet.”

Elain sighed. “That sounds like a dream.”

She imagined a stone cottage, just on the outskirts of London, and in front of it, a small rose orchard, glistening under a thick layer of snow. The thought was so overwhelmingly serene that for a brief moment, Elain could almost feel the warmth of Feyre’s home hugging her skin.

“Well, it isn’t,” Feyre said. “I miss New York, you know. Everything seemed so simple there.”

If only that, Elain thought bitterly.

“You should come, you know,” Elain said. “It would be nice to spend Christmas with you. It’s been too long.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. “I take it Greysen is out of the picture,” Feyre finally guessed.

Elain’s jaw clenched. “It’s probably for the best.”

She flinched as her phone buzzed again, displaying Greysen’s name, a small heart emoji still next to it. She’d delete it later. “Speak of the devil. He’s calling me right now.”

“Do not answer,” Feyre instructed. “I made that mistake already, and believe me, whatever they have to say, it won’t change a thing.”

Elain ran her hand through the long waves of her hair. “I hate it here.”

Her sister huffed a laugh. “I know how you feel. I…I wish I could get away sometimes. If only for a bit.”

The thought came so suddenly Elain might have swayed off her chair. “We could switch,” she said absently, her mind running through the logistics of the idea.

“What?”

“We could switch places,” Elain repeated. It felt as though someone had turned on the light in her brain. “Think about it. You move into my place, and I move into yours. It’s brilliant.”

Feyre’s tone indicated she thought the exact opposite. “Elain, I can’t just move out of England.”

“It would only be for Christmas. We could both get the escape we need, and you’d have the chance to see the city again.”

“Elain, I can’t,” Feyre insisted. “I have an exhibition on New Year’s Eve, its this big name London gallery. It has to go perfectly. I have to work.”

“Exhibition?” It wasn’t that Feyre was not talented—she was, truly— but the last Elain had heard of Feyre’s work, she’d still been struggling to find an audience.

“Someone—an anonymous patron, I think—has found my art online and arranged the exhibit. All expenses paid. I have to work,” she repeated.

Elain was growing more desperate with each second. “You could work here,” she pleaded. “I have enough space for you to work on your art and enjoy the city in the meantime. We’d switch back before New Year’s Eve.”

Feyre did not sound fully convinced. “I don’t know…”

“Please, Feyre. For both our sake’s.”

Elain held her breath as she waited for an answer.

“Alright,” Feyre agreed.

Elain squealed, and Feyre laughed in the background. “God, I hate it when you make that sound,” her sister said.

“Thank you, Feyre. You won’t regret this.”

“I’ll call you in the morning to discuss the details. I feel like I need to sleep after this, and my legs are getting sore from standing on the chair.”

Elain laughed again, and the two said their goodbyes. Releasing a long breath of relief, Elain opened her contacts and searched for another name.

Nuala, please don’t hate me, she typed onto her screen. But I’m going to have to reschedule.

***

The moment she stepped out of the cab, Elain decided to take back every single word she cursed London Heathrow with.

Yes, the airport had been busy—an understatement, really—but she’d go through pushing through the crowds for two hours straight all over again if it meant not having to walk a mile in the cold snow. In heels.

What dark, sadistic forced had prompted her to wear heels for a ten hour journey, she’d never know. Well, she did know, actually. She had just started reading a book about an airport meet cute and thought, well, if it happened to her, who says it won’t happen to me?

It didn’t.

Just like Feyre had said, her sister truly did live in the middle of nowhere. The driver stopped at what seemed like the middle of a forest, the path in front of them too narrow for the car to fit in. Elain had almost cried when he told her to walk the rest of the way on foot, cocking his head to the side with an apologetic “sorry, love.”

The good news was that she was almost there and Feyre had a fireplace. She’d curl up in front of it, finish her book, and then go straight into bed to fight off her jet lag. There were four days left until Christmas Day—she had time to figure everything else out.

A few extremely wet steps later, Elain reached her destination.

Rosebud Cottage was a dream come true.

It looked as though it had been pulled straight out of Elain’s memory—the snow-clad orchard out front, the cobblestone pathway leading up to the red front door. Feyre, it seemed, had hung up a wreath to greet her, and Elain smiled at the thoughtful gesture. Doing her best not to slip on the icy stones, Elain pulled the keys from underneath the doormat, taking a mental note to school her sister on burglars and responsibility—though, she supposed, no one would actually bother to go this far for a robbery, no matter how many riches the house contained within.

Having fought with the door lock for about a minute (why do British people do everything the other way around?), Elain finally walked in.

The journey had been worth it.

Though it wasn’t much bigger than her own studio apartment, the house radiated warmth.

A fluffy couch gathered around the old English fireplace with two armchairs of red velvet on each side, making up a cozy living room that connected to the small kitchen. With cabinets of a light green and wooden countertops, it called out Elain’s name louder than any kitchen she’d ever stepped into. Abandoning her suitcase by the door, she moved to explore the pantry, her tiredness long forgotten in favour of the inviting prospect of baking fresh bread in such a beautiful space.

How disappointing it was to find art supplies there instead.

It was then that she truly began noticing Feyre’s presence in the house. The kitchen cabinets, immaculate at first sight, had paint splattered on them in the most peculiar places. The bookcase, standing proudly in the back, full of art history books and manuals. The violet handprint on the balustrade, surely from when Feyre had decided to take a break from painting upstairs and had clearly forgotten to wash her hands.

Her gaze moved back to the fireplace, and Elain’s brows furrowed. She reached for her phone, opening the conversation between her and her sister. The last text was from Feyre, announcing her arrival at Elain’s place about two hours ago.

Where’s the deer? Elain asked.

The reply came almost immediately. I buried it.

Elain laughed.

***

Feyre Archeron was finally home.

She wasn’t usually the crying type, though upon seeing the New York City skyline, she had to admit her chest had swelled a little bit. It had been too long.

Unpacking took her ages, and by the time she was finally done, it was already late and dark outside. She quickly did the math, and, by London standards, it was already way past midnight for her—one last bag to go, Feyre promised herself, and she would go to bed.

A grimace twisted her features as she realised she’d have to wake up early in the morning to open up Elain’s bakery—the only favour Elain had asked her of, really, so she couldn’t be as bitter about it as she perhaps would have wanted. Her sister’s friend, Nuala, would arrive an hour later to take over. Then, Feyre would be free to explore.

Her face lit up at the realisation that the last bag contained her art supplies—along with the newest brushes that had managed to arrive the day before she was due to leave for New York. She made way to set up her painting station by the window, hoping to get some daylight the next day, short as it was during winter. Setting the bag down carefully, she looked out the window and up to the stars.

Feyre’s breath caught in her chest.

She picked up a brush and began painting.

***

The bakery had only been open for five minutes when the small bell at the door announced the arrival of a customer.

In the back, hands covered in four she’d accidentally spilled, Feyre quickly wiped it off on her jeans, immediately cursing herself for her foolishness. She had most definitely left white handprints on her ass.

“Just a minute!” she shouted, wiping her hands frantically on her (also black) shirt this time before realising she was absolutely making it worse. 

With a sigh, she ran a hand through her hair, the powder falling into the strands and onto the floor.

“Shit!,” she swore, finally managing to grab hold of a kitchen towel, hanging—of course—on the wall right beside her.

“You alright there?” a rich voice, definitely British and definitely male, reached her from the front of the shop.

Opting not to look at the small mirror in the corner, Feyre gave up on any attempts to sort herself out, and made her way out.

“Sorry, I…” she began before her gaze finally met his.

Standing before her was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

Tall and wearing an all-black suit—who wore suits at eight thirty in the morning?—he had an air of confidence around him, hands resting nonchalantly in his pockets. A briefcase hung over a broad, muscular chest, and Feyre had never hated shirts more than in that exact moment. The man was ridiculously good-looking—but his eyes…

His eyes had captivated her.

So deeply blue they seemed almost violet, shining with curiosity as they measured her in full.

“What happened back there?” he asked, and damn him, he had a nice voice.

Forcing on a shred of composure, Feyre crossed her arms. “Running a bakery isn’t as easy as you’d think, you know.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I’m sure. Except I know this isn’t your bakery, and Elain isn’t here."

Feyre’s brows knotted. “You know Elain?”

“You could say I’m somewhat of a regular.”

“Oh?”

“I always stop here for a coffee before work,” he explained.

“Right. Let me guess, all black, no sugar?” Feyre guessed.

He smirked. “Only if you insist.”

If it came from anyone else, she might have rolled her eyes. But this man…it was unfair, really. “Takeaway?” she asked instead.

“Yes. Large, please,” he added. “I’ve got a long day ahead.”

Feyre got started on the coffee, though her gaze remained locked on the sight before her. “And what is it that you do?”

Why the hell would she even ask?

The man smiled broadly now, a self-satisfied smirk that told her he thoroughly enjoyed her personal questions. “Investments.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That could mean anything.”

“Perhaps I could tell you more,” he said. “Over a cup of coffee.”

Placing a lid on top, Feyre handed him the cup. “Here. Is that cup good enough?”

His smile turned feline. “Clever,” he praised.

“I’m Feyre,” she said before she could stop herself.

His fingers brushed her own as he took the coffee from her hand. “Rhysand."

***

Elain spent her second day in England completely and utterly bored.

She’d woken up to sixteen missed calls from Greysen, and immediately decided she needed to distract herself. It turned out there weren’t many distractions in the small village Feyre lived in.

She’d gone to the supermarket around lunchtime, having finished her book right after breakfast. Baking supplies, mostly—she had to entertain herself somehow. And so, she’d spent the rest of the afternoon with her hands full in dough, making a point not to use cinnamon in any of her inventions.

Hours later, it was nearing midnight, the house smelled like bread, and Elain had no idea what to do.

Why am I even here?

It was a stupid idea to come. What did she think she would get here? Peace and quiet? It had only been a day, and she already had enough of that. Silence, as it turned out, did not do anything for a raging mind.

Greysen had left her a couple of voicemails, but Elain hadn’t listened to any of them. Time, she decided. She needed time to process this.

Still, it would have been nice to have someone to process it with.

Maybe she didn’t belong here. Maybe the life she’d had in New York was the best the world had to offer her. Maybe escaping hadn’t been the right option. Maybe…maybe Greysen deserved a second chance.

Elain unlocked her phone and entered Greysen’s number.

A loud bang on the door almost knocked it out her hands.

Wrapping the blanket tighter around her, Elain got up from the couch and made her way to open the door.

She was greeted with the sight of a very drunk man.

Bright, russet eyes narrowed on her a bit absently. “You’re not Feyre,” he noted.

Elain lifted a brow. “A keen observation.” The man snorted. “Who are you?” she asked.

The man leaned over in a mocking bow. “Apologies, my lady. My name is Lucien.”

Despite herself, the corners of Elain’s mouth twitched. “That tells me nothing, you know.”

He sighed in resignation. “It hurts that she never mentioned me, you know.”

“An honest mistake, I’m sure.”

“We’re friends. She moved in here shortly after I did.”

Elain angled her head. “I see.”

The man looked at her expectantly. “And you are…?”

“Oh, sorry,” she straightened a little bit. “I’m Elain. Feyre’s older sister.”

His face lit up straight away. “Of course you are. You look similar, you know. Well, under certain angles…”

A laugh escaped her this time, and Elain asked. “Why are you here, Lucien?”

Lucien leaned on the doorframe with another deep sigh. “I’m so sorry, Elain, Feyre told me she was going back to New York for a bit, but it completely slipped my mind. She lets me crash on the couch here every now and then.” 

“Oh,” Elain said before the realisation hit her. “Oh. Well, I…”

“No, no, it’s all good. It’s my bad, honestly,” Lucien explained. “I’ll be on my way.”

“No, wait, I…” Elain hesitated. She couldn’t leave him out in the cold, could she? There was no doubt in her mind that Lucien was not in the right state to walk home by himself. “I suppose you could stay. I don’t mind, really.”

Lucien waved a hand. “I don’t want to be an imposition,” he insisted, swaying on his feet a little.

Elain laughed again. “Just come in.”

Lucien offered her a lazy smile. “How could I say no to a lady like this?”

And damn him, Elain blushed.

***

Lucien passed out on the couch the second he stepped over the doorway, and Elain had decided it was best to just leave him there.

Now, in the morning, she made her way back down as she heard a noise coming from the kitchen—a clear sign her unexpected guest was awake and searching for a hangover cure.

The first thing she noticed was a flash of long, red hair. And then, Lucien turned to face her. “Good morning,” he greeted, a tentative smile playing on his handsome features.

Shit. She did not remember him looking this good last night.

“Hi,” she said, straightening the sleeves of her sweater. Of course now that he was sober, she had to wear one of her uglier, Christmas themed ones that she just so happened to also sleep in. Great first impression, really.

“I made you some tea,” Lucien said, sliding a steaming cup towards her. “Milk?”

“Oh,” Elain reached out in surprise. “Thank you. For the tea, I mean. No milk, please.”

Lucien chuckled, the sound deep and honeyed. “I suppose you haven’t been in England long enough.”

Elain’s gaze narrowed. “Alright. I’ll have a little bit.”

“That’s more like it,” Lucien grinned. “Listen, I’m so sorry about last night. Again, thank you for letting me stay here.”

“It’s no problem,” Elain said. “But I should warn you, I’m leaving the day after tomorrow and Feyre’s not getting back until a few days later, so the house will stay locked until she’s back.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “Christmas Day? Feyre said you’d be leaving after that.”

“Yes, well…” Elain sighed. “This place isn’t what I thought it would be. Actually, that’s not fair. I just…don’t think I belong here.”

Lucien sipped his own tea, considering. “How’s that?”

“It’s too, uh…” Lonely. “Quiet.”

He smiled at that. “If you’re looking for chaos, you’ve come to the right place.” He set the cup down on the counter. “A couple of my friends and I are meeting up at the local pub tonight. It’s sort of a tradition we do before Christmas Eve. You’re welcome to join us, and I promise I’ll go to my own house afterwards.”

Elain laughed. Something about this man was so…different. Despite having just met her, Lucien seemed so at ease—so comfortable in her presence. As if he actually enjoyed it.

Her suitcase was already half packed—maybe she deserved a small sendoff. At least she wouldn’t spend the last few nights of her trip blankly staring into the fireplace. And so, Elain smiled at him again. “I’ll think about it.”

***

As promised, Rhysand showed up the next morning.

Feyre didn’t have to open the bakery this time—though, as she told Nuala, she didn’t mind doing it again. And so, at 8:30 a.m. sharp and flour-free, Feyre was ready to find out more about this mysterious stranger.

Rhysand, it seemed, adored teasing her as much as he adored the personal questions. She’d made the mistake of telling him she was an artist, getting herself trapped in a promise of one day drawing a portrait of the prick himself.

“You need to see the Met before you leave,” Rhys, as he insisted on being called, told her. “I’d be more than happy to show you, if you’re not too busy.”

Feyre could only laugh. “I’m a New Yorker and an artist. I’ve been to the Met,” she said, making a point to sound terribly offended. “And that wasn’t as smooth as you think it was, you know.”

Rhys placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “You wound me.”

Her eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Is this how you get women to go out with you, Rhysand? By inflicting pity?”

Impressed, his violet eyes twinkled. “Cruel thing.”

Choosing to ignore the heat rising through her at his words, Feyre shrugged. “You just seem like the type.”

Rhys’s lips twitched. “The type?”

“You know the one. Always with a compliment at hand, calling every woman he meets darling or…something.”

“I didn’t know you were so eager for a nickname, Feyre,” Rhys purred.

“Oh, shut up,” she rolled her eyes, though a smile played in the corner of her mouth.

“I still do think you should see the Met,” he continued. “After all, it has been a while since you last visited, has it not? I’d bet your knowledge has grown somewhat rusty. And I’m not just talking about the Met.”

“Okay, now I’m officially offended,” Feyre crossed her arms. “You’re British and you think you think you know New York better than me?”

Those eyes sparkled again. “I’ll tell you what, Feyre darling,” Rhys began, and Feyre’s stomach fluttered at the name. Once again, she chose to ignore it. “I’ll make you a bargain: we find out who knows the city best—if I win, I get to take you out on a date.”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “And if I win?”

“Remember that portrait you promised?” Feyre nodded. “Well,” Rhysand winked, “I do nudes too.”

***

Jurian and Vassa were probably the funniest people Elan had ever met.

They had met at university and had remained together ever since. Elain had never seen two people share such strong bond—in the six months she’d dated him, Elain had never laughed with Greysen as much as Vassa had with Jurian in one night. And aside from all their teasing and jokes, Elain didn’t miss the way Jurian’s arm wrapped around his girlfriend, the way her head rested lightly on his shoulder when Elain and Lucien had gone up to the bar to order more drinks.

“They look really good together,” Elain sighed.

“They do,” Lucien agreed. “Though I must admit, I do not particularly enjoy the third wheeling.” Elain laughed, and Lucien answered with a smile of his own. “What I mean is—it’s nice to have you here.”

“I am having a lot of fun,” Elain admitted.

“Do you…” he hesitated, his russet eyes searching for hers. Elain angled her head, questioning, and Lucien cleared his throat. “If you don’t have any plans tomorrow, I’d love to show you more of this place. Maybe you’ll like it enough to come visit us again.”

Elain smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

***

Lucien had taken her to the gardens.

Elain had never seen anything more beautiful—who would have thought there would be a small castle in a hidden place like this. The gardens were nothing short of spectacular, with the greenhouses hosting plants of all kinds and bright, exotic colours she had never even seen on pictures.

“Feyre mentioned you like to garden,” Lucien explained, a pleased smile lighting up his features at every small gasp escaping her. “I thought this would be a great place for you to see.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Elain sighed, leaning over a particularly vibrant flower.

Quiet fell for a brief moment before Lucien spoke again. “It is.”

Turning back to him, Elain offered a small smile. “I’d like to see more, if we can.”

With a nod, Lucien extended a gloved hand. “Of course.”

Elain took it, and they walked out to the glistening snow.

***

It had only taken them minutes to get into a snowball fight, and only after both their hair was practically wet, Elain had finally decided it was time for a glass of wine.

The restaurant inside the castle had been lovely—cozy and candlelit, with the sound of Christmas carols coming faintly through the speakers. Once they had dried off, their body warmth stimulated by the rich, red liquid, the conversation could finally begin.

“I never thought Christmas Eve could look like this,” Elain mused.

Lucien’s brows rose in question. “Good or bad?”

“Definitely good.” 

He smiled at that. “How do you usually spend Christmas Eve?”

Elain’s face fell a bit. “Well, the past few years have been somewhat chaotic. My sisters had all moved all over the world, and I…stayed. I was meant to spend this year with my, I guess ex-boyfriend now.”

“Oh.”

“We broke up just over a week ago,” Elain explained. “He…ah…I caught him with his secretary.”

Something flashed in Lucien’s eyes, and for a moment, Elain wondered if he would say anything—if there was anything he could say, really.

“I wish I could say I was sorry,” he began, and Elain’s brows shot up in surprise. “But any man that was lucky enough to have you and didn’t appreciate it was never really worth it in the first place.”

Elain swallowed hard. “No?”

“No,” Lucien agreed. “He never deserved your light. Your kindness. Your beauty.” Their gazes met, hot an fiery and unyielding. “He never deserved you.”

***

This time, they stumbled into Elain’s cottage together, clothes falling on the living room floor one by one until there was not a layer of fabric left.

Damn him, Lucien was even more magnificent than she imagined. With his strong arms, a broad, sculpted chest, and brown skin gleaming in firelight, he looked like a god materialised right in front of her. If her cheeks had not been already flushed, she might have gone more red than the couch he’d laid her on.

She could feel the race of his heart against her body, her own chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he lowered himself further.

Elain’s eyes widened. Greysen had never…

“Lucien,” Elain breathed, and he stilled immediately, his stare meeting her own. “You don’t have to…”

Lucien laughed quietly, the sound dark and smooth against her skin. “Have to?” he asked. “Elain, if I don’t get to taste you right now, I’m going to go insane.”

The words ran the core between her thighs molten, and Elain allowed herself one last coherent thought before nodding her permission.

Lucien wasted no time.

Before she knew it, his tongue reduced her to a whimpering mess, desire twisting in her stomach as he licked and sucked with an abandon that only told her he enjoyed it as much as she did. Elain chased that feeling, rocking her hips into his face, so close she was certain she’d explode any second.

A gasp tore from her lips as Lucien’s fingers grazed her entrance, then slid in with ease the moment his mouth closed over her clit.

Release slammed into her without warning, her whole body trembling at the white-hot pleasure shooting down every nerve. It felt so good.

His pace slowed down as he coaxed her through the orgasm, his hands laying heavily on her hips now, and Elain released a trembling breath.

Lucien’s mouth made its way up her stomach, leaving soft, wet kissed on what seemed like every inch of her skin, and Elain moaned his name again, her voice straining with pleasure.

His breath was hot on her neck as Lucien placed one final kiss below the shell of her ear. “Ready for more?”

***

Feyre, of course, had lost the bet. Embarrassing, really, but if she was being completely honest with herself, she did not mind at all.

Rhys, it seemed, had not made any plans on Christmas Eve, and so the two of them had scheduled their date for the evening.

She’d expected a grand gesture from Rhys, something in the manner of a lavish candlelit dinner, maybe at the Plaza. He seemed like the type.

Instead, she’d arrived at the rooftop of Rhysand’s building to find nothing but a fluffy blanket, two candles, and a basket with what she suspected were carefully selected snacks.

“What’s this?” Feyre asked quietly, taking a step closer.

Rhys turned to her then, looking even better somehow, with a shirt of black satin loose and unbuttoned under his coat and dark hair ruffled by the wintry breeze. His gaze landed on her, and in what felt like hours, he took her all in. “A picnic,” he finally said, those violet eyes meeting hers at last. “You look beautiful.”

Feyre smiled. “I’ve never been on a rooftop picnic before,” she said. “I would’ve thought of Central Park first,” she added, teasing.

Rhys sighed theatrically, extending out a hand. “See, you even suggesting that only tells me I am a fair winner of our bargain.”

Feyre took his hand, and they both made themselves comfortable. “I’ll bet you secretly wish you lost, though. You did seem very excited about the nude portraits.”

Rhysand hummed appreciatively. “Quite right. I’ll tell you what—if it makes you happier, Feyre darling, I’d be more than happy to offer up my body for artistic research.”

Feyre shook her head, laughing once more. “You’re unbelievable.”

At that, his grin faded into a gentle smile, and slowly, he reached out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “So are you,” Rhys said quietly.

The air suddenly became tight between their bodies, and Feyre looked out to the city skyline. “So, why the rooftop?” she asked again.

His eyes never left her for a second. “Another thing about New York, Feyre darling,” Rhys said. “It looks most beautiful at night.”

Feyre turned to him at that, something warm spreading through her body and tingling at her eyes. She let herself drown in those pools of violet, leaning in closer until their eyes closed and she felt the soft brush of his mouth on hers.

She didn’t remember how they ended up in his bed, their legs tangled between the sheets. She only remembered the stars shining above them, and feeling the happiest she’d ever been.

***

Elain’s phone buzzed in the middle of the night, and she was too soon ripped from her sleep to look at the caller ID before answering.

“Hello?”

“Elain?”

She shot up the bed in an instant. “Greysen.”

“Elain, I’ve been trying to reach you for over a week. Please, talk to me.”

“I…” she shot a quick glance at Lucien, his naked form peaceful beside her. “Give me a minute.”

Hands trembling, she slid into her robe, and quietly made her way downstairs. Somehow, in their nightly activities, her and Lucien had eventually found their way to her bed.

Propping down on the arm of the couch, Elain took a deep breath. “What do you want, Greysen?”

“Elain,” his voice sounded at the end of the line. “I was an idiot. I am begging you to forgive me.”

“I’m afraid it is too late for apologies, Greysen.”

“I know you’re in England. Please come back to me,” he pleaded. “I miss you. I need you. We need each other.”

“I…”

“We belong together, Elain, and you know it.”

Another, deep breath.

Somewhere upstairs was a man who, in only three days, had treated her better than Greysen ever had in the entire time they’d known each other. Who had made her feel whole again. A man who had shown her what true affection felt like.

And so, Elain said her final goodbye. “I’m not sure that we do, Greysen.”

Then, she hung up the phone.

Back in the bedroom, Lucien stirred, a strand of red hair falling over his face. Elain smiled, gently pulling it away to tuck behind his ear. Something sparkled in her chest, a feeling she’d never felt but wanted to hold on to forever.

And then, the realisation had kicked in.

Elain had caught feelings for Lucien. Lucien, who, in those three days, had managed to capture her heart forever. Lucien, who, after tomorrow, she’d probably never see again.

Elain would not let her heart break again. Not like this.

And so, she began packing.

***

When she came downstairs in the morning, Lucien was already in the kitchen, a cup of tea and a plate full of chocolate biscuits waiting for her on the counter.

The sight brought tears to her eyes.

“Elain?” Lucien asked, stepping in closer and taking her into his arms. “What’s wrong?

“I have to go,” she whispered. “I have to go, Lucien.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Go where?”

Elain shook her head. “I need to make it for my flight.”

Lucien stepped back, something like panic flashing through his eyes. “Elain…”

“I can’t stay here,” she denied him before he got the chance to say anything.

“A few more days,” Lucien pleaded. “Leave before New Year’s, like you originally planned to do.”

“I can’t stay here, Lucien” she repeated. “My heart won’t handle it if I stay.”

“Elain,” he begged.

She took his face into her hands, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “Merry Christmas,” she told him.

Then, she left.

***

Rhys had already been awake by the time Feyre opened her eyes.

His thumb brushed her cheek, and she sighed in delight before reality came crashing in. “I have to go now, Rhys.”

“What’s the rush?” he asked, his voice roughened by sleep. The sound sent her heart fluttering all over again.

“I have to pack,” she explained. “My flight back to London is tomorrow.”

“Stay,” Rhys only said.

Feyre chuckled. “I wish I could, but I need to do the final touch-ups on one of my paintings as well. I need it to dry off before I leave.”

“You could stay longer,” Rhys protested. “The exhibition isn’t until New Year’s Eve.”

“I know that, but…” she frowned, mulling over his words.

And then again.

And again.

Only then did Feyre realise she’d never told him about the exhibition.

He must have realised that, too, from the way his eyes widened and mouth opened with an empty explanation that would mean nothing to her.

“It was you,” Feyre accused.

“Feyre darling…”

“Do not call me that,” she ordered, and Rhysand fell silent. “You arranged for the exhibit, did you not?”

Silence.

“Rhysand,” she warned.

He sighed. “I did. But, Feyre…”

“I was shocked,” she began, “when I received that invitation from the gallery. Such a short notice, too, and so unusual. The day after my engagement fell apart. Did you know?”

“Yes.”

Silver began burning her eyes, but she continued. “You knew I was an artist from Elain, didn’t you? Did she tell you how miserable I was? How I spent two years in a foreign country trying to build a career and getting nowhere? Did my sister ask you to make me your little charity case?”

“Allow me to explain…”

“You knew who I was from the moment you met me,” she whispered. “And you said nothing.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to see you again.”

And with that, Feyre was gone.

***

This time, Elain actually did cry in the cab, though it had nothing to do with wearing heels in the snow. 

The flight wasn’t for another few hours, and Elain decided if she was going to have her heart broken anyway, she might as well stop at the local bakery and treat herself.

Asking the driver to wait outside, Elain entered what seemed like the only shop opened on Christmas Day.

“Merry Christmas!” a lady greeted her at the register. “What can I get you?”

Elain sighed. “Anything for a broken heart?”

The lady smiled knowingly. “Not a cure, I’m afraid, but these freshly baked cinnamon rolls do make life a little sweeter.”

Elain went completely still. “What did you say?”

The woman raised her brows, confused. “Cinnamon rolls?”

Her heart thudded in her chest.

What the hell am I doing?

“I’m so sorry, I have to go,” Elain turned practically running out of the shop. “Merry Christmas!”

The cap sprinted through the streets until it reached the very familiar forest. “Sorry, love,” the driver began, “I’m afraid…”

“That’s okay,” Elain laughed. “I’ll run.”

And she did. Her socks were wet in an instant, but Elain did not care one bit as she finally reached the red front door.

She banged on it loudly until she was greeted by Lucien, his handsome face the perfect picture of shock.

Elain threw her arms around his neck and pulled him in until their lips collided in a kiss hot enough to warm the coldest winter. He hugged her tightly, whispering her name into her neck and running his fingers through her hair until he’d made sure she truly was real and standing before him.

Elain pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. “I’ll stay here,” she said at the same time Lucien declared “I’ll move to New York,” and they both broke out in laughter, Lucien bringing her closer for another kiss.

“We’ll figure it out,” Elain whispered.

Lucien nodded fiercely. “As long as we’re together.”

***

New Year’s Eve

The exhibition was going perfectly, but Feyre wasn’t happy at all.

There was one person missing—and she hated how much she missed him.

Her sister, at least, seemed to be enjoying herself. Lucien did, too—and she couldn’t be happier for either of them. Still, looking at that one painting of the New York City skyline…Feyre wanted nothing more but to go back. Even if it was simply to yell at him.

A light tap on the shoulder brought her back into reality. “Feyre,” Elain told her. “There’s someone here that wants to speak with you.”

If she had to deal with another critic tonight, she would have probably broken into tears. “Show me,” she asked her sister anyway.

Elain nodded, leading her to an empty hallway just a few meters away.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

Feyre froze in her steps. “What are you doing here?” she asked, barely noting Elain quietly removing herself from the conversation.

“I only ask for a moment. Please,” Rhysand said, his violet eyes shining with a silent plea. “You can hate me forever, but allow me to explain.”

I could never hate you.

“Alright,” Feyre agreed, and Rhys released a breath.

“I knew who you were,” he began. “Elain loves talking about you, you and your other sister. I had been coming to the bakery for months now, and I knew you paint. It was one of the first things she told me about you.” He smiled. “She told me about the dresser you painted when you were kids. She told me you painted the night sky on yours.”

Feyre held her breath, her gaze remaining fixed on his face, the slight tremble of his jaw.

“You asked me what I invest in. Art,” he told her. “I buy and collect art. I have been for a while. And when Elain showed me your paintings, I…they took my breath away. I had never met you, but it felt as though your art told me enough. Like it spoke to my very soul, understood me.” He swallowed hard. “I knew we would probably never meet, but fell in love with your craft, Feyre, and all I wanted was to share it with the rest of the world. I didn’t do it for Elain, not even for you. Your talent needs to be seen. The way I feel seen through you.

“When Elain told me about the swap, I knew I had to see you—at least once, if only to tell you how incredible you are. I should have told you—I know I should have—but I fell for you so deeply I wanted you to see me—not as your anonymous patron, or even as Elain’s friend—but as me, the same way your art does. You have captivated me, my darling Feyre, and I am yours forever—if you’ll have me.”

The whole world felt as though it swept away from her feet, and Feyre could only utter one word.

“Rhysand,” she breathed, her lips finding his own.

Soft and gentle, their kiss caressed her heart and soul, their arms wrapped tight around each other and not letting go. In the background, fireworks exploded and people cheered, celebrating new love and beginnings.

For only a moment, Rhys pulled back and inch. “Happy New Year, Feyre darling.”

She laughed, and with tears of happiness like stars in her eyes, Feyre kissed him again.

[becca-e-barnes]

Take Care of Everything

This is my first ever fic for a writing challenge omg I’m so excited! Huge congratulations to @balenciagabucky for hitting 3K followers!! That’s such a huge milestone and thank you for organising such a fun challenge! So excited to read the rest of the submissions 💗 @dulceslibrary

Pairing: Personal Assistant! Bucky Barnes x Lawyer! Reader

Word Count: 3.5k maybe?

Summary: There’s only one thing in your life that your PA doesn’t take care of

Warnings: Smut, praise kink, pet names, protected sex (go me for writing something safe sex for a change), court mention, lil fluff, mile high club

Minors, do not interact.

“Un-fucking-believable.” You couldn’t stop the roaring boil of the blood in your veins, storming out of the court room with your long black gown billowing behind you. Being one of the top barristers in the country brought it’s fair share of high profile cases but this one had got on every last nerve in your body and you were out of patience.

The case itself wasn’t the problem. The issues were straightforward enough and applying law to fact, at the most basic level, your client had done nothing wrong. It should have been essentially cut and dry. The problem was the opposing council and the lack of intervention from the judge.

The prosecution had torn your witness to shreds. You had tried to warn the poor woman beforehand, as you did with every client, but on the stand, she had just crumbled under such an intense and downright ignorant line of questioning.

It shouldn’t have even been allowed in the first place. The judge should have stepped in and clipped the opposing council’s wings but the damage was already done and now you would have to pick the pieces up when court resumed on Monday.

“How did it go?” Your personal assistant must have been leaning outside the courtroom door for who knows how long, his suit somehow as neat and pristine as always, despite the fact it was the end of the day.

“Fucking dreadful, Terry was an asshole to Andrea and she lost it. Should’ve known he’d pull shit like that, he’s always a cunt on Friday evenings.” You practically spat the words out, heels clicking on the floor as you made your way down the marble hall to collect your things and begin to put an end to this miserable week.

Part of you almost wanted to laugh at how Bucky had developed the skill of being able to keep up with your pace without even having to look up from his blackberry. That only came from years of practice.

“Terry loves playing with fire. Fuck him. If anyone can put him in his place on Monday, it’s you.” Bucky still hadn’t taken a second to pull his nose up from his phone, his steps landing in perfect time with yours until you reached the chamber at the end of the hall, throwing the heavy wooden door open in front of you. Bucky filtered in behind you of course, closing the door behind him before slipping his phone neatly into his pocket.

“Thought your doctor warned you about your blood pressure? You gotta calm down.” Bucky’s face showed he was genuinely concerned, his eyebrows knitted together in disdain but there was nothing new there. He had worked for you for years now and truth be told, he was damn good at his job, not to mention the fact he was the closest thing to a friend your busy schedule allowed you to have.

“I’ll calm down when I’m dead. We need to get to the airport if we’re going to make that flight for the convention.” You pulled your wig off, setting it neatly into the little wooden closet before removing your gown, hanging it up alongside the other worn ones from earlier in the week so they could all be dry cleaned and back in the closet for Monday.

“It’s a private jet honey, it can’t leave without you.” Bucky laughed softly, knowing you were worked up and hoping a little joke would ease the tension.

You had to admit, you were so thankful for Bucky. He was devoting the prime of his life to making sure you had everything you needed, your life only felt so seamless because Bucky made it that way. He didn’t just manage your calendar and fetch you coffee like any other PA, he lived and breathed you. He went everywhere with you, crashing in your spare room at least three nights a week because you had both worked yourselves to exhaustion. He never missed anything. He had a solution for every problem, nothing was too big for him to tackle and given the chance, you two could absolutely take over the world one day. You confided in him, and he in you, getting to know every tiny detail of his life in the past few years, right down to that fact that neither of you had seen your family or been on a date in months. Hell, he’d went as far as buying you a packet of batteries one Monday after a particularly long and stressful court hearing.

“Here, got you these.” He had smiled mischievously as he handed them over to you, chuckling a little at your confused expression. “For your vibrator. Looks like it’s gonna be a long week.” You took them gratefully, joking with him that you really would need them, tucking them into your handbag and damn were they appreciated. The following morning he had asked how you had got on and you could only laugh. You didn’t tell him how thoughts of him had come into your head right as you had gotten close. Similarly, you didn’t tell him how painfully intense your orgasm had been when you imagined him on the bed with you, watching you come apart against the plastic toy. You could just picture his hungry gaze, watching how your body gushed as you released, nipples pebbled from arousal and your lips parted, a single whimper of his name escaping you as you rode out your high.

No, that was a little secret you would keep to yourself. He didn’t need to know your dirtiest fantasies. He was an employee. An employee that often arrived at your bedroom door shirtless and smirking, holding a stack of freshly made pancakes on the mornings he stayed over at yours but an employee nonetheless.

—————————

The cab ride to the airport would have been silent if it hadn’t been for the gentle tapping of your thumbs and Bucky’s racing over your respective phone screens. You had at least two dozen emails left to reply to and your eyelids were beginning to get heavy, the body heat radiating from Bucky in the cab’s back seat making you drowsy. You took a second, squeezing your eyes shut to force away the tiredness before going back to typing relentlessly.

The trip to the airport was short, Bucky had competed the preflight checkin so you essentially stepped straight onto the plane, taking a seat by the window, with Bucky taking the one opposite you. Takeoff was smooth as always, your phones picked back up as soon as it was safe to do so. But with the glowing screen came a fresh wave of drowsiness, your eyelids threatening to close of their own accord.

“Shit, Buck did you pack my -“

“Glasses? Left side of your bag, under the tissues.” Bucky finished your sentence for you, not looking up from his phone.

“And my -“

“Eye drops? In your makeup bag.” There it was again. What surprised you most was that Bucky didn’t even need to see you to work out exactly what was wrong.

“Do you really just take care of everything?” You huffed out a little laugh, digging through your bag, finding both your glasses and eye drops exactly where he told you they would be.

“Everything but you.” He chuckled, finally setting his phone down.

“What do you mean ‘everything but me’? All you ever do is take care of me. You organise my shopping and dry cleaning for god’s sake.” The whole notion of Bucky doing anything but taking care of you was just insane because you sure as hell didn’t have time to do any of those things for yourself. That’s what you hired him for after all.

“I didn’t mean like that. I meant like really take care of you. You’re so damn up tight.” You knew by the little chuckle that accompanied his words that he meant it affectionately but it still made you slightly defensive.

“I’m not up tight.” You protested. Normally you would’ve let harmless comments like that slide but the combination of your shitty day and the fact you were so sleepy made it impossible to not seek out conflict. This was the life you were used to after all. A life of treating almost everyone you came across adversarially. It was second nature to you at this point, inside and outside the courtroom.

“Come on, you seem to forget I am your calendar. You think I don’t know you haven’t gotten any in months? You should get laid, that’s all I’m sayin’. Wouldn’t kill you to have an orgasm every once in a while.” The words roll off his tongue like it’s nothing and truth be told, if you were in better form, this would have been a perfectly normal conversation between the two of you. Neither of you were particularly shy when it came to talking about your hookups.

You hated how right he was. You hated that you hadn’t been touched in months and Bucky knew that. You hated that most days, you were too exhausted to bother tending to your own needs. And you hated the warmth spreading through your body at the thought of Bucky finally taking care of you.

“Don’t know Buck, an orgasm might actually kill me with my high blood pressure.” You needed this conversation to turn more light hearted and you needed it fast, before your head became so clouded with need that Bucky picked up on it.

“I mean, I handle everything else for you. Wouldn’t even mind if that became part of my remit.” You almost couldn’t believe how carefree and nonchalant this whole conversation seemed, Bucky hoping you missed how he cock twitched in his trousers. Of course you didn’t. You missed nothing.

“If what became part of your remit?” You quizzed firmly, trying not to give anything away but knowing your eyes had gone big and doe-like, entirely of their own accord. This was a dream come true.

“You. Actually taking care of you. However you need.” His stare was intense, watching you keenly to determine whether he had horrendously overstepped and was about to get fired.

“Why would you even want to?” Your voice carried every single ounce of confusion you were feeling, staring Bucky down with an intensity that mirrored his own in that moment.

“You’re far too smart to act dumb.” He replied softly, knowing it was all or nothing now. If he was getting fired, he might as well be honest. His head tilted downwards, drawing your attention to the bulge growing in his suit trousers. Years worth of need and longing bubbling over all at once.

“If you want this, tell me. If not, that’s fine. But it doesn’t need to be anything romantic. Can be just sex. Whatever you want.” He was doing his very best to stay calm, his brain finally catching up with his mouth and considering that he was now in way too deep to just apologise and about to get his ass handed to him at thousands of feet in the air by one of the best legal minds in the world.

You’d never wanted anything more in your life. It was almost like Bucky was dangling himself in front of you. A piece of meat before a lion that could be snatched away at any second. You weren’t going to give him the chance, professionalism be damned. You were out of your seat and onto his lap in a flash, your pencil skirt hiked up to allow you to bracket his legs in your own.

“Are you sure about this?” Your quizzed softly, giving him one last chance to back out before you lost all self control.

“Do I feel like I’m not sure?” His voice was almost a choked whisper, his hands landing on your hips to press you down against his stiff cock.

You’d never seen him like this before. Horny and needy and losing himself in the feeling of you on top of him after years of fantasies. He had tried to curb the fantasies but his body didn’t allow him to. You were all he could think of on those lonely nights, a hand wrapped around his cock, groans and whimpers escaping until he came over his hand, a cry of your name pulled from his lips. He thought you would never know. And now here he was, the woman of his dreams perched in his lap, asking to be taken care of. Even the filthiest parts of his brain couldn’t have come up with this.

He could never have dreamt how you moved forward so tentatively, your lips hardly even touching his. He was used to seeing you confident, in control, the calmest person under pressure and yet here you were, unsure of yourself for the first time, he imagined, in your life. You both kept your eyes open for a little while, your lips sliding together gently, getting a feel for one another, up until your teeth sank into the plush skin of his bottom lip and an actual groan left him, his eyelids fluttering shut. The sound could’ve made you quiver with need. It was so alarmingly sexy, knowing your huge, sexy PA could be taken apart with the smallest touches. Suddenly, this seemed to be as much, if not more, for Bucky’s benefit than your own.

“Thought this was for me, hm?” Somehow your condescending court voice was pushing him over the edge. You felt one of his hands come up, tangling in your hair while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling your core flush with his clothed cock. He kissed you with a burning intensity that made your head swim and your pussy throb, loving how he was taking control but still hurtling further into a breathless, needy state.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve thought about this. Didn’t think we’d be joining the mile high club.” He huffed out a little light laugh, using his grip on your waist to help you roll your hips over his growing erection.

“Couldn’t have been thinking about this for as long as I have.” You smiled softly, letting out a little gasp as his cock nudged you just right through your panties that you were sure had been soaked through already. His eyes went wide at your admission, his dick twitching deliciously underneath you.

“Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” He whispered, making you laugh at how eager he was.

“I won’t be able to wait until we’re off this plane Bucky. You gonna fuck me right here?” You teased him softly, your faces so close, your tiny hands running down his pristine shirt, toying with the buttons. When you began to graze his chest gently with your nails, it was like a switch flipped inside Bucky. He thrust up against you with a growl loving the yelp you let out, one hand now squeezing your ass, the other massaging your breasts through your blouse.

“Gonna fuck all the stress out of you. Gonna have you leavin’ this plane leakin’ and cockdrunk.” Somehow you didn’t even doubt his words and you had to admit, it did sound quite appealing to give up the control for a while, just letting Bucky take over.

“Gimme all you’ve got Barnes. Gotta make it worth my while or this is gonna be the last time you get the chance.” You couldn’t help but tease him before instantly realising that might have been a mistake, his lips burning hot as they worked against your own, needy, insistent and as always, eager to please.

His mouth was relentless to the point that you found yourself practically dry humping his cock, your hands laced in his hair while his untucked your blouse from your skirt, greedily holding onto any skin he could reach. He tasted of peppermint and coffee, smelt like the expensive aftershave you were so fond of and felt like a man who’s only purpose in life was to make you cum until it hurt.

“Need you. ‘Nside me. Now.” You managed somehow to pant the words out between the fervent slide of his lips over yours, his tongue dipping in to taste you, never wanting this to end.

The feeling of your much smaller hands landing on his belt buckle made him look down but he could’ve cum then and there at the sight that met him. The front of his suit pants were slick with your mess, proof that he wasn’t just dreaming and you really were needing this just as badly as he was.

“You’re so fuckin’ ready for it aren’t you? Look at the mess you’ve made. Why didn’t we do this years ago?” He was groaning, shifting in his seat to help you get his trousers and boxers down. You couldn’t help how you gasped a little at the sheer size of him, his cock thick and long, the head slick with precum, proud veins running up his shaft. He looked Godly. Two firm pumps was all it took to have his head thrown back against the plush leather seat, cursing and bucking against your hand, aching for more.

“I’m sorry Buck, I can’t wait any longer.” You panted, his lips attached to your neck now, kissing, licking and sucking all his frustration into your skin. If there was a time for foreplay, that wasn’t it. Neither of you had the patience right now.

“Thank God, needa feel this pretty pussy.” He all but whispered as you lined him up at your soaking entrance.

“Shit Bucky, you got a condom?” You asked anxiously, stilling yourself at the last second.

“My bag, zip compartment at the front.” He replied quietly and sure enough, that’s exactly where you found a packet. Tearing the wrapper off, you slid it down his length earning another groan from the huge man who was practically shaking beneath you.

“You think of everything.” You giggled, finally beginning to slowly sink yourself down onto him. Your laugh quickly turned into a breathy moan, your breath mingling with Bucky’s and you noticed how he made a very similar noise. You pressed yourself down slowly, your body having to adjust to the stretch.

“So tight, fuck. Shit, never felt a tighter pussy in my life.” He whispered when you were finally seated on top of him. He pulled your skirt out of the way to appreciate just how connected your bodies were in that moment. His cock just seemed to fit perfectly, so snug you could’ve cried as you began to slowly work your hips against his.

“Oh my god Bucky you’re huge.” You should’ve been embarrassed by how high and needy your whine came out but right then and there, you didn’t care.

“It’s all yours sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so good you never need another cock again. Gonna ruin anyone else for you - fuck.” Under normal circumstances you would’ve chastised him for being so overconfident but feeling how his cock nudged your sweet spot perfectly, you thought he might actually be right.

“Gotta fuck you angel, can’t just sit here anymore, ‘s driving me crazy.” He just couldn’t keep himself still any longer, lust burning behind his eyes in a way you had never seen in him before. You lifted yourself up slowly, feeling his length slipping from you, your walls fighting to pull him deeper until you sank back down, taking the whole length at once. The strangled cry that left Bucky was incredible. You repeated your gentle rise and fall, setting a decent pace. Every sharp fall of your hips tore a needy gasp from both of you, the sweetest spot inside you throbbing from the almost constant onslaught. It was everything you craved. Bucky was grasping at every curve of your body, lost in the feeling of your soft skin and the grip of your silky walls and the smell of your shampoo as you rode him, building speed as your pleasure built in your lower belly. The wet sounds escaping where your bodies were joined was nothing short of obscene, only fuelling Bucky to meet each of your thrusts with his own.

“Oh my god, I -oh oh- I can’t, can’t take it Bucky please.” You groaned, manicured fingernails digging into his chest.

“I got you honey. ‘s okay. Gonna take such good care of you when we get to the hotel. Just want you to cum once for me now, okay? Take the edge off. You feel so good wrapped round me. You know what else I can feel? Your pretty pussy is leakin’. Feel you drippin’ down over my balls. Never felt anything so hot in my ‘ntire life.” His fingers fell to your clit, rubbing neatly as if he had been trained to do nothing else. You were on cloud nine, your high so close but not quite there yet.

“Bucky, gonna cum. Oh fuck!” You whined, your orgasm hitting you like a train. You came with a loud cry, eyes squeezed shut, rocking against him more than fucking so his cock stayed buried inside you.

“Shit, how did you get even fuckin’ tighter. ‘M so close.” He whispered against your neck, broken and needy. Your high had all but subsided, aftershocks still pleasantly coursing through you as you went back to letting your hips rise and fall so Bucky could finish. It only took four more well timed thrusts before he was cumming with a shout, pulling you flush against him as his balls emptied into the condom.

You were both spent and sweaty but more satisfied than you could remember being in months, your chest pressed to his as you both came down, craving a little extra affection. Bucky held you for a good few minutes until you felt his cock softening, knowing he really should get cleaned up. You let him slip from you, pulling your skirt down to take your original seat across from him again.

“Gimme a second.” He whispered, kissing your forehead before making his way to the little bathroom, returning a few minutes later looking just as put together as ever, apart from his telltale grin.

“Jesus, we should do that more often.” You smiled quietly when he returned, letting him settle in the chair beside you this time, the dividing arm rest pushed out of the way so you could cuddle as much as possible given the limited space.

“I can’t stop now honey. That pussy is addictive.” He smiled, happy to see you leaning so comfortably up against him but even happier when he heard your soft little snores.

Taglist:

@harrysthiccthighss @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @justatirednightowl @littlecanadianlani @babebr @sebsbrokentoe @badgirlwolfy

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part 2, final

Part 1 / 1.5 / [2]

(masterlist here)

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

then he turns up at your door.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re aware of this because: 

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

and:

b) Said new tenants are apparently very noisy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A sexy living foghorn,” Seokjin says brightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll stay here,” Taehyung decides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me,” Seokjin says primly.

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” You ask, concerned.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m happy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can go get some from my apartment?”

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

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

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

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

And then you freeze.

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

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

The blood is blue. 

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

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

Seokjin’s an android.

(Seokjin’s an android who seems human.)

Seokjin’s a deviant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened to your LED?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Jin…”

“Maybe I am,” you hazard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Much like Taehyung had.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

“How did he—why did he deviate?”

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

Wow.

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

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

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

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

You feel warmed at Yoongi’s words. But. 

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

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

“Has Jin always been like that?”

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

“You love him a lot,” you say gently.

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

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

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

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

“That sounds great,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve missed this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Okay, Taehyung, I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s just, uh. One little thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thing that people and deviant androids do.

A thing that Taehyung does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nice.

“You seem happier.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re in so, so deep.

(But who can blame you?)

“I want to go outside.”

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

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

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

So what you say is: “Okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Warmer and softer than it probably should.)

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

(Mysterious. Yeah, right.)

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

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

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

(Whatever this is.)

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

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

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

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

(Shouldn’t hope for more than that.)

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

You’re certain Taehyung will, too.

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

(So human.) 

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

Taehyung is enraptured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like love?” A whisper.

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

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

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

“Oh, Y/n!”

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

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

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

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

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

You panic. Just for a second.

Taehyung doesn’t.

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

And then he immediately slips his hand back into yours.

Namjoon is utterly charmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Loyalty. Dedication.)

(A breath.)

(Love.)

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

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

(More of him.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re staying late again.”

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

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

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

It’s unnerving.

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

“No,” you lie.

Yes, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you would want to. 

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

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

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

It's hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he speaks.

“You’re avoiding me.”

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

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

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

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

“Why are you lying to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Independent?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(No one chooses you. Why would they?)

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

And then all the lights go out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung? What are you—”

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

“Taehyung!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung, though, is intent on you.

“Y/n?”

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

“Yes?”

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

You don’t respond. Not right away. 

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

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

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

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

“I do. I want to be here with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung takes your silence as hesitation, his face softening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More?” He murmurs against your skin.

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

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

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

And you can touch, too. 

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

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

“Angel?” 

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

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

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

Then. His hands are at your waistband. Your breath quickens, but Taehyung’s eyes stay on your face even as your breasts rise and fall, shining with evidence of the touch of his mouth and tongue.

You lift your hips, and Taehyung smiles. Keeps smiling as he strips you, underwear and all, and when your thighs instinctively go to close shut, he catches your knees and keeps your legs open—gentle but firm, swiping his thumbs up and down the side of your knees, a tender touch even as you’re naked in front of him. You see the look on his face, drenched in candlelight, and swallow even as you force your legs to relax.

Then he looks down.

“Oh, God,” he groans, and one of your legs jumps in his grasp at the sound of his voice. Hoarse and deep. Almost unrecognisable. “Oh, angel, look at you.”

You’re so, so wet, so wet it’s embarrassing, so sensitive and responsive to every single one of Taehyung’s touches and kisses. The edges of his hair are spun gold in the candlelight but his eyes are so deep, so dark as he drinks down the sight of you spread out in front of him, wet and wanting and willing. You still want to hide away, cheeks burning, but you can’t look away from him. Can’t look away from how he seems almost pained, brows drawing together as he stares at the shining, flushed lips of your cunt.

“Taehyung.” Your voice shakes. “Taehyung, please.”

You're naked and vulnerable but—but the way he looks at you is so adoring, and you trust him. You trust him.

Just like earlier, his hands cup the back of your thighs. But this time, it’s not to carry you. You twist on the bed when he ends up eye level with your dripping cunt, utterly exposed. Those hands slide up your thighs and under your hips, tilting them up. Your fingers have been resting on the bedspread and tighten in them, bunching in your grasp when Taehyung presses a kiss to the softness of your inner thigh. 

One kiss. And then another. And another. His breath is warm as it curls out across your skin. You feel like you’re about to shake out of your body, wanting to pull away, wanting to lean in; wanting more, even when it feels like too much. Overcome with it all, even if you trust Taehyung. Safe under his hands, his lips. All you can think about is how close he is, face only inches away from your most sensitive parts—

Then he turns his head and—

The noise you let out is almost a keen. His mouth is on you, hot and wet, lips and tongue, and you’re writhing, overwhelmed with sensation. He starts slow, balls of your feet digging into Taehyung’s back and toes curling as he mouths at you. Your hips buck, and your hands are tangled in Taehyung’s hair—when did that happen?—as you sob at the feeling of his lips around your clit, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, but so so so good. 

He licks a fat stripe up your entrance and your grip tightens in his hair. He makes a noise when your nails drag across his scalp, almost a growl, face still buried between your legs as he presses his tongue in. You’d worry that he needs to come up for air, but he doesn’t, doesn’t have to stop—keeps licking and kissing and humming, responding to each of the sounds pulling out of your lips. Keeps staring up at you, your eyes locked, the way you can’t look away from the sight of his head between your legs, dark haired and incredible.

You don’t realise you’re speaking, words slipping out of your lips as your hips roll, oh-oh-oh, fuck, God, oh, and Taehyung doesn’t stop. On his knees, he worships you, learning what you like—things you didn’t even know—and does it again, and again, and again. One of his hands slides away from your hips and over your stomach, holding you down, keeping you still, and then the other hand—

He turns his head, presses a kiss to the junction of your thigh. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you answer, shaky and weak. So okay, more than okay.

“Going to finger you now,” Taehyung says, and you feel like you’re going to die.

“Okay,” you say again. “Okay, Taehyung.”

He smiles at you before he puts his mouth back to your clit, sucking, a welcome distraction as—with all the languidness in the world—presses a finger into you.

You’ve fingered yourself before. You’ve got your own toys, vibrators, things that are longer and thicker than just one of Taehyung’s fingers—but this feels so different, out of your control. One finger becomes two, your cunt so wet that the slide in is easy, slow, deep thrusts of those long fingers inside you, and you’re panting, you’re so fucking overwhelmed.

And then he curls those fingers as he laps his tongue over your clit and you almost shout, Taehyung’s name bursting from your lips as he keeps beckoning with those fingers and circling the sensitive nub with his hot, wet tongue. It’s so much, it’s so fucking much, it’s so good and you’ve never felt so good before—

You’re almost blindsided by the orgasm that explodes through you and you come apart with a sound you didn’t realise you were capable of making, a gasping moan that keeps unfurling as Taehyung keeps his mouth on you, feeling each pulse of your cunt as you cum around his fingers, tight-tight-tight. (You miss the way his hips kick into the mattress that the sounds you’re making, how much you tighten around him.) You never thought you’d be so loud, never thought you’d end up all but sobbing as Taehyung eventually leans back, candlelight brushing shining gold over the wetness over his mouth, his chin. Your wetness.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

Little jolts of pleasure are still wracking through you, pulsations of pleasure that unfurl in your lower stomach; Taehyung rubs the pad of his thumb across your oversensitive clit and your entire body jumps, your legs going to snap shut as you gasp, only stopped by his body in the way. You realise, then, that his fingers are still curled inside you, and you shiver.

“One more,” he says, and your whole body shakes. “Can I give you one more?”

He still looks reverent, and hungry. Like he wants to devour you. Taehyung is usually so soft, a gentle summer breeze—but right now he’s so intense it might scare you if it was anyone else. But it’s not, it’s Taehyung, and there’s something—there’s something about knowing that he looks like that because of you. 

You let your legs fall open, watch how pleased he looks; how grateful. Like he's blessed to be able to do this to you. For you. You’re still so sensitive when he lowers his head again, but he’s slow and patient and coaxing, two fingers becoming three, and—that’s a lot. It’s a lot, but it feels good, Taehyung knowing exactly what to do to make you sob, your legs still hooked over his shoulders as he pulls you along that line between oversensitivity and mind numbing pleasure. This time, when you cum, it’s with three fingers buried deep in your cunt, the flat of his tongue pressed against your clit, back arching as you throw your head back and cry out. Your pussy throbs and it's so dirty, the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting into you, the slick sound of movement as you moan, and moan, and moan.

No one's ever made you cum before. Only you. And now you know what it's like to put your pleasure in someone else's hands, to have them intent on making you feel good, so good, and it leaves you dizzy. 

He’s praising you, you note dimly. He’s praising you, how well you’re doing, how good you are for him, and it leaves you feeling warm. You’re panting when Taehyung pulls his fingers out of you, moves so he can brace himself on his elbows and lean in to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You can feel his skin against yours, chest to chest, his weight pressing you down and then you can feel—

You let out a noise against his lips. There’s nothing else that can be, that hot weight. You might not have felt it before, but you’re not stupid. That’s Taehyung’s cock, his hard length pressed against you.

“Taehyung,” you murmur.

“Mm.” He brushes his nose against yours, and the wave of affection that crashes through you is so strong it feels like it could pull you under. You didn’t realise that sex could be like this—that lingering shockwaves of pleasure could be skirting through your body as you lay there naked, still aroused and almost overcome, but also feeling so warm and soft and tender, too. 

You feel lax after cumming, a little more confident, bolder—and the noise Taehyung makes as you clumsily grasp at him through his sweatpants is incredible. You feel like you could get high on it, the way he sucks in a gasp as his mouth falls open, even if you don’t know what you’re doing as your fingers wrap around cloth and hard heat.

“Please,” you start, then stop. Swallow. “Please, Taehyung.”

You want so much you feel like you could pass out. You want to feel and touch and taste; you want everything you haven’t had a chance to experience yet, want it with Taehyung, someone who you trust. Someone you love. Someone who knows far, far more than you—will always know more—and you want to learn that from him. 

“Want you,” you say, and Taehyung looks pained all over again. He wants you, too.

“Fuck.” The word is rough, and you’ve never heard him curse before. The way he says it has something in you singing, as strange as that might be; you don’t think you’re ever going to get over how much you affect Taehyung. “What do you want from me, angel?”

Everything, you think. I want everything. 

“Let me see?” is what you say, squeezing your fingers around Taehyung’s length, feeling the way his hips buck into the touch. “Please?”

You never thought that someone taking their clothes off could be artistic. And yet, there’s something about Taehyung moving to stand and stripping off the rest of his clothes that’s completely arresting and beautiful; carnal and holy, all at once. You don’t even realise your mouth is open as you sit up and watch him, moving closer as you drink down the sight, the way he’s naked in front of you.

Taehyung. Naked. Naked and beautiful and hard, and it’s so overwhelming, everything about it, how much you want and how—oh, God, how big and thick he is, obvious even to you, someone with nothing to compare it to. Holy fuck. Should you think that his dick is pretty? Can dicks even be pretty? Taehyung’s is. Of course it is. He’s gorgeous all over. Maybe you’re biased because it’s him, but there’s something about the sight of his hard cock, precome gathering at his slit, that makes your mouth water.

Taehyung goes to say something, but before you can lose your nerve, you move forwards, and whatever he was going to say is lost in the sound of a choked off groan. He tastes like salt and musk, hot under your inexperienced hands and mouth, and you don’t know what you’re doing but the noises he’s making, fuck. You run your tongue up the throb of a vein you can feel on the underside, and all you can think about is how big he is, slow and careful with your teeth and lips as you try your best to do whatever feels good for him. 

His noises seem almost frantic but Taehyung’s hands are gentle when they comb through your hair. You look up. There’s a flush on his cheeks—red, not blue, you notice—and you pause, pulling off, suddenly shy after the burst of confidence that had you swallowing his cock down.

“Is this—is this okay?” You’ve still got your fingers wrapped around him, and maybe it’s a little ridiculous to be asking with spit and precome shining on your lips, but Taehyung’s answering smile is so affectionate.

“You’re perfect,” he says, and you know he’s not just talking about your clumsy blowjob. “Do you want to stop?”

You bite your lip and pump his length, which has Taehyung sucking a breath in. “I—what do you want?”

Something flashes through Taehyung’s eyes, and it feels like there’s electricity shooting down your spine before that look disappears. “This is about you, angel,” he says. “We can worry about what I want next time.”

Next time. This is the first time but it’s not the last. Oh, God. God.

Taehyung takes advantage of your distraction and hikes you up and away from the edge of the bed. It leaves you breathless, knowing how strong he is, how easily he can move you, even if he’s gentle-gentle-gentle. He settles in the cradle of your hips, and he’s so close, naked body flush with yours, covering you. His cock is so close—he just has to shift a little, just a little, and—well. 

Before that, though, there’s something you need to know.

“Taehyung?” Your voice shakes but you have to ask.

“Yes?”

“Is this. Um. Does this feel good for you, too?”

You’re always aware of the fact Taehyung is an android, even if he looks and feels and is human, too. (It doesn’t matter that he’s made of metal and thirium and circuitry. He’s human.) You lift a hand and thumb at the soft skin of his temple, where his LED used to sit; you don’t know how to communicate that you love him regardless, that it doesn’t matter to you if he's a man or robot. But you’ve wondered—you know Taehyung was built to pleasure humans. Even if he’s been reacting, making noises, looks for all intents and purposes that he is enjoying this—what if it’s all programming? What if he’s just doing this because he thinks it’s something you want?

He leans into your touch. “Angel.” It sounds like the word is being scraped out of him, hoarse and deep, all dark heat. “It feels good. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

He rolls his hips almost imperceptibly, but you’re hyperaware of every motion, how close you are. Your breath stutters in your throat.

"I want you to feel good," he says. "I've wanted to feel you and taste you for so long. I want to learn everything about your body. I want to know what you feel like around me. Under me. On top of me. You make me feel so fucking good, you don't even know," and, oh, fuck, those words go right through you, settle deep in your belly, leave you breathless. Taehyung sucks at your pulse point and you melt, even as your skin feels like it's burning, so hot, every part of you so hot, so ready for him.

Taehyung’s big enough that you’re worried about how he’s going to fit, even if you’re slick and wet and so, so turned on—you know about the importance of lube, used it often enough by yourself, but when you mention it to Taehyung he just smiles.

“Don’t forget that I’m a sex android,” he says, and before you can ask exactly what he means by that, you feel the tip of his cock at your folds and the question dies on your tongue.

“Please,” is what leaves your lips. “Please, please, please.”

“Anything you want,” he says, and eases his hips forwards.

Slow, and hard, and wet, the head of Taehyung’s cock starts to press into you. You grab at his back, digging your fingers in; it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, a not-quite-pain as he pushes in—but it’s a lot, even if the slide is smooth, so smooth, from your own wetness and the slickness that covers Taehyung’s cock. Your eyes are wide and your lips are parted and it feels—astonishing, the way you can feel yourself open up for him, the way it feels like he’s filling every part of you, throbbing heat.

“Oh, oh God,” you gasp. 

Taehyung’s forehead is pressed to yours, the loose locks of his dark hair framing his face as he waits, hips snug with yours. You shiver and move your hips a little, entire body seizing at the sensation of him shifting inside you. It's so new and alien, having someone nestled inside you, against you, so close in every sense of the term, above you, around you, inside you—but it feels… good.

And when he moves, it’s so, so slow. Slow and smooth as he works you open, even if you feel so tight around him. You drag your nails down his shoulder blades when he moves a little faster, a little roll of the hips that has you gasping all over again.

“More,” you say, and he gives you more.

You feel so full. You feel full of Taehyung, inside and out—the way his body is still pressing you down, skin on skin, how hot he is.

They call it making love, and it’s not until now that you really understand what that means—how you can feel Taehyung’s soft and tender affection in his every motion, read it in every shift of his body, the lines of his face, his lips; the way his eyes are dark but full of wonder, shining with love for you, pleasure singing through every inch of you, centred around Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

Each noise that falls from his lips is an echo of that love. Even when he leans back and takes you with him—settles on his knees, pulls your hips from the mattress to stay connected to you as your shoulder blades dig into the mattress, his cock in your cunt—there’s tenderness there, even if you’re both chasing mutual lines of pleasure. You feel almost dazed, dizzy with love and arousal, reaching out for him, and he catches your hand. The other stays at your waist, guiding you onto him, again and again, each roll of hips into yours.

“Taehyung,” you gasp, voice breaking on his name when he thrusts into you. He’s been increasing the pace, faster and sharper, harder, and it’s so-so-so much, so good. “I’m—Taehyung, I’m close, I wanna cum again, pleasepleaseplease—”

He lets go of your hand and then he’s thumbing at your clit and you’re cumming harder than you’ve ever cum in your life, Taehyung’s cock still hard and insistent inside you as you ride out your orgasm, pulsing around him. You’re gasping and making noises like you’re falling apart, and there’s something desperate in Taehyung’s eyes, something dark and wanton. 

“Angel, I’m going to cum soon,” he says, and you moan in response, hazy. “Do you want me to pull out?”

You shake your head no. You want to know what it feels like, to have Taehyung lose himself inside you. You’re about to reach out for him when he hooks his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up—you suck in a sharp breath as he starts to move again, almost bent in two, his face so close to yours. It's not rough but something about Taehyung taking control like that has you baring your throat, arching your back and throwing your head back. The hold he has on you is firm, and you feel how it tightens as his thrusts speed up, and then, fuck—

When Taehyung cums it’s around the gasp of your name, a hitching sound as he empties himself inside you, throbbing and hot. You let out an answering sound, the two of you locked together until Taehyung pulls out, careful and slow; you feel like a sweaty mess, empty without him inside you, but then his hands are so carefully cupping your face and he’s kissing you over and over and over. It leaves you feeling breathless, all those little kisses, struggling for air by the time you part, every part of you lax under his loving touch. 

“How are you feeling?” Taehyung murmurs, soft and sweet. 

“Good,” you murmur back. And then your nose crinkles. “Sweaty.”

Taehyung laughs, quiet and low. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, hiding your smile as you breathe him in. You do feel sweaty, and there’s an ache settling inside you, but it’s a good ache. A glowing ache, an unfamiliar one, but one that you know you'll get to feel again, with Taehyung.

You’ve just leaned back to take him in all over again, painted syrupy sweet in the golden candlelight—when the lights suddenly turn back on. It floods your eyes and you make a noise of surprised pain as you squint against the sudden brightness, but then you start to giggle, shock melting into laughter.

When your laughter dies you realise Taehyung’s been watching you. The room is full of shining light now, and you realise you’re still naked, entire body shaking as you’ve been giggling. You’d feel embarrassed about your nakedness if you hadn’t just shared yourself with him, bared yourself in ways that are more than skin deep. There’s an instinctual part of you that wants to cover up now that there’s nowhere to hide, no flickering shadows to cover up the parts of your body that you don’t like, the flaws you don’t want Taehyung to see. But he just looks fond, fond, fond, love and affection dripping off him as he watches the way you smile shyly up at him.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi,” he says, and smiles back, wide and bright. 

You love him. You love him, and he loves you, and you trust that love. As hard as it might be to believe, you trust that this is what he wants—that you’re what he wants.

“Do you want me to carry you to the shower?” he asks, and you can’t help but laugh again, warm through and through, how he’s still taking care of you.

“Not yet,” you say. 

You end up against his chest, wrapped close. You’ve laid your head in his lap countless times, but he’s never been on his back before, never had his arms around you like he doesn’t want to let go. Taehyung might not have a heart, but the thirium pump nestled in his chest beats steady as you stay nestled against his side. 

You’re drawing little circles on his skin with your fingers when he catches that hand and lifts it to his mouth, presses a tender kiss to your fingertips.

“I love you,” he says.

You feel like liquid sunlight, shining happiness as you melt, melt, melt. And the feeling stays, body filled with it, even after Taehyung coaxes you out of bed and into the shower to wash the sweat off your body; when he drags a soapy loofah over your back you can’t help but laugh, so in love, so loved.

And when you fall asleep, it’s not with your head on Taehyung’s thigh. It’s with his arms around you, his chest to your back, his body curved around you. You don’t want tonight to end, but you also can’t wait for tomorrow, knowing that it’s another day with him, with Taehyung, your Taehyung. You never thought that love would be like this, never thought that you’d feel love like this, cared for and protected and loved, loved, loved.

“Not staying late?”

You pause in the process of shoving everything into your bag. Hoseok is leaning against your desk, a smile curling at his lips as he raises his eyebrows at you, almost suggestive.

“Nah, I’ve got a dinner to get to,” you say. 

“You seem a lot happier lately,” Hoseok comments, and when you don’t fall for the bait, he wiggles his eyebrows. “The girls think that you’ve got a secret boyfriend that you’re too shy to tell anyone about.”

Taehyung still greets you every day when you get home. But now, every greeting is punctuated with a kiss—and sometimes a little more. When you stop to think about it, it’s startling, this thing that Taehyung’s taught you. That the simplest of things can turn into something more, love edged with lust, that it’s all part and parcel of loving someone, being with them, being comfortable with them. Just the other day you’d been reading on the sofa, and then Taehyung’s fingers had curved over your thigh and the tablet had fallen from your hands—

Hoseok clicks his fingers in front of your face. “You’re zoning out again,” he says.

“I am not,” you say, zoning back in. “I was thinking about if I needed to buy any food on the way home.”

“To feed that secret boyfriend of yours?” Hoseok says, and you laugh in his face.

“Definitely not to feed the rumour mill,” you say. Hoseok pouts but it’s good natured, and he waves you off with a smile, letting you leave the office without trapping you in an interrogation for the gossip you’re certain your coworkers are hungry for.

It’s your turn to cook for Yoongi and Seokjin, so you’ve got to get home to help Taehyung. Both men had been spectacularly unsurprised when they’d found out about the two of you. Yoongi had remained calm as Seokjin crowed in delight, proclaiming I knew it, I knew that’s why you were avoiding Taehyung. 

“Feel lucky, Y/n,” Yoongi had said. “At least Taehyung has a sense of decorum and shame.”

“I think it’s a shame that my boyfriend is such a party pooper,” Jin had said. “I demand a dinner party! To celebrate your new relationship! Oh, I’m going to bake the biggest cake.”

“Oh my God,” you’d said, and Taehyung had just smiled.

The truth is that you’re grateful for your neighbours and their support, grateful for their friendship. Just because Taehyung looks human doesn’t mean that you don’t worry about him, worry that someone might discover that he’s a deviant; Jin’s slipped under the radar for long enough, and you hope it’s the same for Tae, too. And yet you can’t help but think about it, think about the present, the future, how your lives are going to unfold as time goes by.

When the door swings open to your apartment, though, that’s the last thing on your mind. All that’s on your mind is Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung, your love appearing just as you’ve kicked your shoes off, all bright pink hair and dark eyes and welcoming hands.

“Taehyung,” you say, warm and happy.

“Hi,” he says, smiling so brightly, and then he kisses you.

You’re never going to get tired of kissing Taehyung; never going to get tired of how his mouth fits against yours, so perfect and sweet. But then he crowds you against the wall, swallowing down your gasp before kissing down your neck, running his teeth so gently across your skin.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, words dripping hot and slow. “Been thinking about you.”

“Taehyung,” you breathe. “Taehyung, we need to cook dinner.”

“We have time,” he says, and when he picks you up, you don’t protest. You go easily, wrapping your arms and legs around him, heat already gathering in your stomach as he walks the familiar path to your bedroom.

You have time: today, tomorrow, and every day after that. You have time with Taehyung, to learn with him, to love him. To be loved back. You don’t know what’s coming on the horizon, what the future holds—but then again, you never have.

There’s one thing you know now, though. No matter what happens, Taehyung will be at your side, and you’ll be at his. He wants you, and he loves you. You want him, and you love him. 

“I love you,” you murmur, and Taehyung kisses the words off your lips, lets the promise of your love settle inside him, warm and soft and safe.

“I love you too,” he says, and then you’re too busy to say anything, after that.

taglist:  @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove​ @jalexad​ @beingbeings​ @lorielulu7​ ​ (can’t tag: @jeon-joon-kook)

[blu-joons]

DAD ENHYPEN A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Kim Sunwoo

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Sunwoo prides himself on being observant and so he likes to think that he can do a good job of being able to predict what kind of affection that you want from him, never wanting to give you too much or too little to overwhelm you.

B ⇴ BUMP

He was very practical when it came to your bump and looked around as much as possible for any signs of danger so that he could help you out. Sunwoo was constantly moving furniture out of the way or pulling you out of any harm so that he could make sure that you hurt you and your bump as little as possible.

C ⇴ CRAVINGS

There weren’t many things that Sunwoo loved more than food, and so your cravings were the perfect excuse that Sunwoo needed in order to eat more food. Whenever you needed something from the shop or wanted to order, Sunwoo would always make sure to order with you too and satisfy his own cravings too.

D ⇴ DUE DATE

Out of the two of you, Sunwoo was a lot more stressed about your due date than you, once everything was over, he knew that he would be just fine, but it was the build up that Sunwoo hated. He always worried that he had forgotten something or that he wasn’t quite as organised as he needed to be, whilst you were a lot more comfortable and confident that there was no reason for either of you to stress.

E ⇴ EMOTIONS

Sunwoo loved finding reasons to smile in life, but no reason ever seemed brighter for him during the nine months of your pregnancy other than the fact that he was going to be a bad. It seemed impossible for anyone to be able to remove the smile on his face because he was so excited about what was to come, even if he felt down for a moment, Sunwoo would remember his reason to smile and soon be fine again.

F ⇴ FAMILY

You loved using his big sister to your advantage whilst you were pregnant to help get your way whenever Sunwoo disagreed with you. If you found a baby grow that you liked for example, that Sunwoo wasn’t particularly fond of, all you had to do was send a picture to his sister and she would immediately respond complimenting it, leaving Sunwoo little choice but to concede and let you buy the baby grow.

G ⇴ GENDER

Together, the two of you decided almost straight away that you would wait to find out the gender of your baby. You both agreed that you wanted to have the moment of finding out the gender whilst wrapped up in the moment just after giving birth, almost as if it were a scene out of a movie for the two of you.

H ⇴ HEARTBEAT

The beat of your baby’s heart often left Sunwoo very curious, he could never quite believe that the sound belonged to his child and the little one that he often felt wriggle in your bump. No matter how many times he heard it, it still stunned and left him completely in awe that that heartbeat belonged to his baby.

⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

He loved to tell you that he loved and appreciated you more than anything else, nothing ever felt more meaningful than Sunwoo being able to say it so that you could hear the sincerity and the honesty in his voice and know that every single time he said it to you, he meant it from the very bottom of his heart.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

As with many other occasions, if anyone ever tried to make Sunwoo jealous, then he would go back to his reason to smile and know that he shouldn’t let things get to him. He was a bright personality and so very few people even tried to make Sunwoo jealous because they knew how positive he was, and so if there were any times when Sunwoo would get a little bit jealous, it would all be unintentional with no malice.

K ⇴ KICKS

Whenever he had his arm around your waist, it was instinct in Sunwoo to feel for your baby kicking. Most of the time he didn’t even pay attention to what was going on, he would just suddenly remember where his hand was when he felt your baby kicking and reminding the two of you that they were there.

L ⇴ LABOUR

Your labour was most definitely an emotional time for Sunwoo, seeing you in so much distress was certainly not ideal for him. His stress levels were at an all time high whilst you were in labour, but that didn’t stop him from being there for you. As ever, he was very observant of you and picked up on exactly what you needed as much as possible so that he could be there to help you as much as he possibly could.

M ⇴ MORNING SICKNESS

Almost as soon as you got up most mornings you would hear Sunwoo following behind you and seeing how you were. He would set an alarm just before he knew that you usually woke up so that he was already awake and ready to go into the bathroom, alert enough to comfort you exactly how you needed him to.

N ⇴ NURSERY

The nursery played on Sunwoo’s mind a lot, he overthought a lot of things, such as what would be the perfect cot to buy, and what decorations would help stimulate your baby’s mind the most, wanting it to be perfect.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Sunwoo was obsessed with your personality, Sunwoo loved the person that you were and above all else he loved the fact that you were going to be the mother of his child, and also spend the rest of his life with you.

P ⇴ POST BIRTH

He certainly knows how to relax, and Sunwoo tries his best to do that with you after you gave birth and stop you from worrying about anything. Whilst you wanted to try and get back on your feet as soon as possible, Sunwoo was much more chilled and assured you that there was no rush to get everything organised.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

He’s a good communicator with you and so whenever either of you have a question, the two of you are great at talking about it with one another and being able to give logical pieces of advice and comfort when the other is finished too.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

He absolutely loved taking selfies of the three of you, always making sure that your bump was included in the photo too. Sunwoo ended up creating a massive scrapbook of all the selfies that he took of your family, documenting the growth of your bump over the nine months during various days out that you went on.

S ⇴ SCANS

Your scan photo was kept in Sunwoo’s phone case a lot of the time so that he could always look at it. It was another thought behind his reason to smile, whenever he felt himself getting low, all he had to do was turn his phone around and remind himself once again that he was very lucky to live the life he was living.

T ⇴ TEST

It came as a complete surprise to you both when your test came back as positive, although it was a little scary, you both knew that you were a forever thing, and at some point in your lives it was a moment that would happen.

U ⇴ ULTRASOUND

Sunwoo always made sure to be at your appointments with you, he couldn’t possibly deal with the stress of leaving you to go there alone.

V ⇴ VISITS

The two of you were quite keen to invite your family round as soon as possible, grateful for the help. It was a little overwhelming for you both at first, but your families were very helpful in calming the two of you back down.

W ⇴ WAITING

He couldn’t wait for your baby to arrive; he was on the edge of his seat every day towards the end of your pregnancy in anticipation.

X ⇴ XXXX

If he could tell that you were feeling down, Sunwoo would always head over to you and give you a kiss, letting you know that he was there, and waiting until you were ready to tell Sunwoo what was playing on your mind.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were his best friend, Sunwoo loved that you were his human in the world.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

It takes a while for Sunwoo to fall asleep at night as he tries to stay awake for as long as possible and keep an eye on you. He won’t ever sleep until he is absolutely sure that you are fast asleep and not waking up anytime soon.

---

Masterlist

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Fake dating Drabble No. 5

Today with Dave York and 2k (🤡) of being undercover married to him (F) because the neighbors are leaders of a terrorist organization. The leader get a little too handsy at the dinner you had been invited to and Dave does sell the jealous husband very, very well.  Steph’s fake dating Drabble week

Warnings: cursing, inappropriate touching, masturbation, implied sexual content

It wasn’t like you had a choice when the CIA decided that you had to go undercover. It wasn’t the first time and it most likely wouldn’t be the last. But three months in, without having anyone to talk to except your partner, or the neighbors who most likely were the most dangerous people you had ever encountered, it was starting to frustrate you that there was no new information you could provide. But tonight the neighbors had invited you and your partner over for dinner.

Oh yes. You also had to pretend to be married to Dave York, who was your partner for this mission. It didn’t help that you were spending all your time with a man that always seemed to be plotting murder whenever you caught him starring looking at you. These last months were hard. You weren’t used to living with someone, let alone pretending to be in love as soon as you left the walls of the CIA proofed house you were living in with him.

Dave York was a mystery not only to you, but to everyone at the CIA. You always felt a little uncomfortable every time he looked at you and you couldn’t place why. He was nothing but polite towards everyone, but there was something dark surrounding him. Like he knew more than everyone around him. Like he knew all the dirty secrets. Your dirty secrets.

But it also had it’s advantages living with someone. It was nice waking up to the smell of coffee, a mug waiting for you on the counter just as you liked it, while Dave was checking his mails on his laptop. Part of your undercover identity was being the devoted housewife while Dave played the role of the husband who worked as an accountant from home.

You knew he had been married before, but somehow you never felt comfortable to ask him any personal questions. He never asked you either. Every other day you found yourself sitting next to him on the sofa after dinner, his arm on the couch behind you, without touching you, while you watched some netflix together. So people who walked by your house could see that you were a perfectly normal married couple.

He always let you decide what to watch.

“What do you want to watch?” you had asked one evening.

“I don’t really care. I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

“Really? And here I thought you were a couch potato,” you had a glass of wine on that evening and you could have sworn you saw him hide a smile before you started a new episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

“You ready?” he asked through your closed bedroom door. You were occupying the master bedroom, while he slept in the guest room. You decided on a yellow summer dress for the dinner at your neighbors. You felt a little naked with your exposed shoulders and legs, but it was a hot day and it would make zero sense to be wearing something you could sneak your gun in. You knew Dave would be carrying a gun, he always did. And you had no choice but to trust him. Not that he had given you any indication as to not trust him.

You took one last look in the mirror before you walked towards the door and opened it. Dave looked at you, his eyes taking you in for a second before there was this twitch at his lips again. A small smile and this time you were sure of it and you had no idea how to feel about it.

“Come on, we gonna be late,” he said quietly.

He took your hand as soon as he locked the front door, a bottle of wine in his arm.

“If we’re lucky we are finally going to get some intel tonight. These fuckers are a suspicious bunch,” he said as he leaned closer to whisper. You nodded.

“I would be suspicious too if I was running a terrorist organisation from a suburban neighborhood.”

“True,” he chuckled, “You make sure to stay in sight. We don’t know what kind of people these are and I want you to be safe.”

“Aww are you worried about me, hubby?” you teased.

“No. I’m worried about them. I have no doubt that you could take them out if you want to.”

“Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment, Dave,”

“It was, just… Don’t try to be the hero. We knew this would be a longer mission and if we’re lucky tonight might finally be the start of getting things going.”

“I know,” you squeezed his hand and breathed in deep.

“Ready?” he asked. You nodded, plastering a fake smile on your lips as he knocked on the door.

Dave really could play the perfect husband. He even remembered what you were allergic to, making sure that no trace of parsley could be found on your plate. At one point he excused himself to the bathroom, giving your leg a squeeze. His hand had been placed on your knee as soon as you had sat down at the dinner table and it almost seemed like he needed some kind of connection to ground himself. You spend enough time with him to know that he was on edge ever since he came back from smoking with the man you knew to be the leader of this whole organisation you were here to get more information from.

His hand went up to your shoulder when he got up and to your surprise he leaned down to kiss your temple before he left the room. You were so surprised by this gesture you almost jumped when you felt someone sit down next to you.

“So… How long have you been married?” he asked. You looked at him, Bill, the man who was responsible for thousands of deaths. You smiled, remembering the story the CIA had manufactured for you.

“Second anniversary is coming up.”

“How did the two of you meet?” he asked and you felt his eyes growing cold. You were now being interrogated.

“That’s a silly story,” you laughed, shaking your head in played embarrassment. Bill only looked at you, waiting for your answer.

“Well we went to College together. We never really had much in common. He’s into numbers, I’m more creative. After college we went our separate ways but years after I needed an accountant for my business and his name popped up.”

“What kind of business?” he asked.

“I used to own a flower shop back in DC. I sold it once Dave got the job offer here.”

“That must have been hard.”

“Not really. Where he goes, I go. And I’m actually looking into opening a new one. Just looked at some properties last week.”

“That’s nice. If you need any help just say the word. I have connections in this city,” Bill nodded, getting closer. It took everything in you not to flinch as his hand came down on your thigh. Much higher than it was appropriate. You gulped.

“I mean it, if you need anything, just say the word,” he was so close now you could feel his nose on your cheek. Closing your eyes you thought about all the ways you could break his wrists within the next 15 minutes when you heard Dave call for you as he walked back into the room.

“Everything okay?” he asked. Bill only looked up at him, giving him a smirk, before he squeezed your leg and let go of you.

“Everything’s fine. We’re just getting to know each other, isn’t that right?” he asked. You nodded with a smile that hopefully didn’t look too pained.

“Great. Well I hate to cut this short, but we got an early morning,” Dave’s hand was on your shoulder and you turned your head to look up at him, your hand coming down on top of his.

“Oh, well. It was nice getting to know you,” Bill said. You got up from your seat and Dave’s arm sneaked around your waist immediately, bringing you closer to him and you let your head fall against his shoulder.

“Likewise,” Dave said, following Bill to the door.

“You’re a beautiful couple. Let’s do this again,” Bill said, his eyes lingering on you. You only nodded, thanking him before you let Dave lead you down the Driveway.

“Are you okay?” he whispered. You only nodded.

“If you would have come into the room 10 seconds later I would have blown our cover. Fuck he’s a creep.”

“He also is involved in way more shit than we originally thought,” he reached into the pocket of his pants, showing you a USB Flash Drive.

“What did you find?” you asked. He shook his head, looking over his shoulder.

“Not here,” he whispered. His arm around you tightened.

“He’s still watching?” you asked. He nodded. “Kiss me,” you whispered. Dave stopped walking and looked at you.

“You just saw someone touching your wife… I think we need to sell this better, I could feel him watching us all night.”

He breathed in deep, closing his eyes before they opened and he pushed you against the tree you just passed.

You couldn’t even take a breath before his lips crashed down on yours, his hand on the back of your hand, so he didn’t hurt you. He towered over you, his body pressed against your and you tried to suppress the moan at the feeling of his lips against yours but failed miserably. He used your surprise to dive his tongue into your mouth and your arms flew up to hold on to him.

“Dave…” you sighed.

“I’m right now playing a very, very fucking jealous husband sweetheart…” he groaned.

“Fuck…” you let your head fall back as his lip wandered down your neck. You felt his thigh between your legs.

“Is he still looking?” he asked, rubbing his thigh over your core.  You looked over his shoulder, seeing no one standing outside.

“No…” you gasped, rolling your hips. Fuck you were wet. He kissed you again, before he whispered against your lips.

“Good, then let’s go home.”

You were more than confused. As soon as you were back in the house, Dave let go of you and went to his room with a mumbled “Good night.”

You on the other hand were still trying to get your brain to slow the fuck down. You were undercover. This was all just an act. Right? Dave York was the best agent around and he knew what he was doing. You had to get your libido under control just because he kissed you once. Groaning to yourself you stripped off your clothes to take a shower. Which should only have taken a couple of minutes, but you just couldn’t stop thinking about Dave. How his lips felt, how his hands felt, how it would feel if he would push you against the wall and fuck you senseless.

“Fuuuck…” you moaned quietly, touching yourself, growing frustrated when you just couldn’t make yourself cum, knowing he was just down the hallway. Shaking your head you got out of the shower, drying yourself off, not bothering to change into your pajamas. You needed to cum. Getting out your vibrator your sighed, wondering how big Dave was when you opened the door and found the man in question sitting on your bed, looking at you with hungry eyes, asking:

“Need any help with that?”

[un2-verse]

BILLY — Kim Taehyung (2)

pairing: taehyung x f reader

genre: horror au, yandere au, saw/john kramer au

synopsis: News of a Sadistic Serial Killer nicknamed “Jigsaw” is spreading around town like wildfire… the nickname stemming from the puzzle piece he cuts from every victim’s body. No one knows who he’ll trap next but in a town full of delinquents and criminals, it could never be you. Right?

warnings: mentions of suicidal thoughs, abusive relationships, stalking etc. dont read if triggered. there are some ?? fucked up things in this but idk what to word them. but also mentions of self harm/self hating thoughts.

wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: unedited so pls forgive me for any mistakes and lmk if u want to be added to a taglist^^

series masterlist

part one part three

You’d spent a couple of hours in the café with Taehyung. Jimin popped over every now and then to talk with his best friend and to make sure you had everything you needed while there.

When you left, Jimin wrapped his arms around you as he bid his farewell, “It was lovely to meet you Y/N! Please, don’t be a stranger!” You simply nodded your head as you pulled away from the hug. You grinned back at him as he moved to Taehyung. You opened the door, carefully stepping outside to leave the boys with some privacy.

Once the door shut Jimin’s smile beamed, “so she’s the girl you’re always talking about, Flower? Right?”

“Yeah she is, thanks for that though man but, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you later?”

Taehyung smiled as he made his way towards you, you looked up and he swore, he saw a hint of nervousness in your eyes, probably because it’s dark, he thought to himself. “Come on then, let’s get you home.” He held out his hand, you were quick to grab a hold of it. Taehyung intertwined your fingers as he tugged you back across the road, “it’ll take about twenty minutes, you gonna be alright to walk?” he glanced down to you.

Your heart warmed at the way his eyes smiled with him, “I’ll be fine, thank you.” He seemed happy enough with your answer as you fell into a steady rhythm. You felt a little conflicted, you may not know Taehyung well but he had an energy about him that made you wanna spill every secret you knew, you’d shared pointless stories while you were at the café, having learnt Taehyung was a family oriented person, he loved art and he was passionate about little subjects other people would deem small. Yet he had a warmth that you’d not seen in anyone else.

Fuck it, you thought, he’s shown nothing but kindness, you may aswell open upto him… atleast.

“I was in an abusive relationship.” Taehyung felt himself smirk but quickly wiped it from his face, he arched an eyebrow as he looked down to you, “it was my first too. It left me, fucked up, in a way. Not that I wasn’t already fucked up.” Progress. He squeezed your hand in reassurance, go on… “I’ve always been insecure and uh, uncomfortable with the way I look. After that disaster of a relationship, it left me worse for wear.” you kept your eyes on the road, you didn’t want to see the judgement on his face yet it didn’t stop you from carrying on, “I never told my friends or family about it. None of them knew I was struggling before it anyway so I’ve been letting it tear me apart.”

“Why tell me then doll?”

You risked a glance at his face. There were no traces of judgement or pity. Swallowing down your nerves, you added softly, “I had to tell someone. Even if that someone is a random person— who showed me kindness when I needed it.”

Taehyung felt his heart clench, she’s already trusting me… this was easier than I thought. “Don’t feel like you need to tell me anything baby,” I already know it all.

You felt your cheeks burn from the pet name, how could something so simple, affect you this much? God, talk about a schoolgirl crush. “That’s the thing, I don’t feel like I need to. I just, I want to.”

Taehyung presented you with his boxy grin, “Then you can tell me anything you want, whether it's big or small.”

“Thank you Taehyung.” It was like the sun had shone down on you, the simplest gesture meant the world. Here you had a person willing to talk to you about your darkest secrets. A person willing to listen. Someone who had no ties to your family, which made it easier for the words to flow from you, “It’s like, I was this happy, care-free kid. I smiled without forcing it and when I laughed… I felt free. I didn’t feel like I was losing my breath. Not like I do now, everytime I do so much as breathe, it's like these roots have twisted around my lungs and everytime a breath escapes, they crush them tighter. It’s like a reminder. You’re never fully alive. You’re never fully happy. Pain overrides any other emotion. I’ve learned that, after all those years. I used to think, I’d never accept it.” A solemn silence fell over you. The roots squeezed your lungs even tighter as you whispered, “I’m scared of living.”

“Flower, some people are anchored to this world by their feet, others by their fears. You don’t have to voice it, I know you’re scared. You have your fears. Your demons. The thing you were doing at the cafe; is destructive. Anything that harms you, is destructive. Fuck, it may only be something as simple as picking your skin but that can lead into bigger things.”

It already has.

“Taehyung, I know that. I knew when it started but it helps, it lessens my anxiety. You’re the only one to have picked up on it. My friends… they don’t notice. If they do, they don’t mention it.”

Taehyung scoffed, “You really think anyone on this planet is your friend?”

Your mouth was sewn shut. You didn’t want to admit it but, there was some truth to his words.

You walked home in silence.

That night haunted you. It forced its way into your dreams. It clouded your thoughts when Yoongi and Hoseok were with you. When you’d spent time together, you were vacant. A soulless body. It was like a poison had found its way into your brain, second guessing relationships and people’s motives.

‘You really think anyone on this planet is your friend?’

Why were you letting it get in your head so much? You knew your friends. They were the only ones you felt safe with. They were your friends for a reason, they supported you (albeit sometimes they had a sense of… tough love) but they always had your back.

You didn’t mention Taehyung to Yoongi or Hoseok. You felt as though that was something that should be kept between you and him. Plus, the duo would’ve felt betrayed and upset by the fact you had wandered into foreign territory alone and found company in a complete stranger-- especially after they’d warned you about the whole Jigsaw shit.

To save the arguments, you went about your life as usual. You helped out your Mum with the flower shop, the array of flowers made you realise how the simplest things were beautiful. That of course, didn’t include yourself. Rancid thoughts clouded what was once, a tranquil space. Those god forsaken roots hadn’t lessened. Breathing was still difficult— as was pretending that you were absolutely fine.

You avoided mirrors, a quick glance could wreck your entire mood. You hated people taking photos of you, it made you scrutinise every single thing.

My nose is too big.

My chin is too round.

My face just shouts ugly.

My legs are disgusting.

My stomach is embarrassing.

My boobs are weird.

Not to say, you didn’t have these thoughts on the regular. However, the more you eluded your appearance, the voices lessened. You could ignore the way you looked, forget it completely. Often convinced yourself you were a plain person. The stereotypical norm: someone that no one would look twice at. It helped you get on with everyday tasks, it helped you ease the anxiety.

After all, every flower must grow through dirt.

But how would you react? If you knew, he had all the pictures of you?

Tuesdays you worked at your Dad’s garage. You didn’t know much about cars but you enjoyed his company. As well as spending time with Hobi and Yoongi. You often found yourself pranking the former with Yoongi, little jokes that luckily, didn’t piss Hobi off too much.

Today though, you were late. You’d had to spend more time trying to find the more appropriate clothing… you didn’t want people to see the slashed lines of red that littered your body.

After you messily threw an outfit together, you made your way down to the garage. You found your eyes trained on the silver Nissan Skyline, mouth agape as you collided into something.

You felt hands grab your shoulders, “Watch where you’re going,” Yoongi brought his hands to ruffle your hair, “gotta be careful while we’ve got that here kidda. That fuckers expensive.” He released a chuckle as you rolled your eyes, softly elbowing him out the way.

Your dad was under the bonnet, a box of tools were scattered around his feet. Organised mess, your Dad was infamous for it.

“Sorry I’m late Pops, what do you want me to do?”

Not even a second later, your Dad turned to face you, “Ah darling, not a lot while we’re working on this. Can you go make us some drinks?”

“Yeah course, I won’t be too long!”

You passed Hoseok on your way to the little kitchen situated at the back, he sent you a wink as he shouted across, “Coffee for me kidda!”

Three cups were spread in front of you. Americano for Yoongi, Coffee for Hobi and Cappuchino for Pops. Just as you were about to shout the guys, a presence had situated itself comfortably behind you. Before you had time to turn around, a deep baritone voice addressed you, “You not gonna ask me if I want a cup baby?”

You felt yourself still. You knew that voice. The voice that was haunting your dreams, even your wake.

You really think anyone on this planet is your friend?

Taehyung watched the way your body tensed, your shoulders stiffened, your breathing altered. Hm, she’s nervous. How cute.

“What are you doing here?” the words passed your lips, delivered as though they were encased in thorns.

A deep chuckle filled the room, “What do you think I’m doing here?” Taehyung inched closer, the atmosphere was almost palpable. You felt the way his chest brushed against your back, a sudden chill shot through you as he brought his hand up— which grazed against your skin whilst he moved your hair from your neck. His eyes turned hungry at the sight of your goosebumps. Your heart raced when he brought his head lower, lips next to your ear, “You think I’m here for you baby?” I am… but you don’t need to know that just yet.

You spun around, squashed between the table and Taehyung. Heat radiated off of him, how can he be so hot? It felt like you were in a furnace (while face to face with the Devil.)

Fear stricken, you tried to fight through it. Don’t show him. Don’t let him see. With a sarcastic smile plastered on your face you retorted, “Of course you are Taehyung. You tracked me down using the information I gave you and figured out which Garage is ours.”

The sarcasm was practically dripping from your tone like venom. Taehyung felt himself stifle a laugh.

You just didn’t know. In all fairness, you didn’t know anything. How would you know that Taehyung had done exactly that, except he’d done it months prior.

He lowered his head to yours, your hands raised to push him away but Taehyung wrapped his fingers around each wrist and tugged them to lay between you before you even had the chance to nudge him. You felt like you were stuck in a Venus fly trap.

“I’m not some type of sicko, doll.”

You were just a naive, misunderstood, little girl.

“I’m getting my car fixed. Your dad’s working on it right now.”

Your body visibly relaxed, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Oh, the Skyline? Wait, you have a car and made us walk back to mine the other week?”

“I didn’t make you walk for the fun of it baby, my car is literally in the shop so obviously it was broken.”

Only, the car was perfectly fine when you met him those weeks ago. He had made the pair of you walk so he’d have more of a chance to speak to you and to touch you. The only way he could follow you around without being suspicious, especially at your dads work, was to have a somewhat reasonable excuse (which resulted in him messing with the engine). He knew although you’d shied away from him that night, he could easily win you back around.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry Taehyung. I’m also uh, sorry about how that night ended.”

“Don’t sweat it, I know what I said came off a little... weird but I didn’t mean any harm.”

With an angelic smile on your face in return, Taehyung knew that soon, that smile would morph into a grateful one. After all, he was going to help you.

Until a person is faced with death, it’s impossible to tell whether they have what it takes to survive.

Live or Die.

Your choice.

He had first seen you out and about last year. However, he had first heard of you when the guys working for him had slammed a file onto his desk, Subject #13 was scrawled on the top. Filled to the brim with pictures of you and everything about your life down to the littlest detail.

L/N Y/N— D.O.B 03.11.02— 19 years old.

Phone number: XXXXX.XXXXX

Female. Lives with parents at: 171 Norm Street, Falfield F91 7DW. Was outcasted at school but befriended a Jeon Jeongguk [19 years, male. 92 Carriers Road, Cressage CY5 3EA. XXXXX.XXXXX].

Ex partner is Kang Jaehyo. [23 years. Male. Abusive and manipulative, laid his hands on Y/N multiple times leaving bruises and scars. Sexual abuse was also discovered. Have been broken up for 4 months. 13 Walkers Drive, Falfield, F73 1DL XXXXX.XXXXX]

Y/N has suicidal ideations (as well as 7 attempts). Self harms by “cutting” “punching” and “scratching”. Diagnosed with Depression and Anxiety Disorder on May 13th 2016. Works at Toret Garage and Letty’s Floral. Both places owned by parents.

The web of lies and deceit had barely scraped the surface.

[dandelioncrownns]

random grishaverse facts/trivia (mostly tgt/kos, tbh), because i love useless details. Also, attempted organisation, because i like order too. + ft. my unwanted commentary

the darkling

has a sweet tooth

loves animals and nature in general

for those of you who have read demon in the woods, he got to meet the white tigers :)

his bedchamber walls are carved into trees bc he loves the woods

his favourite trees in particular are pine trees (or just evergreen trees in general)

he used to be afraid of the dark (many possibly worrying? interesting? implications to this; i won’t get into it here tho)

he likes bright colours, but wears black all the time basically for the aesthetic

he met his younger half-sister, Ulla, when he was a seer’s apprentice in Fjerda 

the darkling is a musician! He plays the fiddle, and growing up, he played the balalaika and oud (i wonder if he can read tablature,,) 

His father was a very powerful heartrender (maybe this is why the corporalki are valued so highly by him?)

genya

she got an amplifier between the end of R+R and the start of KoS (kestrel bones)

Genya used Dekora Nevich, the Ornamental Blade, to poison the King

It smells like cinnamon and is a warm golden colour

the royal family / nikolai’s bio family 

the King once cut himself on his own sword

genya named the queen’s dog 

until she was like 11, Genya was like the daughter the queen never had (omg i really wonder how Nikolai and Vasily felt about that? ik it’s not really mentioned, and Nik kinda acts like he just met Genya is S+S, but they must have been a lot closer, right?? I mean genya was almost always at the grand palace with Queen Tatiana, and nikolai just really wanted his parents’ attention, there must have been some kind of maybe one-sided jealousy/sibling rivalry thing, right?? I digress- for now)

also the queen in a dog person

p. sure Nikolai is a mommy’s boy

(possible explanation:) he looks exactly like his real father (except for his eyes). Nikolai even has the same laugh as Magnus

the queen was also fed up with Vasily and his horses

Vasily rides a white gelding horse and Nikolai rides a speckled grey horse (called Punchline)

speaking of, vasily is definitely a horse girl, but like... just the worst (darkling 🤝vasily)

Queen Tatiana’s letters to Magnus Opjer were “very racy” 

 She doesn’t approve of women in trousers

Linnea is ~1 year younger than Nikolai

she is good at math + studies engineering at ketterdam (I wonder if maybe she and Nikolai crossed paths when he was at uni- they’re around the same age, so maybe?)

The King and Queen hired a clown for nikolai’s 10th birthday (the worst birthday party he’d been to, inclusive of the night Vasily died, according to Nikolai)

Nikolai is afraid of spiders (and also clowns???)

nikolai:

he can juggle

Nikolai sucks at learning languages 

he once spoke Fjerdan so badly a man named Knut offered him a ruby to stop

his Kerch seems pretty good tho

Nikolai met The Darkling when he was 14

Nikolai is a baritone (as is Jesper!)

In his free time, Nikolai writes bad poetry (remember that time he got stabbed w/ a letter opener bc his poetry sucked?)

he went through an emo phase/ existential crisis before becoming sturmhond.

during said emo phase, he wrote rhyming poetry pretty much exclusively

He also took philosophy classes at uni (PPE?)

alina:

alina tried on the same rose dress that the Queen watched vasily die in

Nikolai gifted Alina a VERY low-cut cobalt lace gown (In the words of Nadia, “The bodice might as well be cut to the navel.” )

Alina hates herring, but Zoya and Nikolai love it

She is VERY sarcastic and snarky!! I feel like this gets glossed over so much in the fandom, and just why?? (she’s so gloomy and over everything 90% of the time, i love it so much)

So this isn’t technically a fact-fact, but there is no way Alina wasn’t at least a little bit into women. Did you read how she talked abt genya? Zoya? there’s no way she wasn’t into them

Alina doesn’t really like hard cheese

zoya + zoyalai:

Zoya’s horse is called Serebrine

Zoya can use her lightning as a defibrillator (I’m sure other squallers can do this too with the right training)

Zoya likes Nikolai’s hands (and Nikolai likes Zoya’s feet lmao)

she has ‘weird (long?) incisors’  

she definitely had a crush on Nikolai since Ruin and Rising

kaz:

Kaz grew up on a farm in Southern Kerch, in Lij

Kaz is a both a cat and a dog person  (he just likes strays)

Matthias is a dog person, obviously

All the other crows are cat people 

He likes hot chocolate

both he and nikolai like brandy

hates cereal

Kaz is obsessed with magic + likes puzzles

actually very funny if he wasn’t terrifying (honestly?? at leat 70% of his dialogue is just witty quips/jokes)

Kaz’s right leg is the one he broke, and the dregs usually get their tattoo on their right forearm

the other crows:

Jesper has been known to go line-dancing (and would like country music) 

Mal and Jesper were friends in S+S!! (Probably) Jesper has a not-really-secret crush on sturmhond. 

He also had a VERY not secret crush on Kaz before wylan, ofc

Matthias’ middle name is Benedik

Nina would win in an arm wrestling contest against Jesper

Inej has a thing for Kaz’s eyes

Nina was at the orphanage with the other grisha kids in R+R

In the opening scene of CK, Jesper was wearing a navy waistcoat with little gold stars (his fashion is just top tier honestly)

grisha- powers, etc.:

A solar eclipse would have no effect on the Darkling’s powers, but it would make it harder for Alina to summon.

Fabrikators can make flowers bloom

The twins have shark teeth amplifiers

Adrik and Leoni are saints

general world stuff:

Gay marriage is legal in Kerch!

there was a landbridge connecting Shu Han and Kerch but the council of tides covered it

Antimony is used as mascara

kruge is pale purple paper currency

ravkan currency has Nikolai’s face on it (ig not anymore tho?)

Hringkälla is celebrated on March 20th

the distance between Ivets and Os Alta is only about 100 miles? (i’m just going to willfully ignore this, because thats,, so small?)

Mermaids and dragons exist(ed) in the grishaverse

misc:

the daughter of the duke of ivets has a daughter who can play the harp

there is not fourth tale of krigi

The baroness Natasha Beritrova is fifty (as of KoS) and has lands near caryeva

Elke Marie Smit is from one of the most powerful Kerch families and is just 16 in KoS

Oncat is an orange tabby

Anya liked Joost a lot :( (I got way too attached to them at the start of SoC and was so sad + confused when they died lol)

david eats hard boiled eggs for his working days in the shops

‘Malyen’ is the Ravkan version of ‘Malcolm’ (very fitting)

Nikolai brought the kids at Keramzin toy boats + frequently sends Alina and Mal gifts 

The triumvirate would also visit them every feast of Sankt Nikolai too :)

star signs / birthdays (ik the gv constellations aren’t the same as ours, but idc):

Inej: Cancer (june 21st - july 22nd)

Kaz: Capricorn (december 22nd - january 19th)

Nina: Leo (july 23rd - august 22nd)

Jesper: Gemini (may 21st - june 20th)

Matthias: Taurus (april 20th - may 20th)

Wylan: virgo (august 23rd - september 22nd)

Kuwei: aries (march 21st - april 19th)

Darkling: aries

Nikolai is most likely either a gemini or cancer (but he could also be a Leo or Taurus). Whatever it is, he is a summer baby.

Alina and Mal have the same birthday (they were given the Duke’s birthday when they came to the orphanage)

heights:

Jesper is 6’2” - 6’3”

Kaz is 6′

Matthias is 6’4

Nina is 5’9”-5’10”

Inej is 5’3” - 5’4”

Alina is ’short’ (5’3”?)

Mal and the Darkling are ‘tall’ (tbf, like all the characters are tall >:( I want my short people rights)

Nikolai  (well, stumhond, but i think they’re the same height) is described by Jesper as tall (so 6’2”+?? why is everyone so tall??? I-)

Zoya is several inches shorter than nina (zoyalai height difference lets go)

Kuwei is slightly shorter than Wylan (who is about 5’8”?)

there’s definitely more, so if you made it this far and have any more, pls add to the list!

[alaskasmonsters]

No Strings to Hold us Down | Takami Keigo

(spoilers for chapter 299 ahead!) 

requested by @waffleareniceandfluffy​: can I request a hawks x reader where yk how ehe in the car with best jeanist faked his death all that yeah and he says he’s free of his shackles can you do where they’re both free and they discuss his backstory (reader is childhood friend she knows about his abuse) and can you include any other thing chapter 299 with him as like can u make it hella angsty but with a little fluff and definitely a fluff ending.

part two

pairing: takami keigo x fem!reader

w.c: 4.269

warnings: spoilers for ch. 299, some amount of angst (with happy ending), mentions of neglectful parents

a.n: so this took me a hot minute and i’m so sorry you had to wait for so long! it’s also like 4 k words and i don’t know how or when that happened i-... i hope it’s angsty enough and i hope you like it! please enjoy :) <3

The silence hung thickly in the air of the freshly washed car, weighing heavily on you. A glance to the side told you that Keigo was still asleep, head propped up against the window.

He’d fallen asleep as soon as you’d taken off from the hospital, the only sign he was still alive was the even lifting and lowering of his chest.

You knew he was fine, Keigo was the most stubborn person you knew and as long as he hadn’t given up yet, there was nothing that could keep him from going on. Still, there was this little voice at the back of your head, barely an itch, that urged you to make sure just once more, if he was still alive, still breathing, still going.

He’d taken a lot of damage during his battle with Dabi. The villain hadn’t held back, hadn’t even hesitated when he’d burned his wings off, almost ruining the cells in his shoulder blades they were sprouting from beyond fixing, before he had moved on to his face and neck, leaving nasty burn marks behind wherever his hands had reached.

You remembered when you had stormed into his room, ignoring everyone who told you to take care of your own injured first, to take it slow, saying Keigo needed rest now, and you had first laid eyes on his battered form. The bandages covering his body, the absence of his wings, the peaceful look on his burned face as he was still sleeping soundly.

For a moment, a never ending moment, you had thought he was dead. You wouldn’t have known what to do then, when Keigo had actually left you behind, all alone in a big cold world, a world even colder without his silly jokes and genuine smiles. It had been awful, that feeling of dread, heavy and suffocating, that had taken a grip on your throat and squeezed.

Then the beeping of the vital signs monitor had reached your eyes, barely audible through the ringing of your ears and the loud beating of your eyes and you’d been able to breathe again.

Since then you hadn’t left Keigo’s side, even denied Best Jeanists help when he’d suggested to accompany the two of you. He’d wanted to drive, since you were still heavily injured, but you’d denied.

It felt too personal, visiting the house of Keigo’s mother, a woman you’d only met once before but had heard too many stories about, to not be by Keigo’s side when he had to face her after years of separation.

Luckily, Best Jeanist had realized this and instead agreed to meet you back at the hospital later, leaving Keigo and you alone on your ride to your destination.

Out of the corner of your eyes you saw your friend’s body stirring, straightening out of his hunched over position, his eyes blinking open tiredly before he seemed to recognize where he was.

“I’m sorry. I fell asleep,” the robotic voice of the translation app he was using, chimed through the car.

Another reminder of how close Dabi had gotten to him, you thought.

You glanced at him, your eyes falling on the muzzle he was wearing that prevented him from using his voice.

You smiled at him, hands tightening their grip on the steering wheel as you stopped at a red light.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re alright.”

You seemed to repeat yourself around him a lot since he’d woken up. “It’s okay.”, “I’m glad you’re alright.”, “How are you feeling?”. At this point you felt like a broken record. If he noticed, Keigo didn’t mention it.

“I’m glad that everything with Best Jeanist went smooth,” the voice chimed back.

You remembered when Keigo told you about it. The plan involved Best Jeanist. Before he’d even asked the man himself about it.  He probably hadn’t been allowed, the commission usually forbade any exchange of important information between the two of you, but Keigo never cared.

He had always told you anything, it’s been like that since forever.

The rest of the 40 minute ride was endured in silence. Keigo was looking out of the window, eyes unfocused, and you tried to focus your attention back on the street. The concerned voice was pushed to the back again.

You arrived soon after, parking the car in an empty spot and exiting the vehicle together with Keigo. The mansion at the end of the street caught your eyes immediately and you were once again impressed how much money the commission was willing to spend to keep their little pet obedient.

“Is that it?” you asked, covering your eyes against the blinding winter sun.

“Inside that house,” Keigo assured, passing you without giving you a second glance.

You let out a sigh, sensing his nervousness, maybe even fear to see his mother again. Locking the car, you followed after him, stomach churning with something you could only identify as dread.

When you arrived at the door Keigo rummaged around in his pockets before he pulled out a key card. He hesitated, grip tight around the little piece of plastic, before turning to you and typing a few words into his translation app.

“Before I fully recover and show my face again...you know there is something I need to be sure of.”

Maybe he felt like he had to explain himself, as if you didn’t already know exactly why he came all the way here to see his mom again after he hadn’t even bothered to keep in touch with her the last few years. His eyes were searching your face, hand on the handle and you gave him a soft nod.

“I know,” you replied quietly.

He opened the door wide and you entered the house.

It looked just as spacey and clean as the outside let suspect. The interior was beautifully put together, the furniture was expensive looking and excessive. It looked all very tidy and you knew that the way everything was decorated has probably been the work of interior designers.

Something about the fact that the place reminded you strangely of where Keigo was living stuck with you. His apartment was just as clean, just as nicely decorated by the hands of strangers, just as well put together.

How ironic.

The similarity of it. Mother and son both separated and still connected through the hands of the commission, the organisation the woman sold her son to.

It made you feel sick, no matter how much Keigo acted like it didn’t bother him, it just seemed to anger you twice as much.

How these people working for the Hero Public Safety Commission managed to make it appear all nice and clean from the outside, sweeping all the unpleasant details under the rug. They made Keigo the perfect hero, paid off his mother and ensured their comfort, ensured your comfort to him. Only to have the man in their debt.

The commission loved how close you and Keigo were, if only to use your friendship against you and use it to their advantage. Although it had only been him they had taken in, fixed up and trained for years, you were just as much controlled by them as he was. Due to your friendship.

They didn’t think of you as talented or as perfect as him. Hawks was charming, impressive, loved by the public, the number two hero! You weren’t even in the Top Twenty, your quirk wasn’t as flashy as most of Japan’s Top Heroes’ and you weren’t as loved by the public either.

You were only useful to them when it came to the dirty work, keeping Keigo in line that was (and you hated it hated it hated it), being the one responsible when he had to get punished after a mistake he made because it was on you when you didn’t pay enough attention, wasn’t it?

And only because the two of you had been childhood friends. Because you knew Keigo better than anybody else in this world, even himself. Keigo did have no issue sacrificing himself, burning himself out in the process if that meant he did a good job. You were the one who had to ensure he was at peak performance at all times.

Of course, being the commission, they had also used their sources (you didn’t believe it was Keigo who had told them, he would have never done as much) to uncover your awful past and find out about your family home just to use those things against you. As leverage. As if Keigo’s safety and wellbeing wasn’t motivation enough.

Your past was filled with pain and regrets.

Your mom, who’d left you with your dad after you were born and your dad who’d turned to alcohol and drugs to numb the pain.

The man had neglected everything. His health, his job, his life...you. So it had been your responsibility to keep the both of you afloat. You had started shoplifting when you were merely old enough to tell the difference between left and right. Everything you’d stolen, you’d taken to keep your dad and you alive.

The commission knew about this and liked to use it against you. It didn’t matter that you’d only been a child, old enough to know better for sure but too young to see any other possibilities for your hopeless situation.

You had met Keigo back then, too, when you’d been 7 and he’d been 8, after you had stolen from a small shop and accidentally caused havoc when you were caught and ran away, causing two cars to crash into each other when you’d crossed the street without looking, which forced one of them to swerve the other way so it wouldn’t hit you.

Keigo had found you hiding behind a group of trash cans in an alleyway crying, saying his feathers had tingled and that’s how he knew something had happened in the city. He had wanted you to return what you’ve stolen but when you had told him in tears about your situation and begged him not to tell anyone he had taken pity on you. Making a promise to not snitch on you if you were being more careful.

That’s how you’d become friends.

Although he’d gotten in trouble for leaving his house, beaten and screamed at by his paranoid piece of garbage of a father, who believed he’d tried to rat him out or something...That didn’t stop Keigo from seeing you again.

You would both sneak out in the middle of the night to see each other, meeting in forests and on playgrounds all around the town. He’d share food with you or bring you little things he’d managed to sneak from his dad’s newest gig.

Since that day in the dirty alleyway, Keigo had never stopped taking care of you. The both of you felt connected through your abusive fathers and (in Keigo's case emotionally) absent mothers. You both had scars you'd rather hide with everyone but never each other and you both felt lost, unable to be yourself in a home you didn't belong in.

You had realized, even at your young age, that you could never let him leave because you’d never find a person like him ever again.

So when the commission got involved, when they took him away, isolated him from his old environment, which involved you as well, your heart broke.

Although Keigo, sweet caring Keigo (who now had to go by Hawks. Commission’s orders.) still never entirely left you. He’d asked the commission for one more favor beside taking care of his mother and him. They had to ensure your safety, get you away from your father and into a better household.

You were the very first person he’s saved and although he tried to downplay it you knew he was proud of the fact that it held him together on days he didn’t feel much like a hero.

These days, it was rather often...

The house remained silent, the calls of the robotic voice for Keigo’s mother echoing through the big room.

No answer followed.

You looked around the room, noticing that what you had called clean before was really just the absence of everything that was supposed to tell someone that this mansion was inhabited. No dirty dishes, no books or newspapers lying around, not even a glass of water on the sink.

“Do you think she left overnight?” you asked, strolling around.

Keigo didn’t answer your question so you turned around to see him standing with his back to you, something clutched into his hand. Curious of what he had found you stepped up from behind him to look over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of what looked like a letter addressed to Keigo.

From his mother.

“Did Dabi use people for this...? How did he even get this far...?”

You hummed softly, reaching up to grasp his shoulder tightly. Keigo had already suspected that it must have been his mother to tell Dabi or people Dabi sent about his real name and family background. Still you knew there was a little part of him that had hoped this not to be true.

Now, though, with the letter that his mom left behind in her abandoned home, there was no doubt about it.

His shoulders sacked and his body hunched over as he let out a deep sigh, barely audible through the muzzle.

“Guess it really was my mother that leaked it then,” for some reason even the robotic voice sounded heartbroken about the fact.

You reached up to card your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, or rather the part that wasn’t covered by bandages.

“I’m sorry, Kei,” you mumbled lowly.

He leaned into your touch and let out another deep sigh, the tiredness that had been edged into his features ever since he had woken up in the hospital bed seemed even more prominent now under the cold lights of the living room.

“When the name “Takami” had been taken from me, the relationship between my mother and i had finally disappeared. I had always thought i was fine with that,” he explained, the robotic voice breaking the silence again.

“What i thought of as being saved was just me turning my back on everything. Even on you, y/n.”

You looked up in surprise at his words, staring at the back of his bandaged head with furrowed brows.

“You’ve never turned your back on me, Keigo,” you assured him, giving his shoulder another squeeze.

How he could even think that he’d ever done as much was beyond confusing to you.

Keigo reached to put his hand on your hand, the skin warm against yours and the touch comforting. He tightened his grip ever so slightly.

“Yes I did,” the speech assistant continued, “After we’ve met again a few years back, I’ve run from you, kept my distance, because you represented what i wanted to be but couldn’t.”

After we met again a few years back.

You’d seen him in the news one day, when you were still training in hero school, and recognized him immediately as your childhood friend, even after all the years you’d been separated.

The huge red wings were a distinct tell.

You had run out of the Starbucks, leaving behind your freshly ordered drink to where you’d heard the incident had occurred. Out of breath and disheveled from all the running you’d gotten there just in time to reunite with Keigo for the first time in years.

Since then you’d never left him out of your sight again, too scared you’d end up losing him again.

Hearing Keigo say that he’d tried the complete opposite, keeping a distance to you because of what you’d represented, something he wanted to be but couldn’t...what did that even mean?

“A guy who helps people...”

Your hand felt cold when Keigo dropped his own again, letting it hang off to his side.

“That’s the only thing that’s returned. Actually it’s refreshing,” he continued.

The air around you felt heavy, suffocating, just like earlier in the car, just like when you’d stepped into his hospital room. Although now the reason for it was a completely different one.

“What do you mean?” you asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper.

“The commission is currently at a stand still, y/n, in total dysfunction.”

You swallowed thickly at the reminder. The commission, the one thing haunting the both of you whenever you were with each other, the organization holding Keigo in an iron clasp and ensuring his obedience with your help...since the Jaku Hospital Raid, since Dabi exposed Endeavor and Hawks, the number 1 and number 2 heroes of Japan, they’d been silent.

Scarily so.

“There is no one to give me orders anymore. And they won’t be able to control you anymore either. I won’t let them.”

You took a step back away from the man when you noticed how violently he smashed the screen, his shoulders tense and the recovering wings under his jacket bulking.

“Keigo...” you tried weakly.

“They won’t get to abuse your kindness anymore, have you chained to me..”

You didn’t have to see the look in his face to know what emotion was displayed on it, neither did you have to hear his voice.

Your heart dropped at the words, at the bitterness he so desperately wanted to put into them but couldn’t because of his injured throat.

“Keigo,” you repeated, this time with more insistence.

“I know why you did it. You wanted to return the favor. I saved you, you save me,” the electronic voice sounded awfully smug all out of the sudden.

Your stomach twisted, a horrible hot sensation built in your chest and you had to clench your jaw to stop yourself from saying the first thing to come to mind.

Which would have been an insult.

You clenched your fists, pinned them to your side as you stared at Keigo’s back, your face twisted into an ugly expression.

“No, fuck that,” you spit, “how dare you?”

His face came into view when he turned half to look at you over his shoulder, eyebrows lifted in surprise at your outbreak.

You snarled, unable to contain the hurt as tears started to build behind your eyes.

You’d always been an emotional crier and you really hated it.

“It’s not about a favor. Don’t say shit like that.”

Hawks cocked his head, eyeing you for a moment before he fully turned towards you. His posture was more relaxed than before but there was a question behind his eyes.

He lowered his glance only to type in the next words...

“What? You care about me so much, sweetheart?”

You scoffed, wiping at your eyes in frustration.

“You know i do, stupid bird brain,” you said, still angry.

How could he even believe for a second that you endured the commission’s whining and yammering out of guilt. How could he not know how much you cared for him after all the years you’d been by his side now, after all the times you’d been there for him.

Keigo grasped your wrist, stopping your frantic wiping to push them away and make place for his own hands, thumbs softly brushing the wetness from your cheeks.

He found your eyes, his own wrinkling at the edges.

“No chains left,” the phone chimed.

You watched in anticipation as Keigo reached behind him, hands moving to his neck, and removed loosened the clasp, pulling the muzzle off.

Now you could see the smile, too.

“To shackle us down,” he told you with a hoarse voice.

“Kei,” you scolded him, looking down at the muzzle between his fingers.

You took a step towards him, closing the distance between you. Then you reached forward to gently run your fingers down his throat. The fabric of the bandages was rough against your fingers.

Hopefully he hadn’t started talking too soon.

“Y/n.”

You looked up at him and caught his eyes that were staring down at you with a determination you’d seen directed at you so often before, but couldn’t deny they had still the same effect on you as if it were the first time. Making your head all dizzy, that was.

“When we’re driven into corners, we find liberation. That’s when a true person’s nature rears its head. That’s why Bubaigawara was such a great guy,” he explained, gripping your wandering fingers into his hand, holding them close.

“At heart, he was desperate to be a help to others. I also want to be like that.”

You smiled up at him, squeezing his skin between yours.

“You’re already like that, Kei. You’ve always taken care of me, haven’t you?” you teased, hoping to ease the tension between the two of you a little.

“I think it was more the other way around, y/n.”

“I don’t-“

“Without you...i would have never known what it is like to have someone care for you. To have someone by your side no matter what. To understand...i think i would have never understood what it meant to love.”

You froze, staring up at Keigo with wide eyes. He tightened his grip around your hand, feeling that you wanted to draw back, instead keeping you close, thumb softly stroking the back of your hand as a way of calming you down.

“I think i love my mother, but that’s more out of obligation than anything,” he explained, searching your eyes but you couldn’t tell what he was looking for, “I never feel like i have to be anything than me when i’m with you. Nothing about being with you feels forced, or like it’s an obligation. It’s just...us.”

The room was spinning suddenly as you felt something cold wash over you. Your chest tightened, your heart daring jump out with every harsh beat against your ribcage.

He couldn’t be saying what he was saying...right?

He didn’t mean that. He couldn’t mean that.

“Keigo...are you saying you love me? As in...in love with me?” you wanted to laugh, just a little, to lighten the mood, but it got stuck in your throat on its way out.

Unlike you the man in front of you looked calm, not at all deterred by your panicked state.

“Yeah, I do. I think I have for a while now, but i didn’t fully realize until recently.”

Still gripping your hand in his left one he raised the other to your face, gently cupping your cheek. You leaned into the touch instinctively.

A faint smile tugged at his lips at your action.

“It’s alright if you don’t return my feelings, but I think you do.”

You frowned in thought.

You’ve never thought of the man in front of you as anything else than just Keigo, the kind hearted boy whom you met in a dirty alleyway, the one that brought a little girl food and presents every now and then. The teenager who wrote letters once in a while to keep you up-to-date. The man who you spend your free days with, eating chicken and watching movies.

You meant it when you’d said you wouldn’t leave his side, not if you had any say in the matter. Now, you weren’t entirely sure what you meant with that.

Stay with him? Forever?

Maybe Keigo was right.

He was always able to read you better than anybody else, just like you were the one to know him best as well. That’s also why he noticed your inner turmoil just by looking at your screwed up face.

“May i kiss you?”

Your breath hitched, warmth spreading through your chest as your heart fluttered in your ribcage.

“Yeah.”

His lips were warm against yours, the touch soft and delicate. Like he was testing the waters, giving you the opportunity to pull away if you wanted to.

The feeling was foreign to you. You had kissed other people before, quick pecks, sloppy kisses, passionate making out...But this, this felt different to all of them.

He kissed you gently, carefully, holding you with a delicacy you weren’t used to.

Your heart pounded in your chest as your knees suddenly grew weak, hand reaching out to curl around the back of Keigo’s head, urging him even closer.

He pulled you in, accepting the closeness happily as he deepened the kiss. The taste of toothpaste invaded your mouth.

Your mind went blank, the only coherent thought you were able to grasp was that you were making out with Keigo...in his mom’s house.

How ironic.

Your lips tingled when the two of you parted again, the aftertaste of peppermint lingering on your tongue. The warmth in your chest had spread to your face and you weren’t sure if you were blushing out of embarrassment or glowing because wow...that was something.

Keigo was staring down at you with an undefinable look in his eyes, but he looked happy, content like this and it made something in your chest flutter softly.

You did that.

“I-“ you started but the wide grin spreading on your face against your will, growing despite your attempts to suppress it with a bite to your tongue, made your voice die with a squeak.

The man chuckled, the outline of his wings moving under the fabric of his jacket and the thought of Keigo ruffling his wings joyfully in response to your obvious happiness...you wanted to kiss him silly.

“I think i love you, too, Keigo.”

He might have been the happiest bird man in the whole entire world when you said those words and for a moment...just one small moment, you really felt like the two of you could be free.

Taglist: @crystal-lilac​

[thatabitcryptic]

Have the first chapter of the ficlet for the timestuck au :))

It’s about 1300 words

For context: Ford and Mabel have just convinced Fiddleford to help fix the time tape to get Mabel home. (This is set after fidds quit the project, Ford stumbled across Mabel on his way back from the diner- so everyone’s a bit of a mess but dad instincts kick in here yknow??)

———

Although the couch was much warmer in comparison to the frigidness of the basement, Mabel couldn’t help the cold pit that formed in her stomach. Things were starting to go in the right direction for getting back to her time but.. were they?

Ford and Mcgucket had been practically avoiding each other like the plague. Anytime either of them needed something from the other it was always Mabel who had to speak for them. Sure it made sense they were upset with each other but how could they possibly get her home if they didn’t even look at one another? Grunkle Ford refused to stop working in the basement so he could keep watch over the portal and Mcgucket’s terms of never having to enter it again.. how was she going to get them in the same room? They hated each other.

But then when she brought up the time tape why had Ford immediately jumped to needing Mcgucket’s help?? Ford was a smart guy, and not that she didn’t like the extra company but if her Grunkle had been so angry at his old friend why ask him?

And in the future when they had watched Mcgucket’s memories he didn’t sound mad at Ford, just that he had wanted to forget. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to hold grudges either. Well, future him at least.

The strange air between them wasn’t the only thing that was throwing her off though. The whole house was wrong. It didn’t have any semblance of a home; more of a very disorganised library.

The mystery shack had never been the tidiest place but even when she and Dipper had first arrived Grunkle Stan had the place in organised chaos. Everything had a place and each place made sense at least. Here it was sporadic with no order like Ford had stopped during the middle of something and started a new task leaving previous items cluttered amidst coffee cups and stacks of books.

It was wrong in so many ways and there were so many things she missed from home. Even the little things. The murmuring of tourists in the gift shop, the mouldy spots on the roof, the spur of a tool from wherever Soos was fixing something in the shack, the weird gross smell of Grunkle Stan, Dippers late night reading, Pacifica's sweet perfume, Waddles’ hooves clicking along the floor-

Tears welled in her eyes as she stared down at her blanket. What if she never saw them again? What if Grunkle Ford and Mcgucket were never able to get her back home? Would she have to grow up here? What if she never saw waddles again? His swishy little face, his curly tail that bounced when the toddled behind her-

And Dipper? Would the next time she saw him be when they were born?? Thirty years from now?

Mabel’s head spun; all this time travel made her nauseous. Her chest ached and her hands were hot from wringing them on the scratchy fabric. She couldn’t think straight. It was just the swirling thoughts of her fate in solitude. All she could hear was her rhythmic heartbeat pumping another reason to miss her time into the front of her mind.

Her sweater was too tight, her headband too sharp, her cheeks were itchy from the waves of drying and flowing tears-

“-lright there sweet pea?”

A soft southern drawl from her side snapped her back. Mcgucket.

She didn’t hesitate to launch herself towards the familiar tone and bury her face in his green jacket. It smelt like a strange mix of tobacco, grease and molasses but that was closer to home than the stale dusty air of her surroundings.

“Shh shh shhh shh, it’s okay sugar plum.” He ran a hand through her hair and softly untangled any knots. “Ya’ wanna tell me what’s the matter?”

Mabel’s mouth immediately burst open with bubbling incomprehensible sobs.

“I wanma go h-homemm, Dippmffft, grunkmplmh stamm,” she took a breath and looked up at him with blurred eyes, “m-my pett pig waddles and h-his face.” And then she pressed herself back into his side. Each breath she took shook her body but it was stifled by Fiddleford hugging her closer.

“Hmmmm, a pet pig huh?” He paused and tapped his fingers on her back in contemplation.

“Did future me ever tell ya’ tha’ I grew up on a hog farm?”

Mabel stopped for a moment to look up at him with a trembling lip. “N-no, I-I don’t think s-so?”

Mcgucket drew back with a faux sound of horror. “Well, I never! I can’t ‘lieve this feller’! Ya’ hav’ a pig and ‘e didn’t even offer some advice!”

Mabel smiled and rubbed her nose on her sleeve.

“Naw’ darlin’ here.” Fiddleford reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief for her.

“T-thank you.”

“It’s tha’ least I could do after withholdin’ my advice in the future, or is it before..” He chuckled and shifted to rest his chin on top of Mabel’s head. “I’ll have to remember to tell ya ‘bout it”

Mabel stiffened and wiped her eyes again but didn’t comment.

Maybe it was best not to ask her...

“Now waddles?” he hummed. “I gotta say Mabel that’s a mighty fine name for’ a pig I reckon. The little fellers do tend ta’ waddle about.”

“Y-yeah.” Her voice quivered in reply and she absentmindedly latched onto the sides of his jacket and pulled them in over herself. “He- I miss him.”

Fiddleford could feel Mabel beginning to shake again and he wracked his brain for something else to talk about. He may not have known her for very long but it was heart breaking for such a bubbly kid to be so disquieted.

“How does he fancy the banjo?”

“The banjo?” She turned and lifted her head to look up at him with big eyes and Mcgucket’s heart melted. Mabel may as well have been Stanford’s kid in his eyes, each little mannerism was instantly recognisable as one as Ford’s.

“Uh huh, piglets on the farm used’ ta’ love it! ‘Td help ‘em drift off ta’ sleep in a big stack.”

He grinned at Mabel’s gasp and the way her eyes lit up when she spun around to look at him.

“In a piggy pile?” she started to bounce with enthusiasm.

“In one ‘o the biggest piles ‘o piglets a‘round!” He poked her nose eliciting a giggle.

“Old ma- I mean Mcgucket can you pretty please teach me to play? I-I’ll uhh umm I’ll draw one of my famous catacatures for you!!”

Mabel’s energy was contagious but Fiddleford couldn’t help his knee from bouncing slightly as he sheepishly looked past her to the door.

“Oh uh not that’ I don’t want one of yer drawins’ girlie but I’m not uhh too sure that’s such a good idea, Stanford’s mighty busy at work an’...”

He looked down to see Mabel’s eyes were full of stars as she was practically buzzing with excitement that he hadn’t seen since he met her. Fidds couldn’t help but feel delight at the sight. Just like Stanford.

“Hehaha ‘lright but if we hear Ford comin’ up we ‘ave to hide my banjo ‘else I’ll never see it ‘tagain.”

“Ahh thank you thank you thank you!!” Mabel wrapped him in a tight hug and it was as though all her upset had been transferred into her keenness for a banjo lesson.

Fiddleford stood, and helped Mabel out of her cocoon of blankets before fixing his glasses.

“Ahaha okay okay hush now aha we’ve gotta’ be a bit more quiet kidlet.”

His smile faltered as he saw his hand rising to grip his hair, Mabel must have noticed too because she quickly held onto it and subtlety swung it back and forth as they went to collect the instrument.